Rebekah Wheeler- Visit

Visit

You’ll have to find new 
things to worry about.
What to do with all this
space, for instance; halves
of rooms strain with pert
emptiness, as if clamoring 
to draw in your wasp-eyes.

Build a nest with the dead
husks of overused cardboard
boxes. Climb inside, sleep forever

Portrait of a Man and His Daughter

Portrait of a Man and His Daughter

Krysta Walker

In this photograph, we are sitting on the porch swing that sat on the patio in our backyard. You are smiling, that tired smile you get after you've worked a long day but still wanted to spend time with us. I have my small arms wrapped around your wide middle. My face is buried in your chest; a smile missing two front teeth is stretching my face. Your arms were around my shoulders. I was 12 years younger and had no knowledge of endings. There is no inclination of how fleeting life can be, no shadow of grief darkening my features, no death lurking in every corner of our house. There is only you and I, sitting on a broken porch swing with our arms wrapped around each other.

Here, you are alive. Here, I am young, innocent, smiling.

Happy.

In this photograph, I don’t miss you because you have never left. I don’t think about how life could’ve been because there is no other way life could be.

In this photograph, you are smiling. You are wide at the middle, full of wonderful evenings at the dinner table with your family. Not thin in a hospital bed. Here, your face is clear, glowing with life. Your smile is not obstructed by tubes. Your arms are strongly wrapped around me, shielding me from inevitable heart ache. Not limp on top of hospital sheets.

This is how I’ll remember you, in this photograph.

Kevin Hodge- Scatter Brain Thoughts

Okay yo girl gotta girlfriend
That's cool
But when she start spending more time with her
Than with you
How you feel?
The egotistical to play the fool
Attraction plus subtraction
Equals threesome minus two
Now you solo
Hans
Pun intended
Stories from the belly of the beast
I'm within it
Something special bout the ghetto
And these streets
I'm defensive
Like the bulls
See the forest for the trees despite the wool-
Scatterbrain thoughts (3)

Please Comment Responsibly!

To any one taking a trip to this blog, feel free to comment on any of the works! Say what you like and what maybe didn't work as well. Was something confusing? Was there a particular line that blew you away? just wanna say hi? DO IT! Comment away!!

Krysta!

Rebekah Wheeler

Clueless Clatter

Crisp clicks between your teeth
quickly spit hissing sentences – 
judicial judgments
harboring halitosis
as sickly sour
as your bitter, biting,
sentimental man sweat.

I Stand Corrected

I Stand Corrected

Krysta Walker

I'm staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror, wondering why I am back here. Why do I always come back. How many times have I told myself that this was it. I'd never come back here. But why do I always return? Why do I always run back?

It certainly isn’t because I love him. I don’t. How could I. he's rude, condescending and absurdly full of himself. He always speaks down to me. Always looks down on me. I have no reason to love him. And I have absolutely no reason to be back, parked in front of his house.

Why is he my weakness. Why do I care what he thinks of me. I shouldn’t. I don’t love him. I’d like to kill the guy. But why am I back here? I don’t even remember getting in my car and driving over here. Why would I do that?

Yesterday I had flung my clothes into a suitcase and stormed out his house. Looking in the back seat, I see that I haven’t even taken the stupid thing out the car. Like some part of me knew that I’d be back after I thought it over. I hate myself for this addiction.

Maybe Dr. Reed was right. Am I a masochist? But isn’t that what love is? Masochism? Doesn’t it sting repeatedly and yet everyone always come crying back. Why am I even bringing this up. I don’t love him.

I don’t.

Still, I find myself walking the path to his door. I see my fist gently pounding the wood. He’s opening the door and I'm staring into his face, seeing his red rimmed eyes. He’s been crying? How could I possibly love a man who cries every time I leave him.

"Hey," he says. His voice is thick and husky.

"Hey," I say. My voice is the same.

He pulls me to his chest. I can smell his soap. Who could love this smell? Who could love this wrinkled t-shirt wearing, Irish Spring smelling man? Who?

"I love you, Candace."

"I love you too, Mitch."

Me, that's who.

Kevin Hodge

One Night Stand

Thank you so much for yesterday
It's so sad tomorrow isn't promised
But I promise
I'm really thankful for yesterday
Borrowing borrowed time to be honest
There was something special bout yesterday
graduate from the college of carnal knowledge-

Kevin Hodge- poem

Kevin Albert Hodge

 I'll take the blame
It's consistently the same thing
first they accept me for myself
then try to change me
I always drink what they be selling
 then get brain freeze
then I wonder where the pain I feel
 originated
built upon a faulty foundation
 then disintegrated
 We just met but you still let me penetrate it
 Hypocritically I give you me
 but I'm the one who's denigrated
 LOL
I'm the villain who plays the victim
 like Severus Snape
With love i'm severing hate
With hate I'm severing love
 I thought I'd never relate
 like an orphanage
of course it gets
unfortunate
a fortune is
 the main thing on my mind
 such a shame because my brain seems
 to be changing all the time
Like the weather in the chi
Is it better when I die
Before you read a bit too deeply
not upset that I'm alive
I know you hate me on the surface
 but respect me deep inside
Spittin rhymes
this exactly what my destiny provides
 And if you spittin like im spittin
 then it's best that we collide
 Like Rocky Apollo Creed Possibly hollow deeds
 Trump substance
But I refuse to talk soft like Teddy
Rupskin-
Scattered thoughts...