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The taste of plastic in my mouth lingered until the day
you said my kisses tasted of passion fruit

After my father threw himself off the balcony on the 31st floor /
my mother never washed another silver spoon / her heart and hands
too busy to bother with such trivialities / instead consumed by the task of sheltering exposed bodies

But the kids at school could smell my plastic breath and laughed /

My paper rounds paid for chocolate on Sundays /
and trips to nowhere in particular during summer holidays /

my clever mind and my mother's stokes and pokes
drove me through college

Still, the taste of plastic on my tongue diddled silly doodles /
the fear of heights stuck on / until the day

you said my breath tasted of passion fruit
Not everyone gets a good start in life
Shlomo 2d
Freedom and justice.
Only if you're one of us, that is.
A shining star.
A beacon of hope.
The truth from afar, now seems like one of tropes.

What does America stand for? Are we seeing its true colours unfold right before us, or is this just a blip in its continued dominance?
Mark Rohlf Jan 15
the choppers blades
the cleansing of color

twist in the wind
like the means of unfit mothers
of unfounded snare

who's revolution
of her weighted intent
should be held to account
when justness is spent

the judges, juries
and executioners trail
hovering the bluster
as appellants flail


the choppers blades
the cleansing of color....
There once was a man
Who lived a long long time ago
He went by the name of Jesus
Sadly He committed horrendous crimes
He healed the sick
Caused the blind to see
Walked on the water
And dispelled any form of iniquity
And for ALL the above He received the death penalty
Today there are those who steal, ****** and ****
Their sentence ...
You shall go to a place we call prison and reside there for free
There you shall receive three meals a day ... On time
You shall have a roof over your head and a warm bed to sleep in
You shall stay there for a period of time
While you're there you can watch TV and have full use of the gym
Once your stay has expired
You shall be released back into society
Where you most-likely will commit the same offence
But not to worry
You will always have a place to call home
Where the cycle shall repeat itself
And as for the rest of society
Who cares about the people who were affected by your heinous crimes
As long as you weren't injured while committing them
Sleep peacefully
Written by Sean Achilleos 17 January 2019©
Sean Achilleos' Music is available on the following platforms:
Amazon, Apple Music, iTunes, Deezer, Google Play, Pandora, Saavn, SoundCloud, Spotify, Tidal, YouTube, Jango Radio, Nicovideo (Japan), IQIYI (China) and YOUKU (China)

Sean Achilleos' Book 'An Affair with Life' is obtainable from the following platforms:
Smashwords, Amazon, Wordery, Kobo, Exclusive Books, Takealot, HelloPoetry, Loot, Overdrive, Bokus, Barnes and Noble
Sara Kellie Jan 15
If prevention is better than the cure
(up the sentence for intimidation)
to much, much, much, much more.
Let me search my mind.
See what feelings I can find.

These thoughts I have
were never mine.
You gave me these.
Did I wrong you somehow?
Was it for your friends to please?
How many likes did you get?

  (black cloth on my head)
For the pain you imposed.
for you,
I have been whispering with the
jury of the (******) self righteous mind
and so,
your sentence,
will take your breath away.

Justice served by any person other than yourself is and always will be empty.
Arianna Jan 13
I invited her for tea
At this cool place
Downtown, but she
Suggested a visit to the sea

I know not the source
Of her fascination with the ocean,
But to thither we went
With a thermos of hot water,
A box of earl grey,
And a dog-eared translation
Of Sappho.

Conversation was always sparse with her,
But we understood each other
As only the truest of friends can do.

I didn't dare mention her brother.

It's been rough...

She gazed at the water,
Eyes flicking from the waves,
To the poem on the page,
And back,
Again and again...

Maybe there's something about Sappho,
Our spurnéd lady of ******,
Her fragmented voice
Laying scattered
Like pottery shards
Across leather-bound leaves of paper,

Washing up with the waves,
Poetry shards
Across these so-called "sands of time",


I can see in her eyes
That Grief is blind
To the poetics of muddy shores.

For her lips, that once wailed,
Once railed against against grave injustice,
Now make no sound.

For what has passed
Has passed;
And nothing remains
To say now of the past.

But her thoughts cannot hide
Behind silent lips and eyes,
For the eyes, having seen truth,
Cannot disregard it.

First Creon, and now
Her own gaze
Betrays her,
Steadfast and unwavering
Before the fickle laws of men.

I know
She often thinks of Thebes,
As soon I too shall reminisce
Upon my native land:

          Great kingdoms permitted by the gods
          To rise high
          That they might more bitterly feel their fall.

Dare I ask, O Fallen One?
An afternoon with Antigone...

Aaaand, in case you're curious to read Sappho's work:
Moji K Jan 13
she was a person
not your honour
your pride
she begged you not to
but you burned her alive
there were tears in her eyes
when you snuffed her life out
and you sold your soul
when her light flickered out
her fear will be yours
on the day that you stand
a sinner before his Lord
she was a human
never yours to sacrifice
so cursed be your honour
and hollow be your pride
there is no honour in killing.
nonexistent crimes
were shoved down into my throat
screams, pleas aren't heard
tempest 7d
are we really woke as much as we all claim to be?
or are we woke to ease our minds, which ain't reality?

of course we've signaled heavy change, i won't deny that's true
but let me have your ear for now, give you another view

are you really woke because you post a rant on twitter,
but bop to Chris Brown's music even tho we know he hit her?

are you really woke cause you were born into the slums,
but if you make it out,
you forget where you are from?

are you really woke because you claim to love black hair?
but only like the softer textures, is that really fair?

are you really woke 'cause you admire that 4c?
but put down girls who have relaxers, wigs, or wear a weave?

are you really woke because you claim to love all people,
but if ya boy is *** you will denounce him at the steeple?

are you really woke because you say you know what's right,
but ostracize your fellow blacks,
simply cause "they talk white?"

are you really woke because you claim to love all colors,
but date a darker women? yikes! you'd rather find another

are you really woke because you claim you've got insight,
but if i am depressed, you say that mess is for the whites?

i bring up all these issues not because i hate my own

i bring up all these issues just because they're never shown

and if we are to grow and prosper,
thrive and shed our past,
we need to have these conversations,

                                                 ­                                make sure that they last
In light of the r kelly docuseries, I thought back to this poem I had written about a year ago over the black community tending to overlook issues that are prevalent among us. Conversations about colorism, mental illness, homosexuality, the covering of black artists and entertainers after serious allegations, etc., are always difficult conversations to have, especially when years of culture are intertwined with it, whether it should be or not. In the past decade or so, we've come a long way in opening spaces for these discussions and the R. Kelley documentary is just one of many ways how we continue to do so.
marianne Jan 2
Broken, like her mother
split like axe to wood, like seam ripped
insides push out, yet—
broken, she fights
yowling and kicking, she confronts
her own demons
then those others have not
broken, she battles
with righteous sword at her side
condemning hate, wounded
by disregard
broken, she demands
justice, love—
though she does not yet see
they are
broken, with tempest
to unleash
aim it at me, the first
to wound you, now you have a
taste of that blood
roar at the outrage, one day
you will find peace or that love is
but first, rage
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