sc poetry

Please don’t tell me
the sugarcoated version
I want to hear
what the first thing you think of when you wake up is, what song you listen to when you’re sad.
I want to know if sometimes
you feel like your insides are forming into a hurricane, and you don’t know where to direct the emotions, because there’s no where safe to evacuate to.
I want you to feel heard
by more than just my ears,
and touched
by more than just my hands.
I want you to know
that there is another living, breathing, human that exists miles away from where you are right now, but I am closer than ever.
I would give anything to wrap you up
in a warm blanket just like a burrito, and
sing you your favorite song, while you pretend I sound remotely good.
I would give anything to keep you safe,
to remind you that what your father said about you isn’t true. It never was.
I would give anything
to be there right this second, but for now,
all I have to give you are these words.
I want you to feel heard by more than just my ears. I want you to feel touched by more than just my hands. I want you to feel seen, by more than just your past.

I feel so connected to you, and I can’t wait for what the future holds, my darling.


Eating is good. Eating is great.

Prompt (Aokaga Month Day 5): Eating

(In which either of them contemplates the many feelings that come with eating, and tries to be poetic about their fateful love affair over a stolen piece of cake. Is it Aomine or Kagami? Take your pick.)

I love eating. I wish I was kidding. Eating every day, eating every hour, eating every food, eating what I want. Eating is something I’m inherently attuned with, and eating hasn’t done me anything wrong. A few bouts with the occasional stomachache, yes, but never anything medicine or a trip to the bathroom can’t handle. I adore eating.

Eating makes healthy a boy. I am still growing, and my appetite knows no bounds. Eating makes me happy. I am best friends with food, and my fondness knows no limits. Eating makes me feel alive. (It does keep me alive.) But as much as I love food and consuming, I am only human, and only recently eating has become too routine, too boring.

Eating with classmates has been fine. Eating with friends has been cool. Eating with my cohort has been great. And yet at the end of every meal that leaves no more room to fill, an emptiness has overwhelmed me, an unceasing cause of discomfort beneath my belly.

It is not the type of void that comes with eating alone. Heck, I have been rarely eating alone. Companionship does crazy things to your psyche, and more often these days, I have entirely avoided eating all by myself.

And yet no matter how I have tried to account for the teeny amount of fulfillment felt by dining with my rowdy buddies, there has been something I am certain that I have been missing.

Eating is good. Eating is great. Eating makes healthy a boy, it not only gains me weight. Friendship can be forged through a meal. Stories shared over or after a meal have become staple to me.

And yet, I have felt lonely.

Eating is good. Eating is great. I have tried to repeat the words, but on my anxiety they only grate.

Until you came.

Eating is good. Eating is great. Eating has been as natural as breathing, until you came and snatched my cake.

Eating is good. Eating is great. Eating has almost become a bore, until you decided to call dinner a date.

Eating is good. Eating is great. But eating with you—it’s got to be the best.

(End of my poetic murder.)

He breaks your heart on a Tuesday.

It isn’t a surprise in the end,
you’ve known too many boys like him before.
Learnt the way their lips curl
and their eyes wander like spotlights.
It shouldn’t have been hard to walk away.

But your heart has always been a fool
and you’ve spent half your time and affection
ignoring the warning signs in favour
of racing heartbeats and the brush of fingers
There was a reason you buried your heart so deep.

He breaks your heart on a Tuesday.

And despite preparing for the fallout,
Breath escapes your heavy lungs
and your teeth bite at your lips
and you want with a fever.
Want revenge, want pain.

You want him to hurt like you hurt.
But he was not the one to let simple words
And shy smiles become his undoing
So you know better than to try
and turn his own weapon against him

He breaks your heart on a Tuesday.

And you have fury clenched between your teeth
And acid in your chest and stomach.
This will pass eventually.
Til then, pull out your best dress
Wear those thigh highs that you love

You may not want to but this is where it starts
Paint your lips red and call your best friend
Wink at strangers on the street
Be brave and fearless for a little while.
Forget for a moment how ugly this has made you feel

He breaks your heart on a Tuesday.

And there’s nothing you can do, not yet
but one day he will sit back and realise,
finally understand what he ruined
Till then, wear that floral dress armour
And let the whiskey he hated stain your lips.

You are as beautiful as you have ever been
And will continue to be so
long after you have forgotten his name.

- temporary {SC}

Your Words.

This poem is dedicated to anyone and everyone who has felt alone, lost, or confused. For those who feel like some days, only one person helps you get through. You hold on to the hope in what they say; in how much they believe that things will get better, how much they believe in you. This poem is also dedicated to those of you who reach out to us, the lost ones. You really don’t understand how much impact a kind word can make.

FOR MY FOLLOWS IN THE NC,SC, ATL, DMV AREA THIS ID FOR YOU!! in less than two weeks, there will be an artist showcase event being held at the Showroom Gallery on July 25th. Performances range from poetry/spoken word, singing, dance, rap and freestyles of many kinds. There will also be artwork displayed around the gallery(7 of mine being among others). Tickets online are $6, $10 at the door. Come and support your local and distant black artist. All people are welcome. Can’t wait to meet yall. Stay cool.