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Jordan Sep 2018
Like a zygote in a toilet bowl
you flushed me away with a raw and distant shame that must’ve grown in you for two weeks and kept you up at night as a churning of unknown origin, a bloating that weighed you down in that section of the grocery store and made you promise “after one more week” because it was too early to tell even though you were already flushed with that secret, lonely panic when something no one else could detect made you gag and you prayed like a Christian and remained silent like a monk until it finally happened and you were saved, redeemed by the sight of the red little pieces of soul and carnal ritual which were so tender and broken you became whole again and you understood so you flushed me away, and we never spoke of it because only I knew but you must’ve understood the shame because at the first sight of me in August you flushed my red little soul away too.
about a secret miscarriage and an unexpected break up
D Baby Bey Sep 2018
I sit by the stream
and listen.
lapping the rocks,
like children's feet
patting across the pavement
on a summer afternoon.
listen–
you can hear the laughter;
little giggles.
jumping and playing
as it flows by.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
The truth isn’t hidden forever
The sun is behind the Moon
it’ll find the bottom of the night
will pick it up upon the rose.

See whose shining
streaming down into a dew?
On the way though maybe
some storms one or two!
Heartaches that shimmer through my bed every night. Cold stones, broken bones, a red eye to Las Vegas with no cash and a knee splint. Sober days, sober nights, and what am I even doing here? Curse words, funeral pyres, judgment days, chattering teeth on the horizon and a disco ball lodged in my bedroom walls. I swear I’ve seen your ghost before, in a black and white film that I watched on late night television while I was high on *******. Dragging lakes, settling into graves, a judge pardoning a man I’ve never met. A night in New York, a terrible flu, thoughts about how the 1800s are as foreign to me as your smile in the reflection of a second hand microwave. I’ve been driving all night and all I’ve found were water towers and gated communities; summertime, brown grass, sprinklers and hands clasped together, all staring at me from a Polaroid I found in the neighbor’s dumpster. When’s the last time I’ve seen a star, when’s the last time I’ve put the pieces back together? A broken jaw burrows underneath the pool in her backyard, she was always so rich, always so well put together, I’ve seen her on infomercials, in dreams, her hair litters every empty elevator in Seattle. Romantic getaways, wind chimes, the sound of an ex fiancé wringing her wrists underwater. There are so many sounds down here. I’ve stuck a needle into the corral reef. The earth melts around me and all the stars slice ancient limericks into my bones. I found heaven last night in her backyard. It was shards of glass half buried in the grass.
I've been writing a lot of prose poetry lately. Here is one of my most recent piece.
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