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Future Hopes

You might be the future
Or you might not be
The present is keeping me from that premonition
But you feel warm to me
Like summer nights and lightning bugs
You feel homey
Like imprints in couches and jeans that let me slouch
You feel like the future
Hazy yet silhouetted
I want to trust what I feel
To see more than shapes dance in the distance
But I’ve had the mirage turn on me before
Maybe I just want you to look like the future

– Victoria Angelique



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“Do you think they can see me?”
I ask myself.
Of course they can.
They have two eyes and you’re right here.
Alive and breathing still.
I wonder if they can see through my pants
See the hands that have touched my skin
See my own hands.
I wonder if they’re guessing all my secrets.
Or if the shame is written so boldly on my face
that they don’t have to.
I wonder if I throw on another layer,
will I be harder to notice?
If I throw on three will I be invisible?

m.e. peters


Art Credit: @sparksflyidraw

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The Lesson

When you left I looked for you
in all the faces I saw,
in every crowded street,
in all the places we had been.

When you left I finally understood
forever is but a moment
and happiness is usually hidden away
in all the small things.

When you left I learned so much
about myself and my defense mechanisms
about my lack of self-esteem
about all the little annoying things that made me.

I cried at first.
I felt such void.
When you left
I thought life was over.
So I should thank you,
for showing me myself,
for showing me I’m stronger than that
for letting me know there’s so much more to life than you.
© Máh Lima

Photo by Eric Nopanen on Unsplash

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Ruby Embers

Was it still night?
There was no instant
way of knowing this.
Despair tried to sidle
in, cooing, “Look at all
you could have done.”

The fire in her eyes
teetered on giving in,
burning down to ruby
embers and cloudy ash.
A familiar pattern of
exhaustion was clear,
decaying at her lips.
What remained?
An enthusiasm the
opposite of lovely.

She tried to stand
but there was a buckle
at her knees, keen
and windy. Sometimes
a word can’t be recalled
and it only acts as a game
within your consciousness.

Listening for clues, even cruel
extremities mixed in her thoughts–
she still hoped, but she found only
conversations spoken through poetry.




Photo Credit: Lanaya, Jersey City, NJ

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Burnt Offerenings

Riding the backs of black cats,

my team of witches crossed under several ladders.

We stormed through the town breaking mirrors,

while preaching the doctrine:

“7 years of bad luck doesn’t matter.”

Breathing life into the town folk dispelling vanity,

with quotes that evoke, whom you ask?

Burnt offerings covering the open skies in smoke,

as we laugh. Again they inquire, we stoke the fire and chant “who wants to know!? who wants to know!?”

Knowing not if they carry the intent of friend or foe,

we keep our rituals a secret.

For those who forget History,

are those condemned to repeat it.

We know well, we have seen it.

Aboriginals stripped of everything original.

Imperial genocide of their entire lives

with added connotations surrounding their black origins, becoming hijacked and demonized.

Caution has become our ally,

essential for our survival and revival.

Once labeled tradition,

twice labeled religion

and thrice superstition,

diluting our convictions to mere belief.

Who wants to know?

Who wants to know?

Our chanting will never cease.”

– Ricardo Hanley Jr.

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Cracked Emotions

We walk on eggshells
Tiptoeing through bars
Pronouncing each and every vowel
Dotting our I’s and crossing those T’s
Otherwise someone might become accusatory

Yes, we are living in an unfair society
Yes, freedom isn’t free
But not every symbol is a direct sign of hate
There are several ways to look at everything
Some see the American flag as a symbol of hope
A reminder of those who fought to protect our rights
While others choose to look at is as a reminder of the rights
that so many people are refused

My question is this:
Should we not still honor those that died,
so that we can openly protest?
Someone asked me recently whose side I’m on.
Sighing, I said, “I’m pro-human! Everybody’s equal.”



Photo Credit: Lanaya


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Fall Break Down

Fall is a time to wind down

Relax to the sound of bonfires

Wooden logs crackling, flames dancing

Breathe in the smell of pine cones

Listen for the familiar crunch underfoot

Feet drudge through leaves of every shade

A vision of red, orange and yellow

Scattered along the ground

Trees shake off a year’s worth of stress

Ready to expose bones before winter’s call

So do we.



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THIS AIN’T YOUR MAMA’S ART MAGAZINE: The Sistah Cafe Review for Genre: Urban Arts Mag

This ain’t your mama’s art magazine

“At Genre: Urban Arts we get to see art that is not mainstream but with a more of an urban independent feel.  We get to read poetry that when imagined is spoken.  We get to see art that should be shared everywhere.  Here graffiti is not a taboo or deemed as vandalism but a beautiful extension of the feelings of the artists who put it there.”

The Sistah Cafe

Continue reading THIS AIN’T YOUR MAMA’S ART MAGAZINE: The Sistah Cafe Review for Genre: Urban Arts Mag