Considering the past week has been full of rain instead of the anticipated June sun, we decided to make our weekly Word one that reflects the weather– unpredictable, murky and full of emotions. Poetry, a form of writing everyone has been at least acquainted with, presents a quick-witted take on our thoughts. We hope you enjoy.

The Catalyst

SamSun
angered, you* reached down into my belly and snatched out a charcoaled parasite.
my eyes had been hollowed for days (coagulating into weeks),
and i stood heavy-lidded, yelling complaints without content.
“give me a reason to live!” while my carcass collected intellectual lint.

you* grimaced–
working limbs and and agile mind, yelling statements like she was disabled
–at my neglect.

and so you* rattled me until backlogged adjectives and verbs leaped out into the gutter.
you* put Carpe Diem on my tongue
and i swallowed with a glass of Caffeinated Self-Awareness.
pulsing flames arose out of my pupils like the stuffing of a Revolution,
scratched at my boundaries until Passion bubbled out and stained the streets.

we are a train wreck of various forces,
feeding lies to open-mouthed youths who are trained to sit still
by our parents, by our teachers, by our communities,
teaching what they have learned.

because the finger never points in, we find reasons out in the Known
for why we’ve given up on searching for the Unknown.
that is, until you* come

(deviant that you* are)

and whisper defiance in our ears:
inch forward, open your eyes and tap out your melody.

Composers of a lifelong symphony,
Storytellers of our personal Illiads,
Painters of the world’s never-ending canvas,
We are Shapeshifters of Inexhaustible Wonder.
*i

No-Lye

Nakeya B.
Neoteric self-destruction and manipulation,
Beauty depreciated in value,
With each kinky strand, twisted lock, and picked ‘fro.

No-Lye!

We collect,
Hot combs, and flat irons,
Scorching every precious Colored hair follicle into erection.

No-Lye!

Sew in’s and glue in’s,
Fusions and lace fronts,
Denaturing, reconstructing, and transforming.

No-Lye!

Hair poisoned into,
Split ends, damaged roots, and balding edges
Ripping, shedding, and breaking.

No-Lye!

Sistah I tell you,

No-Lye!
No-Lye!

Sistah I tell you,

No Lie!

It.

Doctor Sanchez

It started as a tiny flame.
In the center of my gut. Festering and evolving
into an excruciating longing
now permanently stationed in the basement of my soul.
It controls my rhythm of breathing.
It can be so mother…fucking… revealing.
It is the ink I used to sign my contract with Johnny Bartender…
to continuously supply poison to my glass
because I’d prefer to face this city…
thinking too slow and acting too fast.
I have fallen hard enough that I’ve lost consciousness, scraped my knees, split my lip.
Why do I believe in it the way that I do?
It’s right next to Jesus on my list of things to prove.
Has it happened to you?
It’s when you look up to see a bruised stranger in the mirror, when your dark circles get darker, and detaining your vices gets harder.
It’s in the unrelenting electricity that runs through his fingertips
when over your curves they trip.
Stumbling. Faster.
So he catches up with his lips and before you know it..
into your bloodstream he slips.
It is that fat ball of saliva and pride sliding past your tonsils…
as he takes the sweat wet lace from your skin.
It’s when you give in…
Just so you don’t wake up regretting
Not letting the neighbors find your vocals a little upsetting.

It… is fucked up love.