the box

Life is like you're stuck in a box

without the write tools you can't get out

for me life will always be an unbreakable box

not because i don't try

but all because of the color of my skin and where i'm from

there is always doubt thrown upon me

and also hatred

crazy right? i know

there are things about my life that will never be normal

because i get judged everywhere i go

and people don't see me as everyone else

but when i write my poems i feel a sense of being unfettered

like no one can touch me

and for once in my life i feel like i can get out of that unbreakable box

[written by]: anonymous king

P.S. this young poet, i've known for years has inspired me. i love the raw and tenacity he has in his words despite his young age. hopefully i will have more of his work to publish here. enjoy. xx

light reading, for this sunday morning.

March 1820

Sweetest Fanny,

You fear, sometimes, I do not love you so much as you wish? My dear Girl I love you ever and ever and without reserve. The more I have known you the more have I lov'd. In every way - even my jealousies have been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit I ever had I would have died for you. I have vex'd you too much. But for Love! Can I help it? You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest. When you pass'd my window home yesterday, I was fill'd with as much admiration as if I had then seen you for the first time. You uttered a half complaint once that I only lov'd your Beauty.

Have I nothing else then to love in you but that? Do not I see a heart naturally furnish'd with wings imprison itself with me? No ill prospect has been able to turn your thoughts a moment from me. This perhaps should be as much a subject of sorrow as joy - but I will not talk of that. Even if you did not love me I could not help an entire devotion to you: how much more deeply then must I feel for you knowing you love me. My Mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it. I never felt my Mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment - upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses. The anxiety shown about our Love in your last note is an immense pleasure to me; however you must not suffer such speculations to molest you any more: not will I any more believe you can have the least pique against me. Brown is gone out -- but here is Mrs Wylie -- when she is gone I shall be awake for you. -- Remembrances to your Mother.

Your affectionate, J. Keats