Today I spun a funny thought about what I was
And in stark comparison
This version of me
What if I could go back?
Would I?
The answer is no.

Tomorrow will be a repeat, you're right, it's true
Though in stark comparison
That version of me will know
Just enough more about moving forward to grow

Factory reset can happen on accident, you say
How about you live your life the way you want
Trust me, I'm good, if you leave me to my faith

Today I spun a funny thought about what I was
Here in stark comparison
Here is this version
My upgrades happen where no one sees
My upgrades install over time
I remain content despite
Being incomplete
Til the next version of me

Inevitably releases just as the last one finishes downloading.

(Oh-Nine took a seat on the edge of the small stage and blew a raspberry to the audience.)

Thanks for tailing us all the way here to Junk Town,
those of you who did. Any locals here?

(Sparse yelps rose throughout the crowd.)

Thanks to you for uh, for having us at your awesome
little saloon here. Thanks, most importantly, for
listening to us sing about utter nonsense. Of course.

(A woman yelled from the back of the room, "Some of it made sense!")

Oh, we're not done yet.

(A light chuckle rumbled over the audience. One man in particular laughed louder than the rest. Oh-Nine looked at the man and gave him a finger gun gesture.)


Well, anyway. We have one more for you all tonight,
so let's see if we can tip the scale, huh?
Artists Note:

Decided to leave these draft notes here for anyone to see, in case it's important.


Was thinking about being transgender, and evolution in general. That, and how transformation is so different from evolution. They're both necessary, though, and the things that stick, stick and you won't notice them. Thinking about hormones and how they've changed me. Thinking about how my ideas have changed so much that I don't recognize myself from the boy I used to be. And it's not looks or the aesthetic, it's the change of mind set, an evolution. Thinking about being sure that nothing will reverse the progress I've made. While I don't know if that's true deep down, I like to get lost in it, for at least the moment. It tends the hope that burns the coals of time underneath my feet. I think we should all feel happy about the progress we make. It's not out of the ordinary for us to spin our wheels in place and take comfort in others' pains, but I'm so tired of painting tragedy over what beautiful movements we make. Thinking about taking a moment, leaving strife where it lies. Thinking about loving yourself and burning with inspiration. Leave it at "I know it myself" for now. Alter melody. Timing? Leave for later. Sleep on it tonight. Brainstorm title. Finished this tonight after rewriting it in its entirety, using the original draft as inspiration. I'm happier with this version than the drafts. That's about all I can hope for. ^·^
After the storms
The Spring Sun came out today -
We walked the beach
In a Family kind of way
And watched the tide
Wary on it's journey
Back to shore
As we and it
Held onto our place
Knowing our family
Could be more,
More than Fathers,
Mothers, Sons, & Daughters,
More than laughter
before the gathering waters -
Let tides turn
Let meaning be construed ...
Family is
What we are,
And Family is

'Though from the side
I hold my peace -
I notice them grow,
And watch my feet ...
Had a Family 'Pow Wow' today to sort 'family stuff' out. We don't let things go, we come from a small community and that isn't the way. I'm supposed to be the eldest now, but I trust if we have done our job well there are wiser voices.
archana Apr 5
seashore and sea trucks all clanking their way
with my demons swinging their clubs at bay
the street lights flicker, the shade now the colour
of your pale mellow skin. i bleed in the colour of
the sea, maybe a bit of a whale blue and a tinge of a
seaweed. but the essence is still the smell of your
cigarettes. how can trucks that chug down Pondicherry
smell like typhoons flavoured like berries?
simple flowers that are dying. dry and sore, almost
like how i assume my face is a bore.
i can't do much now can i? i cry here and there
and lift myself and walk with a weak flair
and it's not that bad, because the anagram of my
love put the other way is lifeless.
how nothing can make me so much you ask
its because i kept running away from demons
why you ask, again, because i always loved my demons,
the way i loved your name, so why the race?

because now all my demons have your face.
Benji Apr 2
If not for hellopoetry
I would have given up
The writing was starting to take its toll
Left me emotionally exhausted
I was forced to take a break
For all my energy it had drained
Sleepless nights, endless lines
Trying to switch off my brain
Left me depressed
When sentences formed
A story I'd tell
About my life in hell
Sometimes dramatised to a new level
Sometimes I have seen myself become the devil
All my emotions that stain the page
The blood, sweat and tears
Written into each line
Left me losing moments in time
And for this writing became a crime
Didn't feel like I was utilising my mind
Until recently I realised this was the only legacy
I would leave behind
I've seen this art in a whole new light
Through words on a page, I've shown my fight
I've shown all my emotions, I have been totally open
Gave my all in every line
Sprinkled in a flavour of rhyme
If not for hellopoetry all I'd have is blank pages
A mind full of lines, forgotten in time
Took some time to unwind
And that is when I realised
These writings and I are bound for life
I've learned to embrace this now
Finally proud of all my works,
how has it taken me this long
To fall in love with this art
If not for hellopoetry
An appreciation I would never have tasted
And this whole community I've embraced it
Don't care if you love or hate it
It's made me make some changes
If not for hellopoetry
There are talents I may never have uncovered
Some of us are still so young,
Still, more room left to improve
The elder ones raising us up
Understanding a whole new love for this art
I ones said These lyrics were written in blood
Straight from the arteries from my heart
That metaphorically speaking
I spread all I am, all across the page
Bled the lead with what I felt  
So much heart into every verse
All this time it was never a curse
It was something special I've been gifted
To get all these thoughts out of my system
If not for hellopoetry
I wouldn't be here...caught within this poetic atmosphere

©2018 Written By Benji James
Today I worry even mo so..
Son I worry even more when you go out that door.
Mistaken identity.
Victim of false accused identity.
The Armed  who carry behaving like assasions.
with Armed badges.. Ganged up armed trained men with fear.
Claiming fear makes them killers of our unarmed souls.
Be it against petty theives.. or mistaken innocent individuals.
Community left to weep uncosolable tears and fears.
God bring my son/daughter home safe today.
I fear letting my children out to play.
I fear being in my home  where even cops bullets fly astray.
God is it gonna be a safe day.
I protested in the streets today.
I wept in my neighborhood.
I wept.. I weep. I wail.
The burden goes beyond my inner soul.
I'm not unbreakable till you console.
I fear who will be next to be tragically slain.
Only a moment a day in time fearing the pain.
Will I see my sister, my brother, my mother my loved one again.
Even though today I'm able to hold their hand.
Lord bring them home safe again.
I just don't knew when.
Mercilous killings will strike again.
By seriel killers..murderers, or armed men with badges.
We march we pray we protest we bury our youngs  ashes.
Let us anoit our heads with oil we have much to bear.
No matter our race, creed or culture.
We have to unite against these tragic things.
Be tired of hearing our community screams.
S..T..O..P. with the
slaying- tragedies -oppressive- power
stop slaying us by tragedies of oppresive power.
S-suffocating, Slaying, slandering.
T-tyranny-cruel and oppressive government or rule.
tragic events cause for tormoil.
O-Oppressive-unjustly inflicting hardship and constraint.
especially on a minority or other subordinate groups.
oppressive laws.
P-people under abuse of authority. Of unfair punishments.
The people are perishing. The people are being punished
with persecution and unjust prison terms.
this madness.
we are
Protesting Over Tragic Slaying.
Of all forms.
Son on Today!
We Must Pray!
Even the more So..
Lets go!
by selinaSharday S.A.M 2018
When our sons and daughters are oppressed..when almost every branch of office and home of safety is threatened turned upside down. our communities..our homes our lives.. our country
I will not run from you, Fear.
I will stand still and stay right here.
Your yawning chasm of the unknown
is no more than a dark corner of my mind when I’m alone.
I choose to close my eyes and recall
what I’ve faced before, and how I did not fall.
And that I’m not alone, and never will be—
for lonely souls like me are plentiful,
and friendly.
Lou Mar 30
A community that caters to itself and parades;
Or validation.

For purpose of
self importance,
inferiority complexities,
Knowledge and denial.

And has
No conviction
No components to give back,
And no means for "welcome"

All should be exposed
and recognized
as selfish public masturbators.

The boring stereotype.
The trench coat kind of indecent exposure.

Sad little man on the bus.
Sad little man in the streets.

Sad little man stroking at a park
Sad little man stroking in the bars.

Newton's cradle freely swinging between his thighs.

Yahoo freedom!
As she gives to all

God dammit the double-edge blade

It's awkward,
and sticks to my hand when touched.

I'd of rather have a flesh wound.
But I unfortunately must watch him finish.
be nice to the few people who like the same thing as you. That's a community. This one is sticky.
Outside my poetry,
Outside my photography,
Outside my participation
In community gatherings and events,
Do I really exist?
Not really.
In some ways,
I'm "Invisible"
Just like the Steve Earle song.
Though I have all I need to survive,
My public anonymity
Is not entirely different
From that of the Homeless.
That's why
I can't entirely disassociate myself
From them.
Fe Coffey Mar 28
We live in a straight world.
You might not think it’s true,
“Gays are coming out everyday
could be them next or her,
maybe you too”
Well I’ll take a minute to prove it to you.

If I told you I’m into girls
I’d see your brain short circuit in real time,
“But you don’t look gay” you’d say.
“Straight passing” is what they call
a girl like me, who still looks feminine
but doesn’t want the D.

This “luxury” of remaining in the closet
is really hurting my game,
Added another straight boy
to my list of those who lost it
when they heard me exclaim,
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m gay”

Let’s not forget the most important issue
“Gays will ruin the sanctity of marriage”
Here, I’ll hand you the tissues.
Man and woman, hand in hand, till death do they part,
and yet more than half of all marriages
end in the perfected art of divorce.

Far be it from me,
to take anyone’s right
to do and say what they want,
while you embrace the hate
and live fighting the inevitable reality
of any queer couple tying the knot.

It might be 2018,
but I still can’t hold a potential partner’s hand
in a public facility
without getting disgusted leers
and a dreadful look at multiple cases
of unprovoked hostility.

So, try to look me in the eyes,
And tell me I’m not right.
But despite it all
I’ll keep my head up high
And let that rainbow flag fly
Because this might be a straight world,

But love is love

is love

is love.

And that concludes this winded verse.
I wanted to write something that showed the struggles of being non-straight within the LGBTQ+ community that still exist, even in 2018.
we sink half an inch every year
"soon, we'll be up to our ears
in water"

not a creature of fury, just of habit
the moon pulls her to churning, to crashing.
hotter water temper tantrums
rush the brine into our basements
soaking scrapbooks in salt
until it crystallizes faces

and yet i cannot blame the marsh

for reclaiming what was never ours
and taking even what was as penance.
but i refuse to condemn us
for shaping shorelines into lives
because things are so much clearer
when they turn with the tides.
we’ll grow gills in time,

we have to.

the ones who stay on land
could never handle shifting sands
don’t know we cling onto the inlet
with white-knuckled hands.
they never grew from buried roots,
seeds are just flotsam in the sea
so they’ll call Frank O’Toole crazy
when he can’t bring himself to leave.
This poem is a reaction to a clip used in a John Oliver segment on flooding (here it is for context: ). In it, he was quick to make fun of Frank O' Toole, a man from Broad Channel, New York who had his house destroyed by Hurricane Sandy and rebuilt it in the same spot, despite constant flooding, because he couldn't see himself in any other neighborhood. Growing up in a similarly close-knit (and similarly threatened) neighborhood fairly close to Broad Channel, I sympathized with his determination to stay right where he is. Shoutout to you, Frank.
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