It feels like waiting for a bus 
With no tires or an engine 
No driver and wishing 
Somebody was there 

Love, 
give me a chance to experience you 
to spread my pedal wings and embrace your existence to
crash and fall wherever your fire burns 

The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over the crisp white tablecloth, illuminating the half-empty glass of my lemon drop as my plate of seafood alfredo grew cold on the table. It should have been a romantic evening, a celebration of love and commitment, but a sense of unease gnawed at me as I watched D’von across the table.

A portrait of time.
A frame without a lie.
The stills that tell a story.
A conversation more than worthy.

Why am I a guy?
Sometimes the mind may lie.
I wonder what goes beyond the walls of mine.

What is this?
I don’t recognize it.
This color is a miss.
What am I?
Why do I blend in with the night?

The trees are stained with red
The leaves are bright with brown
All the trees are dead
They whither without a sound

“I’ve had it, I can’t take it anymore!” I heard my mom yelling through my bedroom door. I don’t know how she wasn’t able to see it, it was right there. 

So, to sum it all the entire town including my family thinks I’m insane.

Norway Blu’s laughter rang through the campus library, a bright, carefree sound that turned heads. Her short ginger curls bounced as she closed her psychology textbook, and her warm, golden-brown eyes gleamed with unspoken secrets. At just five feet two, her presence was magnetic, as if she carried sunlight in her pocket.

Growing up in the projects was all 14-year-old Anna had ever known. The struggles, poverty, and violence were a daily reality in her neighborhood. But Anna was determined to break free from this cycle of hardship and create a better life for herself and her family.

The kinkiness of my thick black hair
Represents my resistance. 
The radiance of my unique smile
Shines like a lighthouse, even in exile. 
The optimism in my small slanted eyes
Showcase my boldness like a letter capitalized.

Screams echo in the void,
“The gunman shot my boy!”
The silence is now awoken,
But the victims' words are forever unspoken.

In files of green and skies so blue, 
Nature’s wonders come into view.
The whispering wind, the babbling brook,
In harmony, they create a soothing book. 

In files of green and skies so blue, 
Nature’s wonders come into view.
The whispering wind, the babbling brook,
In harmony, they create a soothing book. 

In the stillness of the night, whispers start to bloom,
Like delicate flowers, filling the room.
They carry the weight of dreams and desires untold,
A language only two hearts can hold. 

Dear heart on the ground
Battered and worn
I’ve failed you once again, haven’t I?
You fell five feet from my sleeve and now
You lay there beaten and bruised

Are you listening? I know you are.
You can push me away, but I’m never far.

I am an egg.
Once I leave the store, I will be transformed.
Sunny side up, over-easy, boiled or scrambled?
It all depends, to whom am I palatable?