Didn’t I…



He wasn’t appreciated much
most artist ain’t.
With his fur collar, pimp stroll—
hair slick back
smooth mouth…know how make yo hips move
put you in a mood,
where you don’t wanna to get out of yo feelings.


You’re the Real MVP

I have opened myself to being

vulnerable—and I thank you.

For teaching me to swallow the

good and the bad.

You have taught me too be brave

at everything I do.



Sitting in empty

thinking how I just

want to be enough

for you,  a place to call


Black Stilettos


They’re black as night.
I put them and become something new.

The one you’d wish you have
the one you wish you could
hold hands with.

Your dirty fantasies
where you lay your head.
The succubus
who leaves you breathless

the girl you cum to
the one you desire

when I transforms
into my black stilettos.

— To’Wednesday Sibley, Black Stilettos

It’s an old poem I thought I’d share. By the way, Day/ To’Wednesday
are the same entities, one is my pen name the other is my real one. 

Dear Teachers

Dear Teachers

stop telling young aspiring writers

to write what they know. 


Can you recall a time

were your favorite author played it safe?

I highly doubt it.


Did Robert Frost

not say to take the road less traveled?

Are we not writers?


— To’Wednesday Sibley, Dear Teachers 

Know Yourself?

If you knew


as well as you said

you wouldn’t be trying

to convince

me of who you are.

— To’ Wednesday M. Sibley, Know Yourself?