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
Life’s a little hazy
through a purple tint
eyes low, snow red.
It’s so loud and I’m all alone.
Hit after hit
wave after wave
euphoria dances on my body,
and then a blissful calm washes over me
like the tide that kisses the sandy beach
this is my immersion
this is high.
I held onto her
With a grip so tight
Sand couldn’t even escape
Slip between my fingers
I held onto the thought of her
As if letting you go
Would suck out the life
That barely existed in me
Worry sets my brain on fire
She begins to slip away
My heart and soul begin to burn
I lose control
I become lost in a pile of ashes
One speck at a time
Being lifted by the frigid air
And blown away into the past
For the first time I realized
This feeling is different
You see I am no longer holding onto
My abuser or
The ones who have wronged me
I’m holding onto me
The old me
The me that was beaten down
Until she was just a pile of ashes
For she is something I learn from everyday
She taught me how to fight for me
She taught me how to believe in me
She taught me that time is magical
Though she is not in my bones anymore
I still see traces of her every day
That small bench
Where loneliness surrounded her
Not allowing anyone to come near
That creaky window
She covered up
So that no one could see her scars
And that porch with the swinging chair
Where she watched the people
Who were supposed to love her
Without acknowledging her presence
Ignoring her humanity
To saturate her t-shirt
I believe in her
But I can’t have her
I left the ashes on the ground
And walked away
To a better me
To a better life
And let me tell you–
The best is yet to come
Photo by John-Mark Kuznietsov on Unsplash
Introducing Melanated Gardens: a collaborative project created by the mother-daughter writing duo Nia Pearl and Inja Vitero. Combining Nia’s poetry with Inja’s calligraphy, the pair are selling cards and prints of selected poems. Please check out their site and support your local black owned businesses: http://melanatedgardens.bigcartel.com/
More of Nia Pearl’s poetry can be found on instagram: @notes.by.nia
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.”
follow me on instagram @victimlessrhymes
Like a carver whittling away wood,
like a butcher slicing carcass,
like a razor piercing skin.
A needle etching into blood,
a knife engraving letters into a tree,
a dog tearing through bone.
Like a mosquito making meal of me.
You are always here, gnawing.
Rarely, do we understand the strength of the words we use. Continue reading What we say and what we mean
The Heart that Keeps me Waiting.
Read other work by Samihah at:
There are nights I have sat through, waiting for the sun to rise – when I had every reason to be sleeping. But I know that deep down, I was waiting for you to find me. That you’d have reached home a long while back and would possibly be biding your spare time reminiscing over old photographs. I’d hope that you decided to think about me. I also know that it is unlikely that a mere thought would bring you towards me, but the love burning inside my heart makes me hold on to the miniscule chance that it could. I feel pathetic, do you know that ? I feel like I am begging for reciprocation at the door step of someone who I know might not even set foot outside to see. You once told me that I am earth and you are water, and that between such people, something beautiful could grow – or mud would be created. In whatever has grown between us, darling, I have been sinking. You have left me to drown. It’s unfair. I have been unfair to myself. You told me that we drifted apart. Don’t insult my love by ever thinking it abandoned you. While I have tried to walk away, it has stood its ground for you. All I ask now is that you treat it kindly. Soothe whatever dignity is left of it. This love is exhausted, it’s been bruised.
And still, it waits for you.
They Aint Our Neighbors
Read other work by Shaunteri at:
they weren’t neighbors.
they couldn’t be.
they wouldn’t let them be
because they were just
Continue reading Top 10 Posts 2017— No. 5
My Mother’s Garden
Read other work by Nia at:
ink and spices.
She is a glass deliciously full
Your favorite song with just the right rhythm
A new pair of dancing shoes
with just enough room to grow into.
She carries herself with a special kind of optimism.
Tending to her garden with the hope
that each year new buds will come back.
Collecting seeds with the promise of new growth.
We are of the same garden.
She planted her roots in me
Teaching me how to blossom.
Gardens have seasons yet she is always in full bloom.
In a word she is perennial.
Unceasing in her love.
Like the flowers are singing for you.
June 26, 2017