WingSpan Poetry Project


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I Am

I am the hope on Christmas morning
I am the juice of summer’s blueberry harvest
I am the joy of a long lost lover
I am the song of an early morning praise
I am the writer of a destiny awaiting
I am the heart of wild souls uncaged
I am the melody of a gentle brook flowing
I am the strength of the trees against the storm
I am the roar of immense waterfalls
I am the mystery of a cave unexplored
I am the victory at the top of the mountain
I am the serenity found in the meadows below
I am the sweat that glistens like dew drops
I am the shelter like a rugged aged barn
I am the security of padlocks on doors
I am the peace keeper of battles yet fought
I am the bast that will kill without thought
Fuck withe me not
I am the gypsy that shall never be caged
I am the instigator that will rattle your rage
I am the one that is never defeated
I am the fighter
I am the warrior
Victim I am Not


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Zuzu’s Friend

I am the fire that mixes with water to brighten the sky in a crackling roar called lightning.

I am the curtain you see in a play that opens and closes.

I am the darkness when you first turn off the light.

I a the shock you feel after hearing the word “fuck.”

I am the pain your skin feels after popping a pimple.

I am the stem of a feather–the unsoft part you use to put ink in sometimes.

I am as sensitive as silk is to a kitten’s claws.

You see, I am changing, I am changing.
I stand in good relation to being random.
I stand in good relation to sobriety.
I stand in good relation to my dreams.
I stand in good relations to the daughter of Rebekah.
You see, I am changing. I am changing.

~ Inspired by N. Scott Momaday’s “The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee”

by Rea

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3 Letters from Rea

Dear Steve,
Thank you for smiling
in your homemade lunch
may this note bring  you joy
for all that you’ve done for others.
` Rea


Dear Roller Coaster,
Do you remember me?
They let me ride you when I.was not tall enough
I was afraid of feeling left out for being small.
They were afraid to tell me no.

You did what you were made to do.
Yet, you didn’t bring me joy like you were intended to.

Thank you for setting me free.
I forgive you for being yourself.
Even though we will never meet again,
your lesson lives with me forever.

What my pain was caused by in my neck
was never your intent.
to love myself as I am
to not be something more.
I am enough already.

A child without the guilt of being
no shame in remembering
the joy of being still.
~ Rea


Dear Butterfly,
Your symbol is used by many
so powerful and free.

The shame of resenting you
I”d like to let go.

A woman who hurt me wore a tattoo of you
and I was mad at your image ever since.

Thank you for helping me transform
to let go of that old shell of me.

May I be worthy to meet that woman again
without discord or contempt.

In years to come may she not be harmed
nor your journey to the sky

The flight you take inspires me
your colors also do.

A woman I would like to be
Humble. Wise. Serene.
~ Rea

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Dear Songs

Late last night your melodies
and loudness banged continuously
against my ear drums. The high
volume ever so soothing!
The mustard-colored thin blanket
was pulled up around my shoulders
my feet tucked in around the edges.
As I listened to you with my eyes closed,
I was safe … like the love I daydreamed
about receiving from my mother.
The difference being the love
from your songs is real, and the desired
love that I craved from my mother
is only imagined …

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I took your kiss in the morning dew.
You left me wet and yet …
The sun was shining through.
I felt your breath.
My love, what is left?
I watched you blossom
My sweetest flower.
always in your finest hour.
I saw your eclipse
you blinded me
when you kissed my lips
I laid down in your earthly bed.
Oh, sweet slumber
I’m losing my head.
I taste your honeysuckle on my tongue
It’s as if the birds had already sung.
with every dawn you leave me wanting.

so beautiful
and yet so haunting

My love
My love
You leave me breathless!

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Dirty Laundry

Can’t wash away the words
written in permanent ink.
Can’t cleanse the soul.
Wash them down the sink.

Shove that dirty laundry
in someone else’s machine.
Maybe they’ll make it brighter.
Maybe they’ll get it clean.

Dirty little demons
grunge your unclean world.
Try some holy water.
Take it for a whirl.

Scrub until your knuckles bleed.
Rub till there’s a hole.
Can’t get your dirty laundry clean
It’s stained your very soul.

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What Triggers My Hope

The answer to a situation, before the question,
as a confirmation of awareness to my
Higher Power

Taking a step in a new direction
feels right when the next piece of my mind puzzle
reveals itself.

Going from confusion and forgetting to breathe
a new idea grasps my intention then smiles
start in my eyes and poke out of my lips.

In the midst of tangled mind is the in-
finite cosmos, right here and right now.