Context

During the beginning stages of Covid, everything was shut down, and we were all forced to stay inside. At this point, I had just befriended someone who I felt very connected with, and I’d like to think they felt the same. However, as the early lockdown days continued, I started becoming very depressed and frustrated with isolation, as I’m sure many of you also experienced. I really wanted to see her in person, but obviously couldn’t. We were both in difficult places in our lives. That, plus Covid, caused us to drift apart, and I experienced my first heartbreak.

The poem below, which I’ve titled This Show’s a Train, was written by me as a result of the above situation. I tried to write more, but decided that these six lines were enough as they perfectly explain my feelings.

This show’s a train, it’s moving fast

You and I weren’t meant to last

Just for once can life be a blast

Cause I’m tired of life repeating the past

Being with you, made me so gassed

Then our friendship broke like glass

Thank you for reading. – TM

I wrote this poem, Black & White, to express how I feel being an ethnically diverse individual.

Black & White

Half black and half white, so it makes sense that I feel gray

Represented by the clothes that I wear every day

—

Talking about my side that isn’t safe in the streets

I feel like a doughnut, guess who’s looking for a treat

Even at home where I try to relax and eat

I’m asked if I’ll rob, instead of friendly greets

Same thing at school, all the clowns speak in tweets

Slur after slur, they treat me like a freak

Report to the teachers, gave them all of the receipts

Funny how suddenly their vision would deplete

And I’m the one that they tell to take a seat

—

And for the side that most don’t even see

Sometimes that “most” is in the family

I get the look that says “You’re not related to me”

And when I’m outside with mom, it’s the same thing I notice 

The scenario in their head, with me as the focus

“Why is he following that poor woman everywhere?”

“They’re obviously not related, look no further than their hair”

—

So as you can see, it’s a war on both sides

I won’t choose a team, so I’ll just have to hide

I rarely felt like I fit in anyway, so it doesn’t even matter

But until then, it’s time to be an actor

—

Final Thoughts

Since high school, I started feeling the effects of being ethnically diverse. I feel quite uncomfortable when I am the only black person in a group of white folks, due to past experiences where ignorant and racist comments have been made. Even in a group of all black folks, I still become a little uncomfortable because I feel like I lack a lot of cultural knowledge, therefore it’s been difficult to relate to others.

I very much prefer being in a diverse setting; where there are people that come from all sorts of ethnic backgrounds. It puts me much more at ease knowing I am not outnumbered, and there are multiple cultures present.

– Therell

If you would like to hear other poems I’ve written, visit my Music Channel.

And check out this poem submitted by Emorie, it’s a very stellar writing piece.

My intention with this poem is to describe the perspective most people with mental health disorders go through with symptoms, not allowing the disorder to become a part of our identity and the vulnerability of connectivity with others due to stigmas placed on mental health and the help towards betterment.

Emorie – 25

I remember the sweet scent of chocolate oatmeal cookies,

carried by the warm summer breeze through our loving home.

How I panicked if the gas from the oven will cause a corruption,

absolute destruction,

and if I don’t check that it’s off three times,

my family will die,

and I’ll be the reason they’re not alive.

I remember a rubber band on my wrist,

instead of friendship bracelets,

because the self-inflicted pain was less intense,

then the uncontrollable rumination in my head.

Which led me to dry heave for eighteen years and kneel on the cool tile

floor,

of an underfunded academic institution,

whose people sent me to the nurses office and said I was just a little

anxious.

The words mental health were never mentioned.

The bullies enjoyed a girl already on her knees,

little did they see,

they were hurting as much as me.

I remember while my parents went to the grocery store,

i’d call my Dad’s phone four times, thinking they’ve died,

In some tragic car collide. But it’s all in my mind.

I remember the stains of colored markers in art class,

Imagining a better life, free from the clutches of an unknown God,

controlling my every obsessive thought.

I’ve never known the freedom of child-like immortality,

Irrationality was my nationality, and my whole identity,

When could someone set me free?

It wouldn’t be until I accepted the trinity.

I remember I locked myself in a bathroom for three days,

thinking the police were after me,

because this unnamable scream, so to speak,

convinced me I committed a hit in run.

That I ran over a woman on 8th street,

but in reality…It was all in my head,

Intrusive thoughts whispering lies even in the crevasses,

of everything I am.

So, I drank the tap water.

I remember when we were gifted itchy knit sweaters with high

turtlenecks,

but now, grown, I throw my hands to my neck,

with the fear of strangulation,

from my intrusive thoughts of suicidal ideation.

Childhood,

it’s over but I swear it never even begun,

I function like a combat soldier In a war zone,

intrusive thoughts were like grenades

tossed in-between the bookshelves,

where I clawed the pages of worn school books,

looking for a name to this thing that doctors didn’t care to explain,

but they only had three books on the state of the mind,

one of them even said,

a woman is just hormonal as a teen and the rest isn’t worth defining.

I remember I went to the doctors again,

they said they could only give me eight minutes that day.

They had me circle a bunch of smiley faces,

but none of them looked like me,

Please God tell me which face resembles someone that:

Checks the gas three times,

kneels in bathrooms and cries,

thinks their parents will die,

and thinks they took a life?

When the worst thing that they’ve done is tell a little white lie,

To surprise their mom for their birthday?

How could I be lovable?

If I’m something so destructible.

America, I know we’re the land of the free,

but so many of us are chained in a mental health calamity,

mine was OCD,

and that’s actually treatable to a degree.

Yet it took twenty-one years to be diagnosed properly.

I needed someone who was really listening,

not just looking to bandaid another part of this society.

And that starts with me.

What do you want to remember?

Written by Sarah Edwards (@setapart_company), TPCT Project Coordinator

In light of Transgender Awareness Week, I wanted to share a poem I wrote about my transgender experience! It’s definitely a piece that would be in my future poetry book!

What is Transgender Awareness Week for?

Transgender Awareness Week starts on November 13th and ends on the 19th. This is a week dedicated to help raise visibility of transgender folx and the issues faced by individuals of the community.

My Personal Trans Experiences

I have faced many adversities being transgender; especially in the ‘awkward’ transitioning period. I experienced sexual/verbal harassment, aggression, discrimination, verbal abuse, etc. For obvious reasons, experiencing all of that was hard. I would never wish this amount of emotional pain onto anyone; not even people who appear to be horrible. I can say, feeling like the world was against me was the absolute hardest moments of my journey/life. It led me to turn against myself.

My experiences has led me to write the poem, “The Power of Labels“. I wrote this poem to shine light on a struggle members of the gender expansive community face. The hardship(s) of not being addressed by our underlying identity but rather by the gender binary social construct of appearance.

My Poem

Labels are powerful. Please be kind to people! And please respect transgender individuals. Say their chosen name(s) and correct pronouns. Those are really important to us!

– Dez 🙂

The Poet she had called him,

For how the words flowed from his soul.

How he’d made the people listen,

How he wanted them to change the world.

In a world full of loathing, 

The Poet tried to make them see.

The world was not a place of hate, 

But rather one of compassion. 

His voice was never quiet, 

His message, loud and clear.

We all could change the world, 

If we looked past the hatred and disgust, 

And at the beauty and endearment the world offered.

The poet failed.

As his word passed through empty halls,

Not reaching a single ear.

He was lost, 

Unsure of the world. 

Until he found you.

Beck and call.

Twist and turn.

Until he found you.

For you had become the poet.

Nothing more and everything else.

“You are c u r s e d,”
They told me.

You do not know how to SEE,
You only see through a veil your mind creates, those eyes no one else knows about
You only see the good in those around you
Even if they tread you underfoot
You only gaze at others through the eyes of an old soul,
Expecting them to look back at you the same way

“You are c u r s e d,”
They told me.

You do not know how to love
You choose only to love your hate, your rage, your terror
And worst of all, have found comfort in it all
You have found love not in yourself,
But in your abusers
Yet your heart is greedy and so full of the ability to GIVE

“You are c u r s e d,”
They told me.

You know so much and explain so little,
Tell me do you know how your intuition works?
Can you explain your own emotions if asked?
Can you give yourself the time of day without thinking of someone else first?
You have grown complaisant to your pain,
You have come to anticipate it and thank those who give it

“But you are B L E S S E D,”
They told me.

As you fill your wounds with lacquered gold,
A scarred statue who feels so profoundly it connects to the souls around them
You cover yourself in the finest of cloth to hide from the snares in your mind
You have turned your demons, your monsters, into your familiars – who now service your needs
Your veins beat to a drum singing of L O V E,
And W O R T H

“My dear, you are blessed.”

In awareness of Family Support Month, I share this poem.

Sometimes, that person may not be blood-related to you but he/she has been there for you through thick and thin. Take some time to appreciate their patience, genuine kindness or just their presence.

–Kevin

Life- This poem celebrates life. Life without doctrines, or man’s perception of what a worldly life is. It talks about the blank slate as life starts. it is what the great philosopher, John Locke calls the Tabula Rasa.

–Kevin