blackout prose

For the Ones (and with only the night)

I hang my head out the window
To hear the hum of the city –
The planes, the trains
The automobiles,
The sex; I climb
And nearly to leap out,
Grasping for one reminder,
You and opposite the imprint,
Scratches we’d left in bed,
Indents foolish, signs sought,
I think we called that hour “love.”

Reticence echoing the concrete,
An only reply to my, “hello,”
Becomes the first
And even more
Frightening –
As I drift in between
Houses, with,
“Is anybody out there?”
A subtle follow-up
Precursory twilight insomnia.

So with my last friend in hand, both
Brothers and sisters to belly,
I remain a mute
With the loudest of
Voices –
Singular, solitary
Or departed at best
Wishing that the
City paid its electric-bill
And the people’d come back to life;
Included the crowd, she’d return too.

     - L.C.

MIDNIGHT: I know it’s late, but I thought about what you told me the other night, and it’s really incredible. Out of 400 million galaxies, I managed to be born in this one. Out of 196 countries on this earth, I found my way to this city. I found you.


ONE: Did I already call? I just had a question. I’m trying to remember what shade of brown your eyes are but the only thing I can think about is your arms. Both because they’re hot as fuck and because they’re the only place I’d feel safe right now.


TWO: Last time I was this drunk, I threw up in someone’s car and onto the walls of a bathroom and all over the sidewalk. I feel sick to my stomach, but not in the same way. My chest hurts more than anything else. I think I just miss you. is there any way you could


THREE: said no and I would’ve listened, but you didn’t, so how can this be my fault? I’m sorry, I’m just scared, I’m scared and I don’t know where my keys are and you


FOUR: but please don’t tell anyone about how I


FIVE: Spanish class, she won’t stop talking about you, and sometimes I just want to tell her all the things you and I


SIX: a bad idea, but you were right. sometimes I can’t talk to you without five shots of anything I can get my hands on first. Telling you how I feel isn’t like learning to drive— it doesn’t get easier with time, it always feels like a freeway collision, I’m just collecting scars every night I call you. I think I need to go. The sun’s coming up and pretty soon you’ll be awake and I don’t want to hear the disappointment in your voice. I love you. In case you didn’t hear me the other sixteen times.
—  05. binge drinking | a.v.

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.


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.
I’ll make you simply mad.

—  a-heart-full-of-ink

My blackness was never threaten.

I’m not light skinned.
I’m not dark skinned.
My nigga I’m a blend.
Colorism isn’t my sin.

My hair is mine.
It still beautiful to me.

Ass or no ass I still got it.
Snatched waist or not I still love it.
Thick thighs or nah I’m still going far.

My blackness is lit.
My skin is legit.
Forever happy in it.

My blackness was never threaten.

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.


A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about how it’s okay to want to feel needed. This opinion still stands with me. As humans there are certain needs that need to be met whether physical, mental, spiritual and so on. These needs provide us with the validation and reassurance that we need and crave.

Lately, I have been feeling like a lone wolf. At times I feel super overwhelmed because I feel my hardwork, my actions, my writing, my kindness, the things that I do for others is taken for granted and is unappreciated.

I feel I am often misunderstood and all I long for is to be understood. I am an extremely independent person, but for some reason lately I just have been feeling the need to be reassured that I am appreciated, that my actions and the things I do matter to someone, that I am valued, that my existence matters to someone. I just feel invisible at this point.

I look around and I see everyone, but does anyone see me?

(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

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)

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

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!