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Genre: Urban Arts Awarded and Ranked Amongst the Top 100 Urban Blog

 
 
 
 

I received a message from the owner of Feedspot.com that GenreUrbanArts.com received ranking amongst the Top 100 Urban Blogs on Feedspot!
 
I have been working at this for a little over a year, and only since November 2016 have I had a consistent team of contributors & editors.
 
I am so excited and thankful that my work and my team’s work is being recognized. You can read more about the list here.
 
A huge thank you to my team of editors and contributors. Genre: Urban Arts only is viable because of them.
 
Thank you!
 
 
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Super Bag Lady

baby girl…

dump all of that shit out of all of those bags

line those empty bags on the bed of which you sleep

on the bed that you make love on

on the bed you kneel before to pray

undo the seams

whether you choose to cut or tear them is completely up to you

take that golden thread from grandmother’s old sewing box

and arrange a quilt from the pieces of each bag – edge to edge…

end to end

(so many bags!  holding so much shit!)

on really bad days, the quilt will double as your cape

and on cold days, it will warm and soothe you

from the outside in.  from the inside out.

as you make your rounds…  bag-free and fuckin’ shit up

remember that we are made of rare, ancestral cloth and golden seams

…forgo the paper and the plastic

 

It is not so easy…being golden thread

When everyone expects everything to be so entirely seamless…

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The Wolf

His are my favorite to ever look into, eyes so fierce they saw right through. He knew how to draw me in, he loved me all night.  But once morning came, I was devoured by his bite.  I long for the softness of the sheep I know is there, it’s just hidden far beneath the wolves course hair.  I could plainly see, I wasn’t totally hopeless, I loved him even though I knew he was ferocious.  Knowing at that time, I was just his prey, how could he help it, he was raised that way.  Now I am just one of the pack, but I know each blue moon, to me he’ll come back.

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No Refunds or Exchanges

Tick
Tock
Hear that clock
Seconds fade into minutes
Minutes crash head-on with hours
Hours collide and slide right on into days
Time
It never waits
So grab life by the pendulum
Swing
Swing with all you got

Tick
Tock
Smash that clock!
Take every moment
Own it!
Only one person can make your decisions
And that person is staring back at you

Reflections are determined
By the view
Don’t let anyone steal your shine
The memories wasted on hate
Are memories better spent on fulfillment
No greater revenge than success
Climb on top of that ivory tower
Proclaim to the world
“This is my time!”
Time waits for no one

Tick
Tock
Hear that clock
Wake up
Put societies expectations to rest
Show this nation
That dreams can be achieved
No matter where you are conceived
See, time doesn’t look at the color of skin
It doesn’t care how much money you have in the bank
Can’t throw dollar bills at it to make it freeze
And you sure can’t take possessions with you when you leave

Hustle hard
But don’t break your bones
For shiny cars or a new iPhone
Last I heard, Heaven doesn’t get ringtones
Hustle hard
Collecting the things that count
Love isn’t measured in currency
Unplug and reconnect with those who matter most

What a tragedy
Faces glued to digital screens
By the time we look up
Our children are teens
Copying our behavior
The cycle is never ending
Generation after generation
Nodding their heads
But not really listening
When will they listen?

Is it any wonder homes are broken?
Hands full but hearts empty
Everybody busy
Thinking they have all a guaranteed tomorrow
Yet guarantees don’t come easily
With life
There are no receipts

Tick
Tock
Time keeps moving on
Hear that clock?

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Kleptomaniac

I have run out of electricity.
I would have eaten the sun
Had I known the lights behind my eyes
Would refuse to light up
When I welcomed you

Ever since you visited
Like a kleptomaniac
I have forgotten how to welcome another
To a house that can never belong to him

You dove into my body with mouthfuls.
I would have drank the ocean
Had I known I was not a tsunami enough
For a thirsty man
When I welcomed you

Ever since you visited
Like a kleptomaniac
My body has come to understand
Why it is that airports have a baggage allowance

-Nicole Ruth
(Image via freeasabee.tumblr.com)
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What Love Tastes Like

     Ever wonder what the word, “Love,” might taste like on your tongue?

     I’m not just speaking of sex, I mean after all that is done.  

     When you’re laying side by side or walking along the beach,

when just sitting across the

table, seems like he’s too far out of reach.  

     When all throughout your life, he’s been in every song that you have sung, 

     when you’ve had this love for him, since you were very young. 

     When he was your first, and he’s still the one.

     So when I say, “I love you,” this is what it tastes like in my mouth,

     Now for a little fun, my tongue’s going to head down south.

 

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Photography: Sometimes it is Created

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Scrolling through Jeremiah Roundtree’s Instagram that has newly graced the social media platform, I immediately get the feeling that I am a voyeur of an extreme talent. The items selected for photography aren’t of things that outside of a normal person’s grasp or line of sight; however, the beauty that is captured in these ordinary things through Jeremiah’s Samsung phone and via editing makes me feel like I haven’t seeing the world exactly right.

Continue reading Photography: Sometimes it is Created