The World of Rockadocious

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Ghost In Me

Today I wake up in a realistic mind
I am not friends with intent and time
Trapped in thoughts that stifle my dreams
I struggle with supposed and in-between
Shadowed by sorrow to see light in me
Fighting inside to be all I can be
My ghost laughs at my praying hands
As I promise ALL gods to be a man
It hurts inside to look in the mirror
I know this spirit cannot be seen clearer
Who I can be is what I struggle with most
Fighting reflection is fighting my ghost
And that ghost is bound by many chains
Representing my life’s many pains
Built of circumstance and mistake
It mocks my hopes for a sure break
To show the world all I have inside
To no longer sit in question and hide
Will I be somewhere I really want
Or will the ghost in me continue to haunt
Racquel, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~
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August 28, 2012 Posted by | Miscellaneous Poetry, Real-Life Poetry, Sad Poetry | Leave a comment

Cobwebs


Walking in cobwebs of my sins
People stirring anger within
I went to the alter to confess
Born with pants under my dress
Thought I could make it to the light
To make things in my life right
But silk on skin is easier to peel
Spiders spin webs that you can feel
Venom in veins cannot be ignored
All this is happening in one accord
The only thing that you have left
Is stop fighting webs – Leave your dress
Walk with strength and a little pride
Love the things you’ve learned to hide
That is when your path will be true
To a place where you will learn to love you

Racquel, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

April 15, 2012 Posted by | Dark Poetry, Miscellaneous Poetry, Real-Life Poetry | Leave a comment

Ignition

What causes my ignition
I play hard in a world of competition
So blind to the lady in her ragged clothes
Long stringy hair – Torn panty hose
Looks like she’s had nothing to eat
Probably hasn’t had a good meal in weeks
Visions like these tug to my heart
Until it pulls me straight to my start
The start that always justifies
Lack of sentiment looking into hungry eyes
Because where I stand is where I’ve earned
Lost count of all the times I’ve been burned
Don’t know how strong love can be
I’ve learned in this life to love only me
And you ask how I can be so cold
Find the ones with portions of my soul
Last time I heard they were all scattered
If I’d of heard more, I would have mattered
It’s all okay, in my mind I’m a realist
I swallow shit hard and throw up in jest
And how much prettier does that make me seem
Surrounded by vomit while I’m walking my dream
So I force myself to toss at least a dollar
To stop that poor lady from cursin and hollerin
Walking in the streets in this cold-cold world
She looks so familiar – Oh damn…
She’s what left of my little girl

Racquel, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

March 11, 2012 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | 2 Comments

How A Woman Heals…

Naturally molded…
In a nurturing aggression

She puts to shame…
Thoughts of sulking in depression

For if she did not…
She would fall into regression

To temporarily weep…
Would be her true intention

Soon after — strength…
Finds her comprehension

Of what once was…
Fear and apprehension

Is more like clarity…
In her internal retention

Of pains understood…
In years not to mention

Racquel Cruz, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

March 6, 2012 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | 1 Comment

Victors

I see victors at a distance, waving cigars
While I seal my past to heal my scars

They remind me vanity entertains ism’s
Remains alert to defend their schism’s

The people I see are thicker than water
I too have a voice, but why even bother

They drown me in speech of building castles
My little farm of ants aren’t worth their hassle

In their world, important as it seems
I am only a woman with big dreams

Entertaining time with pretentious smiles
They boast their roads of many miles

Asking me so far of trades I have done
While I alone toil under the same sun

Wounded, I struggle and talk to myself
I know I’ve pleaded and cried for help

I pull deep within my breath and bow to bend
Fire fuels my arrow’s tip, to fight and defend

My stance as I ponder of what ants seem to create
Things that are high – Things that are great

With loyalty and strength in different faces
In harmony for a queen, to build many places

This thought gives me hope within my dreams
Wondrous sights have been created by streams

In amazement this motivation wakes me up
I drink to my wine that fills my cup

And toast to queens where no blood is found
Victors will become no more than jewels of her crown


Photo By: Digitalarts

Racquel, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

October 1, 2011 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | 2 Comments

If Only Every Man Could

If only every man could
Memorize the stars, as they do their own cars
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Take the time to cry, when they see sad eyes
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Piece together a woman’s heart, as they do their car parts
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Work the curves of a woman’s bod, as they do their hot rods
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Sit and talk, instead of focusing on who’s the “boss”
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Cherish their time, as tight as they hold to their dime
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Hang out with their gal, more than their pal
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Forget about their “bling” and buy a woman a diamond ring
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Tell a woman what they think, instead of holding it down with a drink
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Hold a woman tight, after having a big fight
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Defend women of the men, who are disrespectful to them
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Tell a woman he loves her so, and not let pride let her go
They would make a woman happy

If only every man could
Read this from the heart, it would make a great start
To making a woman happy

Racquel, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

March 13, 2010 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

A Life of Glory

If it is only within me I see
It is only by my fight I will be
It is a struggle among some men
I was never built like them
Yet we eat, breathe, and die the same
Only separated by our image and name
And I refuse to allow my mind to think
The wines of life I cannot drink
For a drink is toasted by the conqueror
Made by hands claimed to be stronger
I will not give up my long & hard battles
To the hands of fools, drunks, and babbles
And my parts I will take as days go by
My fire will stand strong in my eyes
To be my path I am given so it must
For one day this all will turn to dust
Yet my triumphs will burn hearts like fire
Encouraging those who have many desires
For their time too will be gone so soon
Don’t waste time searching cures for wounds
Just walk past those who have cast stones
Overcome stabs that have pierced your bones
Do not spend years waiting for apologies
For tongues threaded to sin still bleeds
Laugh at your jesters as they entertain you
For they build houses of wood and glue
Build something stronger – A life of glory
So you too may pass on your own stories

Racquel, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

March 6, 2010 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Grandma’s Survival

I am sitting in this room and his face I see
Moments of his fame playing on TV
What gives the right to that man
Trying to take money from another hand
He looks strong enough for a lifetime
A thief is what he is – can’t work for a dime
Suppressed by something we can’t explain
Taking from people he doesn’t have any shame
Guess he’s too good and doesn’t want a job
He justifies himself  – It’s my grandma he robbed
Every bruise on her  (huh)  He walks like he’s tough
He never thought about how she’s had it rough
Her stories lie way underneath her skin
He will NEVER be close to where she’s been
See, she grew up at a time of oppression
Where accepting her skin color was only a suggestion
Her meals often scarce – She fed herself last
Crying and asking God how long it will last
When her mama left her with four younger kids
A little can of money and dirty baby cribs
Raising four siblings not the way it should have been
But my grandma chose to stay and not abandon them
She had to grow up fast – only knowing to survive
Anyway, she lost her childhood when she was only five
When some strange man had no control of his hands
He did things to her she didn’t understand
But she grew strong – Her skin thickened with years
She has swallowed pride and cried many tears
But that man – The one who tried to take her life
Didn’t know my grandma because she sure can fight
For cowards when confronted often scatter
In the mind of thieves their life mostly matters
But her – she’s already been in this place
Same situation just a different face
He tried to take the little she had to give
His strikes couldn’t take her will to live
And I sit her and wait until she opens her eyes
To another affliction she has survived
When her bruises start to heal – I can promise you
Her faith and hope in love will still stand true

Racquel Cruz, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com

~A Place Where Artists Go~

December 17, 2009 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Somewhere She Lost Her Pink

I once knew a sweet little girl
As pure as a blossomed flower
Her tiny hands and giving heart
Made it prey for a predator to devour
She tried so hard to let it go
In her mind her past will not sink
Yet through it all it didn’t matter
Somewhere she lost her pink
This child who was to be protected
Until ready to explore the world
Her tiny body was cradled instead
By a man who had different plans for her
And the small surrounding light
That made her aura glow
In time turned into black
As her body began to grow
Still she did not stop fighting
To find arms true to her heart
Only to realize there is nobody
To begin her own pure start
Tears that have gathered in the years
Have tired, wanting to be forgotten
Impure loves in the pit of her stomach
In time have become rotten
Yet somehow she deserves a right
And have sworn to give herself
The words that were meant for the gods
The many nights she cried for help
To fill her life of the happiness
She will one day in her heart find
A pure heart of strength holding her tightly
When the world is not so kind

Racquel, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

December 12, 2009 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Ignition

What causes my ignition
I play hard in a world of competition
So blind to the lady in her ragged clothes
Long stringy hair – Torn panty hose
Looks like she’s had nothing to eat
Probably hasn’t had a good meal in a week
Visions like these tug to my heart
Until it pulls me straight to my start
The start that always justifies
Lack of sentiment looking into hungry eyes
Because where I stand is where I’ve earned
Lost count of all the times I’ve been burned
Don’t know how strong love can be
I’ve learned to love only me
And you ask how I can be so cold
Find the ones with portions of my soul
Last time I heard they were all scattered
If I’d of heard more, I would have mattered
It’s all ok, in my mind I’m a realist
I swallow shit hard and throw up in jest
And how much prettier does that make me seem
Surrounded by vomit while I’m walking my dream
So I force myself to toss at least a dollar
To stop that poor lady from cursin and hollerin
Walking in the streets in this cold-cold world
She looks so familiar – Oh damn…
She’s what left of my little girl

Racquel Cruz, Founder
Artist’s Square
http://www.artists-square.com
~A Place Where Artists Go~

December 12, 2009 Posted by | Real-Life Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment