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Rebecca Wolff

You are perfect for me

About this Poem 

“I don’t know much about love but I know when someone’s reading my mind! This poem is one of those that just occurred, like love does.”
Rebecca Wolff

You are perfect for me

Rebecca Wolff

because you’re psychic
no one else could understand me
the way you

do and

I say
Drink Me

I say it to you silently
but it calls forth in me

the water for you
the water you asked for

Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Wolff. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Wolff. Used with permission of the author.

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Toi Derricotte speaking with Claudia Rankine and Juan Felipe Herrera backstage. Poets Forum, New York City, 2014
collection

Women Poets in History

A collection of essays and ephemera about several women poets whose lives and work have influenced American poetry.

poem

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maya Angelou
1978