Posted on

To an old friend.

Photograph by Samihah Pargas

I wrote your name on an empty page and

suddenly it seemed full.

Our memories fill in the blank spaces when my words aren’t enough.

They never are.

Yet you hold onto them the way you held my heart

when it was too heavy for me to carry.

You are home. You are

tear stained ink on pages of poetry for quiet nights.

You are the words I seek but never find.

You made us beautiful to read about.

– Samihah Pargas
– IG: Shadesofherink

Posted on

35,000 Choices Revisited

Having a muse is kinda the bomb. You have this figure that ignites creativity in you. This person can also be seen as a trigger. Alas, that’s where I am. I don’t know if I like living like this. I can, however, attest that this fucking feeling has taken me across the country. I think that’s the biggest change in my life. Confidence. I started focusing on myself. I had spent years trying to help others. Grant it, some people don’t want help. Forcing it on them actually causes them to “hate” you. You are trying to do something for another person, but it is seen as controlling? Sigh. Continue reading 35,000 Choices Revisited

Posted on

Towers Descended from Space

Little towers, peaks undercut from the sun
Stretching higher before they’re gone
Rushing waves and sweltering winds
Brush harshly, scratching rock thin
A catalyst of working art
A conversation to start
Passing eyes linger upon its shadow
Watch it grow and grow
mark upon the setting stone
stretched before its blown
brick by brick
they rise and stick
a monument to our progressive wit
as dusk proceeds to vanish
our laughs turn to anguish.

For more content follow me on Instagram.

https://www.instagram.com/readingbread_/

Posted on

Industrial Art Complex

The fatigue of complex emotions can leave you creatively exhausted. How many hills must you climb? How many sleepless nights must you endure? Where does creativity come from? It is so difficult to piece together, where everything starts and ends. In all of that calamity, there is a beginning.

Continue reading Industrial Art Complex

Posted on

my mouth has been looking for you

my mouth is full of words
that wish to fall into someone’s lap
to burrow into a chest and root
they wish to coil and dig
into marrow and blood
so deeply that only god could
pull them from that someone

my mouth is full of wanting
of sweetness that wishes to
erase the bitterness from lips
that have searched too long
for an ocean of woman to drown in

my mouth is full of stars
awaiting a constellation
that will turn this love into
mythology to be mimed by
our children when they grow up

my mouth is full of forever
infinity tucked against my ribs
nestled against the curve of you
and our names are no longer
two separate worlds but one sound

(image by George Coletrain via unsplash)

Posted on

Why?

Why do you hate us?

 

Perhaps it’s the way we become one with the sun.

The way Spanish dances on our tongues,

a language not native to your blood.

 

Our skin embellished with invisible scars.

Roadmaps our ancestors left us to conquer

your vile hearts.

 

Is it not enough that you’ve deemed us the

unwanted guest of our homes?

You ban us from the soil where

we’ve planted seeds,

then harvest the fruit

and determine whose worthy of eating.

 

You feed off our pain and make a mockery

of our plights.

 

Steal our children, like a thief In the night.

Break up families, like we break bread.

 

A force of evil so grotesque

That demon’s themselves

look at you with admiration.

 

You were never deserving.

My ancestors were too kind.

The day you got off that ship

The devil laughed in delight.

Posted on

Milwaukee’s Latino Youth Speak Out in New Music Video, El Color De La Libertad

Amidst divisive national debate over immigration and policies that separate families, the new student lead music video El Color De La Libertad gives voice to Latino youth, providing a powerful perspective on freedom in the United States.



The product of a collaboration between Jazale’s Art Studio and Alexander Mitchell Integrated Arts School, El Color De La Libertad (The Color of Freedom) combines the words of Latino 7th grade students with the talents of Milwaukee-based musicians MC(mikal), Klassik, SistaStrings, and filmmaker Wes Tank.  Continue reading Milwaukee’s Latino Youth Speak Out in New Music Video, El Color De La Libertad

Posted on

Blue-Andra

The truth about this painting is that this girl named Andra is from Germany. When she was here in Buenos Aires on the last Christmas, she was sad because she was missing Berlin’s Christmas. She said missed the cookies, cakes, chocolates and all the things they are used to eating during the season.

Here’s to you, Andra!

 

By @mayrotoyart

Posted on

Do..or

The kitchen cabinets.

The bathroom upon entering

and exiting.

The dryer. And the washer.

The back door. Closed but unlocked.

Overnight.

Even once, the car door

after retrieving our sleeping baby.

Then there was that time

in the new house

when we christened it loudly.

The bedroom door –

a forgotten necessity.

And our first guest in the living room –

also forgotten.

Cheeks red; body a seated statue.

Maybe he thought we’d done it on purpose?

That’s what I would have thought.

Forgotten doors

left open

on purpose.

You always forgot to close the fucking door!

Always!

And I…I sat with my legs open

then. Still.

Posted on

Lips, hips, and thighs…..Oh my! House Party Exhibition.

I’m so proud to announce my next exhibition Lips, hips, and thighs….oh my!

I’m curating this exciting exhibition with an amazing team of women and my business partner Lex from Save the World. It’s an all-female art show that will take place in Chicago at the Dub Hub and the cool part about it is that it has MAJOR house party vibes! We will have DJs, live performances, catered food, and amazing talent and its FREEEEEE, yup, you heard right FREEEE!

Continue reading Lips, hips, and thighs…..Oh my! House Party Exhibition.

Posted on

12 Month Check-In

I felt absolutely shook to the core. Obliterated by words that once spoke niceties…now these syllables are placated lullabies lobbed together with “um’s”. How pathetic to have thoughts of yesteryear to come forth bearing any fruit. All rotted to the core. Studded with “we are only friends”…that friendship cost you our love. Alas, you say you were miserable and you were giving me time. Time? Where was this time? Was I to assume where you stood? Speak up.

Your words would cut like a knife. Now suddenly that cat has got that tongue. What type of creature are you? Vial belittling monster masquerading as a lamb. I look over lids to peer into dark pools in which I drown. There is no lifeguard on deck. All the floating bodies serve as rafts and I am not able to swim.

 

@christinamariewatkins

Posted on

Middle Aisles

How am I supposed to rid myself

Of this gnawing in my belly?

The lies that sit there

Will surely eat me from the inside out

The gut is a funny place

It does not like to be empty

Refusing to wait on the truths

That grow slowly in our gardens

Overly full of the easily accessible

Packaged lies

All up ‘n down

The middle aisles
I believe I’ll walk on. See what the end will be.

 

Posted on

Black Woman

a poem by Evany Martinez

How do you tell her she’s too

loud when you silenced her for

Centuries.

 

Too strong when she has to work light

years ahead of you just to catch up.

 

Too violent with your scars

etched Into her back.

 

Too dark when your spirit is

composed of ashes from her

ancestors.

 

Too wild.

Too real.

Too raw.

 

That must be why you

can only rise if she falls.

Posted on

Tight Rope Talking

a poem by Sarah Chafin

I’m waiting for you to call,

inviting me to another game

of telephone

I hear, you say

I play

person in the middle

tip-toeing on rope tight

emotions

between everyone

I love

not sure how to feel,

what to say

or if I should

say anything

at all

because anything I say

could be the thing

that causes

this entire family

to crumble

into dust

 

-tightrope talking

Posted on

COUNTRY OF MIND

a poem by James Martin

I do not recognise
My city
I do not recognise
My country
Not because
I do not have one
But because I have too many
Worldwide
But isolated
I do not have the poles
Or the canvas
To build my own tent
Only a sleeping bag to roll up
Then move on
And flee
This dead city of mind
This barren country of mind
This long tall history of mind
With its flags
And its books
And their songs
And their words
Which can only fill holes
In its ash-ridden borders
And not the vast depths
Of its fathomless heart
Still alive
And yet distant
Like the faint beat of its waves
Still here –
In this blown speck of dust
Caught in its bright piercing light

 

Posted on

She was Love.

She in herself was

impervious to the tension of the earth

for her exterior to crumble,

for earthquaking carcinogens

to filter,

to trickle,

to dismantle.

She was ethereal.

Her footsteps tread lightly.

Her head held in a manner that

whosoever glimpsed her beauty

would question the absence of wings at her back

would not feign respect

He thought that was so at least.

She was a shapeshifter.

Merely unfolding the aspect of herself that was most pleasing

to the sort of man who still needs someone to save

like a prince who needs to wake some distraught maiden with his kiss.

Except this wasn’t that.

Chivalry isn’t dead.

I probably should have warned him,

but her execution was flawless.

He was drawn to her much like

those who are dry tongued seek water.

Similarly, to how those in the desert

come eventually to a palmed tree oasis

prepared to quench thirst.

He sought her,

but she, too, was merely a mirage.

 

Posted on

Nervous Nelly

Her shattered nerves
often went into
a frenzy,
sending signals
straight into her veins.
A carrier of anxiety,
it was always with her;
in the sting of her
flushed cheeks,
you could see the burden
forming in her eyes.
You see, her fragile state wasn’t
merely a character flaw
caught by her disposition, it was
in her nature, it was simply—
who she was.

©️ Heather Lynn Matthews