Organizing in communities in Pilsen, Little village, Humboldt Park, In smaller cities such as Saginaw Michigan running monthly publications there, running a business in Detroit and Grand Rapids there we are, running a small shop in Spanish Harlem there we are, Working in the fields in Indiana, Wisconsin and Ohio there we are, We have always been in what is called the South West, going to school, writing books, painting there we are, Working construction teaching in the schools of San Antonio and Houston, In the factories of Kentucky and the Carolinas there we are, Working in meat packing plants of Lexington and Grand Island Nebraska there we are, marching in Linken Heights crying Viva Zapata there we are, All over the united states from North to South, Coast to Coast, Lets Take It Back to the Good Old Days, By placing microphones in his hotel lamps, Lets take it back to the control of islands, Cause of conspiracies buried in files and codes, Lets take it back to small Black children, Yes, lets take it back to the Zoot-Suit Riots, When Latino actors were forced to say they, Yes, lets take it back to when the only act, And millions yelled out to the Green Hornet, Before Magic, before Dr. J, before the Ice Man, Lets take it back to when jazz was monkey music, And black and brown voices where drowned out, To when breakers, d.js, mcs and graffiti, Where not sub cultures but where black and Latino, Before Beasty Boys, Third Base and Eminem, Lets take it back to when masters raped slaves, Lets take it back to governmental testing. The pain is so unbearable to live with. I am still consumed in this black abyss dayby day. The saddest leave the least of clues #poetry #quotes #depression pic.twitter.com/jEZNALDyFq, What I could never tell my mother Wrists scarred and bleeding. I was finally tired of the twisting, and this piece is about confronting those uncomfortable truths and my own role in my suffering. When it was all overAnd the lid shut on his headand the organ had done played and the last prayers been said and six pallbearersCarried him out for deadAnd off down Lenox AvenueThat long black hearse done sped,The street light At his cornerShined just like a tear That boy that they was mournin'Was so dear, so dearTo them folks that brought the flowers,To that girl who paid the preacher manIt was all their tears that madeThat poor boy'sFuneral grand. writtenbywill This is one of my favorite pieces from my book "Lost in Life's Ocean." The title was inspired by a Joe Budden song with the same name. you wanted the end But I will not be.. the Devil's slave. Copyright 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes. Poems about Broken at the world's largest poetry site. Life is often quite difficult to understand, manage, decipher and steer, so it's no surprise we humans turn to higher powers. I took the elevatorSixteen floors above the ground.I thought about my babyAnd thought I would jump down. Masked Little Soldiers Broken and lost. Broken Wing I feel like a bird with a broken wing Damaged by all the bad I've seen I want to fly away with you now and feel new things But I get frustrated I can't yet, so I let off steam Sometimes I feel trapped, up on a beam High above a crowded scene Reluctant to move, for fear I'll fall I know I can fly all the way yet, so I stall I make up All Instagram logos and trademarks displayed on this application are property of Instagram. A shiny new car is a pretty thing. I'm finally learning to embrace myself in all facets and forms. Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated. Reminding me of my once known glory (TCOs 1, 2) Determine whether the following passage is an argument. and grandmother before me. I struggle with mood swings and erratic emotions that can change with a mere glance or sigh, because my inner monologue is so tainted with depression and anxiety. The book is a raw account of my mental health struggles, trauma and how it all shaped me. Just God's forgiveness Burning my skin everywhere there is contact. When looked upon by a pair of eyes. #urgency #depressionquoutes #depressionawareness #poetryislife #poetryislove #poetryisart #memoir #memoirs #mentalhealthmatters #mentalhealthblogger #willtowin #writtenbywill #growthquotes, CLARITY - My latest post is about the elusive thing we call "Clarity." Broken and lost. Hosts reyespoetry.com - Poems For these broken wings keep me grounded Tears for the massacres, broken treaties, diseases, Tears for the murdered Mexicans lynched, hung, dragged, cut, and shot, Tears for those who worked the large sugar, And coffee plantations and never had a chance to taste either, Tears for the cries of independence and freedom on September 16th 1810, Tears for the Grito de Lares September 23rd 1868, Tears for Betances and Segundo Ruiz Belvis, And for all of those who fought tyranny injustice and treachery, Tears for Albizu Campos in and out of prison for more than 25 years, Tears for the radiation his body was exposed to like, Children of Vieques crying contaminated tears for lost souls. Or that little girl whose classmates loved to harass? Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut. My new book is available as an EBook ($9.99) and a signed 6x9 paperback ($35, 344 pages) via the link in my bio. He works in music industry promotions and digital media and has a degree in Journalism. I often can't stand any version. I wrote this poem to describe just a fraction of that madness, with the hopes that others who struggle with these issues know they're not alone. I wrote 3 books about anxiety + depression Hit the link in my bio or DM to get a signed copy! It's about suffering because of my toxic traits and the negative behaviors I learned. Featured Shared Story All alone in the black abyss, tell me how it's led to this. Broken Wings Poems 1. My time has always been filled with trauma, timidity and tension. I had to learn to love and rely on myself, no matter the outcome. I focused so much on everyone else that I started leaving myself behind. Wrists scarred and bleeding. Go home and writea page tonight. 300 million people worldwide struggle with depression. Not myself, anyone but myself. I've always struggled with negative thinking and self-loathing, so finally being able to learn to love and accept ME was a huge step forward. Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Ill spend hours seeking out incredible, thoughtful writing and art by a wide swath of talented creators. I was born.. with a broken wing It's called "I Am The Enemy" and it focuses on the fact that I've been in a barbaric battle against my worst self my whole life. Im spelling words with pills, When I ask Paolo how to draw the line between And how this is just another sad story. For Rafael Cancel Miranda, Andres Figueroa Cordero. Wings broken. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow. Working hard on yourself and growing for personal development is the best kind of foundational love. @writtenbywill Will Reyes Broken Wing Instagram profile, stories Learn how to write a poem about Broken and share it! Lost and alone. 1.How does the use of anaphora(repetition of a word at the start of a sentence) in stanza 3 help the reader understand the struggle the Author is trying to convey. Darkness everywhere whispering sweet nothings in my ear. They are my lullaby as they tuck me in and say goodnight. No matter how hard or curvy the road to get here has been, I'm ready to win. This one is about how deceiving appearances can be. I've never felt more alone, but this is a different type of solitude. I always felt shell-shocked, stuck in mental quicksand as I struggled to make sense of the chaos that enveloped me. And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons. You can buy a physical or e-book via the link in my bio. Weak, easily discouraged, and without pride, Wings broken. Lets take it back to the Treaty of Guadalupe, Being infected by small pox from blankets, Lets take it back to when women were worth, Cooking tortillas, greens just lay there, Lets Take it Back to the Good Old Days,, Let them grow to cover our pain and sorrow, Plant the seeds to unify the peoples of the Americas, Plant the seeds to grow a canopy of change, Plant the seeds to destroy imperialism and, Allow its branches of change to break through, The concrete and twist the steel and iron, so in its leaves we can hear the joyous voices of freedom, so in its flowers we can see the worlds beauty, So in its branches we can feel its reassuring strength, So in its trunk we can stand firm on whom we are, So in its roots we can remember the past we have forgotten, Before I even existed God selected that color for me, She was the first color that held me close, I would cry out if she left me to go to work, But rejoice when the older and wiser, but just as beautiful, Shining with memories of raising twelve boys and three girls, Now this brown woman was helping in raising me, Eggs frijoles and sometimes not so homemade Count Choculas, I was three when she started spitting up blood, Holding the bucket for her as she said, Ahi mijo, Ill be okay., I think that was the only English she knew, I cant really remember how much English she did speak, Yet I still cry at the thought of that memory, I am not sure how much longer it was before she died, I know shortly after that moment I never saw her again, At the time being three I did not understand death, As this young and beautiful color cried so many tears of sorrow, It drained the very happiness of her soul, It was not until a few days later when I realized, The older and wiser color was never coming back, I often sit and wonder how this older and wiser color, What she could have taught me, what we would laugh about, But like all strong colors they over time, Fade away and are nothing more than memories, It has taken me seventeen years to come to terms with this, And in school there was a whole new type of Morena. Or the bruises that appeared. You can build everything best if you don't rush and fortify yourself first. views, likes, loves, comments, shares, Facebook Watch Videos from Writtenbywill: My poem "Broken Wing" from my debut book "Lost in Life's Ocean" got featured on Book Riot! #poetryofig #norush #rushed #lovepoem #lovepoems #lovepoetry #lovepoemsofinstagram #lovepoetry #poemsaboutlove #poemsaboutlife #willtowin #willreyes #writtenbywill, WILL TO WIN - I wrote my third book in the midst of major challenges. Being me, it will not be white. Today I recognize my greatness and my potential, while actively working to keep growing. greed. She could accept them those things Im sure. But it will bea part of you, instructor.You are white yet a part of me, as I am a part of you. Often I go to bed as soon after dinner My mind has always felt like a chorus of self-critical chaos, a multitude of voices ready to pick me apart and fill my head with lies. 288 posts. Poems, pizza, power and progress, purr. I'm deeply emotional and I've suffered a lot because of my inability to control my reactions. the same things other folks like who are other races. The book is a story of perseverance and triumph, told through the lens of mental health struggles and more. They wipe my tears away and soothe my heart ache. How will this love end? But I will not be the Devil's slave. But they were without wings To let the souls fly without any restriction, I wish I could change my skin according to the society, Than I'd be standing in front of my old reflection of regrets come and find me empty. But what if they are a true reflection of what's in my heart? I often highlight my struggles because I had to endure them in silence for so long. 2. Angel with a Broken wing by: Dana Gioia by Daniel Timmerman - Prezi As high as the mountains, as high as the stars. 28 years in prison as a Puerto Rican Political Prisoner. Group of answer choices feedback boosts motivation by allowing the choice to. My wish for that child who is. each bouncing off my window. Touch so soft and sweet. From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes published by Alfred A. Knopf/Vintage. 30 Depression Poems That Are Raw, Real, and Powerful - BOOK RIOT Just some random guy, no one big. Please answer the following multiple choice questions. Taken in front of my high school and featuring my neighborhood's freeway, it's a reminder to push through even when your path includes losing focus on unexpected routes and delays. Heaven's not looking at fame or face A strong facade disguising the misery. The copyright of all poems on this website belong to the individual authors. The things of this world To make me proud. Today's poem is called "PRAYERS" and it's broken up into a carousel for your viewing ease. frail wicker coracle. For once you lose your faith or all hope, you also lose your ability to cope. I'm doing all I can now to change course. Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love. When will this all end and go away? Long before California, Colorado, Nuevo Mexico, Texas, Arizona, Utah, Nevada where stolen, Long before the border was created and then was moved, Before Zapata, Pancho Villa, and even Madero, Long before railroads cut across ancient communal lands, Before industrialization, before European nations, Long before guns in hand when the border was, nothing more then an invisible line blown away made of sand, Long before mop and clean, clip trim and cut, sweep paint and wash, Long before go home spic, pick, pick, pick, tomatoes, Go home spic, pick pick, pick strawberries and oranges and grapes and squash. This poem is about confronting fears and reality, no matter how devastating they may be. It represents the general struggle of mental illness feeling like a war, while also reflecting the inner turmoil I always felt defined me, since my initials are "W.A.R." (Think "Madness of Will"). Worst of all, harsh reality showed me that people aren't nearly as genuine or selfless as they present themselves. 'The Pain In Waiting' Curled in on myself and clutching at my chest. All rights reserved. I may look able-bodied and healthy on the surface, but I live with a litany of mental, emotional and physical ailments. Love is important. And coughed, and in the end saw land. I wrote a poem called "Rush" in my new memoir "Will To Win" to describe my own struggles with rushing things. I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses 'Broken' Wings broken. in spirit from me. It is painful but beautiful. Touch so soft and sweet. . mist, the fibrous Or alive and well? How to negotiate Or the bruises that appeared on the sides of their necks. I was ready to collapse, but instead I stood tall and started to find my way. You pushed her so hard, though she can't, till she fell and broke her wings. National University of Computer and Emerging Sciences, Karachi, Unformatted text preview: Help me one step at a time, so we can finally fly About the Author Will Reyes - He is an author who has written two books, he also writes poems. In the end will I lose you? But it wasHigh up there! Wondering what happened and where I am. To make me proud I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem. Burning my skin everywhere there is contact. Are the things I crave My life has been a long tale of traumas and pain, and it got worse when my dad died suddenly from cancer in 2019. A poet, novelist, fiction writer, and playwright, Langston Hughes is known for his insightful, colorful portrayals of black life in America from the twenties through the sixties and was important in shaping the artistic contributions of the Harlem Renaissance. Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me. Mewho?Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.I like a pipe for a Christmas present,or recordsBessie, bop, or Bach.I guess being colored doesn't make me not likethe same things other folks like who are other races.So will my page be colored that I write? (Link in bio) And yes, I talk about my love for greasy food, rap music and Ariana Grande in its 344 pages. Talk to me #poemsdaily #patiencequotes #patienceisavirtue #patienceiskey #patienceisprogress #patience #mentalhealthadvocate #mentalhealthquotes #mentalhealthblogger #mentalhealthhelp #willtowin #authorcommunity #impatient #impatience, "WILL TO WIN" - This is the title piece from my new memoir "Will To Win" and it marks an important part of my healing journey: self-acceptance. And they will say One Nation Under God, Nuclear war, acid rain, and the sky turning gray, The daily pounding of violence and urban decay, Babies will be conceived and killed on the same day, Soon they will be infected by mans society, Religious theology, political policy and sly-cology., I can remember her name was Erica a pretty brown skinned girl, She had two children Tinisha and Anthony they were her whole world, But Erica had many secrets she would hold, I would see her often over by the laundry mat, We would just sit back in the shade drink a Pepsi and chat, She would go on about her dreams and how she wanted, A man with money and drove a baby blue Cadillac, How often they forgot she was someones daughter, It was cool with me though I understood her logic, I knew the secrets that she held inside and I knew her story, Leave her at home alone at the age of two, Dropped out of school and said Fuck the lessons!, At the age of thirteen she started laying with, Any fast-talking hustler who would have her, By fifteen she was with this abusive cat that, There was no one around to tell her to leave him, She was too in love with new clothes, cash, Sixteen with a child she didnt know what to do, But Erica saw the world in one color and that color was blue, Five holes in his skull from the blast of a gun, Erica had a child to take care of and another one, And the stresses of being a single mother, And without it she received a slave lashin, Her life was crashin with no hope in sight, To crack cocaine and could barely manage to fight, But Erica only saw the world in one color and that color was blue, That Erica had turned to the oldest profession, What was a one time thing took a progression, So she went and got tested for immune deficiency, She did not believe in the tests accuracy, Erica only saw the world in one color and that color was blue, Erica would lay out on the street and just stare, She begged for money but no one wanted to hear, She was no longer a mother daughter aunt or wife, The cycle was inevitable and was destined to continue, Only saw the world in one color and that color was blue, In the beginning when woman and man were nothing more than in, There was an unreal peace over all the inhabitants of the Earth, And yet God wanted to be loved and cherished, And man to sit alongside each other as caretakers of the Earth, And amidst all the creations of her heart, She placed man and woman above all and gave them free will, But alas, out of mankinds free will came the ability to question, And from the tree of knowledge came the evils of mans heart, Over time man multiplied and no longer saw each other as brothers, But as intruders on land that God created for all creatures, And man did not listen to the one Creator, Now man made their own gods and died for stone, Man died for land that was not theirs to own, And killed over the land that God created, Throughout the land metal swords and iron shields, Brother against brother, clan against clan, and tribe against tribe, Suffering was imposed on those who were weak, And the Earth soaked with red from the blood of man, Over time man developed and created more weapons, From stones and spears, bows and swords, shields and crossbows, Came a black powder and from that powder came muskets, cannons, and rifles, For religion, principle, country and in the name of God conquered nations, And created weapons and machines of mass destruction, And man killed and imprisoned and murdered one another, Only this time the toll of death was like never before seen, The whole world went to war twice in less than forty years, From the rifle came rapid firing rifles developed into machine guns, And from steel and iron came machines never before seen, Jeeps, tanks, and planes missiles and land mines, grenades, It could destroy all of creation by the push of a button, And man developed more and more advanced weapons of mass destruction, Man created missiles that could be fired thousands of miles away. Was this the place that was in his dream? Do you ever feel like your own worst enemy? A melody only meant for my ears, just those three words are my song. Long before four families to a one room studio apartment, Long before streets paved with gold with climates that are cold, Long before they are taking American jobs, Before Delores Huerta, Cesar Chaves, Rudy Lozano, Alejandro Molina, Emma, Before the Brown Berets, and the Chicano Movement, Before Si Se Puede before Chicano power, you need papers to get papers of course, Of course what I was thinking, I have no. But it wasCold in that water! Broken Wings Poems - Poems by Broken Wings - Poem Hunter #brokenwings poems - Hello Poetry Poems are the property of their respective owners. The rain drums down like red ants, Conceived by the earth, rain, wind and the fire of our origins. #willtowin #winnerwinner #poetrycommunity #poetrylovers #memoir #memoirs #poetrybook #poetrybooks #empowered #empoweredempath #icandoit #icandothis #resilient #poemsdaily #poemsofig #poemoftheday #poemofinstagram, "TIRED" - This is a reading of a poem from my new memoir "Will To Win." I keep on smiling day by day, hoping suddenly the pain will go away. Regulating my feelings is a massive challenge, making patience seem like an unattainable fantasy. Some see me sympathetically, while others see me as the culprit behind my calamities. Broken and lost. Curled in on myself and clutching at my chest. I struggle with depression myself, and as a writer and (former) poet, I find myself drawn to poetry to find solace, to find comfort, to find solidarity, and to better understand my experiencesas well as the experiences of those who deal with depression in ways that dont mirror mine at all. of Mexico, Cuba, Panama, Dominican Republic, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Honduras, and the many other places, the same bullet that drips red onto street corners, no matter how many times hands are washed, but bullets cant silence voices of truth, That hopes to create beauty from what is chaos, To create stories of inspiration from tragedy, Revolutionaries die because they dare to love, What are the thoughts of those that bleed, Is It the same as those that are confined to cells, Dying bleeding to death for over 24 hours, why did they not hold as they would hold their children, why did they not hold you as I would have, close to my heart so you could feel it beat, which of us will clean the wounds of Filberto, or because we agreed on every aspect of his life, but because we was willing to give his life, of Oscar Lopez Rivera and Carlos Alberto Torres, through bars of steel on floors of concrete, She told me to imagine and see the world as poets do. Breathing gets harder and I began to shake. As those words leave your lips and reach my ears, I will smile through the tears. So since I'm still here livin',I guess I will live on.I could've died for loveBut for livin' I was born. She went to law school got her bachelors, her masters. Analyzed, surmised, concentrated, recreated, Who are the real thieves, the real criminals, Hypocrisy, animosity, racial tensions between you and me, A lyrical poet whose mission is to stimulate, So if you are blind Im-a let you be blind, But if you can see step to the light and open your mind, Jim Crow and Willie Lynch still seem to thrive, More subtle now days wouldnt dare say nigger or spic, Cause things always arent what they seem, Or censorship wont cut you no record deal, And my brethren out on the street fight for a hot meal, But like the wheel it all comes back around, The revolution will be won on the underground, Its time to break the chains of five hundred years of oppression, Pick up a book and learn your own lessons, And you wont see me celebrate Columbus Day, Cause Columbus didnt make no damn discovery, O lets thank the Europeans alone for establishing this great nation,, When browns, Blacks, people of color have been its foundation, I aint speaking hate I am talking knowledge, All this coming from someone with one semester of college, But its hard to earn the respect of others, But thats the problem, no respect for the past or the present, Delores Huerta, Cesar Chavez, Corky Gonzales, Brother Malcolm, all on the front line of the movement. These children are soldiers who. What kind of revenge is a echo of a whisper?, You see the pinche gringos thought it was over when, They did not realize that in Mexico there existed Mexicans, And when the border was moved we never respected it, They did not estimate 8 million undocumented Mexicans and another 28, million legal living in the empire of the united states, They did not expect a flow of people back and forth across their precious border, (say it with me) Wherever I go there we are, Cooking in the back of a Kitchen in New Orleans there we are. Broken Wings You pushed her so hard, to fly as high as she could. On minorities to see the outcome of A.I.D.S. Academy of American Poets, 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038. Eyes begun to sting as light appeared. And Satan's sting Broken Wing By: Will Reyes The Poem The Poem I feel like a bird with a broken wing Damaged by all the bad I've seen I want to fly away with you and feel new things But I get frustrated I can't yet, so I let off steam Sometimes I feel trapped, up on a beam High above a crowded more Prezi 11k followers More information as seems adult I hope it serves as a reminder that slow progress is still progress, and that it's normal and okay to experience setbacks and hopelessness. The times we can exhale and take pride in our gains and growth. Toxicity, trauma and time triple-teamed me along every inch of the tenuous trip called my life, engraining hate into my thought process. through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas. It also keeps me from hurting myself. I don't own this time lapse, but I made sure it was free to use.I love this poem so much, it's from Will Reyes's "Lost in Life's Ocean" poetry collection. But I guess I'm what. (Lyrics and poems) composed and created By: REYES Apocalyptic Dream My thought patterns are mad versatile I was born a prophet prodigy child From the planet of many styles It was there that I experienced My epiphany, my awakening To the things unseen The Creator of all things Came to me in a dream Hit my soul with a heavenly beam All of this, poems, nights making pastelles to raise funds, conversations, meetings, meetings and more meetings, tours, plays, visits, talks, years and years of toil, printed flyers, door to door canvassing, persuading, elected officials and people of prominent positions, all of this is the hard birth for freedom. Lost By Hot and cold. 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