Undefined Scripts is the official ShaKena site. Poet and writer often called the ‘young Maya’ of her generation, she only hopes to be as great. In the following works, ShaKena scribes life–undefined–in the gray area outside boxes. (Click titles for full poem.)
My diary of a broken me worn on three-fourth quarter sleeves. Zoned beyond comfort, I carry with Me a different kind of love. Remiss to uncontrollable variables outside the constant, myself. I want to shear island locs from dreaded roots. Take my clothes off; dance in a waterfall. Dear love, I just want to be free.
Snap back caps turn forward a different side of you. Soon between sixteen to nineteen, green infatuation from teenage conversation, twelve-year-prior-blues foreshadowed love. Bound by a child back when I was a child, I saw Me. You’re just now feeling with your eyes wide shut but I’ve been here.
Eye level, I saw the top of the city in a green-shaded garden of statute fountains. Chirping birds whispered crickets in my ear. The sound sounded so pretty–most pretty beauty to witness, hidden in the city boxed in by buildings and barbed wire fences. Vanished. Down gravel roads. Up clouded mountains. In fish-filled ponds, alongside the slanted horizon.
I’m humbled by humility, saddened with grief, drenched in her sweat, confused by relief. The mystery of her shoulders fold on concrete, and the grim of society is scrapping her knees. Millions pass her lying on the street, but I feel her tragedy in measures beyond belief.
My story is no secret told discreet in the church’s privacy, but feel free to call it a confession… Traveling far from earlier years, understanding was unclear to ears like mine–tinted with color–many others discovered the beauty of greatness within me before me. Intimidated by me, they tried to break me by changing me to …