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Nahi

I survived an earthquake
and my soul is still shaking inside
bones rattling
my heart beating too fast

 

what if I just trapped myself into a bigger mess
I survived an earthquake
I fought the earth
and the stars
I changed my way
I saved myself

 

and yet here I am
with hope hiding behind me
hoping to not be taken away
from the monstrous beast
depression that keeps
taunting me
telling me
stupid girl,
you were never meant to be happy
you were never meant to
have love that treated you right

 

and I don’t think I have it in me
to stand up again
to fight back
so I just whisper
I just whisper to myself
nahi nahi nahi

 

and someday I might
hold my self together
sew my self back up
and fight

 

but for now, I just whisper nahi

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For the People! a podcast

For the People!

a podcast

Why for the people? It should always be about the people.

We want to invite all readers of Genre: Urban Arts to become listeners to a new element of our diverse creative space.

During the podcast, we’ll discuss art in various spaces. Music, poetry, graffiti art, spoken word, amongst other things. We’ll also talk about creating that book, writing that blog post, making that creative outlet, and above all identifying yourself with art and it’s benefits towards a happier life.

We are…

For the People!

Aarav

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Top 10 Posts of 2017 — No. 8

Dear Daughters

by M.E. Peters

IG:@m.e.peters

Read other work by Molly at:

GenreUrbanArts.com

Dear daughters,

I hope when you look up at me
you see more than surviving.
I hope you can smell gunpowder
on my torn open flesh-
see the wounds dripping from me
and know how hard I fought
to be your mother. Continue reading Top 10 Posts of 2017 — No. 8

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CALL FOR COVER ART!

CALL FOR COVER ART!

Photographers & Visual Artists of all mediums submit your original art to us to be considered for the cover of our No. 3 magazine.

Send high-quality images to INFO@GenreUrbanArts.com by December 1st.

Thank you so much for your support!

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Plump Orange With Undertones Of Apple

I come in and drop my bags. We arrived. 2 cats and our little lady for a month long excursion in the city. Neither of us is really seeking to complete this, however, it has to be done. I come with low expectations-as lowering my expectations was a strategy I used to sustain what is left of a 20-year long relationship. Lower and lower expectations went to find a level which was feasible to hold a semblance of balance.

I find myself tidying up the place while the baby is out my teen- our teen, actually, but mostly “my” day to day teen over the last 17 years. My day to day baby-as in the youngest vs immature- day to day youngest child.

I pick up clothing spilling out of bags and luggage. I place dirty dishes in the sink in prep for the dishwasher. I toss a load into the washing machine-set boneless chicken in the fridge to defrost for dinner. Log onto my computer to work from home; I cannot help but to bring my multi tasking habits with me. I sure meant to, however, I know an argument will ensue if I do not appear to be above the high expectations still expected of me as a mom, a partner, a house guest. An Apple living in an Oranges home for the next 4 weeks.

Sitting underneath the lamp at a side table located adjacent to the 50” screen flat screen is a book I have used a resource to building healthy relationships, “5 Love Languages”. Quizzically, I review the book -is it real? I am considering this because my partner clearly is missing the point of the book to know one’s own love language in an effort to leverage that strength-that language- to actively engage in a meaningful manner with your partner.

Receiving gifts

Acts of service

Physical touch

Quality time

Words of affirmation

My #1 is Quality Time and #5 is Receiving Gifts. The exact opposite of my partner; per the book this combination is the hardest because the 2 people need to travel the farthest to get to a place of balance.

My possession of this knowledge has permitted me to give a pragmatic method to build strategies to have a semi-viable relationship.

Naïve at the time.

The book is not meant to be read alone; the challenges do not go away if only one person is the sole owner of the premise behind the 5 love languages.

My partnership has taken me to the point of desiccation where I have limited trust or reliability in this person. Where I now see this person and expect so little of him that a sur name and this last baby is what we share.

I have often thought that Gary Chapman needs to write a book titled, ‘Now that you are mature enough to be in a relationship- and have broken it-what can you do to get to center.’ Or a book called, ‘Were you ever at a center?’,  because I suspect that is where I am at now; a desiccated Apple partnered with a plump Orange w/ hints of Apple undertones.

 

 

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High School Days

It went from bad days
to bad weeks
until it was years of melancholy
dark patches of guilt and regret
all night long crying
and hating every morning
not having the energy
i lacked the energy
to love myself
to love living
i felt shame
i felt fear
i felt anger
i didn’t feel like living
it was circling around me
it became the only best friend of mine
it knew me so well
it became my companion
it was depression.

 

____________

Photo Credit: Lanaya

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Inevitable.

I wiped my face off.
Suddenly,
I was ashamed
of the salty words
that ran down my cheek.
I remember every detail,
the whole twenty-four hours.
I was just waiting for you.
My over-worked mind
began to run away
from me again.
I was trembling.
When I relaxed a little,
the fear actually crept closer.
I heard dead leaves whistle,
And then, I knew
what must be done.
I made the choice–
I decided to be happy
to be there for myself.

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Writing for the Calm

It seems like the correct time to share the poem that reconnected me with my passion. “Writing for the Calm” propelled me back into writing; it enabled me to own up to all that makes me, me. The energy I describe has the ability to cripple me, yes, but I have learned to embrace it, be proud of it, use it–the piece of me that I am finally comfortable with. Sometimes, I need a reminder that I am power if I just believe that I am. After all, I write to know I exist outside my own mind…

_____________________________________________________

I’ve always had an unexplainable,
Unnamed mass of energy inside,
Much like a tightly drawn bow,
A jostled can of Coke,
Or an eerily tranquil evening,
When the air suggests that everything
And nothing exists at once.
This has led to my greatest victories,
And the most paralyzing defeats.
I couldn’t accomplish anything without it,
Yet it has coerced me into villainous situations:
The contradiction of my life.

Anything to curb the position of this anxiety.
I can even say it’s easy to gravitate
Towards beautiful destruction.
And so, I grip the pen and feel the paper.
Yes. I want others to admire my work.
Yes. I love manipulating language.
Yes. Our stories must be told–preserved–
So they survive the abstract notion of time.
Why I write though, is so I can take a true,
Satisfying, uninhibited breath.
In the aftermath of a group of pen strokes,
I free the air I wasn’t even aware I held inside.

I write for the calm.
I write to know I exist outside my own mind.

 

 

 

[Thanks to those who help me find my calm when it goes missing.]

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Emotionally Speaking

Void of emotion,
I can’t recall the last time I held one in my hand,
Without the help of a No. 2 or a Papermate.
It takes a sort of emptying of words:
Dripping from my eyes,
Crawling down my arms,
Sliding across my fingernails.
A glorified liberation
Until feeling returns.
There! I recognize it once again.
When I am finally immersed, standing knee deep in the poem,
No longer idly detached, more like my cat mid-air,
Full of hope. Sure. Alive. Aware.
I guess what I need to say is that I need this.
I said need.
Don’t confuse this for a hobby,
Or a misguided phase, like that time I antiqued.
It’s not even fair to say it’s an amusement,
Because sometimes, writing is whatever the opposite of amusing is.
I need it regardless,
Because after I walk through many of my poems,
If I make it to the other end,
I find more emotions than I can describe:
Even joy.