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Ali Hassan May 18
I raised a black flag high with pride,
A banner bold I could not hide.
It screamed of strength, of “I won’t fall,”
Of standing firm, of having it all.

It waved through storms I would not flee,
A symbol carved with “only me.”
I bore it like a soldier’s crown
But oh, how silently I drowned.

Each triumph inked in darkest thread,
Each vow I kept while dreams bled red.
I thought this flag would make me whole,
But bit by bit, it cost my soul.

Then came a moment, still and bare,
No crowd to please, no need to dare.
I dropped my fists. My knees grew weak.
And for the first time, I let peace speak.

A white flag trembled in my hand
So soft, so plain, I couldn’t stand
To think this could be strength at all…
But it was strength to stop the fall.

I raised it slow, unsure, ashamed
Expecting loss, expecting blame
But as it rose, I saw it shift
This white was black, the truest gift.

Not stained in rage or empty gain,
But marked with mercy, healed by pain.
It bore no name, it screamed no “I”
Yet in its silence, I could fly.

And then I knew—how blind I’d been,
The black I held was never kin.
It led me through a thousand fights
But never taught me wrong from right.

This white flag wasn’t giving in
It was the start of truth within.
And every thread once dyed in shame
Now stitched a soul that chose to change.

So here I stand, no flags held high,
Just open hands beneath the sky.
Not conquered no, but born anew,
Freed from chains I once thought true.

That white I feared to lift in shame
Became a fierce and quiet flame.
The black I chased a mere disguise,
This white revealed my truest rise.

Its threads now stained with all I’ve braved,
A banner raised, not lost but saved.
This is the black I now embrace
Born pure, reborn through time and grace.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 17
the isle is surrounded,
one if by day, and
too by night,
a thickening paste
of fog, condensed humidity,
and the mind smiles that
interloper explorers would sail
past by us, unawares,
for the waters are merely a
dirtier shade of green grey,
a "path" to follow and we
would be spared the noisy
pollution of politics and
and injections of identity
that divide, the tirades of
the overly righteous chest
beaters, who never question
their certainty, their compasses
always broken pointing their
"only one way"

sail on, sail past. this piece of
quiet tranquility, a place that
has just one of everything, a
sufficiency, a rejection of excess,
and the only melancholy is
the finality of passing of
the day lillies,
b u t,
the multi-colored irises, the
flowering of azaleas, rhododendrons, and the brevity
of the cheery cherry blossoms
of those;
secure, safe we are, assured that
their peaceful return is guaranteed
by the firmament and its secrets,
that, along with the overwhelming
greenery of this spot, for the
pleasuring enjoyment of all,
even the fog's quietude,
its surround sounds silences the anxious rapid heart beating,
slowed by one thought only:

Here,
herein is,
here within
lies the truths of
shelter

S. I. 2025
Heidi Franke Jun 2
I looked up
This morning
Before
the globe
Of life lifted from
The dark horizon

The passengers
In the sky
Began to announce
Their arrival
With frosting
Dressing the gray floaters
Tipping a hat to the mistress sun

As do the yellow roses
That glow in the darkest
Of green along the
Fence. Next to me.
Waking up.

One only knows
The presence of the days beginning
By these clouds
These flowers
And the black capped chickadee
Announcing all clear
See-see dearee
All threats are gone.
Ya hachu skazat— ya ochin tupoy.
Ya ni znayu kak nayti ma-yo zutdba.
Moy Bog. post budit Chronie Chelovek, kak eta krasivya Luna.
Ya magu begat.
Ya magu mnogo sdelat'.
Ya adeen chelovek, chto lubit Chornaya Luna.

.

I want to say— I am very stupid.
I do not know how to find my own destiny.
My God, let it be a Black Person, like a beautiful Moon.
I can run.
I can do a lot.
I am one person, who loves the Black Moon.
Confessional. A deep confessional.
Lizzie Apr 23
A stranger who doesn’t fit anywhere on Earth
Something about her skin
Too dark to be white
Not dark enough to be her heritage.

A girl whose skin is too light
Her hair not black enough
A girl wearing American clothes
Living the American way.

Little mixed girl
Who doesn’t even speak the language
Of her grandfather

Fake little mixed girl
Who talks about being Indian
To actually feel connected
To her culture

Yet, she knows it’s a lie
She doesn’t celebrate Diwali.
She doesn’t know traditions

Little mixed girl
Who isn’t ethnic enough
To get offended over slurs

Fake little mixed girl
Who knows her ancestors
Look down upon her
Whitewashed self
And feel nothing but shame.

Fake little mixed girl
Pretending to be something she’s not.
Roni Hall Apr 12
the 7 led me back to my God Given throne
where I didn't have to hide from the evilness of the world.

mother couldn't love me the way i deeply craved
life was so mean to me, i almost lost my wonder...
until the 7 led me back to my power.

i started at the root, where my sense of self had been forgotten.
they mirrored back to me all parts within me the darkness wouldn't let me see.
i found pleasure in doing the small things moment to moment,
my purpose now was to bring unconditional love into these parts alive in me i was now discovering.
all these mirrored parts in these 7 individuals
the happy part,
the grumpy part,
the escapist,
the hiding one,
the most sensitive one,
my higher self and
my inner child.

bringing all these parts within me together into my wholeness was a great threat to the evilness
because once I knew of the combined power of my fragmented parts, evilness could never keep a hold of me.

unbeknownst to me a spiritual attack sent me back into the darkness.
I was waking up too fast into my power, so they put me back to ignorant sleep;
dead to these parts i was
unaware, numb, disconnected
until I found my way back outside in
kissed back to life by an angel...another me.

I got resuscitated back into enlightenment,
reincarnated into the same body after my ego death.

the old story is gone, now, I have space to create more magic.
I am now living lovingly, simultaneously with all these 7 parts of me, but this time happily ever after!
you have magic waiting to be activated in your cells, can you feel it brimming over in your heart?
neth jones Apr 3
lilly white lies           
patterned in the dirt
             hoof trodden
haiku inspired
Her long hair cascades upon
Her face like silv'ry threads.
Her curious eyes wander
At everything she sees.
Her mind on her head,
Her nose buried in books.
I truly never knew what
She always searched for.
You'll never know what I wrote this about until you played.
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