WHEN A WOMAN FEELS

When a woman loves it intrigues,
Her siblings, friends, colleagues
Her gracious warmth and care stands in a league of its own
And the loyalty that’s shown may as well be carved in stone.
When she says she loves you
She defends your life, honor and anything in between
And after motherhood with those emotions heightened
She cares a little more
Sees you a little differently
Appreciates you a little past when she did before
A woman who loves is a companion worth living for.

When a woman feels
She skips, she glides, she twirls
And like by the wave of a magic wand
She's turned into a little girl.
Daydreaming of kisses and someday becoming his misses
This is just an abyss of bliss reality sometimes dismisses
But when she begins to love a man the fantasy vanishes
As she embodies all her desires, dreams and wishes.
She no longer just wants to be his wife,
She becomes the pillar of strength he needs in his life
And his strife for success becomes hers as well
For when a woman loves there’s no story of endurance her voice can't tell.
A woman in love bears passion so intense she beams
and sometimes it seems a bit extreme
but behind closed doors it's what makes her scream.
He's never heard so loudly his first, middle and last names
plus that of a few supreme beings
a woman's love is the most passionate of all things.

A woman's heart breaks along with her body and soul
Her head aches as her mind loses control
Pieces of her shattered self know not where to fall
she feels everything at once yet nothing at all.
Numb-founded at the pain, dumbfounded at the idea of trust again
but she hides it behind eyes clear and white
without a single trace of the past teary nights.
And when the hurt threatens to trickle down her eyes,
She shies away and cries them dry till they once again tell the “I’m fine” lie
A woman broken-hearted struggles to live after she has died.

So hold her gently
Love her sweetly
Kiss her warmly
Speak to her softly
She likes to look tough but inside she’s as fragile as a child
She sometimes seems hardened but beneath as easy as a smile
Show her there’s nothing to be scared of
For it’s a beautiful thing when a woman comes to love
Tales in a thousand tongues can’t tell it well enough.

Inspired by Efo Dela's ars poetica: When A Man Feels [ http://t.co/HgpwfAmO ]

MORE THAN WOMAN

She's more than woman
But sometimes she forgets
Let's call her empress, goddess
Silent conqueror of all conquests.
She forgets her stride suggests and merge in the land where beauty rests
Where femininity and the intuitive fest
She's more than woman
And though history can attest
Very often she forgets.

She's more than just woman
But often he won't admit
She silences his cries through the comfort she provides
Be it from her soothing embrace, the warmth in her eyes
To the wetness that lies right between her thighs.
Still she holds him till he comes to realize the essence she emits
She's more than woman
But very rarely he admits.

So much more than just woman words could never describe
And with Biblical verses inscribed long before all she's done
She outruns the songs of Proverbs thirty-one.
She's deemed mere definitions latent
Blatantly rendering adjectives understatements.
She is more than woman
The virtual builder of each palace, castle and home
Sole constructor of its throne
Yet humbled not to occupy but beside it stand alone
The satisfaction gained remains her own.
Her patience often mistaken for complacence
Even so she adorns its fragrance and for it she is known.

She is more than woman
Incomparable in her ways
Desirable in her gaze
Models and vixens abide the pace her grace has made
And the timelessness of her remains unfazed.
She is more than woman
When the world's asleep her cape stays worn
So I prefix her with super
I call her Superwoman.

I PAINT

I want to paint an abstract picture

That speaks words of poetry and quotes scripture

Mesmerize you with hues that could maybe bewitch ya

Shade your dark skies with blues 

And introduce to you brighter future.

Cheers to a new culture

A new day where the lay bird fears not the vulture

Nor eagles, nor hawks, nor the angry fist of nature.

Here lies traces of red, blue, green and yellow

Pink, brown, orange and all the tints that follow

Goodbye to mediocrity and things that shallow

And to depth and the impossible, we greet “hello”.

Pick up your brush and paint with me

The world is our canvas rightfully.