Echoes of Solitude

An old man, unpopular and weathered,
Sketches cartoon characters of his childhood tormentors.
Their names, like bitter echoes, resound in his memories.
“Those *******!” he mutters, lips trembling.

He refrains from tears, fearing their taste—
A blend of loose cells from his mother and father.
Weeks pass, and Eugene, his friend, remains absent.
Hospitalized, perhaps, for an unknown pain.

The dayroom chats, oh, how he misses them!
Eugene’s face would light up when they spoke
Of Aunt Harriet’s cookies and Uncle Jack’s fishing trips.
Just the two of them, sharing moments by the lake.

But his parents? Ah, they were different.
His father’s advice: “******* to ease the pressure.”
His mother’s counsel: “Run from the bullies.”
And the therapist? “You’ll amount to nothing,” they said.

He harbored resentment, wishing he’d never been born.
Shunned, scorned—a life marked by isolation.
Yet poetry became his refuge, a soft spot in his heart.
I gifted him my favorite pen, urging him to write.

Empathy, my duty, compels me to tell stories—
To amplify voices silenced by circumstance.
For in the ink-stained verses, we find solace.
Dark n Beautiful, your words resonate.

Written by Dark n Beautiful. 🖋️

“Embrace and Release”

In the quiet of night, I pondered—
the art of severing ties, like pruning a tree.
The weakest links, once tightly bound,
now set free, like a maiden’s unclasped bra.

2024 dawns, a canvas for transformation.
Covid’s grip loosens, and clarity emerges.
Meltdowns yield to focus, tears to savings.
My *** life, like New York’s winter, chills.

Raw verses spill forth, unfiltered and true.
Yet my smile softens toward strangers,
and I find myself liking humanity anew.
Trust remains distant, a horizon to reach.

Biblical tales echo vulnerability—
the weaker devoured by the strong.
Have I surrendered my worth for fleeting moments?
No tears stain my words; they remain silent.

As I gaze upward, pondering thoughts,
my brain’s triad—forebrain, midbrain, hindbrain—
collaborates, yet sometimes drifts apart.
Do I know myself anymore? Today, I listen.

Goodbye, old lover; hello, new friends.
Life’s tides carry me forward,
and I embrace the journey, raw and unafraid.
May vulnerability be my strength, not my undoing.

In the quiet of night, I write—
my thoughts like petals unfurling,
each line a delicate bloom,
a testament to my soul’s yearning.

The Internet Night Stalker,
a phantom of pixels and prose,
called me a “dessert rose,”
a succulent, low-maintenance pose.

But my poems reach beyond,
touching lands unseen,
thousands of eyes reading,
their hearts echoing my theme.

*** and disgust intertwine,
a dance of desire and disdain,
while politicians chase power,
leaving happiness in their wake, a stain.

And so I set my words free,
like a wild ***** swimming the sea,
for what this world needs now,
is love, sweet love, unchained and free.

On a chilly December day in Manhattan, I had just finished a job interview. Despite my frustration from two years of job searching, I thanked the almighty for another day. As I walked down 54th Street, I noticed a long queue stretching from here to Halifax. Curiosity got the better of me, and I joined the line without knowing what awaited me.

A white lady with a clipboard emerged from the building, escorting a few people at a time. When it was my turn, she scrutinized me from head to toe and instructed me to follow her. In a room, she handed out a test sheet, giving us only twenty minutes to complete it. The sheet contained around 40 questions, including math problems and vocabulary sentences. I finished it in less than 20 minutes, wondering what would come next.

After waiting again, she returned and said, “We’re hiring for Macy’s department stores across the city. What hours can you work, Miss Lander?” I hesitated and replied, “Morning shifts.” She assured me that I had aced the test and then dropped the bombshell: “You’ll be better off in the shoe department—not clothing or beauty, but shoes.”

With a forced smile, I thanked her. Who knew that a cold day and a mysterious queue would lead me to the shoe department at Macy’s? Life has its surprises, doesn’t it? 😄

Running Alone

Within a crowded world, I lived my life alone.
Some dreams were fulfilled in unexpected ways.
Often, I believed I’d found my true calling,
yet reality unfolded differently.

I existed in the sheltered confines of my truth—
the road, the pain, the silent games of survival
in a sometimes hateful America.
Disappointment etched on faces,
three years to secure a decent job,
odds and ends to make ends meet.

I recall an agency assignment:
a two-year-old toddler without ears.
Her white parents, handed a challenge,
failed to change their ways.
When lunchtime arrived, they said,
“Step outside to eat; we’re Jewish.”
I listened, smiled, and walked away,
never to return.

Racism, pain, and low expectations—
I vowed that no white person would feel
what I felt that day. I quit the agency,
guided by my grandfather’s wisdom.
Sanity demanded distance from those
who’d deny my humanity.

And so, I moved forward,
my black hands never again touching
that white baby.
For I had lived my life alone,
seen it, and flushed it from my mind.

In this world of bigots,
I stood firm, resilient, and unyielding.
A bigot, intolerant of differing beliefs,
could not break my spirit.

As one within a crowded world
    I lived my life alone;
Some of my dream was fulfilled
In ways I never would expected
Many a time I thought that,
I found my true calling.
I lived, a shelter life
if you only knew, the truth
The road, the pain, the silent games
Of staying alive ….in the hateful America
Looks of disappointment:

it took me three years to land a decent job
I was always doing the odds and end
Just to make end meets..

I remember once the agency assigned to a case
A toddler without any ears, just two years old
You would think that her white parents would
Change their ways, after what was handed to them
I arrived on time, did what was expected of me for the child
When it was time for me to take a lunch break
The child parent said to me:
“Sorry but you can’t eat your lunch indoor
Go outside on the steps.. We are  Jewish
I was allowed to take care of her child needs
But I wasn’t allowed to eat in her house..
I listen, I took it all in stride..

And I smile, what happen next
Was just commonsense
I took my black *** and my lunch bag
And walked away from the situation
Never to be heard of again.
We all have encounter racism in this country

The road, the pain, the bigotry of low expectation
I swore on that day, that I would never allowed any whites person
to feel that way again: so I quit the agency
They apologies to me, as they seldom do falls flat..
But, knowing what my grandfather taught me

I had to move forward..
I had to keep away from white folks like them: just for sanity..
And not allowed my black hands to ever again
Touch her white baby….
When I said I lived my life alone
I lived it:  I saw it; I flush it out of my mind
Just to live in this world of bigots

"I remember the land. I remember its people—their ways, the folly of their mentality. I never encountered the term ‘depression’ until later in life. I grappled with hatred and bigotry because they’re diseases akin to cancer and COVID-19.

Do you recall the carefree children of the eighties, their hedonistic pursuit of drugs, ***, and intellectual freedom? It goes like this: I don’t think of labor; I don’t think of work. Labor implies toil, and if it’s not self-employment, it’s slavery with meager wages from the man.

I remember the land and its people—their foolishness weighed on me. I remember the departed, how those trees outlived them. The language of the trees whispers freedom and the sound of human longevity, thanks to a matured land’s kindness.

The waste land we leave behind, even without spoken words, tells a story of abandonment. What you might see as a grassy area, I perceive as a court date—a battleground where families fight for ownership. Illegitimate children vie for their share of the land. Even unspoken, it holds worth.

How do you come to terms with yours?"