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


I received a message from the owner of that 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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She was constantly battling tainted thoughts

that were grotesque in the way that their goal

was always to destroy her, bring her down.

Could someone have the ability to see her calm?

To entice it? To think it was graceful and angelic?

She imagined it would be like spotting a rare butterfly

or catching a glimpse of how a waterfall glimmers on a

precise angle of the sun–fleeting, yet a moment to treasure.



Photography: Lanaya @writing.for.the.calm


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Controlled Burn

Gone are the days of spitting words

at each other like wildfires.

Sparks that caught too quickly

that even our tears could not quell the damage.

Look how our passionate fire turned toxic.

But you of all people should know

that even the oldest forests must burn down,

if only to make room for fresh growth.

Our controlled burn was inevitable.

How else to cleanse our love-soaked soil

turned hazardous.

So we back-burned

leveling our ground,

before distance could poison the

seeds of our once blossoming friendship.

We burned ourselves into silence,

Clearing the way for

sincere attempts at life after love.

Sometimes we must set ourselves alight

Just to begin anew.

And (re)growing we are,

even if our roots are no longer




Photography: Lanaya @writing.for.the.calm


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Turn the Truth Up! – Rico Lowe Jr. (@panafrico)

Lies be dancing on the tips
of slithering tongues.

saddling the wind, looking for
gullible ears to slide into.

but truth walks with volume.

each step distanced between
long, rhythmic strides.

turn the truth up,
and watch the lies silently die.




Writing: Rico Lowe Jr. @panafrico

Photography: Lanaya @writing.for.the.calm

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Frequent Flyer

Ironic don’t you think?

Even clipped

These wings instinctively move with the wind,

They’re slapping at my face

Hoping I fall from the sky

Pulling but I keep pushing

Must be hunting season

Feels like I’ve got a target on my back

Critics don’t cut me any slack

I just smile and keep writing

Silently flying

On my way to the top

It’s a lonely ride

But I’m not ready to stop.


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Dear Child

Dear younger self

Well child

You’ve turned 18

Reached the pinnacle of adulthood, right?

Here’s a rolled up newspaper

Make sure you whack those wolves hard

They mean business

Out for blood

Be wary of those that are familiar

They’ll stab you in the heart, far faster than strangers

Oh, and believe me, not everyone has your best interests in mind

You’ll learn that lesson with time

Good luck, it’s a wild jungle out there.


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Penny with a (w)hole

Sing to me the song your mirror sings
Of copper tones
Flesh and bones
Of spirited, clipped wings
Of vinyl and aluminum
Can you fit your fingers in?
The two holes of the cassette tape?
The rod stem of the woodwinds?
They say a penny with a hole in it
Still plays a tune
If you dare to position your needle
On its bleeding wound
Tell me, do you prefer an audience?
Or an empty room?
Dare to tell them…at the very least
The bullet pierced right through
The music that raised us
Required human touch
Forbidden love…sweaty, gutsy lust
Yeah, sing to me that song
Like only you can
It’s your mirror after all
Your weekend. Your man.
Everyone is sharing this weekend with you
Looks like they’re sharing him too
But they can’t share the whiny croon…
…of the mirror image
That looks back at you
Only your soul
Can sing that tune


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Some things take time for you to appreciate its true value.
Late bloomer or not, a flower is admired for its beauty. Yet, the fragrance in its essence is what’s coveted.
⠀⠀⠀ Continue reading ESSENCE

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I go to the hospital so often

with one undiagnosable illness

after the other

that I can recognise the doctors

and automatically know which department they work for

it only takes my mind a few seconds to place them

after all, they’ve all treated me at least three times

if not ten

my broken body was a toll so heavy

it broke my mind

physical illness

morphed into mental illness

like humans shapeshift into lycans

except this change wasn’t mythical


-oh, how I wish it was mythical