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panic attack

tendrils of black

smelling of smoke

sharp as barbs

and hot as coal

grip her chest

like a vice

so inescapable

that to stop breathing

feels easier

than trying to live.

#panic attack #freewirte #words #mental health

Black Vegans

That boy is a real vegan eater

All the veggies, but he never met a cheese string

Follow Ghandi, and yet he always beefin’

Started Crip, turned Blood and now he bleedin’

Young boy shoulda listened to his homies

Low blood sugar made him act a phony

Always startin’ shit

like a diuretic

Talked so sweet he turned me diabetic...

#black beatles #remix #free write #barsonbars #verses #rap

not just

there’s a thing that you learn,

when you’re born a black girl,

and that thing is how to be strong.

it’s not the strong men have been teaching boys for years,

forcing them to puff out little chests and ball little fists.

it’s the kind of strong that means gritting your teeth,

when all you want is to shout back,

the kind that means laugh it off,

save your tears for later,

don’t let anything show.

the strong that’s supposed to make the world think,

she’s doing just fine.

when in reality,

deep down inside,

inside the soul and guts of a black girl,

is a sea of tears,

that swallowed a desert of worn enamel,

that filled a cave of hollow laughter,

that if shown,

would make the world think,

she’s just doing fine.

#freewrite #poem #strong #blackgirl #blackgirlmagic #findyourstrong #london #toronto #struggle

Things are ugly right now, they’re not good. People that look like me are being shot down by police, people that believe like me are being blown up at home and somehow simultaneously blamed for it abroad and the most innocent among us - animals - are literally going insane because humanity forgot what our very title means. #hellohumanity

holding in the bad

There’s this thing she does.

Where when something bad happens,

something angering or sad,

she clamps it down.

She buries it deep inside

with a shovel rusted from the salt of her tears.

It’s a lot like when you hold your breath

and your whole body stiffens

and it’s all you can think about.

Until you breathe again so you don’t die.

Except with holding in the bad,

the angering and the sad,

you never breathe properly again

and something inside does die

every time.

#freewrite #poem #poetry #london #toronto

my roommate was a spider.

I don’t know a lot about living alone.

I’ve only had to live by myself since moving to the U.K.

And by ‘had to’ I mean ‘have been waiting to’.

I was always that kid longing for a room of her own.

Now, I’m in this space, this lovely London space.

And I’m feeling pretty good about myself but also, alone.

And I like it,

A lot.

But sometimes it’s weird.

Because, I’ve been ‘home alone’ before.

But when you live alone you never say, “I’m home alone”.

You’re just home.

No one tells you that.

Anyway.

Enter Earl.

(He’s the spider.)

At first I wanted to KILL.HIM.IMMEDIATELY.

But something made me stop.

Maybe because it felt like … he was here first?

So I let him do his thing.

A.k.a “Eat the bugs I’m more afraid of, please.” LOL

We had an understanding where I only saw him:

1) when he forgot to hide during the day, or

2) when I woke up to use the bathroom at night.

Fresh terror for me each time, by the way.

But it still felt like we were basically fast friends.

I’d say “What’s up” on my way to the bathroom

And check the death count on his web.

As the days went by, I didn’t see Earl catch much.

He wasn’t very good at it.

Getting victims, I mean.

If-he-was-in-a-gang-they-would’ve-killed-him-already, bad at it.

He stayed strong, though, Earl.

He was like a soldier at his post at night.

I never disturbed him.

I even moved Vera (the aloe vera) from his corner of the studio

in case her scent was deterring Earl from his gain.

One day, he caught a fruit fly.

The pride.

But,

more days go by and nothing.

I started to wonder about how spiders work.

How patient they have to be.

How much of their time is wasted waiting for the unsuspecting.

Wait for the wait to end.

That morning I checked on Earl before my run.

He was in position.

When I came back to shower he was dangling well below his web,

like the spiders on TV.

I’d never seen him do that before.

I remember thinking, have nature shows been right?

I showered.

When I came out Earl was still in full dangle.

Now spinning under his web.

I thought, ‘weird, but maybe he’s remodeling that arguably shitty web.’

I came home after work, tired and hungry.

I made dinner, caught up with messages from friends abroad.

Basically being boring,

not realizing the gravity of the evening.

At one point I walked to the bathroom and looked over at Earl.

Except there was no Earl.

His web’s in tact….

I thought, ‘Maybe he’s hiding like during daytime?’

A part of me knows.

Then I really know.

I think of him dangling,

Spinning.

My gaze falls to the floor.

My dude.

I don’t know a lot about living alone.

But do I know it means sometimes you cry,

because your spider friend dies.

And the fucked up part,

is you would’ve killed him yourself,

if you weren’t living alone.

#freewrite #short #london #nonfiction

sometimes silent

In 2001, she watched Planet of the Apes in the theatre.

A boy from school who was sometimes mean, sometimes silent was there.

When the lights dimmed he was silent.

She hoped he hadn’t seen her.

Or her large Coke and popcorn that she held over her torso.

Like shields.

The movie wasn’t good. The popcorn either.

And when the lights came on nothing was good.

Because the boy who was sometimes mean, sometimes silent spotted her.

And because he’d been silent for a whole 119 minutes,

he opened his mouth and said,

“It was like watching you the whole time, gorilla.”

In 2011, a new Planet of the Apes movie came out.

And even though she was a decade wiser,

something inside her squeezed.

Because it reminded her,

that once, someone was mean about her race,

and she was silent.

#freewrite #memories of racism #2001 #PlanetoftheApes

don’t tell me what to do

Don’t tell me what to do.

I could not be more serious.

I had a dream that I woke up in a different world, a different life.

It was all soft-focus but colourful and warm.

There was a door there, and because you told me to go through it I dropped the key.

Now I will never know what was behind that door.

Don’t tell me what to do. Because I won’t.

Even if I want to.

And I can’t think of one thing that is worse.

#freewrite #poem #struggle #freewill #london #toronto #poetry

Gravel

I have this feeling that you’ve misunderstood a lot of what I’ve been saying.

Because I can’t explain why mud is better than gravel

or why a fire feels nice at night,

even though I prefer cold showers in the morning.

It’s weird talking to a wall,

weirder talking to wall that talks back.

And asks about my weekend.

But is never actually part of it.

A wall that seems concerned about my now – with no real register of my later.

So maybe,

maybe this is why mud is better than gravel.

Because mud is honestly impermanent.

And gravel seems like cement,

but for the gaps.

#freewrite #poetry #poem #london #toronto

mysharona1987

pardon me

pardon me,

a part of me

is wondering what to say next.

I’m interrupting,

which I get

but I suspect

that it might be ok with you

if I ask you to

pardon me,

a part of me

is hoping you’ll finally know,

that my face will show

this stalemate of a war

between us

is nothing more

than over.

So I ask that you

pardon me,

a part of me

wants to stand at ease

and at last be free.

#freewrite #original #write #prose #poem #poetry

I met an ex-sea merchant today. During a fire drill.

He was just passing by. He laughed at the crowds of hip, cranky young people waiting to get back to their artisanal jobs. Furniture designers. Pastry chefs. Ad people. A mass of iPhones in hands, tweed coats, beards and beanies.

He, modestly dressed, spittle-lacing his lips. A close-talker, but not creepy.

“Our drills involved lifeboats, you know. Life boats? Now that’s dangerous.”

I agreed. On the other hand our inconvenience was being made to stand on the sidewalk in mild English November weather, waiting to get back to our playlists and list-lists. While their task all those years ago was to literally jump from a ship not knowing if they’d ever be able to get back on, let alone arrive on dry land again.

With a shake of his head (loosening the spittle into full spit that marked his sweater) he wished me well and walked away.

#freewrite #shoreditch #london #writing

just emojis

An uncomfortable seat. Felt smaller than the last flight. Tried the seat belt. One time so loose now embracing my abdomen. Highlighting.

My arm cannot rest. My eyelids heavy as fingers find the ‘play’ button. It’s a re-run. An audience laughs in just one ear of my non-bought headphones. My free ear catches everything. My neighbor’s molars grinding unsuspecting pretzel meat, salt-saliva spraying onto her poly-shit blend blanket. A couple arguing.

A child whining.

I wished I was deaf in one ear.

Hotel was ok. A man in the elevator asked if I was from here. That felt nice because I am not. I did not tell him that but I wanted to because I was alone and hotel rooms always have two robes.

The mini-bar taunted me. The urge for tiny bottles silenced by the tiny heartbeat I had heard a week before. Two Snickers it was. Wrappers surrounded my head on the scratchy pillow. I was de-coding emoji laden text after text that felt like they were coming days apart. Yet he knows I have arrived.

Says he needs time. An afternoon? //More.

I say we are in a new trimester. Time is palpable.

Dinner at a table for one around the corner from the hotel now. Throughout I receive four smiley face emojis. Two winky faces. One cat-crying face. Inexplicably the poop one too. I wonder if changing diapers is very hard. I am not good at crafts.

Morning means I am famished. No missed calls means I am angry. It is too late for the buffet so I opt for room service. The kitchen guy is too friendly. No one should ever be that happy about eggs. I order mine hardboiled in case sunny side up comes with a bacon smile. I could not handle that. Another meal alone. Well kind of alone. My hand goes to the resting place it has become accustomed to. It feels more taut there now. My lips form a thin line.

I pick up the phone and dial. Once. Twice. I stop at four resisting a scream like it was a yawn. I feel what is happening before I can really see it in my mind.

I fell for it.

In my urgent desire not to become a statistic I fell for it. Lies so clear now. Promises so saccharine and dripping with panic. I came here to talk, to solve. And he will not even text without an emoji. He will not come.

There is a knock at the door and I as I reach to take the tray, I see my hands are clenched fists. He gives me a weird look. I give him two dollars and a mental bird.

I try to shake the dread away like the droplets still rolling down my neck from my shower-wet hair.

I pick up a spoon.

I crack the egg exactly right.

#freewrite #short short story #emojis