Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I seem to be at home on the margins
where I can be alone
with my folly
sweltering in my private bowl of stew
simmering in the sins
surrounding and piercing me
but you found me there
invited me into your heart
where you loved me
redeemed me
sewed my seams
pulled together my crazy quilt
made separate parts into a whole.
I wonder if these times offer opportunities for us to become quilt makers each in our own ways. I suppose most people are on the edges at one time or another and could use a seamstress.
the innkeeper Jun 2019
My existence isn’t something
you test out your empathy on

My humanity is not something
that asks for your sympathy

My life and loves and lived experiences
are liberated from your thin,
watery approval

Your opinion holds no bearing in my body.
I fix my tea before I dream
The herbs swirl in my subconscious
A ritual warm and full of steam
I wake knowing, “I want this.”
I read someone else’s words before I sleep
Losing myself to a story
A healthy escape that I’ll keep up
To bide off darkness and worry.
I wash my face before I slumber
Washing away the day
Tomorrow any anxiety I may encumber
Must in the future stay.
I pen my thoughts to the night’s sound
Striking the ink to the rhythm of my thoughts
Meanwhile fear and curiosity abound
I must momentarily quell my haves and have nots.
Anjana Rao Jan 2016
in awe of the marginalized
in awe of the QTPOC
in awe of the survivors
in awe of the femmes
in awe of the fat
in awe of the trans/gender non conforming
in awe of the creators
in awe of the disabled
in awe of the ones who don’t/won’t/can’t recover
in awe of the ones the world is trying to shut up, lock down
in awe of the ones who didn’t make it
in awe of the ones who did
in awe of all of us

thanks to Leah Lakshmi Piepzna Samarsinha for the title and last lines of this short little survivor piece
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
The kid in the background
The one who doesn’t smile
Who goes mostly unnoticed
And has for quite awhile.
The kid in the background
Who stands there all alone.
Is the child an orphan
The baby nobody owns?

The one who is forgotten
When family gathers.
Is this the only child
With no father or mother?
And what of the brothers
And sisters to this kid.
Why do they ignore him?
Is it something that he did?

The kid in the background
The last one to get picked
In a neighborhood game.
Is it some king of mean trick?
Are his glasses the problem
Or some condition of skin?
What can be the excuse
For the sad state he is in?

The kid plays by himself
It seems he has to pretend
That he is having fun alone
And that he has a friend.
Are these children like birds
That pick on an injured creature?
Where are the parents here,
The adults, the teachers?

The kid in the background
Might be the brightest one
But how will we ever know
If he shines brighter in the sun
Unless we ask the questions
Of what brings this all about
That children on the playground
Want to leave this kid out?
Derrick Feinman Mar 2015
Something is broken
Whole lives reduced to numbers
Disposable lives

— The End —