Writing: Issue 11

what if

oh, what if they had taught our boys that it's not a sin to cry, they'd still have hearts today.
(everyone has a heart but a heart that feels for other people what a rare thing my brother stopped crying because they told him that his tears were a matter of pride so i taught him how to cry again)
oh, what if they had taught us genuine love for others, we wouldn't be the cold hearted bullies we are today.
(it was like a never ending race they only cared about the winner no humanity, no empathy, nothing just kids pushing themselves to reach the top no kindness was ever shown in that hellhole so i taught kindness to myself)
oh, what if they had taught us that our futures aren't decided by red stamps on papers, we'd be poets by today.
(no one taught me how to write from the heart how to write poems so i became a poet myself)
oh, what if they had taught us self love instead of meaningless equations, we'd still have hope today.
(everytime i looked at my body i used to flinch in disgust because they only saw the flaws never did they teach me self love never. never. never
(so i taught it to myself)

how i see art

they think that art needs to beautiful. i think that art needs to be angry. loud and catastrophic.

because they see art in intricate strokes of blue and green but i see art in my father's eyes; grey and exhausted of the country that rejects him because he's unable to string the english language in careful sentences.

i see art in the calluses on my mother's palms. she claims that all she does is knead dough, someone tell her she's built more than just a home.

i see art in a black woman who they belittled as a child, told her that she'd be nothing, that she'd never be at the top. spoiler alert: they all work for her now.

i see art in a woman giving birth to her son after two miscarriages at 3:06 in the morning. the rest of the world is dead but she's never felt more alive.

i see art everywhere and nowhere just at once. my heart is captivated by things that scream fury. it is captivated by things which screams empathy and not beauty.

i do not think that art needs to be pretty. it needs to be powerful.

"I'm a 23 year old from Belfast, Northern Ireland. I began using writing and poetry as a cathartic and healing outlet a few years ago after developing a physical illness at 19 that halted my athletic dreams as a martial artist. My poetry consists mostly of the frustrations of unfulfilled potential and lost love."

Bed Ridden

Bed ridden in a room with windows unable to be opened while temperature scorch creating a greenhouse of Misery, 10 long sleepless nights with the Agony of a crippled arm and immobilized leg torturing my lust for life. Morphine teases me with a moment of pain free consciousness and then mocks my relief as the pain reemerges from its brief slumber. Being temporarily dependent on others for survival rekindles my gratitude for human kindness. I suffer in the sorrow of what could be. Is this the cruel hand of fate or the chaos of the butterfly effect?

Scream into the Void
Look at me,
Starring at the clock on weekdays,
Wishing for time to move faster,
As I move slower through life,
Waiting,
For the weekend to come,
So I can indulge in the pleasures of the damned,
And drink my woes into oblivion,
Until they are born again,
Monday morning,

I have become the very thing i used to loath,
Stuck in a motionless state of self centred pity,
Or heading 100 miles an hour to my own self destruction,
Years ago,
My youthful exuberance and passion would defeat common place acceptance of stagnated living on a daily basis,
While the dedication to dreams would subdue the demons of excess,
A one tack mind trailblazing towards victory,
But then,
Sickness of mind and body took hold,
Stifling my souls own story,
Scattering paranoid thoughts,
And Imprisoning hope,

It seems we either die before we get the chance to fulfil are dreams,
Or live long enough to throw them away on a dead end job of Misery,
Except for those lucky few,
Who's courage, hard work and luck soar them to the mountain top of beautiful contentment,
My ego breeds jealousy but my heart fills with pride,
How I admire you so,
..
Congratulations

​Writing: Issue 11

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Writing: Issue 11