If only I could be a poet
I would show my love for you
But I cannot find the expression
That is from my heart and true
Words would flow from my fingers
And the verses would be ever so fine
If I were some kind of poet
I'd wish that you'd be mine
The stars in the sky would glitter
And the moon would be oh so full
If I could find the words to tell you
My own heartstrings you would pull
My lips would gently kiss your mouth
I would hold you in my embrace
But my words forever betray me
That I cannot describe your face
Your eyes are drops of ocean
And your cheek a red, red rose
The softest velvet is your perfect skin
I love you from your head to your toes
I shall e'er remain in silence
and adore you from afar
A poet's words I shall ne'er express
So I'll strum a lament on my guitar
Intimidation can be a tool
How could I be a fool?
There’s a blank stare bleeding through the night
A cold presence, a bleating through the light
A shrieking essence I cannot mistaken
How could I forsaken my opposition?
Partaking will overtake my godforsaken right to my blind safety
Painstaking as it may be
I ought to turn my head
Before I wind up dead
The sheep I am versus
The wolf she fought
She nailed the deception
But it thought not
At first it was a deer
Shrouded yet peculiar
Then it revealed the fangs
Amidst the facade and delays
Crocheting its web in the alleyway
She relented, but couldn’t break away
I walked away, disarrayed
I returned the following day
Nothing but smeared red on display
My gut wrenched at the bloodshed
Reducing her demise to a compromised site
Intimidation can be a tool
So I ask again
How could I be a fool?
by Anonymous
Winter comes
Snow covers the plains,
Blankets the saffron fields in ice.
The world stops
But not for you and I.
No more
Music or words
Busy markets,
Wedding announcements.
The world is closed to us–and us to them.
Spring returns,
And with it, a tendril of
hope
Blossoming like
saffron in fields.
But flowers do not grow here anymore;
Blood has soaked the soil too long,
Ice withdrawing to reveal
Children’s bodies
Frozen still in time–
stolen.
by Jade
I catch myself obsessively cleaning my room every day, from when I wake up till the moment I close my eyes and go to sleep.
I think there’s something wrong with me, but I’m not too sure. I’ve always thought I was a very clean person, but honestly, I think I clean to distract myself from letting the mess slip.
I’ll keep dishes in my room for days, I won’t shower, or brush my teeth.
It’ll get so bad that my mom asks if I even brushed my hair today, and she says I look exhausted. That’s when I’ve noticed it’s gone too far. There’s no use; being diagnosed with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) isn’t easy. At first, it made me realize why I act the way I do, but as time goes on, it just gets worse.
As I’m watching a TikTok video, a phrase replays in my head;
“She waited at the bus stop.”
“She waited at the bus stop.”
“She waited at the bus stop.”
“She waited at the bus stop.”
“She waited at the bus stop.”
It’s infuriating to hear that phrase over and over again, but I can’t stop until it feels right. Every time I wash my hands, I have to wash every inch until I’m satisfied.
I may be in the bathroom for several minutes before I even turn off the water and dry my hands.
There are times when I can’t control what my mind is doing; it consumes me.
It feels like boiling water starting at my feet as it rises to my legs all the way to the tip of my head, but it never actually reaches the top; it sits about an inch before.
Just yelling at me, simply screaming as it rips my insides open.
Makes me want to crawl out of my mouth and scream with it.
Letting out all the anger and frustration this mental illness gives me.
But at the end of the day, no matter what I do, the phrases and the actions just keep on repeating themselves, eating me up, bit by bit-
until there’s nothing left of me on the plate.
Empty.
And clean like my room.
by Lily Nunez
I am JLJ, always have been, always will be.
God made me, me.
He knit me together in my mother's womb.
I am the black sheep of the family.
I own it.
I am “JLJ” for a reason.
Everyone else is taken.
I’m learning more every day, every reflection.
And redirection.
I am the reason they say, “Ooo, what’s cooking?” when they come into the kitchen.
I am JLJ, writing, gaming, and working.
Words reach the brick wall between my brain and mouth.
I write to get it all out.
I hum the Imperial March when I write.
Shake my leg.
And keep at it.
I find a connection in every match and page.
I bring the strategy of the game and the lived experiences into the rewarding, messy work of education.
I am here
Sitting in college classes, presenting at conferences, and helping out at church.
I am an autistic face in a neurotypical space.
Not just existing, but leading.
I am the “Them” that became the “Us.”
I am spicy, I said, “I have the pencil, now give me the blueprint.”
No “expert” gets to define my future.
I don’t need “pity.”
I am JLJ, here to tell you autism is not a fate worse than death.
I am not a burden.
I am different, not less.
Ready to make a difference.
Cure abelism, not autism.
I will be autistic until my last breath.
I don’t just take up space; I redefine it.
I don’t just find the path; I help align it.
So, watch me work.
Watch me write.
Watch me lead.
Not just in positions, as an example.
by JLW
Your face is the one I want to see.
Succeding
At school.
In class.
And beyond.
Your face is the one I want to see.
As we pass through the halls.
I see you, that’s certain.
I see your hard work.
Your hand raised, ready to ask questions.
The spark in your eyes.
Desire in your heart.
That you come to school tired.
You are in the awkward phase.
It may not be fun right now, that’s ok.
There is joy in the learning.
Joy in the awkward.
The anger and frustration will pass.
Be wise and “Let it be” while you search for the right answer.
Soon, you will find it.
Just like the ocean, you’ll be in motion.
Night and day, paving the way to days that shine brighter.
Your face is the one I want to see.
Successful.
Thriving.
Please visit Room 1 often.
You will always have a seat at the table.
Because your face is the one I want to see.
by JLW
Patience is something
I’ve always wanted
But never had
Trained for it
Hurried up
And waited
And waited
Any time
I’ve tried to be patient
I’ve always been let down
What’s the point?
People disappoint
Events disappoint
Surprises disappoint
They taught us to be patient
And to move with urgency
It sounded like an oxymoron
And felt like one too
They said
“You don’t have an ounce of urgency
In your whole damn body”
So that’s what stuck
Everyone else can be late
But I can’t
Everyone else can wait
But I can’t
Maybe one day I’ll stop checking the clocks
Or if my car is locked
Or if the windows were closed when I left
And the lights were off
Maybe one day I’ll say
“See you later” without adding anything to my calendar
But still meaning it
Maybe one day I’ll be able to accept gifts
Without feeling like I owe
Maybe one day I’ll be able to leave the house
Without checking the traffic report
10 minutes before leaving
An hour before leaving
And the morning of
Maybe one day I’ll be able to wait
With high expectations that are met
They told me to plan for the worst and expect the least
And I carried that with me
Until it killed me
by M. L. Pab
Poisoning the undead
While we're read lullabies,
Feeding ducks bread because
We were fed lies.
Killing known facts so to
Shush forward knowledge,
Billing blessed rights so to
Push birds from college.
Dreadful doings, dreadful doings,
A part of the plan to apprehend movings.
Dreadful doings, dreadful doings,
A sharp in the hand, the other holding green.
Dreadful doings, dreadful doings,
Carved out land to separate some genes.
Dreadful doings, dreadful doings,
This love's for you, not my instincts ensuings.
The American Dream's
Just a dream,
Another rung for not you or me.
The American dream's,
Not for free,
A white led cast with a white male lead.
The American seams are being
frayed,
Revealing bugs of greed,
The dolls name?
Oogie Boogie.
At home, torture is the norm.
My family suffers the toxic mufflers,
My life's a storm.
I want safety,
Some freedom from this part of humanity,
Enjoy other cruelties across other plains I'll seek.
Oh, they search for me by the bark,
My eyes glow,
My teeth shine as my skin blends me through the dark.
A weapon,
A defense not a fence,
Is what guards the ale that'll intoxicate me
Far less than the drunk dream at home.
Oh, I'll make it,
I'll live the dream of freedom, if I
Wait, wait, wait, wait, freeze, go, run,
Make it through to the light,
Barrel through the dark
Dodging all the knights, as their
lead pierces through my heart.
The cold takes us apart.
Over here, rainbows are told to shine,
I'm told what I want can be mine.
If I truly try my best,
Push my mind to the test,
I'll surely rise above the rest.
I'm only weakened unjustly,
Torn down by those who got me here,
No one trusts me.
I'm eyed by every corner,
feared by every washed entity,
I'm being harassed in this cell.
This fence that is keeping me in's
Making me bleed,
Almost like home.
and Oh, I'll make it,
I'll live the dream of freedom, if I,
wait, wait, wait, wait, freeze, go, run,
Make it through to what light?
Barreling though this dark,
Chased by every knight, as their
king pierces through my heart.
The Fire too takes us apart.
They call them
Paisleys
Rather than
Boteh.
B l o s s o m i n g almonds,
Stretched across a land
Embroidered in
Threads of
Red,
Gold,
Black.
Boteh
Forms our
Past
Present
Resistance.
Buteh
Always flowering
For–
Ramadan
Nikah & Lagan
Objection to–
Occupation.
Buteh
Weaves around
Our
Bodies
Shawls
Graves.
by Jade
Salaam Agha-jan,
Did you hear they banned our kashida?
Our endless thread,
We loom our shawls
Kashida,
In one single thread
Our history embroidered,
Timeless in
Gold
and
Red.
Kashida, passed
Through generations–
Stolen
Through genocide.
Kashida:
Banned
Dangerous
A sign
Of our
Resistance.
Zuva,
Our nights have been
Stolen
Our days
Set ablaze.
Existence
Is my cottage industry now
I weave myself
Into shawls;
I resist.
by Jade
You wanna be me so bad right ?
Behind the flawless eyelashes, the coated lipstick, the heels, the Gucci bags just for when I go out at night
But what is really lurking there in the darkness
can you see the light
My inner beauty on the inside
I try to hide
Because my man man man
Can’t feed my kids that lay sleeping in the bedrooms next to mine
But he asked for my number and he was feeling my vibe, my energy , the way my thighs ignited a fire inside of his eyes
But you see, I’m just trying to maintain
My childhood memories and wake up in the morning and release some of this pain
When I started this journey I was just 7 years old
Creole little girl in Los Angeles playing outside games
That’s when he touched me
So I ask myself as a grown woman with little girls of my own
How to become free
And it’s so many other girls & boys in the world hiding behind the shadows of rape, molestation, penetration
That I am here today to get up and heal this nation
Because movement can start a fire
That catapults healing from these predators,
lurking search for their next victim
It hit to close to home for me one day
So to all the little girls/boys that never went back home
and haven’t learned how to pray
Somehow you’ve lost your way
I implore you to talk to someone about the situations, revelations, & escalations of many many real lives
Abuse cuts deeper then knives
And it leads the path to grown men & women in relationships that don’t define their worth
Waking up from the floor
daily with black eyes
With babies standing by watching
Because love didn’t live there no more
I beg you to have strength enough to leave and never look back like I did
You see Mr. right will never be Mr. wrong
Start over again form the beginning
Put yourself first and before long
You will see that light within
Is the peace you can teach your children
so all of you
have a family
you can really call your own
For all the little girls with no voice
“Teaching all of us to have HOPE “
by Angelique J.
My mother risked her life for me
to be queer. as in: peculiar
weird.
eccentric
unconventional.
Do you think she had anticipated that
hidden
in the back of a truck? She risked her life.
for me to choose to be gay.
as in: choose
to seek
happiness in a way they hadn't. couldn't.
shouldn't.
wouldn't.
when she stares at my face
and bites her tongue,
Because I bite back.
do you think my grandmother's eldest daughter
knows
that her youngest daughter
has this
privileged
perspective of success?
by Sol de Miel
a love letter to Verónica, my car
I had this feeling
a tingly sensation
deja vu maybe...
of familiarity
in the passenger seat
on our first meeting
and our second, third...
it lingered
when Lewis made me take you for a ride
and when he wished you Goodbye.
Now, I approach you
knowing
it's you and I:
You are an old friend.
and you've been
de cuando era vaquero.
y tú fuistes mi caballo.
and we had el mundo entero
under your hooves and my feet, Verónica.
You came back to remind me
que el mundo nos espera.
by Sol de Miel
All that it was
is lost at sea.
The memories have sunken under
years and years.
They are with all the ocean's
other shipwrecks.
On the shore,
it should be freeing,
but I'm less free
and more so stranded
while waves thunder towards me,
again and again.
On the island, I bury the
unspoken goodbyes.
I bottle the tears, burn the remnants.
I give my queries to the sky
and whisper, "Why?" to the wind
as though it would know,
but no,
wind only knows to turn the waves,
and so, the question is carried out to sea.
Though my days felt all a waste
my gaze found regretful skies,
the light of time reveals this place
and Psyche's sorrow fills my eyes.
Ambition churned against me,
painted devils through my dreams.
Now I can't discern a friend
through all my smoke and mirrors.
I'll be off to do my own thing,
I'll try, I'll try,
so wave me off, it's time now,
goodbye, goodbye,
and goodnight
to days of smiling
even if to sob through all the nights,
for though I was pretending
I lived several joyous lives
right here.
And now its time to say goodbye.
Eros drags me by my hair
as though he can't hear my cries.
Freesia
Wise, she wades—
her limbs and hair sway
with the wind.
The wind carries her seed
as the rest of the world
waits.
Through the winter
she sleeps—
though early spring is when
her spirit seeks
the breeze.
Hope—
carries afloat
the ease at which,
the birds fly.
The summer breaks free
as the spring falls back
asleep.
She melts with the sun
but her feet lay
buried in the ground.
She has no eyes to see—
no limbs to walk free.
But her mind is still.
Yellow—
she sits.
Green her body,
and brown her ground.
See you in the spring.
I hear your perennial voice,
sing.