then, my words would just spill out,
topple off the tip of my tongue
into ears that may listen, or just hear,
but at least, the words that collide in my mind over
and over and over again
would be released.
a flowet is a poet, whose words just flow,
whose words pour from every pore of ones body
because its one of those necessities in life
for that release.
for to trap words, is to keep your mind a prisoner,
silenced, hidden away
from those who are waiting for hope to arrive,
waiting for something to grab onto,
waiting for something to believe.
a great writer once wrote,
hope needs a deliverer.
and if i was a slam flowet
i would deliver
i would bring to your doorsteps images of a beautiful tomorrow,
a picture of who you could be,
a vision of us together.
if i was a flowet, i could flow into
spaces and places and people and speak
the truth that i know
the truth that i see
the truth that i believe.