blackout prose

I felt sick. Images I’d kept buried from that night started resurfacing randomly.
His voice cut through my panic.
‘Are you okay?’
His hand gripped my shoulder just tight enough to steady me.
'Don’t worry about anything,’ he said. 'I’ll take care of you. How do you feel about France?’




Another piece of In The Flesh blackout prose.

a love note for black girls.

not to generalize, but i fucking love black girls. i love their full lipped smiles when no one is looking, i love the lights in their eyes when they know the world is watching and waiting for them to fail and they have every intention of proving it wrong. i love black girls with perms and black girls with kinks and curls. i love black girls who tie their hair up at night in silk and those who don’t. I love black girls with booming laughs and timid giggles. i love black girls who struggle to be soft in a world that hurts them and tells them to be hard. i love black girls who wear name brand athletic apparel and black girls who embrace the day in sundresses. i love alternative black girls with short pastel hair and piercings and i love black girls with box braids. i love black girls with that poetic justice grin. i love black girls with cactus skin and neck hairs pricked to points primed to cut any motherfucker who gets too close uninvited. i love black girls who don’t take nobody’s shit and black girls still learning to speak up and stand up for themselves. i love black girls so so so much because they are struggling to be themselves in a world that doesn’t give two fucks about them, but you know what? these girls are surviving and THRIVING and stunning the sun into silence. i love you black girls. keep doing you.

I told him. 

The world you’re going into I don’t fit in with it. 

He said, in a cocky tone…..YEAH YOU DON’T. 

If I was a weak bitch that would have cut me. 

But I knew better. 

You see I could fit into your world. 

But over time I would die on the inside. 

Suffocate. 

Bleed away my flare. 

And all for what? 

For a guy who never stood up for me as a friend?

For a guy who wants to make me his side ditch? While he continues to fuck his main bitch?

The truth is this you envy me. 

You want me. 

You crave me. 

I can see it. 

You try to hide behind this arrogant demeanour, but we know. 

Oh baby we know. 

You want the freedom from the mundane plan.

You want the strong chick not the she look pretty on your arm chick. 

You want it but you know it’s not possible. 

We both know it. 

I did right that night. 

Not coming in. 

It was the best. 

Just let me be the bomb ass friend you seen grow. 

Mature. 

Fought. 

Pushed. 

Let me be just that. A friend. 


only. 


BR

Don’t date me if you think I’m easy.
I’m honestly not.
I’ll fall head over heels for you,
Before I even realize it,
And Heaven help us all if I don’t
Put you first in everything I do.

Don’t date me for my heart;
Goodness, she’s a wild thing with a penchant
For blood. She’s a frightfully vicious thing, 
with too much sentimentality for her own good.

My hands are always cold, 
(And I’m told I’ve got a heart of gold),
I’ll be clingy and needy,
I’ll wake you up at 3 AM just to tell you that 
I love you. 

I’ll make you feel too much,
And then nothing at all,
I’ll drag you down to the depths of the ocean,
I’ll breathe life into you only to
Take it back. 

I’ll be lover sighs on Sundays and preparing for a fight Mondays,
And I swear, I’ll drive you insane because I can,
And I’ll be someone who needs protecting,
And someone who knows how to fight alone.
Baby,
I’ll make you simply mad.

—  a-heart-full-of-ink

(c.m.) // Blackout poetry. “He was the relief I asked for. I had felt so dark without his sense of tranquility.”

Talk to me.
I’m not speaking about small talk,
They bore me to no end.
Have deep conversations
With me, about anything
And everything.

What was your favorite subject
Or what would make a day out pristine?
What words have you chocked on,
And have you ever gotten into a fight?

What do you think of the government
And can you believe Donald Trump is actually
Running for president?

Do you prefer tea or coffee?
Do you like watching the stars as the
World sleeps?
Talk to me, please.

—  a-heart-full-of-ink

He wore a button-down shirt, slacks. Nothing flash.
Inky black hair clipped short over his ears. He looked clean, respectable - normal.

That was the giveaway.


He had the firm set in the jaw, and intense so-blue-they-were-almost-gray eyes that caught mine and wouldn’t let go.

I might have reassessed my opinion that he was a
                                                                                   zombie…



A little Simon Monroe blackout poetry to say thanks for all the likes this week!

Poetry Riot / Prose Riot Prompt (Week Sixty-Four)

The prompt for this week is:

guiltless during the drop

As always tag your work with poetryriotprompt and make some reference to the prompt (pieces that do not use the prompt will not be reblogged or included in the recap). If you do not see your work reblogged within twenty-four hours, let us know.

Good luck and have fun!

We ran-
We run like vagabonds,
Through the night with only the clothes on our backs,
And hardly a glance back;
We ignore the road signs and all those letters left unread,
And all the things we’ll never say will fall behind us.

We ran-
We run like broken heroes,
The stuff of fairy tales and bedtime stories,
Always trying to be the good guy but we ended up the villain,
We tried, oh we tried to do the saving when really,
It was us that needed it most.

We ran-
We run like forever didn’t matter,
Like we could take on the world with our own two hands,
Like we could eat it raw and not get sick to our stomachs, pretending not to taste blood and brains and all the histories stripped out of textbooks.

We ran-
We run like bandits,
Setting paths afire, blazing our own trails,
Dodging harsh words and disgusted gazes,
Just trying to find a place where we actually matter,
Where we won’t get shot at, beat at, picked at for wearing our heritage proudly.

We run like conquerers,
Like we know we were once kings and queens, no matter if we were inbetweens,
We keep running,
Sending our sacred prayers into space,
Please, let us get out of this place where things,
Don’t. Change.

—  a-heart-full-of-ink (Running)
My Reactions to #BlackOut In Chronological Order

1. This is the coolest thing ever, yes, yes, yes. 2. Wow I had no idea so many of the poets I follow are black3. That’s really fucked up. I’m black and when I see a poem or prose piece posted without an avatar I assume the author is white 4. I’m a black member of the Tumblr Writing Community and I still see the default of the TWC as white 5. The under/misrepresentation of black people in all forms of media, especially literature, fucks with EVERYONE’S perceptions, even black people themselves. 6. This is why black out is so necessary 7. Yes yes yes yes I love you all thank you!!!!! P.S If any black poets or prose writers who I don’t follow see this PLEASE message me/ comment. I want to know you all.

I’ll write for you,
I’ll write for him
And her,
And every goddamn person
Who thinks they don’t have a voice.
These pens,
Will be my weapon of choice,
An arsenal of mass destruction,
And I will use it for every person,
Who can’t.