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Shy Angel

a poem by Christine Ottery

Mufti wearing girl
was standing at the
bus stop
staring at the red double
deckers contemplating the
decisions that led up to
this point
The point where the beautiful
boy with Leonardo di Caprio
floppy hair deemed himself too
pure
His morals too
pristine to be
corrupted by me.

a piece from GUA No2

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The Dedication

a poem by  Audreyanna Garrett

I constantly overlooked you, I found time for others and neglected you.  I made mistakes and kept you hidden, when there was no need to.  So, in my efforts to apologize formally, I dedicate this to you.

And I know words on paper could be meaningless to you, but I hope you find solace in my willingness to celebrate you.

I wish that my poetry kisses and bandages your soul.  I long for us to start a new with opportunities to dance under stars, in a world of endless tomorrows.  

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The Broken Girl

a poem by Audreyanna Garrett

I was the broken girl.  The one who found her soul in the bottom of the bottle.  The one who found solace in a joint and toxic energy.  The one who aided depression with substance consumed minutes of melancholy.  

I was the broken girl.  The one who blamed life for all peril.  The one who blamed everyone else for all my troubles.  The one who consumed herself with excuses for abuse…

I was broken and exiled to the shadows.  

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Skin

a short story by Nakeysha Roberts Washington

Blood, bones and it’s encasement. Strangely,  when I was a toddler, I was as dark as I am now with blond hair and hazel eyes. I have no recollection of this of course, but there is evidence in the many photos that exist in the meticulously kept albums organized by my grandmother.

Here are several observations that I have concerning my encasement, my skin, from my childhood:

One

I was raised in a virtual utopia. Race was never a problem, but, then, is it ever for children?

It is a summer day. We are in the backyard shaded by the apple trees of which we have two. One in my yard and one in Erin’s. Erin, I have known since she was born. Anita, Erin’s momma says she saw me peeking out at her carrying Erin home after she was born and she knew we’d be friends.

Anyways, it is Summer, Erin, Chris, Anita, Barbara and I are in the backyard. I am not yet in school. The kids, three of us, are about to hop into the pool. Everyone is lined up. Barbara is putting cream on everyone. I follow suit. Barbara and Anita are reclining in lawn chairs. The kind that have plastic strips woven on a metal frame. One is yellow and white. The other is yellow and brown. It is my turn to get the lotion. Anita and Barbara look at one another. I see they are thinking. Barbara says, “Keysh, you don’t need the sun tanning lotion.” Anita assures me, “You won’t burn like Erin and Chris. You have natural sunscreen in your skin that makes your skin that pretty brown. I trust Anita and the kindness in her smile that has always been consistent. I run to the pool and play.

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To Boys with Green Hair

a poem by Arthur Jackson V

I stole morning

For a glass of wine

;I wanted to drown out the sound

I pictured myself a green haired boy



My reflection chimed “you aren’t held in

Passion, fever, or want”



Hiding my insecurities

In a cage fashioned from my ribs

I said “one day you will be worthy”


I still remember the sun

Setting horizon beneath my wrist

That night I huffed

A volcano bottlenecking my throat


When we lei together grapes&weeds

And called them crowns

We adorned our heads


I clasped to clench palms kneading

Their heels to wet eyes

Thinking of He and I


The sky and trees all

Beautiful like the day

We first learned to see


It was The Summer of Love

you told me not to speak

This shows me whether

in lustwords we

Would always be at war


Must a kiss be sent over soot

aimed between us?


A piece of me is lost

It is loaded

And bottled by the wine

Left to puffing cumulus whales along sky

I bend  my neck back

Smoke howls at the moon


I passionned  for your want

You called it starving


We weren’t loving over wargrounds

For sooted kisses


Signals smoked from a volcano

Bottlenecking my throat


I tried to forget you

In sips

You forgot me in hales

We both lost our crowns

wailing under sunset on our backs

In grass that stained our hair

And I became a Banshee


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A Witch, Trying. after Jennifer Givhan

a poem by Angelina Valdez


And what were the bruises
purpling my arms?
Memories, from the last time or
stories from the first?
Is it okay,
being okay
again, after you?
I was never a murdered
woman but a witch, trying to
make myself whole
after you. Left is
nothing but I,
no wedding,
ever, no demon
father to link elbows, to
stroll between pews
anyways. Just I
now, holding my own.

from the Genre: Urban Arts No 3

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In the Juniper Trees

a short story by Jessi Harrison


You’re the front row of a blues club at seventeen.
No door guy, no ID.
(No idea).
You’re the inertia from the spark of the match
that catalytically burned your lover’s mind
from the inside. The catastrophe of silence.
The wallowed brilliance of frozen speech.
You’re the initial let down, the final farewell.
The end scene with no credit roll. A one way ticket
bought with a stolen card. Shallow hands, heavy
shoulders, stitched heart.

A sympathy letter addressed to the symphony of de-
cline.

The dirt pile under fingernails from the shovel of a
sister’s grave.
The solemn laugh echoed through hospital halls.
The blue peeling paint – the fake promise of “okay.”
The fallacy of normality under fluorescent lights.
I see you in open doorways, speaking metaphors of
trapped
passage. You walk, pale & white & out of focus –
still beautiful,
through the gray of winter. You talk of spring.
You tell me how fresh the flowers smell – how there
are so many dandelion fields begging
for a wish. How you’ve waited so long just to feel the
grass under your bare
feet – to feel your skirt dancing with the wind. & you
explain, slowly & labored & surprised, just
how grateful you are, to have finally found some sun.

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People of the Ocean

a poem by  Vaishali Paliwal


I built this house with bare hands
Now in flames I leave it behind
I carry the keys
I was named by my grandmother
Her last prayer was in these beads
I carry her rosary
I never signed up for a God
My fate when sealed with forbidden voyage

I picked the holy books
My lover was lost in black dawns
There was never a vow
I carry the ring
Human life I am being told
Is same everywhere
But world’s prayers are selective
No child left behind
But mine sleeps on fences
Time now asks me
To get on this boat
It is heavy

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I Stand

A poem by Cynthia Anne Cashman


in rebellion
I stand

in the land of mortal man
the ones with
the power of Zeus
that slay me on their
moral grounds
for being so obtuse
they the pedestals
do claim
thrones for kings
and depraved beasts
the working slaves
do scream
with unheard voices
clamoring in the din
Queens still chained to beds
to keep their heads
children orphans
to kingdoms lost
living in the current mess
affairs of men
not of gods
Olympus save us all


Cynthia Anne Cashman

published in Genre: Urban Arts Second Edition

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Paradox

a poem by Umar Siddiqui


She tossed pebbles
Into her reflection
On the lake
So the ripples
Reflect how she sees herself

He sits

Playing rock, paper, scissors
With his shadow
As if each time will
Lead to a different outcome
In her mirrorless house
Pictures of her sat face down
On each shelf
He wanted to make the world
Think he was loved
So he carved two names into a tree
He kept the calendar on the same date

From ten years ago
As if it’ll keep time stuck in place

Umar Siddiqui

published in Genre: Urban Arts Second Edition

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Ariella Israel – The Creator

Ariella Israel rocking a powerful fro and denim jacket hand painted by herself adorned in pins also by Ariella

The work of Ariella Israel is the kind of art that births pride. I found myself scrolling through her Instagram face clad with a smile that continued to grow wider. Her depiction of black people reminded me of home and family. This is a real gift. The work of Israel doesn’t just live on canvas, she also creates amazing Afrocentric works on denim jackets, puzzles and backpacks, even phone covers. She is a true talent, and I cannot wait to see what she does next.   

Denim jackets painted by Ariella
The Modest backpack  by Ariella is an obvious need!!
a painting by Ariella Israel

To purchase creations by Ariella head to her shop 

Thee Creator

you can keep up with Ariella via her Instagram

@ArtByTheCreator

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Shanta (Tae) King

NYC born- raised by the streets of Harlem & The Bronx.  I am an experience-collector with a focus on POP-ART.  I am also an OUT and PROUD African-American Lesbian Woman.  I feel that all individuals regardless of color, sex, creed, sexual orientation or religion should be appreciated and heard on any spectrum.  I just live life to the fullest with NO LABELS, and allow my experiences speak for me! My LOVE for art is sometimes impalpable like Warhol.

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Arthur Jackson V: Queer PoC Anthology Editor

Arthur Jackson V is a Queer Afro American poet, and painter from San Francisco California, with an interest in redefining language in poetry. Arthur wants to challenge the reader to think outside of their comfort zone, making the reading an interactive experience. Jackson is currently working on his first collection of poetry To Boys With Green Hair. Seeking to bring a voice/perspective to the LGBTQI+ POC community. Jackson wants to spread understanding to those who haven’t lived the same experience, and, also for other Queer POC identifying to read and know that they are not alone (that someone out their has the same experiences). Jackson is looking to string people together and create a closer knit community through art, and make the world a little less lonely. You can find his poetry in publications such as Decolonise Fest, Spaceship.org, Anaise and more. Jackson will be moving to Paris this coming spring to attend culinary school and begin work on a cookbook.
Social Media: Instagram- @Afro_pup
Website: TheAfroQueer.com

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Marcus Emel: Queer PoC Anthology Editor

I’m Marcus Williams, known to some as Marcus Emel. I am a creative based in Brooklyn. I write poetry and dance. I also dabble in video editing and songwriting. I love the fluidity of art and creativity, it transcends barriers. It is important to support people of color in the LGBTQ+ community because we are doing important work for the next generation. In order for it to be the best, we have to be supportive. 

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Just Duléa: Queer PoC Anthology Editor

Just Duléa is an author, songwriter, educator, and spoken word artist from the East Coast. She is the Founder/CEO/Creative Director of Conviction 2 Change LLC, a publishing company devoted to helping those in under-represented communities be heard. Being an African-American, queer, woman, Just Duléa understands the importance of writing at the intersection point to create compelling, thought-provoking pieces. Her publications include “What Happened to Cyrano?: The Untold Story of Cyrano de Bergerac” (2015), “A Poetic Expression of Change” (2015), “S.W.A.G. – Saved With Amazing Grace” (2016), “Sex, Love, and Other Emotions” (2018). Her work has also appeared in Genre: Urban Arts No. 5 and Bay Area Generations #61. She is presently pursuing her M.F.A. in Poetry, with an Africana/Diaspora focus from San Francisco State University.
Taylor D. DuckettPoet. Author. 

http://www.conviction2change.com/Justdulea

   

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Purchase a Copy of Genre: Urban Arts No. 6 Print

Disrupting the status quo one issue at a time. Our No. 6 Print wants to come out to plaaaayyyy. 

Major thank you to @GenreUrbanArts collaborator Abe Onkst @abe_onkst blessing our cover with this dope rendition of the Mona Lisa by da Vinci.

You’re able to order a copy today. Head to GenreUrbanArts.com. Orders will be shipped on Jan 15th. 

Genre: Urban Arts is a platform where artists can become published digitally and in print. Genre: Urban Arts also provides exhibiting and performing opportunities for visual and performance artists via pop-up galleries. 

BUY NOW!

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Queer PoC Anthology

Calling all QueerPOC Creatives! Genre: Urban Arts seeks to give you a space to be vocal with your artistic medium, wherever it falls on the spectrum. Our goal is to highlight voices of the LGBTQ+ community that often go unheard or are misunderstood. Come join us in illuminating the readers’  experience in an artful way! We want to hear what YOU have to say! Spread the word. Submissions open January 2019!

A portion of the proceeds from this project will be donated to organizations that support LBGTQ communities in Milwaukee, WI and New York City.

We will also be celebrating this issue during Pride month at Bowery Poetry in NYC. Keep an eye out for our call for performances!

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