9/11/2017 0 Comments Poetry by Melissa AmatoTo Innocence We are lonely as children, In the wayward crests Of the oceans with, No clothing or coral. Bare as our tar, Like words seeping into our souls. We crave the simplicity, Of the 90’s Percent of the time. We are throwing tantrums again. With protests and picket lines, Standing in circles wallowing, Fighting emblazed with tears In our eyes. Learning more times over and over, Our parents, Among presidents were never right. We are scared in the dark, Of blue violence, In tears gas. Bombs splitting atoms, Yet the lack of science in a single Gunshot. I miss the fields of summer Time lunches. Of how long afternoons Used to be, How long lives used to be. Describing relatives as old. Wondering if we’ll even make it through The day. We are children again. Misguided by power, Money buying more than We can chew. We can never return to innocence, For we have all seen, Ignorance, far too much. Unplug Wired, A frenzy of thoughts blazing, Throughout indiscretions. And uncertainty. Screens lit up with lights, No one’s ever home. Punches of electrical energy, Pulsing through veins, Bursting with caffeine, Pills to keep us alive. We are not personas, Jammed packed with buzzing Bees words, Sweet nectar of lies Can cover the lack of connection. A dial up noise, Giving us migraines Late at night. We can choose. Choice is not a luxury, But a right. The consent of saying, How easy it is to lie, Among sheeps of Followers. He touches my skin with gentleness, No attention glazing over. Unplug into each other. Returning to something dark, Yet wonderful. When I Wrote My First Poem When I wrote my first poem, I layed on my floor with my hands out to my sides, Bloodied with writing so furiously. I layed underneath sheets with hand held lights, At three in the morning, Scribbling rubbish onto paper, Rhyming endless sentences In order to captivate, The audience, Of my teddy bears. Hallways were runways of hatred it seemed, With undiagnosed misinterpretation, Of a high school student. No one was listening to the fools who wrote Verse. When I wrote my first poem, I was illiterate. Sounding off vibrations as a child, Screeching into the air to figure out if anyone, Just anyone might be listening. They were not. I knew. When I wrote this poem, I laughed into the words scripted onto the page, As all of my electronic correspondence were of, Denials into any type of Salon. I was deemed too new, Too young, Always. “Children don’t have feelings, They don’t feel. They’re simply not human after, All.” My teller using the term, “It sounds like you swallowed an adult,” After hearing my gospel. They weren’t interested in hearing, My woes. It was understood as scribble, It still is today. What has she suffered through? What does this child know about, Suffering? What did I ever know, Knew about this poetry I wrote? Bio: Melissa Amato is a 23 year old poet who grew up in the rural town of Albany, New York. After moving to Queens, New York to attend university at St. John’s University, Melissa began to immerse herself in the slam poetry culture of Brooklyn and Queens. During this time, Melissa grew her online presence by writing for popular Manhattan websites PuckerMob and Green Rush Daily. Her article, “Why Relationships Don’t Always Have To Take It Slow,” was featured in the Millennial book, Trying to Adult. Melissa moved to Toronto in the year of 2016 with the love of her life. She began to fall in love with the culture of Canada, which changed her life forever. Her writing is influenced by her Hindu faith, as well as her experience “growing up” in both the United States and Canada. Her debut as a Toronto poet can be seen in the second edition of Blood and Bourbon with her poem, “Reincarnation,” as well as through performances at her own open mic creation, “My Name Is…”.
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