I feel so good.
Finally I live in a world
Where crazy is accepted
As the norm.
A mom who strangles
Her three babies
Likely will walk free
Which means it’s open season
For every psychopath
Who wants to rape and murder
Anyone they please.
After all it’s up to us
To control ourselves
But if and when we can’t,
Oh well.
I feel so good
To finally live in a world
I can relate to.
It’s almost like being free.
(9/2/26)
He asked me to write a poem.
He said he missed my poetry.
A part of me smiled —
“Am I a poet?”
A part of me searched
for the sarcasm hiding behind his words.
But still, the little pride in me
wanted to write one,
just to show him.
What could I write?
The trees?
The longing?
The rain?
The bees?
I searched for a clue —
how to make it rhyme
at the end of every line,
like poets seem to do every time.
Similes, metaphors, music in words —
they make us wander
between their lines.
I thought and thought,
but words would not arrive.
I smiled and realised —
perhaps I am not a poet.
The part of me that was happy
quietly sat down.
The part of me that doubted
folded its arms and whispered,
“I told you so.”
I’m protesting ice,
And snow.
(1/9/26)
Then what to his wand'ring blund'ring eye should appear
A comely young lass willing to spread dread and fear
Even much better's she married much older
"All the better to see you my Dear and be bolder.
I delight in the fright and things will be dandy.
If it will be spread by some winsome eye candy."
All the while this Grinch swallows and wallows in pardon
While he plays DJ where the roses were gardened
You can hear 'midst the din, hue and cry in the land
But this is the guy who now picks the bands
That will be centering all our attention
There will be no mention of any dissension
Because Sinterclause cows the Press and the Right
"Merry Xmas to all", unless we say, "Good night!"
The Grass
HER. I almost forgot. The lawn looked dry.
HIM. What lawn?
HER. Ours. I noticed while I was waiting for you tonight...in the car.
HIM.I wish you wouldn't do that. Baumgartner is always ribbing me about it.
HER. Wish I wouldn’t do what?
HIM. Wait in the car until we leave.
HER. Joey Baumgartner should mind his business.
HIM. The sprinklers have a schedule. You have to admit it's a little nutty.
HER. Sitting in my own car, in my own driveway, in front of my own house. I wouldn’t need to if you were on time.
HIM. I’m not that late.
HER. You're always late. You should water the grass when we get home.
HIM. It'll be close to ten when we get home. Besides it's not good for it.
HER. What? It's grass.
HIM. It gets mold if you water at night.
HER. So? It's grass.
HIM. All the experts say it's bad for the grass.
HER. Well, my experts say it's good for the water bill.
HIM. Fine. I'll water the grass.
Sarcasm is meant to sting
it’s no way to have a discussion
~ speaking from the heart’s best
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
(Lily, summer 2025)
Fully Inclusive
The beauty
Of being fully inclusive
Is that nothing
Can possibly offend you.
I have a dog like that….
(8/13/25)
We’re not dating—
but you heart-react to my stories like it’s a full-time job,
send a “you up?” at 12:47 a.m.
then disappear like my willpower at a shoe sale.
You say you don’t do drama—
but you’ve got more red flags
than a Formula 1 race
and the emotional depth of a spoon.
You post gym selfies with deep quotes
like “loyalty is everything”
but couldn’t commit to a dinner reservation
without texting your group chat first.
I bring the vibe.
The sauce.
The playlist.
You bring… vibes?
Just vibes?
Sir, where’s the effort?
Modern dating is just
flirting, ghosting, and guessing
if “lol” means “I’m into you”
or “I’m emotionally unavailable but cute.”
We’re not dating—
but I still debated if I should shave for this maybe-hangout.
We’re not serious—
but your ex still watches my Insta like it’s Netflix.
You want wifey energy
on a side-chick schedule.
Nah. I’m not a limited-time offer.
This ain’t Costco.
Come with consistency,
or go play tag with someone else’s energy.
I’m too cute to be confused.
Well first of you have to be black
So if your not sorry about that
I guess you're just gonna have to be believed
I know for once your not included
How does it feel not to be the centre of attention
I guess it must be hard having white privilege
Oh and also being favoured
And no I'm not joking
Anyways back to the point
Black girls listen up
So what you are gonna need to is just open your mouth
Cause they don't like that
They'll call you violent
Kicker is they hate when your also silent
And use that as an excuse to discredit us
To dismiss us
They do this intentionally
So people won't believe us
I know
How scandalous
You're also gonna have to just exist
Yeah this one's gonna be the easiest
To accomplish
Us living apparently really hurts them
So they are probably gonna do everything
To make sure our voices are ignored by everyone
Because who is society going to believe
I'll give you a hint
The ones who have privilege
Sucks don't it
Well that's how you know you're doing something right
Cause remember we don't want to be believed
I mean it really is just that easy
Because when you're black
You're automatically not believed
She’s at it again.
Wasting my ink
staging yet another death.
I draft her crimson melodramas
with third-hand metaphors
as she sips on ‘hope’ like tonic
laced with rust
and wears ‘moor’ like thrift-store perfume.
I thread her June into
forced sonnets (poor things),
before her gin drowned the meter
in proofed regret.
Even a pen gets impatient.
Sometimes she pauses,
as though it might save her—
I rooted for her to mature
but talent won’t bloom from
immature theatrics.
Still, I ink her curtain call—
the curse of being a vessel.
My hasty steps echo
on the cracked stone tile,
before the bus door hisses
shut—Late again.
"It's a wonderful life," the clouds sing in chorus.
Their church choir harmony almost offensive,
if I didn't know,
they truly believe
life is lullabies and steaming apple tea.
Swear-soaked hair clings to my neck.
I call these ember days:
when smoldering urban air chokes—
Yet the clouds drift,
marshmallow white—
Like porcelain swans on azure water.
I watch the bus hustle
away, breath too ragged
to properly curse.
The clouds grin,
like they're genuinely satisfied—
—just being.
Wouldn't that be something.
For humans, birth comes from death
Death leads to a new life
Life good or bad, it can be
Be it savory or bitter, life has an end
An end that furies some
Some see that finish as delight
Delighted is a bird feeding on ants
Ants in turn devour a dead bird
Birds and ants need to understand
Understand the irony of life
Life comes and goes
Life comes from death
Death generates a new life
Poem by Mugisho, N.
I can’t avoid
wounding others’ hearts with my words;
oftentimes with sarcasm I do forget
that what for me is jest
is for others a bitter herb hard to swallow.
It’s only later that I come to realize
that I have caused somebody’s pain;
then I, too, suffer and regret my tactlessness. .
So nowadays,
when I engage in discussions,
I take a deep breath and say a prayer
to be calm and be kind,
to respond gently and pick my words carefully,
to disagree without becoming offensive,
or, when I consider it best,
to choose silence, say nothing, and preserve the peace.
Among 3rd Place
Who I Am Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Stare at the pen you got,
Although your brain suffering from a drought,
Thinking about a revolutionary theme,
Then write the poem in your dream.
You got the theme, now pick your mighty pen,
And remember how you wrote, that poem back then.
Just think of two lines and then go with the flow,
How would you think anything, with a morale so low?
You got a good start, now follow a rhyming scheme,
If you can't do so, just stick to the theme.
You just need a little kick, then you will surely kill,
Yes, you are thinking right, you are lacking that skill.
First stanza is looking fine, just need a little edit
Just make it little meaningful, for those who might read it
you can't even think anything relevant, you good for nothing brat,
You need a brain for thinking, one should be aware of that.
This is not an easy task, be happy, at least you tried,
Don't think about that pen, who just committed suicide.
This is not for you; you are going in wrong lane.
Have some shame on you and don't try it again.
I do not like sarcasm in humans
I believe it comes from a lack of self esteem
Trying to belittle and embarrass others
In anattempt to feel superior it would seem
Not a redeeming or kind quality
Saying goes ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit’
I tend to think sarcastic humans suffer with constipation
Thus, they are full of sh.t!
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