#atlanta
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Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 9:45 AM UTC
Harry bends over the grill,
beefy with years of drink
and culled anger,
scrubbing until silver shines,
a bullet waiting for my shift.
He believes if the French Toast is perfect,
she will appear in a halo of steam,
peacoat and Mary Janes,
ready to forgive the life they never had.
Outside Brother Juniper’s,
Peachtree Street is a kingdom
of late century's lost:
druggies, rent boys, drag queens,
pimps preaching Jesus
to the homeless in Piedmont Park.
The smell of grease stitches it all together.
Inside, fluorescent light
makes faces soft as wet clay,
ready to be remade by morning.
French fries sizzle like whips,
blintzes bleed cherry onto chipped plates,
and Tati, round as a blessing,
delivers soup to the sobbing girl
whose mascara becomes a confession.
I clock in,
busting knuckles and boots,
young, stupid,
just trying to keep up with him.
I know he wants her to return.
I know she won’t.
I know he’s getting older.
I watch Harry’s grace and sweat,
serving a city that believes
in one last plate of salvation.
At dawn,
he walks out slow, grease still on his arms,
orders a drink he won’t finish,
lets Ray Charles sing him home,
searches the sidewalk
for her red hair in every stranger.
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 1:49 PM UTC
Started with gold-plated meals and religious heels
Felt like heaven was real
Then why I am in the mirror using conceal
Maldives By day
Belize when you say
In Madison Square
where you keep me boxed if I stray
For freedom, I have to start with “May,”
Mother stretched her hand to not get met
Countless reports stopped
after the first check
Your life can’t be in danger if you commute on private jets
Burberry shades when he’s most scary
So my trauma doesn’t connect
As soon as I finally collect from my war wounds, it’s turned into show tunes
Like, “ Where are all these hiding bathrooms, when you are out taking pics in Cancun?”
No matter how viral, there will be an audience that says,” I never a ran mile until my lifestyle went down the Nile.”
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 7:24 PM UTC
The brightest lights tend to consume
Put in the spotlight so my character is assumed
Yet you won’t learn me til
I’m exhumed
Cause my legacy is more important than a therapy room
Endorsed as I’m source for what stops your scroll
So my role is funded if I never break the code
Interact, react, or enact either way dollars rolling in
Not to the masses but to certified evil overseers who entrust it
to their next of kin
Thinking your pen game going to help others with their pain
But to maintain you have to insert the product name
Keep telling yourself that’s it only one more album, only one more line
Don’t worry your Grammy’s gone pile up over time
Refine your story, tell your side
but it’s hard to accept like a late Valentine
It started with good intentions even some honorable mentions about your conscience decisions
But what's an activist without comma sense?
Homeless begging for cents or at least that’s what they present
So I only get to wear the suit if play Superman but never Clark Kent
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 7:20 PM UTC
It started small, like can I ask you a favor? Too,
You want me in your mouth,
lifesaver
You promised I wasn’t
a new flavor
Yet I was minor to you
never major
Meetups after school,
drinking at your pool,
classmates thinking that I’m cool
not realizing I’m some pervert addiction nickname, Juul
Using my Maturity to get by the insecurity
Ensuring me that I’m different for my age
Purity in your voice starts to disengage
When my clothes start to fade
Ready to tell peers about our late-night hobbies
The details I describe make them jealous like they want to rob me
Recall every instance where I lost innocence feeling less like Rocky
More like Paulie here comes impotence
Three therapy sessions a week
Two affirmations to keep me at my peak
One time for me to remember you and start to blame my physique
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 9:04 AM UTC
Lily Kesha Gump
Sittin' on the curb of Bronx and Main Street
How I wish I could wrap my arms around you
Sweet little lady, lookin’ grown with a picture of her mama’s stare frozen on her face
Wrists slung through the spaces of her thighs, waiting for a daydream
And she sees me as I’m twirling by in my ruby reds and thigh high leather grace
There you go darlin,
She says to me
Scoring on my indigo smile
She bites men to sleep
With the crevices of her curves
As her voice weakens wicked
she pulls me out of my gloom
There you go darlin,
She says to me
With a time bomb ticking
On my pain pain pain
And the pen is in my hand
Before she even leaves my sight
I love this city
I love these women
I love their shoes
I love their smiles
Cheeky little laughs
Someone once recommended
When I was dancing under the shades of a neon lamp
From Homeless to Harvard
by a woman named Liz or Marie
Or maybe I read the title off of a screen
when I walking with Maryanne on north Peachtree street
And I remember
Lily Kesha Gump
How I wish I could wrap my arms around you
And give you the life some white woman
who doesn’t even know you
Thinks you desire.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 12:15 PM UTC
So baseball starts soon and pitchers and catchers reported today. This is the most excited i've been since the Kansas City Chiefs won the Superbowl. I know that's not long but baseball is just amazing and an awesome display. Baseball is that sport that you can't run the clock out and don't have total control. Anything can happen in baseball. It's amazing to see the comebacks that can happen. If your the Astros you'll just want to forestall. Baseball is always somebody's passion. Some people say is boring. Others say it is a smart person's game. How can it be boring and lame if all those fans are roaring. Baseball every season relights the same flame.
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 3:47 PM UTC
fly me from atlanta to
miami
hurry up
fast
don't make me
wait
you ain't
tizzop
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
The noodles getting ready
I’m getting ready
Everything is falling into place
I think this is a good space
Whip it left, whip it right
I want this Mac and cheese to last all night
So creamy it’s too ready
Steaming up the kitchen
How is it ******* up the dishes
He ready to eat
He ready to beat
He about to eat off this plate
He wanna bring one more date
But it’s to late the Mac and cheese is done
Creamy creamy
We both had fun
Baking this dish
We don’t do fish
Would you like to try my famous Mac and cheese dish?!
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
I feel so alone
My body feel like stone
I’m in my zone
I haven’t grown
I’m still right here where I was yesterday
So the only thing I can do is pray
No one to hold
Now I feel so cold
No one to kiss
And I’m ****
No one to touch my face
I’m all alone I my plate
No one to ***
Not even a text
No one to cry too
My brain is fried too
No one to date
**** I miss my mate
No one to take control
I feel like a lost soul
I feel so alone
Out here in this world that’s so cold
I’m not old
But my body feel wrong
I’m just out here...........all alone!
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
Beautiful downtown Atlanta
Sunny, blue, cloudless sky
Tall, wide, massive buildings
Window glass glistening in the sun
Beautiful, well-dressed people
Gainfully employed people
Taking care of business people
Running essential errands
Contributing to the community
Pursuing positive, purposeful lives.
I take in the sights, sounds, smells
Sounds of people walking, talking
Engines revving and car horns
Smells of restaurants and fast food vendors
Engine exhaust and overheated brakes
The feel of the sidewalk
Under my expensive dress shoes
The heat of the sun on my face and neck
The exciting hustle and bustle
Of a thriving metropolis.
A faint “Please, sir. . .” reaches my ears
And a homeless man appears
***** disheveled, hirsute
“Please, sir. Could you. . .”
His weak speech trails off
As I divert my eyes, quicken my pace
Ignoring his petty pleas
As he disappears in my wake
Bothersome soul, good riddance
Why doesn’t the city do something?
Days later the encounter haunts me
I was so proud of the way I handled myself
How easy it was to dismiss a soul in need
Months later the encounter haunts me
Instead of the clever human
I had become cruel, inhuman
Unfeeling, unkind, uncaring
Years later the encounter still haunts me
Never will it ever happen again
Never. . . ever.
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 9:46 PM UTC
It's okay to not be ready. To want something but just not know if it's a good fit. Doing everything the right way also doesn't mean that it will all turn out perfect. Making such a permanent move can change your entire life. Is it worth it and will the change be painful? It's easy to stay in the same situation. The comfort of knowing what will happen everyday will keep a mind at ease. Yet, if change comes what will the day look like? The transition should be easy and without questions. To live in fear of what could be equals emptiness. It could also leave one stagnant. The heart wants change but I'm just not sure.
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 2:20 AM UTC
it feels like i am floating in space.
never really sure what day it is,
what time it is,
or how long i’ve been in this one place.
my determination and prevalence
mold the time into one recognizable moment.
and while i continue to run,
i run aimlessly towards a goal
i no longer see.
all i know is that it’s what i want to be.
-abc
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
The task was quite simple - speak into the mic,
Or post it to Twitter if that's what you like,
But pause for a moment your intense game of Yahtzee
And tell the whole nation that no sick *******
White supremacists, kkker or alt-right fanatic –
(With or without robes that they found in the attic)
Is allowed to spread terror or drive cars through a crowd.
Vile speech, vile actions just won't be allowed.
As people sat waiting throughout our great nation-
Instead of a strong and robust condemnation
There came but a tweet both insipid and sad
Implying that both sides were equally bad,
And when no one came forth to defend his position
Not Repubs or Dems, hardly one politician
Trump finally said okay what I meant
Was white supremacists are evil one hundred percent.
But the bigots were grinning as Trump's sound bite got tossed -
Cause he had made it quite clear that his fingers were crossed.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
Are they good people?
Friendly folk?
Good neighbors perhaps,
Willing to lend a helping hand-
Loving family members?
When they are not preaching hatred, I mean,
Waving symbols of terror and oppression;
Scapegoating people who fled oppression
Torture, death or economic hardships
Such as we have never endured..
Or denying the rights of fellow citizens
(who's ancestors were stolen, enslaved, tortured, terrorized and
Stripped of as much dignity and humanity as was possible even years after the promises of freedom and equality.)
And when the parades and riots are over,
Are they good people, nice folk, once more?
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
I imagined our last goodbye
would be something for the screens-
you would be about to board a train
(you were always the one to say goodbye)
I would make my way through the bustling crowd
and find you through the smoke
as you'd turn around,
the wind from a moving train would brush my hair ever so slightly
that at that exact moment,
you'd fancy me the prettiest girl to cross paths with
as a tear would escape from the corner of my eye,
i'd whisper from across the station;
"please don't leave me"
you are moving to Seattle-
out west to a city that never shows sun
it was meant for you.
you want to be a Bio major,
and you want to spend the rest of your days in the mountains.
Seattle is far away from the sub(urban) town you leave behind
and you never gave me the chance to see you through.
I will never forgive myself for the things I said,
but mistaking every stranger with long brown hair
and caramel-apple eyes
for you,
is punishment enough.
you are moving to Seattle,
and although I feel a bittersweet sensation
of being happy that you finally are getting your wish
(to, quote, "be away from you and this stupid ******* sleepy suburbia that offers me nothing but painful memories)
I can't help but torture myself
as I visualize you pursuing your dreams,
meeting beautiful, pale strangers that become your new friends
or finally gathering the courage to turn behind your chair and ask the
quiet redhead sitting behind you in your American Lit. class
if she'd like to grab coffee after lecture.
how can I sit back at home,
watching your through a blank, glass screen
seeing you move into the future
while i'm still stuck in the past,
heartbroken over losing the boy who left me in this do nothing town
as he moved on
to Seattle.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
Your colored flags wave in the breeze, and with them flutters my
beating heart.
Your cacophonic symphony rings in my ears, and with it sing the
thoughts in my head.
Your smells tug me in every which direction, and flavors dance
upon my tongue.
Your trottoirs are filled with a million eyes — with men, women,
children of different creed and color. They are them, and I am I, and
together we stride forward.
Oh! What have you done with me, Atlanta?
I was only a lonely, aimless cloud drifting after your twinkling
lights.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
for more than a year,
I have been stuck with the indecision to
call you.
and it's as if I torture myself with the thought
of what I would do
if you were to bump into me at the grocery store
hair grown out past your chin,
bloodshot eyes; you smell like beer and ****
would I have the courage to confront you?
or would I take on the "little girl lost" persona
i oh so often do
and crouch behind the stand of sunflowers,
waiting until you have finished fishing through to find your favorite muffins from the display
and go on your way
i just can't fathom
after all these months of trying to change myself,
i can't change the fact that you are still plaguing my body
the bruises on my lips can still be felt.
your scent fills up the room that you refuse to walk into
and it must be some kind of ******* sickness
that no matter what you could have said to me and make me cry
it won't be enough to scare me away
Stockholm syndrome for the ones who keep themselves imprisoned in another's memory
you have made me sick and perverted
but I love you for it.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 9:36 AM UTC
it's so ****** up but
I see him in you
same face, same hair
but the eyes
the eyes do not lie
and he is not in your eyes
i miss him a lot.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
if you find yourself in the loving presence of someone who writes;
turn the other way.
it may seem romantic at first
when she describes the curve of your pouted lips
or the way
her eyes
become clouded
when trying to overcome writer's block
you may find it cute
when you see yourself in bits of her work
knowing that your conversations will stick in her brain
as she tries to sleep,
but when that turns to tossing and turning at 12:07 A.M.
she will flip open the leather bound notebook
and begin to write about what you said to her
or what you're doing wrong
or maybe you'll see another man in her work
these questions will leave you empty, not knowing what is about you
and what isn't.
after the honeymoon phase ends (three months time),
and you are forced to look at her for all that she is
and when you find that it isn't enough
she will write about you then
but this time it will not be in the compassionate way she once did
it won't lack passion
but it will be in a different way
she will write about how you hurt her
how she can't find the right words to say about it
but when you look at her work, she hits every sentence
perfectly executed
and those words
will haunt you
for the rest of your sleepless nights
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC