America the Forsake

I’m scared for my country.
It belongs to rough pale masculine
hands breed to pillage and take with
straightforward tongue, twisted dominance.
Its leaders reflect that of a parent to a child.
Showing pain cloaked and ready for war.
Let this country mirror the fool or the
devil who acts like a saint!

#LHHNY Haiku

“A girl got beef wit me she gon’ have beef wit me fo’ eva!”
—Cardi B, Love & Hip Hop: New York

I don’t care
if you don’t
like Cardi B 
look here I
love Cardi B.

untitled fifty-six

This isn’t where you thought you would be

after you left high school. Maybe anyone can

attest to that, but the thought of your dreams

becoming out of your reach is more than you

can take.

You keep asking yourself why don’t I just run

it’s not like you couldn’t have, ‘cept everything

requires money and let’s face it, your pockets

are running on empty.

This isn’t where you thought you would be after you left high school. 

You knew life wouldn’t be perfect but didn’t expect to be questioning  

yourself this far in the game. Yet here you are asking is it worth it?

Maybe but most likely not, who knows.

Oh, there you go being pessimistic again. Yet life hasn’t really given you

a lot of reason to be hopeful. You wish you could talk to the few friends 

you do have,they’re busy. You would like to get to know new people,

but the good vibes don’t last very long.

Maybe people are just responding to how you  feel like

a piece of shit, therefore treat you as such. Maybe that’s

why you don’t care for people because you don’t always like

yourself.

Maybe you give people too many chances because you want to

learn to forgive yourself, maybe your ego is jealous and wants

you all to itself, maybe it just not

worth it.

Untitled Fifty-four

R.I.P Grandma Polly
6/25/1935–8/7/2015

She applies light strokes
distinct shades of the rainbow
in her color book.

I wonder if she
ever considered herself
an artist at work.

She’d probably laugh
no, it’s just for fun
but the careful strokes tell a

different story.

Feeling Sixteen Again

Writing to survive
feeling dead inside

can’t find the essence
to thrive. Not sure why.

All I can do is try
all I’ve ever done
was try.

— To’Wednesday Sibley, Feeling Sixteen Again