He lifted his voice like weights in a gym
Greatness oozed from him at an early age.
Each of his lyrics are like ghetto hymns.
To uplift himself from off of the page.
His walk was righteous and in concert with
His ideal of making money real.
Now his artistry was never a myth
He ingrained himself in the minds to seal.
He ambled like a CEO of a
Fortune 500 company. His gait
Represented a brand new, clean spring day.
He performed for those who just had to wait.
For his time at the center of the stage
He seemed like a nobleman left by age.
About the Creator
Skyler Saunders
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More stories from Skyler Saunders and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
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