The True extexts of me

If I could write my story what would the title be?
How could I show the world the true extents of me?
Some pages would be dark the others so bright one could not see,
How could I show the world the true extents of me?
I've stared forlorned in mirrors wondering what I could actually be
I could make the world mine if through my eyes they could see.

What if I wrote a story in which had my heart ache and pain?
Could one read the pages? Through my hurt could someone gain?
Maybe anothers sunshine could emerge from my rain,
We all know life is a journey in which we loose and yes we gain
So yes; maybe someones sunshine could emerge from my rain.
Truth be told there was hurt but it wasn't all just pain.

I'll just have to contemplate just what this title would be.
The title of the book that holds the true extents of me
There would be so much growth within the pages one would see
So much passion,love and lust that creates the being that I be
I could write it all down and make it plain for all to see
Hey the title of my book can be "The True Extents of Me"!


In the pages you will find a will that no one has ever broken
A faith and love for God too deep for any words of it to be spoken
There's solemon nights of hurt and and joy with the sun as if it were awoken
I see it all now within the pages I would lay myself open
I could stretch myself out and say the things that are yet unspoken
Explain the things that offer the complexities within me woven.




Would you read this book I ask you?
With blood words and marrow true?
Sprawled out with its essence pure and open and new?
Exposing what I fear and all the things that make me blue?
My physhe yours to know and revealed to just sift through
And if I wrote it well would you read it-I ask you?


But how could I express within the pages who is me?
It seems like a great idea until I think about how it could be
To compose a work reflecting the woman that no one sees.
The one that is seen within my eyes that is fighting to be free
The things that comprise who I am the things that seem to define
me.
I could show my ample flowing and undying sexuality
Or my softness that as a woman is defined as femininty
As long as I am saying it we'd watch my hips that flow as the braches on a tree
And delve into the moments of my inelegancies
Finding within the pages times unflattering to see
But without those times there is no way to see the true extents of me
Without watching how I love as if in full interrengency
And how I will endure so much pain just so others can be free
Or even how my word is bond just for the sake of loyalty
I would allow ones fingers to carress the silkeness that contructs me
And watch as they move over areas with abrasion and debris
I would wonder if there is understanding of my true intellegency
Or if they could imagine the soul that cries from within mutedly
Or follow the clave rhythm of a drum that within me beats
If I could write it down and make it plain for all to see
Then there laid out in blood and marrow would be---- The True Extents of me......