By Arcassin Burnham





pretty girl,
with so much regret,
it makes you feel such great pain,
cheering her up would be the best way,
when shes haunted by the upperclass,
i just want to be the one,
to make sure ,
that her life,
will be fluttered by happiness,
and joy,
to be comfortable with her body,
and her health,
we've been in the same boat,
too many times,
and i dont have a reason not to love her,
i couldnt be more sure,
in my life,
i use to be the same way,
when i thought noone loved me,
but i was strong on my own,
so i distant that memory,
and now im in love once again,
with a girl im trying to put good spirits in,
and when she goes away,
hard not to cry again,
when she tells that noone cares,
i smile and say i do,
and i do,
but not just care,
its more like love,
they wouldnt dare,
mess me up,
from what i want,
and what i want is her,
no matter how far we are,
i know shes there,
half across the earth,
if i had a wish,
it would be next to her.

Kyra is a painter, but she's colorblind.

She makes someone else's world colorful but hers is grey.

Whenever she draws in the middle of spring afternoon, she tends to whispers to the singing bird on her shoulder.

"For whom I draw still hasn't been decided, and I wish to meet my muse soon after the season's end."

Two days after spring.

She's being asked to attend her friend's rehearsal.

A pair of her brown eyes is glued to the pianist as his melody hits her right. His fingers gracefully dance in tuts, faster than anyone's breathe, but not so fast compared to Kyra's hand sketching him.

"I find my muse." She whispers in happiness. Gaze falls to the quick sketch on her hand.


She asks her friend about his name, eyes sparkles with love, so pure, so honest.

"His name is Will. He's special like you."

Her brows furrow in confusion as she skips a heartbeat.

"Special? Like me?"

"He's a pianist but he's deaf."

I'd have Kyra Sedgewick's face as the face,
a combination of the bodies of Kathryn McPhee and Serena Williams as the body,
the wardrobe of Martha Quinn the old MTV personality broadcaster
Kylee Harting
the personality of Lucille Ball,
the character of Jane Addam, perhaps, the founder of Social Work in old time Chicago
the voice of Caila Ali
the sense of humor of Phyllis Diller,
the posture of Condaleeza Rice
the leadership ability of Elizabeth Warren
the lifestyle of either Monica the soul singer or Janet Jackson
and then name her Kyra Williams in honor of Kyra and Serena
plus the creativity of the know by some - black poets Nikki Giovanni
and the athleticism of pro tennis player (ex) Jennifer Capriati
with a little of pro tennis player Maria Sharapova

His drunken fingers fumbling

And the slurring of his 

Demands to be quiet

Make me sick.

Take it like a woman.

I am tougher than anyone.

**** it up, 
Grow a spine.

So I stuffed it down.

I swallowed the bile 

And clenched my stomach

Every time I smelled

The stench of his odor

Passing by me.

That’s what is
expected of me.

**** it up, 
Grow a spine.

What’s done is done.

Keep your eyes forward,

Keep going,

And move on.

I am a woman

And when I say no

The mans word trumps 

What I want.

**** it up,
Grow a spine.

I live in a mans world

So I have to keep it shut

Or I will be the next ****

Because the mans word is truth.

There is no

His word against mine.

Just his.

**** it up,
Grow a spine.

It’s my womaness at fault 

Even though I said no.

When a woman says no,

It really means yes.

When a woman tells the truth

It really means fallacies 

And delusions.

It means she wanted it.

**** it up,
Grow a spine.


So I did.
I told the truth anyways.

I stood up for myself anyways.

I fought for myself anyways.

I ****** it up,

And grew a spine.



by Kyra Jones

Kyra, Dad's got some paper and pens
and that's it
A cup of tea at 1am'll
push him just a little bit further
to finish all of his scrawl
about the things in the world you deserve
and how he'll go get it all

He'll push the pen to the page
at an age that you can't read or write
But it's more about holding himself accountable
to the crawling days

and if your smile stays
at least he'll know he did some things right

By the time you read this
you'll be learning how to doggy paddle
Through swimming pools full of stuffed animals, on tuesdays
And on days that start with "S"
You'll be air lifted in a fairy costume
to the civic center
so we can see the what's it's on Ice

And i promise I'll stop smoking

and at night you'll have a team of interpretive dancers
teaching you and your 9 ponies the classics
in a better way than I can tell em...cuz I have this whole monotone thing...that I do

But I'll be there the whole time
to try to fight back the impulse I feel
to steer for you on every step, and miss step
Because I know you won't forever need me here
You been the freest spirit, since the day we first met.

And if you're reading this and I'm bald
maybe take it easy on me....I'm pretty sensitive about it.

By the time you read this,
I'll have put the work I needed in
to pay whatever school to teach you everything you wanna know

and I promise I'll quit smoking
and I promise I'l never make you feel like less than everything to me

and though your father may have been a failure when he found you
The sparks that you emitted through his heart that night,
with fingers wrapped around his thumb,
erupted seas of roaring flame around his very soul
bolstering a furnace to replace the heart you stole
the foundry drove his will that night
and has done ever since,
even when all he does have
is paper and some pens.

If my dad were still alive, he'd say,
"Kyra I didn't raise you to be this way,"
"I'm so disappointed in you, you're squandering your youth,"
"Didn't amount to much in College, and can't keep a job,"
"You're lazy and a slob, and I don't like your tattoos,"
"I think you cut your hair too short,"
"I don't know what to do with you,"
He'd say, "Your financial skills are lacking, you run off with those the same gender as you,"
"And you're always moving around, with your head in the clouds."
And I know it's all true.
But daddy, I grew up to be just like you.