Segway

Dalila Brooks
Sep 1, 2018 · 3 min read

Freaky beetles needing leaves seeking he’s…getting weaves. Seducing him’s instead of men’s wanting to roll out, think I got clout with one of them’s heating me to pile up and move about. Baggage meant to set between us and call us to leave, then figure out eighteen years later still carrying stuff — keening me on his smile but now in memory again and the value it gives when it shines my way … and yet there’s another him… wanting me near standing me clearer finding his actions linked with matched men to look the part so they pick him apart and call them high class for taking my heart and calling him art. Wondering why I cannot say, leaving again, in my mind as it goes within and spins for me this time, with my own, getting more work, staying at home, staying with mine, staying with hope as it parts ways and sends me a note… I’m not your dime…

Seeing again and now cannot fathom which space I’m in when they go to heads bucking what was said by him, her, them as if it were from my, my, my, what did I overlook, at the bay. I think I didn’t mistook, that for meaning something for someone’s health so I could just cook my heart out as if I have nothing else. Then still stand above waved clouds, when I said nothing and raised slowly, keeping me high so I won’t need to rise, cooling out poolside, weeding again. As if my hope was filled up on ‘dope’ normalized, drugging me swayed his way so I couldn’t play that game that’s been getting me down in ways, leaving me again, heading me again with love so great that I might find my own way… toward loving and honoring myself again and possibly even my way.

Freaky beetles seeking leaves, seeking lights, seeking trees, when temperatures get hot again, chillin’ outside, seeking limbs to swing from night’s back to sights where robbers lay and eggs hatch at frights tables to remind them what they left out of sight out of mine in a kind that might not have leafy greens with your means, where foodies want and greedy haunts, replacing me with what we all want to see, pretty.

It begins from within as my internal challenges pull me in polar opposite directions at the same time. Hoping he enlightens me back to who I thought I once was but might not have been seeing my own self images so abundantly clear it hurts just to stay near. Trying to fit my mold, just as I was told, I work differently in slow motion but get redirected back toward a track of old-school sounds that say me, ‘what the heck,’ as they rewind my mind in downs and kill me softly, gently and they change their sphere. Being so full and yet in the presence of self has me running wild as if I’m a cloud set to ruin your, ‘how’s that, how’s this made,’ ‘why’s that, why’s this that?’ Wondering how and why I have two cells to manage my simple life to get back on track and email folks who don’t email back.

Freaky beetles seeking leaves, stealing thoughts, making needs, loving height, dealing with strife so they don’t feel out of sight or alone in their drones keeping her slow, ‘yeah, we’ve known, she’s all gone.’ I wonder how I am to fester when they look at me, play and then grin, as we all get affected by that snickering eye, I carry in mine I bury in whine, I feel at times it’s my end …

Then hope fines me two pushups and says, ‘I am me and this is my beginning, now begin again.’

Dalila Brooks

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With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts. ~Eleanor Roosevelt | Website: dalilabrooks.wixsite.com/nowords