Opposite

What if we have been calling things by the wrong name?
What if everything was the opposite of how we actually see them?
What if the land was called the sea, and the sea the land?
What If the moon was the sun, and the sun the moon?
What if black was white, and white was black?

Think. Think. Think.

Wait, what if black was white and white was black?
What if black was white and white was black?
What if, what if Blacks were the oppressors and the oppressed were White?
What if Blacks were ole massa and Whites obeyed their every command?
What if Blacks gained profit and Whites were beaten and sold?

What if Blacks were at home enjoying a meal while Whites out in the field?
What if Martin Luther King sat back on God’s word and watched the injustice take place while Whites marched the streets for a better life?
What if Blacks blew up a church where four little White girls died?
What if after almost 50 years many Blacks still hate the existence of Whites?
What if Black cops targeted and killed White boys and girls?

What if we have been calling things by the wrong name?
What if everything was the opposite of how we actually see them?
What if black was white, and white was black?
What if you were me?

Author Notes: None

Silenced No More

Silenced | letstalkraestyle.files.wordpress.com

It will be as if my mouth grew extra lips.

Each pair will spit words like justice, peace, and equality,

All things that Black Lives Matter stands for.

When one mouth is closed, the other will take its place.

There will be no more silence when objections are loud,

Objections to police brutally, objections to the justice system, and objections to a school system design to keep us below average.

There will be no more silence when the oppressed rise up,

Rise up through war, peaceful war and protest,

The type of protest the Dr. Martin Luther King preached.

Fighting violence with violence only cause more death,

The death of a mother, the death of a father, the death of sisters, and the death of brothers.

If we do not act now, we will all be responsible for their deaths, their funerals, and the many who will mourn  for them.

Act now, reminisce later.

 

New Poem, “Hidden Battles”

Hidden Battles

Smiles do not tell the stories
Of pain and worries

The invisible foe does not know their sorrow
Nor does it care to see them live tomorrow

These hidden battles are seen by one’s own soul
They beat you down until you remain no more

Hidden in the darkness of one’s own heart
Lies the misfortune for others
Like a disease, these battles spread, and over the world, they cover 

Lighten the heart, but remain heavy on the foes
For the future of the hidden battles will forever go

Author Notes: You can never tell just by looking
at a person what battels they are facing

Sounds Of The City

Beep, beep, beep
This what I hear as I stare out of the window 
Onto the streets of this city
This city is D.C.

This city is loud
This loud city Is unfair
This city is rich
But also poor
For all its beauty
There’s ugliness too

The sounds of this city are not for me
The construction trucks, with their loud roars and clashes,
Are not for me
They’re not for anything like me
Not my skin color, or my hair texture
Not for my disability, nor my many abilities

Beep, beep, beep
I hear again
As I stare out of the window 
Onto the streets of this city
D.C. is the name
God I hate this lovely city

Author Notes: Life is full of pain

 

Who Is She? Poem Co-Written By Asali DeVan Ecclesiastes

When you think of the Black women that you meet
Is it her struggles that you see?
Do you see all that she could be?
Would you even see me for me?

Would you see her as a mother who is not financially free?
Or would you see her as a hustler whose second title is welfare Queen?

Would you see her as a woman exploring her sexuality?
Or is she a Jezebel, Ho, or THOT to be abused verbally?

Is she a provider demanding resources for her family?
Or is she a money hungry gold-digger trying to take advantage of her nigga?

Is she comfortable in her own skin and finds joy in her community?
Or is she a loud ghetto chickened who has no dignity?

Is she a divine Queen worthy of respect from every entity?
Or is she a bossy bitch who needs to be checked sometimes physically?

Does she refuse to live by the rules made up to keep her from being free?
Or is she a sapphire, rude, and crazy with no future in this reality?

Author Notes: Break the silence, while breaking
the stereotypes. Co-Written By Asali DeVan Ecclesiastes

Featured Poem

By A Crysalis Emerging

Mike Beales/flickr

I Am the Girl…

Jul19

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.

I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don’t believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male.

I am the girl who cries in shame when she’s near her homophobic parents because I kissed another girl and liked it.

I am the young boy who was smacked in public for sharing a kiss with another boy; we only thought that’s what you did when you really liked someone.

We are the parents who will live in regret because our teenage daughter hung herself from her tree house; we would have loved her even if she told us she was dating her best girl-friend.

I am the teacher who still has his job even after the gay student I tormented with failing grades was hit by a car on the weekend.

I am the boy who searched every book in the library about homosexuality only to find that my only question wasn’t answered; is it wrong?

We are the siblings who were disowned when our parents found gay and lesbian porn on the family computer.

I am the boy who is always late to his next class, I refuse to get out of the showers until all the other boys are changed.

I am the girl who got sick of her teacher at her pristine Christian school coming onto me and finally screamed that I was a lesbian; I’m not allowed back in that school again.

I am the father who refuses to let his son date another boy because I know from experience that the world doesn’t want you when you love another man.

I am the boy who comes home from school with broken noses; my friends pressured me into drinking at a party and I told them everything.

I am the man who stares at his new wife and her grown kids every day with regret; my ex-husband and I thought it was best if we did what was ‘normal’ of us.

I am the mother whose daughter and friends came to for advice for having sex with another woman; now her friends’ mothers won’t meet me in the eye.

I am the girl who feels a part of her is missing; my twin sister thought we were different since she was into other girls so she went to live with our father and left me here with our mum.

I am the older brother who is trying to support his younger sister; our parents didn’t want her anymore when they walked in on her with another woman.

I am the teenage boy sitting in the hospital waiting room on my own, crying; my best friend just overdosed because he was to afraid to tell me he loved me.

I am the girl who is now shunned by people in my church because they not only found out that I supported Homosexuality, I am also Bisexual.

I am just one of the people who is trying to make a difference.

New Poem: “Would You Even C Me 4 Me?” Go Check It Out!

Would You Even C Me 4 Me? 

When you think of the youth in D.C. what position do you see?

Would you see all that they could be?

Would you even c me 4 me?

Would you see her as a youth who steals from stores?

Or would you see her as someone who has food no more?

Would you see all that she could be?

Or would you throw her away and flee?

Would you see all that they could be?

Would you even c me 4 me?

Would you see him as a youth who sells drugs?

Or would you see him as someone with a lot of burdens to lug?

Would you see all that he could be?

Or would you lock him up and throw away the key?

Would you see the power they have that’s so abundantly?

The fight, the love, the advocacy?

Would you still not see all they could be?

Would you even c me 4 me?

“We believe in the power of narrative to change perspectives, drive empathy and motivate people towards action for change. For our youth here in DC to truly thrive, we must create and promote more narratives that helps young people — especially youth of color — to be viewed differently by adults who can create pathways to opportunities for success, and also to view themselves differently in order to feel worthy enough to pursue those opportunities.”– cme4me.org

Author Notes: cme4me is a citywide campaign 
in Washington, D.C. to get people to look 
at youth from a different perspective, to see them 
for who they really are.Visit cme4me for more information

NEW POEM CALLED, ” Mother Please!” CHECK IT OUT!

  Mother Please!

Mother mother can’t you see!?

The baby you’re harming inside of you is me!

Put down that cigarette and breathe!

Cough cough choke, please let it be!

You’re killing me!

You’re killing us!

And you wonder why loves ones always fuss!

Mother mother can’t you see!?

You’re precious little baby will be born prematurely!

Author Notes: Please don't smoke while pregnant!
 The long-term affects are serious. I should know

View All Poems

Poem: Stories

By WITHINREALITY

PHOTO Credit: Theresa/Flickr

Stories we share
Are more than just words
They have a message
They have a meaning.

We tell them in
Our little own way
Without anyone
Intervening.

Express we must
Our earnest thoughts
Through delicate
Words and writing.

Hush and listen
To every word
And show no sign
Of slighting.

I have plenty words
But such is the same
For many others
With thoughts alike.

So here I sit
And here I observe
Reading their story
I’ll pick what I like.

New Poem! “This Skin I’m In” Check It Out!

This Skin I’m In

I love this skin

This skin I’m in

Its dark chocolate color

To be this dark, some have said it’s a sin

But I love this skin

This skin I’m in

Author Notes: Love your skin

View All Poems