and she is lovely and makes great music and slam poetry

Some of the best things I’ve heard in Heathers rehearsal so far:

  • “Oh no! My shirt, where’d it go?” followed by really slow and awkward finger guns
  • “Free pizza, and we don’t even have to buy it a pussy!”
  • “Those stupid tree thumpers”
  • *dramatically pirouettes and leaps in* “BIG SWORDFIGHT IN HER MOUTHHH”
  • “Aww that seems like a relationship that would last.” “Yeah until one of them blows up” “I guess you could say their love is….. explosive”
  • *Our choreographer screaming like one of those sheep used in parodies back in vintage youtube days whenever she gets frustrated or needs to get people’s attention.*
  • “So you’re going to do a Jesus lift” “A WHAT” “Just put your arms out and they’ll lift you like you’re Jesus resurrecting from the cross”
  • “Welcome to Newsies on steroids.”
  • “Be the closeted gay we all need.”
  • “The first step to any good plan is murder.”
  • “How much bitch is enough bitch though?”
  • “Imagine having to explain to someone like ““oh how’d you break your tailbone?” ““Oh I booty-popped too hard.”” 
  • “When we go off to makeover Veronica, can she still have the monocle, but, hear me out, it’s now bedazzled.”
  • “I have to check the historical accuracy of bedazzling in the ‘80s.”
  • “Okay, but what if we made it gay?”
  • “COSTUME NOTE: SOMEONE MAKE RAM PARTY SLIPPERS!” “What if they’re like bunny slippers, but with tiny party hats?!”
  • “This is Ram, he’s not very nice, but somehow my best friend still wants to fuck him.”
  • “Your whole bio better be about how much you love and respect women or else I can’t help you when your ass is being kicked.”
  • “I paired you guys together because you say he’s your sort of boyfriend later.” *Kurt proceeds to emark in various sexual dance endeavors with multiple other women* “That’s where the sort of comes into play….”
  • “SHUT UP HEATHER” *bursts out crying*
  • Our original Chandler dropped out so our original Duke got promoted to her role and just looks at me and says “Oh my god this is the most Heather Duke thing that has ever happened to me”
  • “That’s a school cheer?!?!”
  • “Real question: WHO HAS A FUCKING LOCK ON THEIR CLOSET?”
  • “What if when she makes you spit up the pills, your wig flies off?” “Oh no you’ve discovered the real reason behind my crisis, I AM NOT A NATURAL BLONDE”
  • “Maybe he should take up knitting or something as a hobby rather than therapedic murder.”
  • “The saddest thing is that’s not even 3rd base”
  • “Veronica, you’re soaking wet!” *cue our assistant stage manager loosing her shit*
  • “My character description is just internal screaming.”
  • “Who needs a dance partner when you have weed?”
  • “I feel bad having to ask but was that supposed to be a dick joke?”
  • “Do I get extra points if one of the pills hits someone in the face?”
  • “I can’t remember the lyrics but I’m pretty sure I’m still gay”
  • “Why didn’t they just throw the bomb and run or something, like why are they so determined to die?” 
  • *recites Blue Reprise as demonic slam poetry because we didn’t have rehearsal tracks yet*  
  • “Veronica, it’s not a phase. I’m just naturally a slightly psychotic bag of angst with great hair.”
  • *music director teaching us Blue* ”They’ll curl up on your face. And purr like-” *slowly looks up from music and proceeds to put his head in his hands* “There’s moments that I evaluate my life and this is definitely one of them.”

And we’re still about 3 weeks from tech week

Bucky’s Girl |Series| 5/?

Originally posted by bartowskis

Summary: You’re dating Bucky Barnes, it’s good. It’s beautiful. Steve, his best friend has had a crush on you, wayy before Bucky returned. (Series)
Warnings: Angst/ inspired by that one story in Love Actually but kinda not/
Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Wade Wilson, Negasonic, Colossus, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Peter Parker & Sharon Carter.

Inspired by the song Jessie Girl - Rick Springfield

Part One * Part Two * Part Three * Part Four * Part Five



Originally posted by hopeinloveinfinity

“A stag party?” Bucky raised an eyebrow as he dodged a left hook from Sam, “Really? You want to host a bachelor party?” Steve refrained from a snappy comment, watching as Barnes and Wilson spared one another in the boxing ring.

Steve sighed. “I figured, why not? It will be fun, a guy’s weekend, we go to a bar and have a few drinks, play some darts; what could go wrong?”

“Sure, I’ll ask Y/N,” Bucky responded and Sam laughed, earning a punch to the jaw that he didn’t dodge in time. “We originally weren’t going to do the whole stag and hen parties, so I gotta inform her, maybe, get Nat to do something that night with her.”

Steve nodded, “I’ll go ask Nat, she’ll talk Y/N into having one.” He waved his friends off and headed towards Nat’s room that she had at the compound. Her room wasn’t far from the gym/ training area, she liked to be within range, early morning workout sessions and so forth. Her door was already opened; he knocked twice before he heard the quiet ‘come in’.

Nat’s room was tranquil and peaceful; it was entirely different to her. Her usual black and red aesthetic were replaced with white, pale blues and fluffy rugs. A whole wall was glass (that she could look out of but no one could see in.), it overlooked the forest that shielded this place. She had picture frames hanging on the walls, her and the Avengers, a few Polaroid’s of her and Clint’s kids. She had a bookshelf of poetry books, plus how to learn piano books, from what he could see she was also fond of the author Michelle Paver.

Natasha was sat on her bed, cream sheets that had a geometric pattern on it. Auburn hair pulled into a messy pony-tail, a blanket under her feet because she was painting toenails, she glanced up briefly before looking back at her toes and continuing to paint them a glossy red; her favourite colour.

“So, I know you didn’t want to be involved but I need a favour,” he smiled pleadingly and she exhaled softly; choosing not to look at him. “I’m gonna throw a stag party for Bucky this weekend, I need you to occupy Y/N time for that weekend, pleaseeeee.” He got on his knees beside her bed, resting his clasped hands on the comforter and pouted up at Nat.

She put the lid back on the nail polish, finally, looking at him as she did so. He watched her debate it over in her head, her green eyes narrowing before looking back at him. “Why couldn’t you love someone else?” That question threw him off, he rested his chin on the bed, knees starting to ache but he didn’t move and shrugged his shoulders in response. “I’ll do it, on one condition!”

Steve nodded, “Anything.”

“When this is all over,” Natasha began in a soft voice, placing a hand on top of Steve’s, “You ask them to move out of your apartment.” He sighed gently at that request, “you can’t live with a married couple, especially if you love one-half, and I ask this because I care about you and actually want what’s best.”

He nods slowly, “I promise.”

Stag Weekend- Day One

Mission: Show Bucky What He’ll Miss

“Las Vegas, Stevie?” Bucky asked in surprise as he looked at the aeroplane ticket, first class too, compliments of Tony; who was away on ‘business’ and couldn’t attend. “I thought we’d be going bar hopping in Brooklyn,” he chuckled with disbelief.

Steve winced slightly, “Well, it wasn’t entirely my idea.” He truthfully admitted, Bucky looked up and frowned before sighing, Steve felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and he knew it was Wade; from the smell of spicy food, gunpowder and… strawberries?

“Strawberry flavoured lube it’s a godsend.” Was the first thing to sprawl out of the man’s mouth, he still had the Deadpool suit on, a Hawaiian shirt over the top and khaki shorts. “So, there’s the groom, long time Buckaroo.”

Bucky glared from Wade to Steve. “You invited Pool, really?” Steve shrugged, “we better not be robbing banks or killing people, I expect good ole’ drinking, no strippers or prostitutes.” He warned.

Wade held up his hands, “Hey, there are children present.” He pointed to Negasonic, she was busy typing on her phone and not looking up; black leather jacket and shades. “I’m babysitting for the weekend while tin-man is away,” Wade informed.

Instead of answering both Bucky and Sam turned away, walking towards the gate where the plane is taking off. Wade, Steve and Negasonic followed.

“Did you pack it?” Wade asked as they sat down in their respected seats.

“Of course, I’m not an idiot. It was hard getting into Tony’s stash but I got it,” referring to the Asgardian liquor that Thor left behind. It was the only stuff strong enough to get Steve and Bucky drunk, they’d need it for the plan to work.

The plane journey was short but silent, Bucky was still upset that Wade is coming and Sam knew something was going down. They got to Caesars Palace, penthouse suit, all courtesy of Stark. They watched as Negasonic walked off to a room, shutting the door with a slam and turning on music loudly.

“She’s in Las Vegas and she wants to listen to death metal, where did I go wrong?” Wade asked placing his hands on his hips, “Okie dokie, folks. We got exactly one hour till happy hour down in the VIP Lounge, freshen up, you too Birdie.” Wade walked off to his respected room, leaving Steve to face his two pissed best friends.

Steve sighed. “Wade is actually okay when you get to know him,” he tried but earned an eye roll from Sam who sat on the sofa, Bucky crossed his arms. “The only person I knew would make this weekend fun was Wade; I’ve had some great nights with the guy, give him a chance?”

“Fine.” Bucky sighed, “What could possibly go wrong?”

**

“Steve where the hell is Bucky?” Sam asked above the music blasting in the small VIP lounge, dancers, mostly half naked females, all grinding on the small dance floor.

Steve looked around, a little tipsy himself; he couldn’t see the familiar frame of his best friend. Last time he saw him… he was at the bar, watching as Steve got dragged away to dance, he seemed to be having a good time, laughing and drinking at the expense of his friends. Wade wasn’t anywhere in view either, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration for a brief moment.

“Oh shit!” Steve yelled and ran out of the lounge, Sam following closely behind. “Crap, I can’t believe I let myself get side-tracked,” he mumbled to himself as he walked to the elevator.

“What’s happening?” Sam asked as they stepped into the elevator.

Steve sighed and looked at Sam.

Two Hours Before

“Steve, I’ve got a really good idea.” Wade grins widely at the man, “So, I know you said no hookers but I called in a favour and she’s willing to entice Barnes into sleeping with her; wedding will be called off for sure.” Steve frowned.

Steve had already had a few pre-drinks, Sam’s idea for having to deal with Wade for the weekend. He was about to decline when Bucky rounded the corner, a little tipsy and holding some Asgardian liquor, he wrapped an arm around Wade.

“Man, you’re ugly,” Steve snickered at that as Wade rolled his eyes at the soldier.

“Buckaroo, a friend of mine is coming to see you, her name is Crystal, and you want to see her?” Wade asked in a sickly sweet voice. Bucky shrugged with a sluggish smile, Wade looks at Steve with a winner smile before taking the metal arm off of his neck. “I’ll go pick her up, meet in the Golden VIP Lounge.”

Now

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sam held his hands up and turned to face Steve. “Wade hired a hooker friend to seduce Bucky and you didn’t stop him?” He asked with mistrust.

Steve scratched the back of his neck out of nerves. “I didn’t really comprehend what he was getting her for till now.” Steve sighed, “The whole plan was to get Bucky drunk, show him how much fun he’ll be missing out on, maybe, even talk him out of it whilst he is drunk.” Steve shrugged, missing the look of utter horror on Sam’s face.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Sam demanded; Steve glanced at him. “Seriously, Steve, this is unhealthy. If I knew this was the real reason for this weekend I wouldn’t have come along, I may not be Bucky’s biggest fan, but this is low. No wonder you’ve been hanging with Wade, he’s encouraging this behaviour.” Sam reprimanded his friend, Steve refrained from eye rolling.

“You sound just like Nat,” he muttered under his breath but Sam heard, opting to not answer instead cross his arms. The elevator doors open, faint music playing and Wade sat on the sofas with Negasonic, both watching TV some reality show.

Wade turns his head to meet Steve and Sam’s gaze; he nods to the room where a door is shut. Steve instantly stalks to the door, pushing it open, prepared to see a horrible situation. Instead, it was Bucky, head in the hookers lap, crying as she petted his hair. She was young, looked uncomfortable with the situation, Steve smiled awkwardly at her.

“Hey, I’ve got it from here, thanks for your time.” Steve offered, helping lift Bucky’s head off of her, she muttered a thank you, grabbing a leather jacket and her heels before silently leaving the room and closing the door. “Hey, buddy, what’s the matter?”

Bucky sniffs loudly, sitting up and wiping his eyes with his metal hand, then crying all over again when he sees the shiny metal. “We’re supposed to be dead, did you know that? We should be dead right now, instead you’re Captain America and I have a metal arm,” he cried silently, Steve raises his eyebrows, not sure what to make a sad, drunk, James.

“Yeah, it’s great.” Steve offers, “We’re back together, best friends, we have good lives and we both get second chances.”

It’s silent for a long while, Steve’s arm wrapped around Bucky, mostly to keep him sitting up straight. “I always thought you’d be married first, even back then,” Bucky mutters and Steve frowns. “Yeah, you were small but you had a big heart and it wouldn’t have taken long for a dame to notice that. Peggy did.” Bucky sighs lightly, staring off at a wall. “Then we come to this century, I figured you would have found someone, thought it was Natalia for a while, even Y/N, but yet, here we are.” He smiles and chuckles despite himself.

Steve looked at the carefree smile on his best friends face. He looked at ease, no stress or something lurking behind the eyes, there was a glimmer of his past self, that easy going Barnes that Steve longed to see most days.  

(Let me know what you think of this part. It’s a little longer than most of the other parts. Worked really hard on this, also planned the ending, so all goes well this could be ending soon… not that anyone wants to hear that. - Rosalie)

Everything Tagging list(let me know if you wanna be added or taken off- this tagging list means you’ll be told when I post anything; Marvel, The Walking Dead & Riverdale(I don’t do seperate ones for those)): @girl-next-door-writes @22ifyoukeepmenextoyou @t3-daria-todo @sebby-staan@skylark50 @thegoddamnfeels @gillibean9 @sergeantjamesbarnes107th  @full-of-sins-not-tragedies @fxcknbarnes@broncos5soslover @say-my-name-assbut @fangirlwithasweettooth @buckyismybbz @charlotteblanden @momscapris @mashroom-burrito @firewolfkelly @winterboobaer

@mychocolatemints @avengingthesupernatural @usannika @itzelreade r @tillytheinvisibleshadow @tomhollahd @imagining-marvel-soldier @oh-my-gravity @what-the-ducky-bucky @heyitssilverwolf @katiegrace122 @newtmas-newtella @sillylittlemary  @buckyhawk @codexofwitches @the-the-sound-of-the-bees-blog @songsforsentences @leahneslen21@whateveriwantworld @itsblehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh @cassiebarnes  @that-one-jewish-elf @tardispandagirl  

@theawkwardone-0002 @djpaige13paige @thewinchestersbabe @majestic-squad  @fangirlextraordinaire713 @stevesmylove82 @mrporkstache @marvelousmimi  @shadyweeny @thequeenofgood @calursocute @casey-anne-j @ohmoveoveralohomora @grass-is-not-green @hiphoppery @imnotinsanehunny @you-didnt-see-that-cuming @coltcas @agalaxyofgayships  @jjsoccer11 @broken-pieces @courtneychicken


Bucky’s Girl Tag list: @adarkcloud @awinterloveuniverse @buckys-baby  @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld @johnnnmurphy @mags-moore @specs15  @litterally-trash @stressed-depressed-bandobsessed @yknott81 @brooke-supernatural16 @xxchexchickxx @hellkat2 @snuggleducky @inked-petals @agentmstark @fearthedietcoke @marvelgoateecollection @liajiah @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld @johnnnmurphy @mags-moore @specs15@stress-depressed-bandobsessed @brooke-supernatural16 @yknott81 @noeypiiepiie @multifandom-states @sgt-jbb-107 @noir-agneau @litterally-trash @i-had-a-life-once

youtube

I knew exactly what love looked like- in seventh grade.

Even though I hadn’t met love yet, if love had wandered into my homeroom I would’ve recognized him at first glance. Love wore a hemp necklace.

I would’ve recognized her at first glance, love wore a tight french braid.

Love played acoustic guitar and knew all my favorite Beatle songs.

Love wasn’t afraid to ride the bus with me.

And I knew,

I just must be searching the wrong classrooms,

just must be checking the wrong hallways, she was there, I was sure of it.

If only I could find him.

But when love finally showed up,

she had a bowl cut.

He wore the same clothes every day for a week.

Love hated the bus.

Love didn’t know anything about The Beatles.

Instead,

every time I try to kiss love,

our teeth got in the way.

Love became the reason I lied to my parents.

I’m going to- Ben’s house.

Love had terrible rhythm on the dance floor, but made sure we never missed a slow song.

Love waited by the phone because she knew that if her father picked up it would be:

“Hello? Hello? I guess they hung up.”

And love grew,

stretched like a trampoline.

Love changed.

Love disappeared, slowly, like baby teeth, losing parts of me I thought I needed.

Love vanished like an amateur magician, and everyone could see the trapdoor but me.

Like a flat tire, there were other places I planned on going,

but my plans didn’t matter.

Love stayed away for years, and when love finally reappeared, I barely recognized him.

Love smelt different now, had darker eyes,

a broader back, love came with freckles I didn’t recognize.

New birthmarks, a softer voice.

Now there were new sleeping patterns,

new favorite books.

Love had songs that reminded him of someone else,

songs love didn’t like to listen to.

So did I.

But we found a park bench that fit us perfectly,

we found jokes that make us laugh.

And now, love makes me fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies.

But love will probably finish most of them for a midnight snack.

Love looks great in lingerie but still likes to wear her retainer.

Love is a terrible driver, but a great navigator.

Love knows where she’s going, it just might take her two hours longer than she planned.

Love is messier now,

not as simple.

Love uses the words “boobs” in front of my parents.

Love chews too loud.

Love leaves the cap off the toothpaste.

Love uses smiley faces in her text messages.

And turns out,

love shits!

But love also cries. And love will tell you you are beautiful

and mean it,

over and over again.

You are beautiful.

When you first wake up,

“you are beautiful.”

When you’ve just been crying,

“you are beautiful.”

When you don’t want to hear it,

“you are beautiful.”

When you don’t believe it,

“you are beautiful.”

When nobody else will tell you,

“you are beautiful.”

Love still thinks- you are beautiful.

But love is not perfect and will sometimes forget,

when you need to hear it most,

you are beautiful,

do not forget this.

Love is not who you were expecting, love is not who you can predict.

Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep, you are in California, Australia, wide awake. Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone.

Maybe love is not ready for you. Maybe you are not ready for love.

Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type.

Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce, love looks older now, but just as beautiful as you remembered.

Maybe love is only there for a month.

Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.

Maybe love stays-

maybe love can’t.

Maybe love shouldn’t.

Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, and love leaves exactly when love must.

When love arrives, say,

“Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.”

If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her.

Turn off the music, listen to the quiet,

whisper,

“Thank you. Thank you for stopping by.”

youtube

Sarah Kay & Phil Kaye - When Love Arrives

I knew exactly what love looked like – in seventh grade

Even though I hadn’t met love yet, if love had wandered into my homeroom, I would’ve recognized him at first glance. Love wore a hemp necklace. 
I would’ve recognized her at first glance, love wore a tight french braid. 
Love played acoustic guitar and knew all my favorite Beatles songs.
Love wasn’t afraid to ride the bus with me. 
And I knew, I just must be searching the wrong classrooms, just must be checking the wrong hallways, she was there, I was sure of it. 
If only I could find him.

But when love finally showed up, she had a bow cut. 
He wore the same clothes every day for a week.
Love hated the bus. 
Love didn’t know anything about The Beatles. 
Instead, every time I try to kiss love, our teeth got in the way.
Love became the reason I lied to my parents. I’m going to- Ben’s house. 
Love had terrible rhythm on the dance floor, but made sure we never missed a slow song. 
Love waited by the phone because she knew if her father picked up it would be: “Hello? Hello? I guess they hung up.”

And love grew, stretched like a trampoline. 
Love changed. Love disappeared, 
Slowly, like baby teeth, losing parts of me I thought I needed. 
Love vanished like an amateur magician, and everyone could see the trapdoor but me. 
Like a flat tire, there were other places I planned on going, but my plans didn’t matter. 
Love stayed away for years, and when love finally reappeared, I barely recognized him. 
Love smelt different now, had darker eyes, a broader back, love came with freckles I didn’t recognize. 
New birthmarks, a softer voice. 
Now there were new sleeping patterns, new favorite books. 
Love had songs that reminded him of someone else, songs love didn’t like to listen to. So did I.

But we found a park bench that fit us perfectly
We found jokes that make us laugh. 
And now, love makes me fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies. 
But love will probably finish most of them for a midnight snack. 
Love looks great in lingerie but still likes to wear her retainer. 
Love is a terrible driver, but a great navigator. 
Love knows where she’s going, it just might take her two hours longer than she planned. 
Love is messier now, not as simple. 
Love uses the words “boobs” in front of my parents. 
Love chews too loud. 
Love leaves the cap off the toothpaste. 
Love uses smiley faces in her text messages. 
And turns out, love shits!

But love also cries. 
And love will tell you you are beautiful and mean it, over and over again. “You are beautiful.”
When you first wake up, “you are beautiful.” 
When you’ve just been crying, “you are beautiful.” 
When you don’t want to hear it, “you are beautiful.” 
When you don’t believe it, “you are beautiful.” 
When nobody else will tell you, “you are beautiful.” 
Love still thinks you are beautiful. 
But love is not perfect and will sometimes forget, when you need to hear it most, you are beautiful, do not forget this.

Love is not who you were expecting, love is not who you can predict. 
Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep;
You are in California, Australia, wide awake. 
Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone.
Maybe love is not ready for you. 
Maybe you are not ready for love. 
Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type. 
Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce, love is older now, but just as beautiful as you remembered. 
Maybe love is only there for a month. 
Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit. 
Maybe love stays- maybe love can’t. 
Maybe love shouldn’t.

Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, 
And love leaves exactly when love must. 
When love arrives, say, “Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.”
If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her. 
Turn off the music, listen to the quiet, whisper, 
“Thank you for stopping by.”

Poetry is Not a Luxury: Poetry As Power

by Kiki Nicole

   White people love to tell me how lyrical my writing is, how the rhythms of my words flow so well, how every verse is so political, so eloquent. Outside of past college workshop classes, however, white people love to scrutinize my Black existence. They love to touch my hair (especially when it’s pastel colored), invade my personal space bubble, whistle and holler out of truck windows, and sneer as I walk through suburbia.

   Trying to pursue a writing career is like always walking through suburbia. It’s in prestigious literary communities, in academia, in the long list of declined submissions in your Submittable account. You are always afraid. You are always faced with the threat of dismissal from a face far whiter than your’s. You are always expecting failure. You are always faced with the threat of being dismissed because whatever you create will be Othered, and therefore, not important enough for non-POC to engage with. This can look like the awkward silences in your creative writing class when you read a piece on misogynoir, which is a type of sexism no white feminist wants to admit exists. 

    This can look like reading poem in a poetry slam about the anti-black consumerism that keeps white entertainers afloat in the music business because you know it will make every white person very uncomfortable and therefore you will have to win.  This can look like invalidation. Like everyone is afraid of you, but still wants something from you. Like being Queer. Like being Woman. Like being Black.

   Looking back through my old poetry, I realized that I was always trying to make myself smaller, in my life and on the page as well. I would write every piece using only lowercase letters, sign my name in lowercase and seal the signature within closed parentheses for added shrinkage. I realize now that this was not done in a bell hooks kind of way but more in that unflattering, internalized sexism kind of way. I wrote like this so as to not seem too bold and brazen, too loud and angry Black girl; I didn’t want to force my words on anyone because they weren’t important. I wanted to let the world know of everything I had to say but felt like I had no right to shout it from the rooftops, so I kept my poems down to a whisper (and still apologized because even that seemed too loud).

    Women, especially women of color, are constantly being reminded that their art and their voices do not matter and it’s really difficult to not take that in. Living unapologetically while not white/straight/male is a dangerous existence. In her TED talk “We Should All Be Feminists” and as featured on Beyoncé’s Flawless track, writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie says, “We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller.”  I subconsciously wanted to remain palatable to any readers, to become small enough until I was deemed consumable. Because there is still a part of me who believes that I should not be taking up space as a Black feminine person. Because there is still a part of me who believes I do not deserve to be recognized, that I do not deserve validation, and that I should not try. There will always be a white artist who is inherently “better” than me. There will always be a white voice who deserves to be listened to more than I do.

    I think there is a bravery to poetry. Especially for Black and femme-identified writers. We are often lumped together in the destructive “strong Black woman” trope and art allows us to explore that vulnerability and weakness we are not supposed to have. In my opinion, poetry creates a platform for healing and growth; poetry is a powerful tool. In a world in which we are consistently being denied that opportunity, poetry is power. Something Black femmes are usually stripped of. It challenges the sexist and racist negative self-talk that I used to dwell in. I am tired of my work being denied because it is too personal, too Black, too much. I am tired of internalizing from our sexist-racist world the idea that my work is not Literary enough, not Good enough, or not Enough because most of it focuses on my identity.

    I am giving myself strength when I navigate the complexities of Blackness and womanhood in my poetry. I am giving myself courage to be important when I capitalize my Blackness. I am giving myself back the right to exist without feeling threatened, without anticipating someone talking over me. I am giving myself  back the space I was denied as a Queer, Black femme. Through writing, I am choosing to believe in myself  in a world full of constant reminders that my life does not matter. That, in itself, is a revolutionary act.

Kiki Nicole is a 20 year old girl ghost currently living in Portland, Or. She is a full time employee for Where Are You Press and a part time poet (which you can check out on her new blog!) She writes for quiet, colored girls hiding inside the margins. She is very much into critically thinking about the intersections of race and gender in everyday life, drinking water, reading too many books, and watching Sailor Moon. She would like you to know that she is trying. And that, in itself, is a great poem.

85 lines (Aquatic Thoughts)

It’s funny how every week I get weak
So routine that one day I just feel incomplete
Like the fuck am I doing wrong
Why haven’t I recorded a new song
So I stay inside quiet waiting for god’s consent to die
Contemplating every aspect of life
Realizing I’m just an insect with a bit of intellect who dreams of success with kids and a wife
Feel so alone on my own
Love my family but wanna leave home
Just to be able to create that studio I wanted
need to prove to my dad he missed out on this seed
Mom the only one I owe dues since I pay thithes every check
From the military because of a step dad that didn’t neglect
I told my cuzion if she returns from basic
And I’m not on a new level with this music that’s it
If I can’t make a move in 6 months I’ll erase it
Life on the edge and I’m just looking for a reason to jump
Save me from this misery that faces to deface me
Why would I be called by something I don’t trust
Reason I don’t go by my government
Rather the revolution clean sweep and start again
If it was up to my mom I’d be servin sermons
But I pray this mic I’m meant to deliver clever wordin
The mic I Wonder if I’m meant to hold
I don’t judge, cause for my own setbacks I scold
Sometimes i just say the wrong thing,
Sometimes i couldn’t care less what people think
and times i just want to know what she thinks
Funny how I’ve fallen for girls only seen through screens
Type not to be whipped and give up cream
But just seems so scerine to have a family and a fulfilled dream
Came to grips I might die alone
I told god it is in his hands,
though when I said it felt like my chest was under a van
love was separated by a state
Still reminisce over a love that never happened
I still got love for you and I know it’s mutual
However I know it worked out never
Perhaps in some other universe or lifetime shit we could have been forever
Yet in still I respect you enough not to bring your name in these raps.
Just want a girl to believe in me and tell her we can buy an estate
People keep grilling me and there is so much at stake
Ambitions to be great

Aquatic thoughts
Baggage and this is what I brought
Carry, but dump some before buried
In 85 lines describe what I confined

I came up on gangsta content
I thought it was hand in hand conscious
I find it idiotic when some talk about how much money they armed with
When people are starvin.
I just write about my inner thoughts I’m to scared to say aloud
Want my therapeutics to make people ludicrous
Throwing bones as I rock a crowd
College holding me back from more opening acts
But try to find cyphers just to spit fire and sharpen the axe
But stay at the campus poetry slams and open mics
I just want my brother to be proud
And show him a way out from this yelling house
Love him but I’ll be the first to bail and hound him down
My ambition is an addiction
Trying to make the listener a junkie off of the line I slang
Pitchin MP3s for a re up, my skill I bang
rhymes dope of course this is my pipe dream
The man of god who never sold rock
But get the head nod from the dudes on the block
I try to console my soul
Wasting time on this console
High score just to remind me how low
With only memories to hold
Looking in the mirror only see a face full of fear
Image of an inferior’s here
Dark thoughts just trying to cloud the light
Still battling the same sins, seems like the only thing I commit
Wrote these rhymes just to give you my brain to borrow
I took my volcanic rage and artic sorrow
Not to swallow or bottle but combine to make some some self esteem.
When I sit thinking it’s all a useless dream
My fear is that when I shoot to the star
But once I get there I realize it burned out years ago
But need to prove my supporters I don’t need that crutch anymore
The core remain raw able to open the door
And see my Album on shelves in the store
All opponents futile
Maybe it will be my child
To test futility My validity as an MC
my Eyedeas to fulfill my abilities.
Speak E-Z-Aly
Remain the asthmatic, fighting to breath

Made with SoundCloud

85 lines (Aquatic Thoughts)

It’s funny how every week I get weak
So routine that one day I just feel incomplete
Like the fuck am I doing wrong
Why haven’t I recorded a new song
So I stay inside quiet waiting for god’s consent to die
Contemplating every aspect of life
Realizing I’m just an insect with a bit of intellect who dreams of success with kids and a wife
Feel so alone on my own
Love my family but wanna leave home
Just to be able to create that studio I wanted
need to prove to my dad he missed out on this seed
Mom the only one I owe dues since I pay thithes every check
From the military because of a step dad that didn’t neglect
I told my cuzion if she returns from basic
And I’m not on a new level with this music that’s it
If I can’t make a move in 6 months I’ll erase it
Life on the edge and I’m just looking for a reason to jump
Save me from this misery that faces to deface me
Why would I be called by something I don’t trust
Reason I don’t go by my government
Rather the revolution clean sweep and start again
If it was up to my mom I’d be servin sermons
But I pray this mic I’m meant to deliver clever wordin
The mic I Wonder if I’m meant to hold
I don’t judge, cause for my own setbacks I scold
Sometimes i just say the wrong thing,
Sometimes i couldn’t care less what people think
and times i just want to know what she thinks
Funny how I’ve fallen for girls only seen through screens
Type not to be whipped and give up cream
But just seems so scerine to have a family and a fulfilled dream
Came to grips I might die alone
I told god it is in his hands,
though when I said it felt like my chest was under a van
love was separated by a state
Still reminisce over a love that never happened
I still got love for you and I know it’s mutual
However I know it worked out never
Perhaps in some other universe or lifetime shit we could have been forever
Yet in still I respect you enough not to bring your name in these raps.
Just want a girl to believe in me and tell her we can buy an estate
People keep grilling me and there is so much at stake
Ambitions to be great

Aquatic thoughts
Baggage and this is what I brought
Carry, but dump some before buried
In 85 lines describe what I confined

I came up on gangsta content
I thought it was hand in hand conscious
I find it idiotic when some talk about how much money they armed with
When people are starvin.
I just write about my inner thoughts I’m to scared to say aloud
Want my therapeutics to make people ludicrous
Throwing bones as I rock a crowd
College holding me back from more opening acts
But try to find cyphers just to spit fire and sharpen the axe
But stay at the campus poetry slams and open mics
I just want my brother to be proud
And show him a way out from this yelling house
Love him but I’ll be the first to bail and hound him down
My ambition is an addiction
Trying to make the listener a junkie off of the line I slang
Pitchin MP3s for a re up, my skill I bang
rhymes dope of course this is my pipe dream
The man of god who never sold rock
But get the head nod from the dudes on the block
I try to console my soul
Wasting time on this console
High score just to remind me how low
With only memories to hold
Looking in the mirror only see a face full of fear
Image of an inferior’s here
Dark thoughts just trying to cloud the light
Still battling the same sins, seems like the only thing I commit
Wrote these rhymes just to give you my brain to borrow
I took my volcanic rage and artic sorrow
Not to swallow or bottle but combine to make some some self esteem.
When I sit thinking it’s all a useless dream
My fear is that when I shoot to the star
But once I get there I realize it burned out years ago
But need to prove my supporters I don’t need that crutch anymore
The core remain raw able to open the door
And see my Album on shelves in the store
All opponents futile
Maybe it will be my child
To test futility My validity as an MC
my Eyedeas to fulfill my abilities.
Speak E-Z-Aly
Remain the asthmatic, fighting to breath

Made with SoundCloud
youtube

“When Love Arrives”

By: Sarah Kay & Phil Kaye

I knew exactly what love looked like – in seventh grade

Even though I hadn’t met love yet, if love had wandered into my homeroom, I would’ve recognized him at first glance. Love wore a hemp necklace. 
I would’ve recognized her at first glance, love wore a tight french braid. 
Love played acoustic guitar and knew all my favorite Beatles songs.
Love wasn’t afraid to ride the bus with me. 
And I knew, I just must be searching the wrong classrooms, just must be checking the wrong hallways, she was there, I was sure of it. 
If only I could find him.

But when love finally showed up, she had a bow cut. 
He wore the same clothes every day for a week.
Love hated the bus. 
Love didn’t know anything about The Beatles. 
Instead, every time I try to kiss love, our teeth got in the way.
Love became the reason I lied to my parents. I’m going to- Ben’s house. 
Love had terrible rhythm on the dance floor, but made sure we never missed a slow song. 
Love waited by the phone because she knew if her father picked up it would be: “Hello? Hello? I guess they hung up.”

And love grew, stretched like a trampoline. 
Love changed. Love disappeared, 
Slowly, like baby teeth, losing parts of me I thought I needed. 
Love vanished like an amateur magician, and everyone could see the trapdoor but me. 
Like a flat tire, there were other places I planned on going, but my plans didn’t matter. 
Love stayed away for years, and when love finally reappeared, I barely recognized him. 
Love smelt different now, had darker eyes, a broader back, love came with freckles I didn’t recognize. 
New birthmarks, a softer voice. 
Now there were new sleeping patterns, new favorite books. 
Love had songs that reminded him of someone else, songs love didn’t like to listen to. So did I.

But we found a park bench that fit us perfectly
We found jokes that make us laugh. 
And now, love makes me fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies. 
But love will probably finish most of them for a midnight snack. 
Love looks great in lingerie but still likes to wear her retainer. 
Love is a terrible driver, but a great navigator. 
Love knows where she’s going, it just might take her two hours longer than she planned. 
Love is messier now, not as simple. 
Love uses the words “boobs” in front of my parents. 
Love chews too loud. 
Love leaves the cap off the toothpaste. 
Love uses smiley faces in her text messages. 
And turns out, love shits!

But love also cries. 
And love will tell you you are beautiful and mean it, over and over again. “You are beautiful.”
When you first wake up, “you are beautiful.” 
When you’ve just been crying, “you are beautiful.” 
When you don’t want to hear it, “you are beautiful.” 
When you don’t believe it, “you are beautiful.” 
When nobody else will tell you, “you are beautiful.” 
Love still thinks you are beautiful. 
But love is not perfect and will sometimes forget, when you need to hear it most, you are beautiful, do not forget this.

Love is not who you were expecting, love is not who you can predict. 
Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep;
You are in California, Australia, wide awake. 
Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone.
Maybe love is not ready for you. 
Maybe you are not ready for love. 
Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type. 
Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce, love is older now, but just as beautiful as you remembered. 
Maybe love is only there for a month. 
Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit. 
Maybe love stays- maybe love can’t. 
Maybe love shouldn’t.

Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, 
And love leaves exactly when love must. 
When love arrives, say, “Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.”
If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her. 
Turn off the music, listen to the quiet, whisper, 
“Thank you for stopping by.”

 

Listen,
I don’t want to end up like my parents.

Not that they’re not great –
My dad knows more about everything
Than anyone I’ve ever met,
Like which city has the most bedbugs
(It’s Philadelphia)
Or what musician made the most music in his lifetime
(Its Schumann)
And my mom
Can make any disgusting frozen meal taste like the entree at a james beard winner
And can make women who crawled on their hands and knees looking for cans of food as children
Stand up again.
Listen,
My dad has held guns in stick-ups
And lived in vans
And under blankets of pine needles
Listen,
My mom has taken every kind of drug-
well, maybe not every kind,
but all the ones that scare me
and she still got her PhD with ADHD
Listen,
My dad lived in a teepee,
And my mom was the first person in her high school to wear jeans.
My dad can name every kind of tree.
I ask him when we go on hikes,
And I point at white veins that spout out of mountains like I’m six and everything is new,
he has an answer
“That’s a red alder.”
My mom
Can pick up seismic passive aggression when it’s just a daydream under tectonic plates,
And she can make the people who remember happiness like a good book they read once
Spout laughter that catches them off-guard
I know
I’ve seen it
Listen,
My dad is the smartest person I’ve ever met who dropped out of college
My mom is the least pretentious PhD on the planet
My parents
Are the coolest people I know,

But they don’t see each other like geniuses,
Or interpersonal ecologists,
Or like red alders on clear cut mountains,

Listen.
I don’t want to end up like my parents.
I want to catch you off-guard and not stop
Even on the day I kiss you and climb out of this world to greet a new day.
I want you to tell me something I don’t know
Every single day I know you
Even if that thing is about cockroaches
Or what you ate for breakfast,
Even if that thing is you.
I want to see you as my pioneer, of fashion or drugs or untouched forests,
I want you to read me the poem you write every day in the palm of your hand because I’m sure it’ll change with every skin cell you lose.
I want to listen to you read the paper,
Or discover what happens when you roast a tomato for the twentieth time.
I want you to learn, and I want to learn, and I want us to be teachers before were anything else-
Listen,
I’m okay if we don’t last forever,
But I never want you to be a book I keep on my bookshelf and never reread
I want to be your surprise
On every page
I want to know you
And tell my daughter one day,
Did you know,
There was once someone beautiful
Who always knew something new.