#blackness
Darkness, is the lack of light
where nothing is bright
the black of a moonless night
deepest depth of the greatest sea where the day is out of sight
Darkness is a pressured mind
where life and people are all unkind
where your crying heart constantly pined
and depression weighs down to render you fatally blind
Give it time
without a sign
sun will shine
the blackness will be forgotton, for a while you'll be fine
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 11:58 AM UTC
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.
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 11:08 PM UTC
The world does not hand you softness when you are born Black and queer.
It does not give you instructions on how to carry love without apology.
It does not teach you how to exist in a body they never planned for.
So you learn in the quiet.
In the spaces between being seen and being erased.
You learn from the ones who never flinched when they said your name.
And you learn from the ones who did.
Some lessons come in whispers.
Some in wounds.
Some in the silence left behind.
Either way, you survive.
Either way, you keep moving.
Feb 16, 2025
Feb 16, 2025 at 11:31 PM UTC
a hawk without feathers,
skin, hollow bones,
its avianness severed by the wickedness it knows,
it sits upon a house,
the house that's always stood,
(by the cave with the painted walls,
after the massacre
of the neanderthals;
by the agora, where the voting took place,
in sight of which they signed
constitutions
and other contracts in black typeface;
by the workplace;
by the banks;
downtown,
between the metal-glass towers,
footpath from it
to the corridors of power)
out of time, it is: a Wormwood,
where men gather to unaffix themselves from the good.
the hawk has eyes of malice,
it watches as you come to the door,
inside, it smells of money, might and phosphor
us.
Aug 13, 2024
Aug 13, 2024 at 4:31 PM UTC
It settles inside
And around me,
Flooding every single corner
Every deep crevice--
Reaching every single piece
Broken away,
Shattered within...
In slow waves
It washes over all of me,
In soft currents
It reaches deep inside of me;
Carefully caressing
Every part of me that aches
For your phantom touch...
______
I lay here in the quiet depths,
Waiting for the blackness
Within and without..
Unleash the monster from my nightmare
And devour every fragment
Of my beaten, bleeding soul...
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 2:36 PM UTC
In my garden, when I was just a child
I would take a pencil I could find
And I would draw my own world.
It would be raining with happiness
Rainbows would burst from clouds
There would be no touch of blackness.
I remind myself all of those memories,
Tears start to flow down my cheeks,
"Oh, I wish I could live those moments again!
I wish I would have no worries like back then,
But life goes on and even if it's not the same,
I am going to transform my world
Into one where I treasure beautiful moments!"
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 11:17 AM UTC
Draped in
the cocoon of blackness,
my sweet eyes
stings with your blindness.
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 1:02 PM UTC
Shining a light through
To a place i cannot see
Searching through the darkness
To find the light in me
It comes and goes in waves
As they crash beyond the sea
Illuminating barriers
That are longing to be free
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
I am tired of being black,
Oh—excuse me, should I lie?
Okay, well then golly gee ‘brotha’,
for this blackness I am most willing to die
Oh, ‘brotha’ how much longer must I wear this mask?
Where is Dunbar so we can?
But don’t worry, man. This world won’t be "over-wise"
Cause our skin’s got all the power to hypnotize
When they see this skin, they just gon’ shift the blame
As ign’int slaves is how we done got our fame
I am tired of being black
I am tired of being black,
Oh—excuse me, should I lie?
Okay, well then golly gee ‘brotha’,
for this blackness I am most willing to die
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 11:05 AM UTC
the sky darkened and decomposed into the blackness
giving up a trail of reflections and thoughts
thoughts in mind, sleeping into tomorrow
thoughts waiting to be released into the light
ahhhhhhh
feels so delicious to allow new composition to escape
Brian Hill - 2020 # 225
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 8:39 AM UTC
When the world becomes black
Im almost safe
The impossible becomes possible
And the unreal becomes real
My darkness is kept low
And my imagination flys high
But that can only last for so long
The world will come to color
The impossible will escape out of reach
And the unreal will hide away
My darkness will creep back
And my imagination will be shoved in
But eventually I will go back to the blackness,
Forever
We all will
And then we will be safe forever
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 3:49 PM UTC
my mother drinks black coffee every day.
i’ve always thought it was strange— why not add a splash of cream to make it a bit easier on the palate? maybe a dash of sugar, too— some sweetness to ease its way down.
my mother's skin is the color of caramel, of coffee diluted with cream and sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon. despite this, she gave birth to three children the color of dark chocolate, of the black coffee she so adores.
unlike black coffee, we are not bitter, though the world expects that of us. we are not ugly, either, though they likely expect that, too. we are, perhaps, unpalatable, in the same way that black coffee is unpalatable to those lacking the right palate.
i always wondered why my mother insisted on tasting the bitterness, relishing in the onyx liquid sliding down her throat.
i always wondered why my skin didn’t resemble hers, smooth and unblemished and light and beautiful.
i always wondered why the dark-skinned girls in the magazines always had to have tiny noses and skin as blemishless as fine china.
i wonder, now, why i am so dependent on the splash of cream and dash of cinnamon in my coffee.
i wonder why i’m so wary of the bitterness, of the darkness.
i took my coffee black today. i savored it sliding down my throat, smooth as velvet and not nearly as bitter as i’d thought.
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 6:17 PM UTC
the music is starting
they said
the music is starting!
they said
and start it did.
the sound cascading like rivers
funny how it feels like it's surrounding me
when the speaker is very clearly to the left
when the song ends
the room is in an abrupt silence
and the walls are farther
and farther away
the walls
they grow taller
and the ceiling rises into the sky
for a minute i close my eyes
and feel an overwhelming empty
but here it is again
the music is starting
they said
the music is starting!
they said
and start it did.
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 5:53 PM UTC
after the doomsday
there was an actual poet from the hell,
who always had a knout
to torture their pale faces
within huge dark fiery cell ,
he ruined and burned their compositions
and made them melting together
again and again
in a very dark position.
when the god revive them for the sixth time
one of them wailed and said to the poet:
my dear destruction divine
secretly, let the heaven to be mine
and stop giving our thirst
this cursed brine.
the poet responded and said
yes, i'm the real destruction divine
of course i will not give you a wine
but i will turn off the pine
to keep you close
to your final dark line
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC
I've been enlightened to see today
there are to many cracks in my darkness
for the enlightenment to penetrate
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 10:33 AM UTC
I'm surrounded by madness
It circles around my heart
Corrupting it with blackness
There is no restart
The world crumbles
The ground beneath rumbles
The world has fallen
I am all in
My eyes reopen
And I realize
There is nothing hiding behind this guise
It's time for the door to open
The darkness inside
Is calling for vengeance
It's time they all died
It's time I come back with a vengeance
It is done
I became the one
It's time I disappear
Yet we're all a little mad down here
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 2:06 PM UTC
I think he has lost it.
I am almost inclined to say "again," but that would mean he'd have to had gotten it back in the first place. He's probably just a good actor. Unfortunately, I've never been interested in them. It ***** because he seems to be incapable of seeing himself any differently. I have never asked him how he does view himself, in his defense, yet I listen to him. Observe. And what I have gathered is that his answer would not sound too highly of himself.
Until. Until he takes himself out of this world completely, mentally. When he is existing outside of his mind, he seems to enjoy himself quite well.
Truly, a beautiful disaster.
The most beautiful.
And then his mind leaves and his body left alone and hollow.
Defenseless. Soulless.
Physically, his shell begins to deteriorate and he becomes harder to look at. He doesn't know, maybe he doesn't care. It's so hard to tell. How can he even comprehend anything of what is going on here? His mind can of hear himself, let alone me.
I have no idea where the soul goes, but it musn't be too terrible. No, not at all. Why else would they love dancing there more than anywhere else?
To him, the hell is for him to remain here. Connected, physically. To everything that is real.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 11:44 PM UTC
Needle into you
Bores holes into my soul
Needle into me
Saves me from tragedy
Torture tools upset you
They frighten me, too
But what can you do?
It happens all too soon
And hope runs away
Far from this place
Poked him, said he was gay
Face meets metal plate
So scream, scream, little girl
Run and scream, you ******* freak
It’s all you’ve got left
Because you’re next
The blackness gets you
But you don’t understand
Just take my hand
When you’re dead, you’ll be glad
So scream, scream little boy
Run and scream, you ******* freak
It’s all you’re good for
They don’t need you anymore
Scream away your vocal chords
You ******* *****
Don’t you know you’re the reason he died?
If I could cut you, I would
But I think that’s a crime
Run until your lazy legs stop
You pathetic *****
Run, before I bleed you
Run, before I realize
How much I need you
For you don’t exist
Because this poem
Is about me.
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC
Anxiety is like this open box
You are in the center
Sometimes this box is clear and light
These are your good days
This dark might go cloudy
This is when you fog over
Your memory goes hazy and you don't know where you are
When the box goes colorful, it stays hazy
This is called dissociation
Overwhelming of your senses, makes you feel insane
This all starts to go away until the darkness creeps in
The box is slowly getting darker
As you start to panic
This is called an anxiety attack
Stuck in your own head
as you start to shake and scream
The box comes completely black as the depression
It only stays for a little while
But it's still scary, nonetheless
Then the day is finally over, the box starts to go white
As you drift off the sleep to start the cycle
All over again
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 9:26 AM UTC