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#poets of color
gunbf · 3 months
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YOUR FATHER / MY FATHER by Mal Fawzy
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typewriter-worries · 2 years
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acknowledgments, Danez Smith
[ Text ID: and how many times have you loved me without my asking? / how often have i loved a thing because you loved it? / including me. ] 
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firewoodfigs · 9 months
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— the observer | eri (firewoodfigs)
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maxwelldpoetry · 25 days
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Follow @maxwelldpoetry for more words.
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wheatfieldspoet · 16 days
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as isaac, on the walk home
please, won’t you look at me, father? i can’t erase the memory                             of the surrender in your eyes if i keep staring at your back.
you held my hand as we climbed the mountain. i felt your pulse through my palm,               your grip tight against the sweat. God has called us, you said with urgency, yet       you took       your time       as we ascended.
i can’t remember what i feared more:                      the blade,                      the flame,                      or the aftermath.
who would have made the bigger sacrifice if there was no ram in the thicket— you? me?
or mother?
is there no test of faith more agonizing than to forgive?
but even in my final breath, i would have. i love you even though i may never understand it, if only you would tell me. i don’t ask for much—
father!       please.                             soothe my shivering. i’m afraid                      the next time                      i see a knife                                    i might think                                                                it’s                                                                              love.
— Jade A.
escapril day 3: eye contact
@adventurerswritingguild day 3: hand / god / knife
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byronicist · 6 months
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"I came into this world already scarred by loss on both sides of my family. My Indigenous side; my European side. My father and my mother were the kind of damaged people who should never have had children. But of course, they had me, and so my first language was loss."
Deborah Miranda, When Coyote Knocks on the Door (2021)
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nashira · 5 months
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"The Philippines is the 169th country with the highest suicide rate, with 2.2 suicides per 100,000 people."
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poetryorchard · 3 months
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Join @nashira in her first writing workshop of the year on LIST POEMS! (this is my first time facilitating in 4 months 🥹💚 come write list poems with me?)
🎟️Tickets £1+ Attendance NOT required! Feel free to sign just for the materials!
Sign up here 💚
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fleabagwatchonline · 2 days
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i think all i do and anything i ever will do, or have done is this wide eyed, desperate, pituful attempt at getting my parents to love me again like when i was young
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opalagetribune · 7 months
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poetry is not a luxury // Audre Lorde Sun Edition / July-August 2023 I dream of Opal Age
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bones-ivy-breath · 8 months
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Pour rassembler les continents (To bring together the continents) de Rodney Saint-Éloi (tr. André Naffis-Sahely)
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gunbf · 3 months
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Fluorescent Dinosaur by Mal Fawzy.
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typewriter-worries · 2 years
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The Prestige, Hanif Abdurraqib
[ Text ID: the poem begins not where the knife enters / but where the blade twists. ] 
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firewoodfigs · 10 months
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a year’s worth of hunger settling in flesh — eri (firewoodfigs)
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maxwelldpoetry · 8 months
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I will claw myself out from underneath this rubble and grow in spite of you.
Only I am allowed to be the death of me, and I will not perish yet.
- maxwelldpoetry
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wheatfieldspoet · 16 days
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angels are real, mine lives in chicago
when people ask how i survived 3 years in a graveyard shift, i tell them it’s because i have friends on the other side.
i threw a line out the sea and ended up being found, your tug on the invisible string pulling everything into place.
more than half a day away, but time stands still for us enough to fit years of stories in the palms of our hands.
even if we’ve only shared smiles from afar, your wings cross oceans to carry your laugh to me.
when i make it to you, you’ll give me a place to rest, tangible to match the astral one you’ve already granted.
distance and time zones are nothing at all when i carry you in my pocket, guardian dear.
now, like sun and moon, we trade waking hours. still, i fall asleep holding your goodnight text-shaped hand.
— Jade A.
escapril day 2: change of state
napowrimo.net day 2: write a platonic love poem
for @darlingwendy
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