CO M M U N I T Y BUILD ING
JAYU
Online | Ontario, Canada
IA M P O ET RY 2 020
iAM POETRY 2020
TEAM WORK Each student submitted a series of poems created during this program through prompts and discussions for their final assignment.
HONOURABLE MENTIONS:
Joshua Scribe Watkis Poet turned Prophet. Canadian National Poetry Slam Champion.
Thank you for your time guest speaking in our program. Program Mentors Britta Badour Zara Rahman Shahaddah Jack Desiree Mckenzie Fahima Haque
There’s a pandemic going on, it’s real and impacts everyone differently. Thankfully, iAM Poetry was a space for a few of us to get together and have something creative to look forward to for a couple hours twice a week. And wow, how beautiful the poetry that now exists! Britta B
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Cover Artwork By Alyssa Sydney-Chong, graduate of iAM Collaging 2020
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CONTRIBUTORS
10 11 12 13-19 20-23 24 25 26 27 28
YASMINE GRAY For Scotch Bonnet Women The Vase shooting rubber bands at a funeral Rewrite MAYSAM ABU KHREIBEH WEIGHT CAPTIVE CHARMING CHARITY CASE (YOU KNOW) RUBBLE/REBEL QURAT DAR Are you still watching? the opposite of a eulogy is a prophecy suburban girl meets metropolis A series of parallel delusions
30 31-32 33 34 35
MYIA TURNER attacks of Panic. closer. us. home is where
36 37 38 39 40
REIA TARIQ First Love Myths to Poems The Weaker Sex Pyrite
42 43 44 45 46 47-48
KELISHA DALEY “Big Bag of Smoke” “me and my baby, blue” “Express on the Express” “Deutschland” “Warning”
iAM POETRY 2020
4 5 6 7 8-9
YASMINE GRAY iAM POETRY 2020
Yasmine Gray is a singer and spoken word poet located in Scarborough, ON. Through her songs and poetry, Yasmine is continuously deepening her understanding of social issues, and believes in the arts as a tool to foster resilience and promote healing. Yasmine has co-facilitated arts enrichment and personal development workshops for emerging youth poets in Toronto as a Poetry Mentor at the Creative Lab. In 2019, Yasmine was a featured spoken word poet for RISE Edutainment, and a featured poet at Word to the Wise, hosted by the Art Gallery of York University. You can keep up with Yasmine’s poetry and music by following @yazminegray on Twitter and Instagram.
i: @yazminegray t: @yazminegray
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When men wish for daughters Sugar, spice, and everything nice I wonder what they think the spice is They must believe it to be Something inoffensive to the senses Black pepper.... onion powder, perhaps? Relatively tasteless and easily overpowered by other flavours in the dish The men in my life tell me I have too much anger As if I am a soup And my sense of justice is salt A hindrance to their enjoyment when they consume me Patriarchal society tells women to hide our rage Cushion it with valley girl talk and performative self-doubt That’s what women have to do to be palatable
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For Scotch Bonnet Women
When men wish for daughters. Sugar. Spice. And everything nice
iAM POETRY 2020
I wonder what they think the spice is.
The Vase iAM POETRY 2020
The vase is broken and everyone has a different story as to how it fell apart The mother would tell you the children spoke to it too harshly Shush shush don’t question me in front of the vase Listen to your mother, she would say But the children disobeyed and so one day the vase had had enough and broke itself into smithereens It was the children’s fault, really. The vase is broken And the son, who was the eldest, tells a different story By his account, it was his sister’s fault She always moved too quickly She never paid any mind to her surroundings She was careless and so, it was she, who caused the vase to shatter So he says. The daughter would tell you It was the mother of course who took one too many swings at a fragile, vulnerable thing in the name of tough love It was the mother’s fault Undoubtedly
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But the grandchildren Not yet two and three respectively They will tell you We don’t know how or why the vase broke We just found it that way
my inner critic is always with me and she sounds just like my mom family’s all in Scarborough, but we don’t link unless it’s psalms twenty-three from the pastor another cousin in the casket I’m not sure if we’re okay with that but we all know how to mask it
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shooting rubber bands at a funeral
my family ties feel less like cables / and more like rubber bands my family ties feel less like cables / and more like rubber bands ‘cause they have a habit of snapping make your hand into a gun words fly like elastic bands shooting off your thumb But what’s a family anyway? a herd hurting in their private disarray people who know all your weaknesses. people who hurt you in secret. ask you to take all the pain and conceal it. who say sorry and don’t need to mean it. Unconditional loyalty is what we call love; family’s all in the city but it’s rare to link up, ‘cause what’s a family anyway? people bonded by death, by birth, or blood a group of people I’ll always love I’ll always love you but what’s a family anyway?
in a complicated way.
iAM POETRY 2020
I only see you for death or birth, my blood a group of people I so fiercely love
Rewrite iAM POETRY 2020
Years later, I will remember this day as the reason I have such low self-esteem now I unlock the door with my set of keys Turn the door handle and enter the apartment The neighbours are chainsmoking again I can smell it through the vent above the stove I make the right turn into the kitchen where a bright yellow slip of paper catches my eye In another room, I can hear you Mumbling to yourself I walk towards the paper on the microwave and I read the words you’ve written I process them with my eyes Unconsciously absorb them into my skin 9 people tell me I am good I believe the one voice who tells me that I am bad I turn and scan the apartment and I see There are more coloured sticky notes On the walls, On the closet, On the fridge, I read each one and internalize the names you’ve scrawled on them My name isn’t Yasmine anymore and I am no one’s daughter I rush to the bathroom Through the narrow hallway I’m in the doorway and I see another sticky note On the mirror neon green It tells me I am a failure and I believe it I look in the mirror and I tell myself “I hate you”
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But
I don’t mean it The words crawl out of my mouth I crumple the green sticky note in my fist In one fell swoop --- the instant my fingers make contact I rush out of the bathroom Through the hallway I recite my own name I become the mother that I needed I see your words for what they are The half sane scrawlings of a woman whose misery loves company I won’t give you the satisfaction 9 people tell me I am worthy And I believe them all I scour the house Removing each one until there are no coloured sticky notes left On the walls On the closet Or the fridge Consciously, I affirm There is no room for self-hate to live under this sacred skin My eyes see a vision beyond my present situation In another room I let you mumble, alone I grab my keys and eucalyptus I close the door and lock it behind me
iAM POETRY 2020
Years later, I will remember this day as what kept me so resilient
MAYSAM ABU KHREIBEH iAM POETRY 2020
Maysam is a Muslim settler with Palestinian and Syrian roots, dwelling on the unceded lands of Turtle Island. She is a 4th year Global Development Studies and Concurrent Education major, with specializations in First Nations, Metis and Inuit studies, and History at Queen’s University. Maysam is dedicated to decolonial social justice movements, and often explores these politics in her writing. She writes poetry that explores questions of home, faith, displacement and healing through her familial and ancestral connections. She has poems published in the forthcoming academic journal New Sociology, in addition to the Queen’s Journal of Indigenous Studies, Ghassan Kanafani Resistance Arts Scholarship Anthology and Collective Reflections. She was a featured poet at the Canadian Spoken Word Festival in 2019, and she has performed her poetry in two productions of Down There. Catch her reciting poems at your local Palestine solidarity action.
Although she tries to stay lowkey on the internet, you can connect with her on instagram. i: @maysamghani
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I live in the war of your heart the gunfire of distant lands
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WEIGHT
I am the doors that remain locked-shut in your ribcage The cage that makes your breath a prison I have the charm of your younger self the one you are desperate to find I won’t hurt you I will only drown your lungs with the stolen rivers of your ancestors I will only stuff your mouth with the stones of children before you I will only remind you of the home that you fear in your memories The home you were damned of knowing Only some are destined for greatness in this world Only some are made of golden clay
iAM POETRY 2020
You were meant to carry the weight of centuries Of bodies buried under the silence
CAPTIVE iAM POETRY 2020
His hand, a maze, stained with metallic bruises. Nails run jagged. Fingers solid enough to put out my flames. His hands are half mine and pale. I ask him for the songs they play, and the sand they graze in a land that bleeds copper. They carry stories told only in hushes. I carry his bruises in homes built with empty stomachs. He can’t see me. His bifocals smudged with clouds of smoke. Pupils of smog. His hands are desperate to clean the fog before I wake. He is eager to dial me home. I am eager for his war to end. His hands carry cigarettes and long for the reach of mine. Carrying seeds of desolate and delicate. Our pace is simple. Home exists in the spaces of his silence. Only, it is in his hands that I see a captive.
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you know below poverty line you know hungry you know single mama hard working high strung yet fun loving always cooking and gentle in laughter
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CHARMING CHARITY CASE (YOU KNOW)
you know ODSP not talking cigarette smoke walls breathed by 6-year-old you know under the table for minimum wage
you know mispronounced names and misunderstood pain anger that mobilizes anger that boils in melting pots to small towns
iAM POETRY 2020
you know broken kids broken school systems broken homes hustling the games the language of hood rat the language of too poor to be understood rat
iAM POETRY 2020
you know exile exile through generations refuge [1] severed roots [2] displacement K K K canada dreaming of the unsettled you know unsettling whiteness unsettling violence dysfunction you know correcting communication healing
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you have essence of IDF trauma perverse police presence problems you know resilience of the intifada[3] resilience of refugee kids you see it in mama khalto[4] and all those who breathe life into the diaspora
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you know written, spoken, visual creation you know listening you know trauma in the reiteration of uprooting pain that lingers for generations you know adjusting by the success of institutions who secretly don’t want your contributions and how conflicting it is to be successful in a world that doesn’t want you to exist erasing your struggles erasing your people erasing you who knew you had to trade your history for the comfort of social mobility?
you were the friendly terrorist muslim savage palestinian the lunch time entertainment in elitist cafeterias you were the angry warrior in classrooms the labelled success story in at-risk neighbourhoods the anxious speaker of mother tongue
iAM POETRY 2020
you discovered that you are not one of them and you never will be you have your own you hold your ground and Allah has blessed you
iAM POETRY 2020
you were the perfect poor kid the easiest hand me down the most charming charity case the challenge to touch and puncture your poetry comes from dark places of oceans your freedom cultivates land from your knowing your resilience transferred from the rivers of blood of your ancestors the citrus of lemons the traces remains and reminders of home you are a guerrilla fighter for the poor a warrior for the fellahin[5] a front liner for the hood for the exiled for the erased the gentrified and the displaced the daughter of rock solid refugee kids whose hands were made from tree trunks carriers of your branches and leaves
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you’re rediscovering islam peace ritual spiritual a greater symbiosis beyond you i swear it’s all like hypnosis when they tell you not to have faith
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you’re severed without purpose you know the aching of 51 gunned down in prayer in sacred in mosque “hello brother” “salaam brother” “can you hear me brother?” * the pain of a thousand lost and thousands who don’t understand the weight of two million densely packed in open air prison the magnitude of this you know shells who escape their humanity to pretend that the rest of us aren’t left praying for one another [6]
you only saw mama’s tears once beside elevator doors
iAM POETRY 2020
with time you come back to the young ones you know watching little boots tracking your footsteps tiny toes balancing on yours you know playful giggles and giving for generations ahead you know smiles and spirits and how hers will always ground you in your troubles
iAM POETRY 2020
feeling helpless to dysfunction desperately clutching onto words that are broken more broken than your homes than your city and to unrecognizable lands and earth that are no longer yours dehumanized in your own skin crafted from the earth’s clay by something greater than you this is learned self-hate how do you think Allah, your ancestors, mama would feel if you tried to rip it off your body to bare bones of distant trauma outside of body experiences let’s re-root ourselves in our bodies our homelands our mother tongues our ancestor’s stories and pain in every library i create my own mokheyem[7] my own space of solitude refuge you resemble mama you have her dimple her modest frame that doesn’t take up space at first glance but whose energy screams volumes her laughter nervous or otherwise
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you resemble a runner in food shortages
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bombshells home invasions guerrilla fighter warrior survivor
[1] Arabic for “Lebanon”. The transliteration is “Lebnan”. [2] Arabic for “Palestine”. The transliteration is “Falasteen”. [3] The transliteration for the Arabic word meaning “uprising”, referring to Palestinian grassroots resistance efforts. [4] Transliteration for the Arabic word meaning “maternal aunt” or “aunt on mother’s side”. [5] Transliteration for the Arabic word meaning “farmer” often referring to Palestinian farmers [6] Arabic and Islamic phrase for when a person dies. [7] The transliteration of the Arabic word meaning “refugee camp”.
iAM POETRY 2020
who live in a holistic way with the land they cultivate.
RUBBLE/REBEL iAM POETRY 2020
I am the rebel I am not a pawn in your game of empire I am only The broken Shackles Of my people In Gaza I am the rubble I am not the caricature that moves on your diamond screens I am only the home That you do not see as a home Unless you are the one living in it I am the rubble I am only Screaming at the top of my lungs Wide eyed Sun kissed hair Red spotted shirt Dotted with tears Clutching desperately unto loose sheets of paper I am the rebel
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I am only Imprisoned Fighting for the words Of my people
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I am only The c u r v e s of my arabi[1] that I was never taught The nectar that pours from Tayta’s[2] mouth Onto paper I am only Her words that live for centuries In those old story books That you won’t even let me hold I am only the ashes of my home The dust of my dreams I am only the destruction you have carved into my mother’s spine It engulfs her she feeds me Your rage is mechanical It turns the gears of your bulldozer
I have stories Imprinted on my skin No matter how much I try to take the ink Off my body And write it onto the paper You tell me I am not worthy I am not human I am terrorist
iAM POETRY 2020
I am only the rubble That the cameras never get close enough to touch
iAM POETRY 2020
I write hate I write evil You are evil I am child I wish You saw me As I am A child Waiting For this world To hear my breath I sigh from Inside the rubble And say I am the rebel My books Are an army I will carve myself on to the countertops in Tayta’s kitchen I will etch my skin With tally marks Of the days you left us caged
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I will look up and say ya Allah[3] I am here And they won’t write my story Keep me alive
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I know that our stories will rebuild His creations And I know that my ashes Will scatter The world
[1] The transliteration for the word “Arabic”; pronounced “‘Ah-rab-ee.” [2] The transliteration for the Arabic word meaning “grandmother”.
iAM POETRY 2020
[3] The meaning of the Arabic transliteration of “Ya Allah” is “Oh God”.
QURAT DAR iAM POETRY 2020
Qurat Dar (she/they) is an engineering student at the University of Guelph and an emerging author and spoken word poet. She has works published and forthcoming in Canthius, Augur Magazine, The Temz Review, and Anathema Magazine, as well as poetry exhibited in the Art Gallery of Mississauga. Qurat was a 2019 recipient of the Ron Lenyk Inspiring Youth Arts Award and is a Best of the Net finalist. They have a chapbook forthcoming this year with Coven Editions and a micro-chapbook, Fillings, out with post ghost press. Most recently, she was a finalist in the 2018 Canadian Festival of Spoken Word (CFSW), a semifinalist in the 2019 CFSW, and a finalist in the 2019 Canadian Individual Poetry Slam (CIPS), placing 4th, 5th, and 6th in the country, respectively.
Find them on Instagram: i: @qthewriter t: @DQur4t
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iAM POETRY 2020
I drink escape from a teacup. Sip tentatively, still burning my tongue from impatience, putting the kettle on from muscle memory, yes, just one in the morning and one in the afternoon and one in the evening and one and one and and my watch has slithered off my wrist and melted into my cup and my eyes have turned to steam coiling lazy circles above my head and my fingers have turned to hollow porcelain, clinking against each other, lukewarm tea spills from the place my eyes used to be, evaporates from my skin before I know it’s there, is this not its own death, is this not its own sleep, leached of dreams, is this not the easiest way to leave this body without killing it?
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Are you still watching?
the opposite of a eulogy is a prophecy iAM POETRY 2020
and the clouds whispered to me that you will outlive this / you will pull the stars from the sky with your teeth / spit them out, grinning / your mouth bloodied but brilliant / white-hot with flame / you have taken blows that could fell giants / kept a quiet survival tucked below your tongue / you will do this as long as you live / but how you will live, darling / weaving dreams like flowers in your hair / laughing until your lungs burst to fireworks / loving and dancing as clumsily as you do fiercely / yes / my blood says that it is so / and a river would sooner stop than lie / yes / the darkness will recede / a wave pulling reluctantly from the shore / yes you will outlive this / yes, even this.
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iAM POETRY 2020
call this spiderweb city. i didn’t come here to be in the pictures. put all the mirror-windows in a dark room and see if you can summon something other than this comfortable insignificance. if you look closely, i was never here. always just in echoes, in fractions. call forgetting, being forgotten, a series of small mercies, the unpinning of a butterfly’s wing. this ground only sleeps fitfully. only breathes your breath. i miss the solace of dissolving into the crowd. being swept into its current its own kind of unrelenting forgiveness.
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suburban girl meets metropolis
A series of parallel delusions iAM POETRY 2020
I got my imagination from my father, separating from reality as cleanly as tearing a cheque along the dotted line, I spent a childhood alone willingly. He thinks the dinner table emptying around him coincidence. I escaped childhood unscathed. He places clementines or the occasional $20 bill in my palms like blessing, not apology. I have outgrown the fear and the silence.
He knows what he’s done.
I am better now.
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iAM POETRY 2020
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MYIA TURNER iAM POETRY 2020
Myia Turner is poet and writer located in Toronto, ON. She is currently a student, previously studied Sociology and currently studying Interaction Design. In her writing and career, Myia focuses on humans and their relationships and interactions with the world around them. With her writing and focusing on structure, her poems seek to vocalize the abstract and the silences between them.
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i was born with a voice that was once called beautiful. until it was used to say words like Why But Are you sure? what about Me? what About me.
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attacks of Panic.
can you hear me over this Hurricane? The wind is howling So loud my thoughts become whispers; the murmurs of Ghosts in my consciousness. i breathe, i gasp, i gulp pushed, pulled, possessed; i stand Motionless
i inhale hope and exhale yearning; i inhale enthusiasm and exhale doubt;
iAM POETRY 2020
air whips past in all directions. brushing past with the force of a Ricocheted Slap, but i don’t feel it. all i feel is the pit of my stomach, as it drops 6 feet below. (or maybe 9 or even 12) i can’t see the bottom of the abyss i balance on one two three Four.
iAM POETRY 2020
i inhale your desires, discomforts and delusions i inhale; i inhale;
i inhale. i inhale and internalize the chaos which takes me away from the ground; fearing to exhale a truth you can’t hear, only for it be lost in the wind; only for it to come back to me. i was born with a voice that was once called beautiful; but no one’s heard it in a while.
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can you hear the way it feels for the wind to kiss my face? the sigh, the breath of air that escapes my lips? that sound contains Everything i feel for you.
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closer.
can you taste the way it feels as i swim in the warmth of the 3 o’clock sun? the honey and cinnamon that masks my face can you feel the Peace underneath your tongue? close your eyes and walk backwards. let the Earth hug your feet in the prints they leave behind.
can you still say that the choices you made (i think you call them mistakes) can you still Say they were wrong? take my hand and i will show you how i walk, blindfolded;
iAM POETRY 2020
and as you step every step as you climb every fall as you take it apart brick by brick the house you built around the bruised, broken thing that once held the brilliance of your baffling dreams
us. iAM POETRY 2020
thinking of the way things were and could have been. To now be nothing more than A moment; Experienced by two. impossible, it is to grasp a Forever; Easier to catch wind With fingers. i no longer reach for Forevers. i forever live in this moment; Known only to Us; the moment in time When you and me became. the World will never know magic like this again. How sad for us. How sad for them.
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in the silence of the halls , echoes the ghosts of dreams. long dead, abandoned and crushed.
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home is where-
Home is where hope goes to die. the echoes mock me; mold me; haunt me; hug me; hold me; tempt me with the peace of closed eyes. repelled by the light of aspirations set aflame; i feel the ashes of my desires guide me (deeper) into the darkness; away from the illusion of warmth. in the silence of the halls, the darkness speaks “Hopes hurt; hundreds have hoarded their dreams, pretending to preserve them from me.” “darkness is a delusion,” i tell myself.
iAM POETRY 2020
“darkness dissuades you from delusions” it tells me.
REIA TARIQ iAM POETRY 2020
Based in Toronto, Reia is a mixed media artist based mainly in photography, but is branching out into visual arts and poetry. Her poetry work is a mix of using different styles and influences to bring attention to various issues such as women’s rights and the environment. She also likes making haikus about her favourite breakfast foods.
Follow her on instagram i: @reiachu
p. 36
iAM POETRY 2020
Rising love, Hands clenched, I make my way to you, Hope to see you before the rain, You my love, I’ll break any law for For you, flowers in my sweaty hands to Give them to you, like before you left, Me and you, you and me, I sing For always and always, forever and forever Hurting, on the inside from how long I’ve seen You last, I lay my flowers on your grave.
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First Love
Myths to Poems iAM POETRY 2020
In a circle around the fire, the loons dance Eyes closed, they dance, Hearts trusting, they dance, Into their gods’ open mouth. But one, who opened their eyes to see red.
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iAM POETRY 2020
Labour, what is it, is it my sweat, blood and tears? The hours I put in cooking, cleaning, putting the home together. Is it the physical, the mental, the everything I put my mind, body, soul to? Just once, act like this is your home also-stop giving me that clueless look.
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The Weaker Sex
Pyrite iAM POETRY 2020
Gaze upon my empire of rust and ruin, better a king of with a crown of fools gold, then a commoner with something to truly behold.
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iAM POETRY 2020
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KELISHA DALEY iAM POETRY 2020
Kelisha Daley is a black interdisciplinary performanceartist with a passion for storytelling. A 2020 graduate of Humber Theatre Performance Program, and Second City Acting Program, Kelisha aims to merge her love of film and foundation in theatre into a creative practice of thought provoking, intellectual and adventurous works. Recent credits include TomorrowLove (dir by Christopher Stanton), which served as the first ever online streaming production by Humber Theater. Other credits include the title role in Elektra adapted by Judith Thompson (dir by Richard Greenblatt) and as Kitty Messner in Pandora in Blue Jeans (dir by Karin Randoja. When not performing, Kelisha enjoys studying German, jamming to Soul RnB, watching cinema, experimenting with painting or enjoying TV classics from her childhood. She is looking forward to conquering both the Film and Theatre industry while creating a meaningful career in written expressions! Follow on instagram i: @killerkeke
p. 42
iAM POETRY 2020
I hurt easily Freely Like a river filling every crevice of a desolate land. Cause I feel Too fast Like sensations of Hot water that stings on dry skin but what for? I snap easily Wildly Like a willow who weeps in wild winds. Cause I invest Too deep Like the roots of a tree but for what? Blame it on hope Who tells me not all fish are sharks And so I swim. Blame it on desires Who tell me my sensations can bring me power And so I indulge. Blame it on perception That masks all wrong intentions Blame it on the ego Who knows not how to let go Blame it on me Who to a degree Can’t grasp that what will be will be Accelerating out from the sea Tryna surf above the bullshit. Attention: “We need an anchor for this artsy banshee.”
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“Big Bag of Smoke”
“me and my baby, blue” iAM POETRY 2020
blues blues the only colour I done drew hues hues the shades are different but it’s still you you is me and me is she she is I and sometimes wouldn’t it be nice if I was colourblind blues blues hues hues
p. 44
iAM POETRY 2020
Where are we headed? Next stop: real talk Pay attention to the man who won’t come in Has his lady shouting “Let me do my thing.” She’s dressed in a suit Her man in broken boots As he steps on the brakes Fleeing from the truth Next stop: fallen At the bottom there’s a whole bunch of us broken Vomiting our dreams Lying to the homies about where we been Ashamed to show weakness Cause the the culture lies in pride Cause our fragility should remain a secret Cause you can’t pond what others don’t want But yo they got soul here. I see pain in gold pieces Beauty in trash cans Wisdom in empty cartons Yo they got soul here. Women and children with broken visions of human potential. Astonishing addictions That look like stories of rags to riches But they got ditches? With their family names on diamond coffins Drowning in despair Losing their hairPoor man carrying a message in a bottle That he found washed up on the shore of the streets. Next stop: clarity Who I call “Lucid Lucy” She makes it easy to feel like you’re needed... “Come from over there” My momma says as we’re leaving.
p. 45
“Express on the Express”
“Deutschland� iAM POETRY 2020
Graphic nature Historical pleasure Abuse of power Leader like a lier Life within walls Survive when you fall. Expressionist, Desperate. The Scream is queen. Fashion flooded floors Loving lost, galore. Communicate like we. Harsh Words, harsh realitiesIch habe hunger Never mind my stomach, Just staticy.
p. 46
Almost aligned I I alchemize my annihilated ancestry. Baby brother bear burned at the stake So I I cast catastrophic cards of currency. Exchanging our doom day for their eternal sunshine. Diving sometimes seems like divinity So I I forget fate, cause destiny is so much more identifiable.
p. 47
“Warning”
Gods giving great goodbyes Like highspeed handoffs. Or so these corporations say as they Monetize over imaginative idiots. I lose my mind in confusion, I internalize introspection, I don’t even know why I Love lame laments of affection Minding men in mindless perception Moving north from my needy naughty heart With Othello or opioids or Oh what’s the difference
Shh.
iAM POETRY 2020
Me? I am I am Plotting pain in perseverance Pretending is my Addiction.
iAM POETRY 2020
I think, I I question quarantine quite All the time Reminds me of remembrance Days of freedom Days in Summer, suspended in stupid Substances of truth Those long days, trialled together with members of my soul Under unreal understandings I am very versatile I’m like women warriors both wrong and wright. Think of what exists in life Like xrated xenophobia. You know yesterday I I, I, I
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iAM POETRY 2020
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2020 WHERE THE ARTS AND HUMAN RIGHTS INTERSECT
