Under Angelou's Influence

Engulfed with besotted fanaticism, I tried to assimilate what I'd just read. The words were red in indication of an inflated danger, my brain cells scrambling for reasons to want to understand the meaning of the locution of the world’s poetic mother.

Maya made me understand the power of words. In demotivated feelings and slurred moods, poetry proved to be the missing piece of my social et creative puzzle. Creating virtual opinions and rendering solutions to third world dimensional problems through humble yet bigoted approaches.

I buy guts from literal gods, and since we're prone to chokes from earthly hounds, redeeming temporal and even longterm songs could be sung from poetry works.

Maya told me I was a fish thriving in the Sahara. My environment usually contains motherboards, but in my modern tech flaws I've found that my literary works are a ground floor to success galore.

She appeared to me in an imaginary dream, beaming with confidence as she instilled in me her power and legacy. It's why when read, my words sound like angels speaking.

My mama’s Sarah cause my birth saved her. Times without number my presence have subdued consequences.

I've have more trials than errors and I air my wrongs when I misfire.

My blood's thicker than water. Blacker than carbon nanotubes burnt unreacted in fire.

My resonance is infectious to every persons like Naples beside Pompeii during the eruption of mount Vesuvius.

My kindness is furious. Built upon a foundation that can only be traced back to Angelou's influence.