Still I Rise.


Maya Angelou has to be one of my favourite poets.
The majority of her poems reflect the struggles faced by young Afro-Carribean women in a time of oppression and racism.
I particularly like this poem of hers, 'Still I Rise': I'm moving on with my life! :)




You may write me down in history



With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise

I rise

I rise.

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19/12


Oh heart.

If one should say to you that the soul perishes like the body,

Answer that the flower withers, but the seed remains.




I miss you.
There isn't a week that goes by when I don't think of you.

I love you so much. Always have, always will.

R.I.P


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Perfect Nightmare

Wallowing in the past may be good literature. 


As wisdom, it's hopeless.


Time Regained is Paradise Lost, and Time Lost is Paradise Regained.
Let the dead bury their dead.


If you want to live at every moment as it presents itself, you've got to die to every other moment.


-Aldous Huxley (The Genius and The Goddess)



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In The End

In the end what matters most is
How well did you love
How well did you live
How well did you learn to let go.


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