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Rebecca Mar 31
I once heard that the brain can be like a bad neighborhood when you're depressed
How do I tell you that mine isn't a bad neighborhood but yet an
abandoned one
Dark
Silent
A constant fog overcast
Almost haunted
My brain is left in the wallows
Dark n Beautiful Jul 2020
What is freedom, to breathe, to talk, and to travel?
Oh how we took for granted those past years:

What is freedom summer, here in America?
Where we can still purchase a bottle of cold coke cola for a dollar
But wouldn’t be able to sit on the stoop with friends
Just sipping, and chatting away.

Thinking of a time in history when

Freedom summer was a nonviolent effort by
civil rights activists to
integrate Mississippi's segregated
political, system during 1964.


A poet who knows her history is exceptional
Poets words can sometimes comes off as gossip column

What is freedom?

In 2020 without the interference of
Other countries, city or states…. or the faces of
heart breaking stories of missing persons….
Who took a stroll or jog through the wrong street
And end up in the news while they were
trespassing in Karen’s neighborhood

What is freedom:  not to be cage,
Not to be muffled and not to be Taser by the police:
What is freedom summer of 2020 in New York City.


Limited!
Complicated!
Freedom always come with a price
Anissa Aguila Apr 2020
Every day, at 3 o’ clock, on the dot, I check the mail.
I walk around the corner of the street in bare feet,
And I feel the sidewalk heat seep into my body,
Up my legs,
Making the skin tingle for the rest of the day.
The other day, a car turned around and followed me.
I thought,
What will it be today,
Kidnapped or catcalled?
I got to the mailbox and he pulled up next to me, window down, head out.
Oh, he said, just checking the mail.
Yes, I said.
Just wanted to make sure you were okay, walking away with no shoes, you seemed to be in trouble.
No trouble, I said, just mail. Im okay. Thank you.
He pulled away.
Parked at the house next to mine.
New neighbor.
Are you okay?
Do you feel this numbness as well?
Do you also wake up dizzy and strange?
Somedays,
I eat until I feel something.
Others,
I don’t until all I feel is hunger.
Your driveway is overflowing, neighbor.
Do you feel alone?
Do the dogs keep you up at night?
Does the news?
I’m sorry about the noise, neighbor.
I sing until my throat is sore, and then keep going.
I’m okay, neighbor.
I’m just checking the mail.
There’s nothing today,
But maybe tomorrow.
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2020
Oil
Exhaust
Handstand theatre
In the back of a van
Underground avenue
Has the scent of
Stale black licorice
Melted into the sidewalk
The familiar odor of traffic
Is a pedestrian substitute
For the Old World charm
This renovated place
Paved over
Long
Ago
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
Racism is not a gated community
It lives in every neighborhood
Jonathan Moya Dec 2019
Mr. Rogers grace exists
in miniature cities of kindness,

the tranquil tones of forgiveness,
level to the eye of a single frighten child.

For him, and in that moment,
that child is the  most precious
thing in the world.

He blesses them with positive ways
of dealing with their feelings;

the benediction of accepting them
for exactly who they are;

even when everything doesn’t
go exactly the way they hoped,

shows them how to smooth the
dissonance into a beautiful inner music;

store up the blessings
of an ordinary day;

love the ratty, special toy,
even as it grows old;

to know with absolute firmness,
as parents, that anything

mentionable is manageable
and to be human-

and that’s ok.
Megan Hammer Aug 2019
Carefree kids on bikes, zigzagging their way to Gross Burgers
Their mothers are hookers, methheads, and nurses
Their dads are nowhere to be found.

But they still laugh, pass around a Coca-Cola
Turn up the Kanye and anger the neighbors
Who wear beards and drive trucks with one hand on the wheel

Carefree kids on bikes, eating push-up pops from Mike’s liquor store
They all smell like green sour patch kids - sour, sweet - almost gone.
Until they smell her lilacs beckoning them home, singing their names from a purple stem

She’s our lifeline, pumping blood through us and into our hearts
Carefree kids on bikes, we’ve only got that old lady on the porch
Carefree kids on bikes, who all the moms get rid of,
Ride to the lilacs, where she quietly gives up her last Coke for one of them

And loves them all,
Without caring where they come from.
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