A Stove Doesn’t Get Jealous of a Fridge (Poem)

-The Maker labeled me as a potent creole mix,
  bred from the stern and the sturdy. 
-Call my demeanor rosewood timber.

-And in the tree’s image,
 I’m rooted
 at the base
 but have mastered swaying in gales. 

-I bare my father’s thunderous voice
 in business,
 and mom’s bellow through my own laughter.

-My ways are mellow and deep as they are untamed and
-I’m a word painter, vigorously slinging ink upon a canvas only  I and others like me have the ability to leave permanent marks.

-My pride is in being a provoker of minds and of, just as
 crucial, hearts. 

-I devour the ground with my walk—
 intentional and pronounced steps,
 for I’ve designed my life to always have somewhere to be needed.

-No limp is present or needed. 

-My site—
 rarely is it in towards land,
 towards the height of the hill,
 nor looking to see what field I’ve plowed.

-I gave at the destination with a vengeance.

-I bare the ink of tribal timelines. 
-They’re so revered in my heart,
I felt overwhelmingly compelled to wear them physically.

-My composure is mongoose, regardless of any amount of
 euphoria in my presence.

-My charm and wit complement each other
 the way thunder compliments lightning. 

-I take slow swigs without fear or embarrassment of a loose tongue. 

-I’m the life of most parties and know when to let others be that life.

-Pop culture gives me a splitting headache—
 whom whores are dating,
 who’s receiving the most cash,
 who should be worshipped,
 who should be judged,
 or what lifestyle I should imitate. 
-My ears are conditioned to be hard of hearing.

-Therefore, I miss the vampires of my energy. 

-I’m quick and, yet, cautious, not fearful,
 to love. 
-I despise those afraid to,
 for what they see as weakness is indeed strength.
-Only return it for it to be never-ending. 

-I am not the best at anything, the fastest, nor strongest, nor
 richest nor the sexiest. 
-But, I am the best at being me.

-Arrogance benefits me not. 
-I’m just obliged 
  of the vessel
  to whom I call my own.

-I’m self-aware, to be similar to many, but never cloned.

-You were made you intentionally.
-You never see the fish mad at the bird for not being able to fly. 

10 thoughts on “A Stove Doesn’t Get Jealous of a Fridge (Poem)

    1. Shelby,

      I like you. I really do. This legit made me laugh out loud. I definitely feel you on that.

      As always, I appreciate you taking time out of your day to read my work, and for reblogging I’m humbled, Shelby.

      One Love,
      The Stormy Poet

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Reblogged this on shelbycourtland and commented:
    “Pop culture gives me a splitting headache—
    whom whores are dating,
    who’s receiving the most cash,
    who should be worshipped,
    who should be judged,
    or what lifestyle I should imitate.
    -My ears are conditioned to be hard of hearing.”

    Thank you so much for this! It is right on point!


  2. Beautiful StormyPoet! (I was thinking though,if the fish were starving in a cess/pool, he might wish he were a bird, just saying..). Than you for this thought provoking, beautiful poem!


    1. Regis,

      Much obliged, sir. Thank you very much for reading my post.

      That’s definitely something to ponder. That may be true, but if there is a hurricane, the fish are chilling. 😉

      Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my work. I’m humbled, sir.

      One Love,
      The Stormy Poet


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