Black glows in the dark
as imitation dry heaves,
leaving guilt on its sleeves
wiping white illness on walls,
kneeling with greed in
its knees, not realizing
where it’s coming from or
the fact that Black is entitled
to no one but Her people.
Black glazed rapture,
painting with glow dripping
from their hands and their
actions before, during & after,
Smearing magic and rhythm
of all motions and nations in
hip revolutions & revelations with
Life at their command.low,
Continue reading Glow, Black!✨
I’m trying to silence the voices
that tell me you don’t care.
They ring loudly in my ear.
They shout to me.
They tell me to stop wasting my time.
But I don’t listen.
Continue reading Voices
“Pull yourself together,”
an abstract of red hues
and beet purple
crept from my neck, Continue reading Blush by Heather Matthews
I often wondered if you were as sad as I was after you walked away. It pained me to say that perhaps you were not, and one day I had to let my hope dissipate. This is where I walk now, on the road taking me further away from you and any dreams I held onto. I stopped by the ocean for a while and tried to drop your name into the water, but I might as well have drowned myself because you were still inscribed all over me. Continue reading The Aftermath by Samihah Pargas
I’m not perfect.
Although that should be clear as water, sometimes I feel the need to state it. For myself and for others. Especially for others. It is probably my fault and in my actions. It’s probably something I do or don’t do. It’s probably because of the way I see the world and how I speak of it.
I am not perfect.
And I get tired.
And I give up too.
There are so many things I have given up and not looked back. There are so many things I have looked back but not regretted. There are so many things I regret too.
It’s entirely human. I believe.
Being a mess of so many things, not only good, not only bad, but everything. Not black or white but fifty shades of blue. And some purple, once you wear those rose colored glasses. On holidays. Or those real good days.
The days you hold on to with everything you got to keep moving forward. To keep moving. Even if only an inch or less. Even if to the sides or back. Just moving. Because life is made of movements, moments, actions and decisions you never really got to think through.
Life happens. But I digress.
I’m not perfect. And that’s fine. It’s entirely human, I believe.
What about you?
© Máh Lima
Photo by Ahmed Ashhaadh on Unsplash
The road between society and I have grown far apart
I’ve gotten lost more than once on my journey
On this path that has hills and trick pathways
Hills too steep for my strength and pathways that have lead me to unknown places
; sometimes good, sometimes bad
Continue reading Road by Jess Saunders
I hope my cries echo through your mind at night
When the world has muted and all you can do is think
I hope you think of me
I hope you think of the way you made my heart bleed
The way that you would set my soul on fire
Continue reading “Fire Starter” by Sarah James
O birds of hope
don’t flock to migrate
a less hurried gait
Let’s pick our crops
soft and mellow
Before joys rust
and turn to yellow
We’ll gather grins,
plum and ripen
No squandered tears,
ample dreams brighten
Our diligent pursuit,
we’re creatures awake
For when life’s frost bites,
Let’s tap and dance
in a feast of harvest
while the scarlet disc
gives in to darkness
The sun shall tilt
dropping her last golden locks
The mist will fill
to chill empty docks
Perched larks of glee,
chirp for me till dawn
Sweet songs to echo
through a season forlorn.
By Rania D.
Come vibe out with us while sipping a latte. We have dope local musicians, spoken word, open mic and handmade jewelry! Come be in the presence of creativity.
Tickets purchased online are 10.00.
Tickets purchased at the door will be 15.00.
Come be part of the creation and positivity that is Genre: Urban Arts. See you soon!
The temptation is towards silence
but the noise always seems to win.
I yearn to empty my days of everything but you.
I’ll be burnt but I accept the scars.
See, morning is nothing without a dream to chase,
but while the waste of a generation fades
and days wait only for the moonlight,
my world illuminates in the dark,
where death is a spark,
a spike to the heart,
when all is unsaid,
and the hunger is fed
I contemplate greed
and the silence becomes nothing but a reason to bleed.
The ink is a seed
and everything chases the sun.
– Chris Eyes
The way things work,
the way they are now,
and society in general,
operate in an almost perversely, twisted
machine that is hell-bent
on our destruction.
Lights, camera, action
then she started flashing
said let’s make a movie
not a fan nor a groupie
I was feeling her
and she was feeling me
body on body
no space in between
kissing on my neck
next thing ya know
she reached down below
I’m not well versed
and she grabbed me by the hand
said show me your worst.
In every moment
There is a critique under my tongue
Vitriol lies in wait inside my mouth
Trying to escape as words
Back into my ears
Continue reading Gifts From Mom
if you come knocking at my door
turn the knob and enter
this time I won’t answer
I’m tired of rushing to greet only to get disappointed.
I’m sorry for giving up right on your turn
it’s unfair of me to judge you
based on the actions of the ones before
or their lack thereof.
it’s ok to make yourself at home
get acquainted with the lonely rooms
pay attention to where the shadows form
I’m tired of providing only sun
and blooming when there’s no one to care for.
if after all this you decide to stay
if despite all this you still want to make home
my heart is yours to tame
my soul is yours to love.
one last word of advice, though
beware of full moons.
The tides get high
and I’d hate to drown you too.
© Máh Lima
Photo by Albert Dera on Unsplash
Tough to tell who is riding who
because it’s poetry in motion
and there’s room for two.
My eyes paint pictures
that my hands couldn’t dream of.
Appreciating each stroke
from my master brush
as I paint the story of us,
this chapter is Lust.
Photo by Alice Acheterhof
They ask, “How do you feel?”
You struggle for a word, locked behind doors, behind walls, behind ego
One syllable words flow with passive aggression and you’ve learned that “okay” is your favorite answer
You say that they do not need to know
But emotion is asking for the permission to be voiced
Permission to rebound from closed off vocal chords but you have not given the say so
You are shut off, numbed off from the reality that you have not told the truth for a long time
You have gone through the motions and now you are stagnant waters
A pool of water stuck under night and sun, rain and light, dirt and grime, anger and joy, testing and time Continue reading HOW DO YOU FEEL
Do you understand
that it matters?
All the same, it does.
You were my
very own mystery
but then you
became my door–
as eternal as the
universe itself. Continue reading Step Through the Door
Words on the page
Yeah, they made sense
Heck, they even had a little flow at the end
But who am I writing for?
Some narcissistic group of force-fed clones?
Where were they back when it was just me?
Back when there was nobody screaming my name
I was alone with my 3-ring
Man, I remember how it used to feel,
when I’d make that pen sing!
Sometimes I contemplate my fate
Did I sell my creative soul for a taste?
Just to chase the dollar sign
Yeah, I won’t lie
It can consume at night
Success is a double-edged sword
Both promising and debilitating
Yet, I march on
Words on the page
Yeah, they make sense
Heck they even have a little flow at the end
As I peck each key
I’m writing for humanity.
Photography: Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash
Creativity isn’t always beautiful. There is a desire in us as artists to share what we feel inside with the world; how can we do so when we can’t find the words ourselves? There isn’t always an easy road with which to release my emotions to words. It can be quite painful. That doesn’t make it any less meaningful.
“There are days when words and feelings pour out of me like a volcano. Aggressive and fierce, I stab through the lines on the page and rip it apart like my brain is ripping me. Then there are days when I can do nothing, My creative juices are dried up- I am breathing in coarse sand, I cough up ideas but also blood. It lines the paper all the same.”
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