Your breath reeks of crown royal and someone else’s laughter
You still need God too
Forgive me for the times I have made God out of you
I was never supposed to worship hands that I could touch
But couldn’t feel
It looked real
It looked right
I stopped praying
Because I forgot the sound of my own voice
I was unsure that God would recognize it
Or that he’d want to hear what I had to say
I am just a woman
A failed lover
A mess, to say the least
A body, to say the most
At least that’s the picture you painted over the mirror
And told me was my reflection
I hope they see me now
I know God hears me better
I don’t wonder if you do
I don’t want to hear you.
Your breath reeks of I miss you’s and things that are like glitter
Both of which wear off.
Wherever and however this finds you,
I hope that it is warm.
As for me?
Well you see.. …

Impromptu caption poetry by me. 03/16/17 5:18 pm
Photo by @karen__santos

A Living Miracle

I found you when i wasn’t looking
& honestly who would’ve thought?
that someone like me with a heart & mind so broken
would ever receive such an everlasting beauty from above

A Living Miracle in the flesh
gods perfect example of perfection
& no words can even describe nor even express
the inner love behind every confession

Confessions i want to yell
Confessions i yearn to scream
Confessions i cant even tell
to confessions that can just bring you closer to me

if you’re here for a reason,
off the back i can already say
you’ve already completed that mission
because when I’m around you, I’ve never been close to even being “OK”

& you take me beyond that!
you’ve taken me higher than the skies
believe me, no ones been CLOSE to ever doing that
& you just did that with a gaze of those hypnotizing eyes

& who am i?
to deserve anything close to your potential,
& how are you even at my side??
when the rest of the world is in need of a miracle?

maybe it was luck!
maybe i was standing in the right place, at the right time
maybe regarding the demons in my life enough was enough
because now its the light & not the darkness in its prime

they say doors close so other can open
& my, what have you done
you’ve stripped all of the armor i was possibly wearing
all to just rebuild the most broken of hearts

& all i can do is thank you,
wondering at the same time if this is all too good to be true
but maybe that’s the beauty of miracles
you don’t just go looking, you just let them find you…

Like how you found me.

-The Zomb

Originally posted by the-devil--in-my-bloodstream

Bisexual Queer: Don’t Want To Be Put Into a Boxed Label

Truth be told,

I don’t like to be put into some homo-queer box,

for I don’t like labels,

in fact, as shocking as it may,

I don’t want to call myself Bisexual,

but yet, I do…

although I’m a special kind of Bi,

the kind of Bi where I love women with a passion;

women makes me weak,

women is who I desire 99 and a ½% of the time,

while the other ½%

…is really a dot…

men…I don’t feel deepness for them…they’re cute,

but just because I had my share of dick in the past

…and it was good…

does not mean that my identity should be updated for the present.

Here’s my honest fear & the pressure that I feel:

I don’t wanted to be hated nor rejected by my own Bi community

for not wanting to be boxed into the Bi label,
nor be looked at as a hypocrite,

for I want to embrace a community

where I feel a sense of unity and acceptance,

but I’m feeling a sense of confliction…

don’t want to cause any confusion by calling myself Bi,

because if and/or when I date someone,

and give a full explanation of what I identify,

then I don’t want to feel that form of…


However, if the rejection occurs,

fuck them,

a bi-phobic being isn’t my type anyway.

Look, I’m not fearful of the Bi label,

although it sounds like I am…

and if I say that I don’t want to call myself Bi,

then I don’t want to be part of the problem

of an internalized “bi erasure” with myself,

but yet, I want to shamelessly embrace being me unapologetically

and say, “FUCK IT, I AM BI!”

I shouldn’t let this fear get in the way,

the fear of possibly having to defend myself for being me…

and let me clarify

that I’m NOT a Lesbian,

in fact, I don’t want to call myself a Lesbian,

nor a “Bisexual-Lesbian",

that ½% still counts for something…

I just don’t want to be put into a strict,

boxed in label of queer identities

that we have to wear like a badge of honor,
for I’m way more than my identity,
but yet, I want to continue honoring my loving,

beautiful Bi community,

hell, I want to honor being ME!

Honestly, as I think about it,

I SHOULD call myself Bi,

as a subliminal way of protest

and say FUCK YOU to the rest…

of the ignorant ass, bi-phobic bitches who wants to erase us & keep us oppressed.

I guess, I’m still working on fully coming out as Bisexual,

although once again,

I still don’t want to be put into a boxed label.

However, for the sake of me loving women,

with a drop of liking men…lightweight,

I should just comfortably call myself this:

Bisexual Queer

…and to me, it fits.  

Poetic Old Soul

September 21st, 2016

Dear brother
I see oceans in your eyes
I see a longing to escape the confounds of this world and swim with the sharks
it’s as if you were born more fish than human
lungs never quite fitting the space in your chest
the word man never the proper label
Dear brother
I know this world hasn’t been good to you
this world has broken you down and tore you apart again and again
in attempt to build you into the image of expectations
brother, don’t give into expectations
break down the box around you labelled man, labelled girly, labelled never good enough
build your sanctuary in reflection of who you are as a human
push the boundaries
smile like each of your lips are fault lines
reach out your hands like you could gather stars between your fingers
allow your curiosity to carry you
brother, let the oceans in your eyes swim with wonder
build a sandcastle on the beach and decorate it with seashells
or plough it down with Tonka Truck or T-Rex feet
wear your runners on the beach
ignore the expressions and the sand in your socks
Tell me there are more gains of sand on this beach than humans on this earth
you don’t have to tell me how that thought makes you lonely
Tell me about the fish that swim just off the shore and I will see the longing in your eyes to join them
stare at the sky, tell me how the position of the moon affects the tides
Tell me you don’t want to be here and I will believe you
I see you wading through shallow water as if you’re waiting for the tide to come in a sweep you away
brother, remember you were born with lungs, so come up for air
Dear brother
I know you are unsatisfied with the body you were born into
unimpressed with the labels used to define you
so reinvent yourself
stitch new stories into your skin
thread new identities between your fingers
allow new words to fall from your mouth
explore, change, unapologetically change back
swallow words again and again until they no longer taste bitter
don’t chock on others uneducated syllabus, they do not stand in your mirror
brother, if you do not see yourself in your reflection buy a fish tank, stare into its depths… and breathe
—  MeganTalks

Performance of my spoken word poem Breaking the Silence about diversity.
[feel free to reblog]

@sir-sierr @owo-username @tate103 @raakxhyr @jrfarrar @lexdohl


Character: Rebecca Knight a.k.a “Rebel” #rebel #bet #spokenword #poetry #videooftheday #tvshow

Made with Instagram
I think there’s a malady in my mind because I have a habit lately of second guessing everything. And they really should have a scientific answer to whether the glass is half full or half empty because I can’t keep determining these grey areas with how my emotions are at that time. Someone on the bus is wearing the cologne I bought you and I want to tell them to take it off. There’s an event at my old high school and I think they want us to come back as if we really enjoyed our time there. I don’t want to relearn everybody’s name again to forget them… so I probably won’t attend. I woke up at 4am this morning and you were the only thing on my mind but I dismissed it and instead planned out my life. Without you. My cousin told me our grandmother is doing well thanks to God and instead of missing her, I count the rosary beads and make all my life decision with her in mind. I think that can make up for the absence, even if it doesn’t. I saw someone that looked like you and my hands started to shake unexpectedly. Missing somebody should be a full time job. I wrote down the enrolment date for Uni but I can’t remember what my major will be. I scribbled a list of my top five favourite rappers while listening to the mezmur at church. All these messages are the same. My sister told me I have to let this sadness go soon and I said I need one more week. I don’t know what seven days will do… but at least I have a deadline for when my mind will hopefully change.
—  MartahJoy© - Ye tewahedo mezmur

The first time our eyes met you scraped my heart and I let it bleed like wind sprinting through the trees. Your eyes were red and my body black and blue, cloaked in your shallow dress your words and influence grew into obedience. The strength of a thousand angels could not force your torso passed your hips and you have filled me so that my dry soul drips.

Love not the creation of man or woman, for it is the flesh that oozes blood when worked to exhaustion; it is the heart with which we feel the most pain that finds light. Humans are nothing more or less than the molds we cast around ourselves and the chains we place on our ankles to prevent ourselves from walking too fast. Fear is the black of all bruises and blue is the hesitance in our guts. The butterflies must be tamed and treated like lions within a circus show. It is more often the softest blankets that cause the most suffering. I prefer to sleep without comfort because a new day rises and I refuse to miss a single moment.

Spoken word piece: I actually really like it too

She is the broken Beach Fossil
brain picked, hands dry
convection baked
What a fucking weird time
to be anything at all
what a weird time to be alive.

She is a videographer
with scattered graphs
lining her linen
every shift at night
crunches back at her
It says
“You don’t know a god damn thing Cheyenne, just try and do what what’s right.”

the causes for her self sabotage
pelt down in a mirage
of teenaged angst
that She cannot seem to let go
pitiful music plays
powerful baby girl emotions
peak at an all time high
the lows are cutting down
to her bone marrow
Tomorrow is only ever the new today
practically is a speciality
Her impulsivity pulls away
prayin’s always just been
a way of sayin’
people fear what they know best
psalms and methodical words
become our security blankets
in the face of our own unrest.

Is she getting into heaven?
There is no fucking way.

When judgement day comes
She’ll be too busy
being concerned with her self vanity
She so vehemently denies-
No one wants to admit their insecurities
in the eyes of the beholder
even though they always told her
to look past the face in the mirror
but unconventional beauty
that’s not so beautiful
stands out in her mind
as a gold mine
for criticisms and judgements
She cannot bear
She’d rather spend her grocery money
on products built on capitalism, commercialism and cruelness
made for her to never feel good enough

She will never feel good enough
with a father
who kept a vacancy sign
staked outside the entrance
of his disjointed mind
Was he incapable
or could he just not take the time
to put down the various bottles
Each one could be an entry free
To admit him
into group circles
vicious circles
that accomplish nothing but
self-pity riddled with
excuses and sob stories
gradually added to
an intervention
an invention
of fucked up psyches
For her it’s just another night of
hiding his car keys

And because
She is in love
like everyone else
But all it is, is broken bottles
Drunken rambles
and an incapacity
to see
She is wasting her time
on wasted autocorrect
that cannot correct
empty promises
that hang high and dry
in static air
She is a good distraction at best
with a laugh that could end wars
It clouds judgements
Muddy waters
Lonely daughters
Distant fathers
Overprotective mothers
Protective brothers
all of which she covers
under covers at night
midnight adventures
inspired by a red light
are what fucks with her head
when she knows
the best option is always to go to bed

And because
it is trendy to hate herself
so she does
She reads about motorcycle maintenance
to maintain her pseudo intellect
but when it comes down to it
there are no organic thoughts
or wit
to collect from her head
that is always talking at her
She is psychotic
and her killer
will be herself
her deathbed
a waterbed

Because she’s never known stability and
She never will.

Don’t be an Activist

Don’t be that dirty A word: Activist
Like a viral disease
It always starts in college
took that sociology or ethnic studies class
joined that outreach recruitment center for
underrepresented youth of color
you wanted to hold it down for the struggle
at the rally for undocumented student rights
and then it happens
you become an activist
the symptoms will kick in fast and heavy

Your parents will tell you to get a real job
Fox news will tell you you’re unpatriotic
Your friends will call you too sensitive
Your family will call you too liberal
Your community will call you too communist

You’ll work at a non-profit organization
cause you said you want to make a difference
cause you certainly aren’t making any money
even though your official job title is just program coordinator
You’re really also the organization’s social media director
youth outreach manager
office technician
staff personnel therapist
grant writer
program assessment evaluator
and in-house cultural competency trainer
You’ll wonder how many top ramen will it take before you give up
on your close to impoverished 50hrs a week
$800 Americorps monthly living stipend
You will buy extra lip balm for all the future ass kissing 
you will do to potential grantees and funders
all in the name of community
…and to keep you job
…cause your grant contract ends by the 2017 fiscal cycle
way to stick to the man

You’ll feel guilty for listening main stream hip-hop
and that your favorite song is Tyga’s Rack City
even though that song represents everything that you stand against
misogyny, male patriarchy
the commodification
and dehumanization of womyn
that beat is still so DAMN good
rack city, rack rack city
I mean Sac City, Sac City…ssstitch

Don’t be an activist because you’ll just be angry
angry because you learned that everything evil in this world is rooted
from colonialism, white patriarchy and capitalism

Paulo Friere called it
when they made the matrix
once become conscious, you can never go back
and with liberation comes burden
that burden sits heavy like asthma

Ignorance must really be bliss
because it’s exhausting
looking through Facebook newsfeed
without saying “gooddammit this shit is fucked up”
without seeing white people throw peace signs and make squinty eyes in pictures with the #asianpose
without having another “conversation” with your
well-intentioned but racist ass friend
who commented on your scholarly post on
“microaggressions in the classrooms”
without seeing another fraternity throw another
cinco de drinko “cross the border” party
without seeing another newscaster blame the victim
and defend the rapist
without another black body being shot
by another gunman named officer

and feeling
like you can never do anything
ironically enough
you try to brush it off
so you can procrastinate on your 8 page sociology paper
on institutionalized racism in the California prison system

It will hurt
it will hurt because
it will come from your own people
they tell you, you too cocky
that you’re an opportunistic
that left South Sacramento for a job at UC Davis
and that you a sell out
and so you buy into their thinking
and they said you were never REALLY down
and so you tell yourself that you were never REALLy down
and they called you out for saying something problematic
so you think of yourself as a problem
you didn’t get enough petition signatures
you didn’t stay long enough at the town hall meetings
you didn’t mentor enough youth
you weren’t there for your community when they needed it most
and so you questions everything that you are
everything that you stand for
you hit this point of confusion
of what it all means
and you succumb to self-doubt
and burn out
you get tired
of being tired
and you tell yourself
“I just want to be normal
just like everyone else”

That heavy anxiety sitting on your shoulders
makes you want to scratch your skin off
but then you realize
normal is that bystrander effect
that MNC chokehold that stops you from raising your voice
and forces you to turn you head away from injustice
and face down at iphones screens
Normal is making it easier for you
to keep up with the Kardashians
than to keep up with the sake of humanity
Normal is that basic shit!
Normal is that stuff that makes people cynical
cause being cynical is always easier than critical
Normal is making society a status quota
number of soldiers pulled out
the dowe jones down
unemployment up
climate change doesn’t exist
Racist republicans still do
and so we confuse normal
for this substance that cynicism made ugly
validation, acceptance, love

and you finally realize that it was never about you
and it wasn’t about them
but it was about everybody
It was about humanness - Ubuntu
a justice that institutions are incapable of achieving
so you’ve been forced to dream
you check your privilege for low paychecks
to implement your social justice
be the monkey wrench in the machine

activism is not a sprint
it is a lifelong marathon
and your most crucial asset in your run
is the not the power in your legs
but the strength of your heart
so you must protect it
You must pace to it to give it resiliency
you will be your biggest critic
but the minute you look far too much
in your own steps
you will lose vision
so you must keep your head upright
never lose sight of your finish line

this world does not need normal
it needs relentless unafraid pursuit of compassion
every action or inaction
disrupts or perpetuates that power of oppression
but you choose
to upset the set up
disrupt the corrupt
stand against the standardization
hunger strike for the hungry

you were meant to be different
you are greater than Normal
you are more than an activist
you are deeply and truly necessary

I want to give light to some works of fiction and nonfiction that have helped me grow. I constantly think of this guy I met about a year ago who talked for a couple of minutes about why “fiction and sometimes art is a waste of time,” and so I wasted some time writing this:

I met a man today
Let’s call him John
He spoke in lines and lines
About fiction being a waste of time
It’s taught me empathy, where’s yours?
Maybe you’ll find it under the bleachers,
Perhaps between announcements of half time scores

Okay, okay, a cheap and rude “time” and “time” rhyme
But its value is carried on this message about mind

You see, yes, Sports has its values
I can make a list and it’d go from Anaheim to Malibu
But some fail to see that fiction can inform reality

It’s like when Mr. Flight Idea himself, da Vinci
That Mona Lisa artist, he
Lead to the Wright brothers’ plane idea
Or was that Jeong Pyeong-gu of Korea?

My point is
Let us celebrate fiction and possibilities
Let us sit down and examine what Rowling and Baldwin give us to see

Sports or Art
Mind or Body
We are far more complicated, more complex than choosing one out of supposed opposed teams
Whether they are together or apart, they are incredible
So let’s teach each other that there are solutions to problems that have always been preventable

Let us train our mind, body,
And yes, our hearts
By not making fun of Sports
And you got it, John,
Nor by bringing down the Arts 


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Dwayne Gascoine🇹🇹📣#dalyricalmiracle #trinidad #spokenword #poems #music #hiphop #rap #creative #driving #freestyle #shades😎 #positivevibes

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