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Bryce 4h
On pale monday
Beneath the marble bedspread
The touch of soft hands.
Why should I hold it in?
Is my heart an inn?
Why should I not say when I have been hurt?
Will you only learn the evil your shunning made me do when I become a member of the dreaded cults?

Why can I not cry too?
Why does my pains have to be kept mute?
Will you only see the pain in my perforated heart after I go home
Beyond this phase, transcendence into the metaphysical zone?

I am human,
Born of skin and bone
Not made of rocks and stones
I have a right to be sad.

So why will you tell me to hide my face,
Beneath the dwellings of the bed sheet
And under the railing of my own skin
Why, I still wonder why?

If you can tell me your pain
Maybe I can ease you by telling you the shame coming out to tell the world what boys suffer brings to my name.

From your friend that cares,
©Emmiasky Ojex
Your words will either mar or heal someone.

We are boys, not stones.
Could ever make up for what I did to you

What a mistake
This room wont contain the happiness
Of my soul when your presence is in touch,
Your beauty is so unreachable even for a man with much luck in his sleeves, you're a rare catch

In my twenty-two consecutive lonely years of breathing
I am here to enjoy this mayhem, there's no stopping.

Such an unusual sight for my sored and weary eyes,
Perfectly unique inside my cosmos
Up all night looking in the skies

Are you a dying star?
Were you a moon in someones planet?
Was I just late?
Would you wake some love in me?
It is not wrong to be white
and to have dreadlocks
you may look like a pleb
but you offend me not
Nor would it offend
a black rastafarian man
of a temperate manner

I don't know any women
with white skin and
straight hair that get offended
by afro-caribbean women
wearing a straight weave
You're all just too soft now,
you're all just pet peaves

Stop getting offended
on behalf of other people
that don't even take offence
Excuse me,
whilst I build a fence
around myself hombre
Not to keep me here
but to keep you at bay

Cultural appropriation
doesn't exist
Cultural misappropriation
doesn't exist
You're all just
champagne socialists
You should get over it

Yes, you mate
The one that thinks
he's above
and must decide what is
politically correct
and whose life matters

In the end all this is
is a series of cultural
exchanges and we're
all wading through ****

Face it.
A bit of salty food for thought.
LaNita 7d
Call for Submissions:

What can we find when we return to our roots? Like the roots of a tree, what do we learn about the growth of the tree? What can we find when we consider the ancestral practices of time? Can we better prepare with this knowledge? What will our future look like? How will we use our founding principles to continue our expansion? Will we self-destruct? Will Mother Earth allow her children to persist? We are the creators of the new days ahead, what potential do you see in the human to use all we ever have known to produce things we can only imagine?

Let’s pull our work together and form tomorrow with our words. The writer shapes the thoughts of the times. What can we pull from our past to shape a healthier future?

Please send works of writing that consider our ancient future:

By November 30th, 2018 @ midnight
Maximum 3 pieces of work per writer
Focused around the theme of ancient – future
500 words or less
Poetry or short story

Collection will be published by La Nita Nash and will be available as a bound book as well as an E-Book. All financial proceeds from book will be donated.

Please email submissions to: info@alignwithplants.com no later than November 30th 2018 by midnight. Include a brief bio and picture with submission. Selected pieces will be notified of acceptance by December 9th 2018.
My goal was to write and publish 3 books in 2018. I am now on #3. It was always going to be a poetry compilation though I felt I wanted to open it up to other amazing writers and make it a family thing. There are a few of you here I SOOOO hope consider submitting. :) Putting the call out! Happy Monday XO
Jeannery Nov 5
Your cute actions and sweetness;
It became my weakness.
I fell with that so easily,
Now I am suffering endlessly.

I can't help myself but to blame
Why did I fell?
Now, I feel so ashamed.
You played me so well.

All I do is wonder.
As days pass by without you,
I became sadder.
All the pinks you gave me became blue.

"us" would be such a great idea to think
But your love's like a blink.
We could be a great team,
Sorry, it'll only happen on my dream.


was written september 27, 2017 and I dont know why I wrote this. just another meaningless poem I made but whatever its about being promiscuous and fool
When young always
travelled around by
National Express

Always remember
stopping at Bristol
coach station after
a very long journey

Ready to board the
Coach home there
female German bus
station attendant

She was  hearding  every
body like prisoners of
war awaiting entering
a prisoner of war

Wasn't a happy bunny
that day, so I let get have
It, with both barrels these
are paying customers
treat them with respect I
told her

She tried to ban me from
the bus, but was overruled
by applause from everyone
on the
Including the driver who
said, about time somebody
told her, that made me proud
I'd done my good deed of
the day
Paying customers should be treated
with respect
Once In a lifetime If
you're lucky to find
the gift of love may
come you're
If should happen for
you, grab with both
and never let
Some people are lucky
to find love again, but
as for myself there
won't be
For had my time and
had the best women
a man could ever
have, but now sadly
Missing love you won't no-till it happens
to you and hope It dosen't for the feeling
of loss Is at times unbearable
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