Mastering the Pain

By JG

Feeling everything so deeply
Can be a gift and a curse
My happiness is true bliss
Everything just works
Suddenly, joy is replaced with pain
Clear skies fill up with rain
I try to hold on
But can’t seem to maintain
My skies darken
Turmoil sets in
Damn
Never knew the mind could be like a wilderness one could be lost in
Lost many battles
Acting on impulse
Reacting with uncontrolled emotion
Never pausing to consider a reasonable course
I’ve felt the fire countless times
Intensified by a prison cell
12 by 9
A victim stance was my position
Playing the blame game
Meanwhile, in reality
My condition remained the same
Most my lessons come the hard way
But were received nonetheless
My understanding is that much greater
I feel truly blessed
Being a thought of Allah made manifest
I consciously create
Striving every day to be the captain of this ship
The true master of my fate
The war is far from won
But my book is far from done
I have nothing to lose
But everything to gain
These first few chapters have been spent
Mastering the pain
Learning how to love
Breaking my mental chains
Rising above
This next section will be marked by liberty
I’ll be free to pursue the queen that my heart desires
She’ll be free to embrace our chemistry
Won’t need a power of attorney
I can handle my affairs myself
I can eat life giving foods
That actually replenish my health
No more limitations
Everything is possible
With discipline, persistence, patience
I overcome all obstacles

The Whole Truth

By MJR

A great man ain’t always the interpreter of great things
For he is imperfect in the eyes of those selfishly unwilling to make change
Yet life offers up all the free-will and right to pave the way
To those who follow our footsteps ambitiously and humbly at a patient pace
The foundation of my struggles is what made me critically elevate my hustle
To bag up a success plan and distribute it to a positive future that outwits the Devil
Move along Blackman is what the oppressor says
I hate you n****** is the message hidden in what he can’t and will not say
Why?
Because he fears our strength and envies our cultural essence
We are the original people enslaved by manipulation and God’s divine glory of blessings
So first time it’s shame on you and second time it’s shame on me
Why is it that the same crime my oppressor commits always seem to get blamed on me
We living in a world where misconception is held in high regards of truth
I guess that’s why when they say “Freeze, put your hands up”
It motivates them to “Shoot”

Untitled

By WS

I was a young man on a confused journey.
Lost inside my own world.
Misled to a path that never existed.
A child in the streets who grew up to be a man with no vision
and no presence.
Outside, my world appeared bright,
but inside my heart was full of pouring rain.
The only love I ever knew was the streets.
Until it divorced me,
leaving me all alone.
I became a victim in my own savage game.
Untamed, until I was forced into locks and chains.
But never will I cry.

Everyday is now a blessing.
By losing, a winner I became.
It took me a long time to see it when all
I had to do was just open my eyes.

Sky

By TH

So many times I wondered why
no matter how hard I tried
I just couldn’t see the sky…. 

Buried deep in a cell
a feeling deeper than hell...
Behind a steel door
same cold concrete
on the ceiling and the floor… 

In my heart I know the seasons
still change from summer to fall
The pain of missing a window pane
leaves me to wonder if there are
any seasons at all…. 

Missing so much of the outside
world often makes me cry
I find myself on my knees
hoping, begging, praying
for just a glimpse of the SKY. 

Untitled

By PJ

As it is opened, each turn is:
an inhalation, while I lift the pages,
laying them, to my left. It exhales.
As it reads, each word, brings:
a heart-beat. Sprouting, pushing,
it’s a life-giving blood: a story;
a tale; an enlightening; secrets, long held.

“Read.” As the reader’s eyes move,

the book:

quiet; still; says, to me,
as its heart beats.
As it breathes, life sprouts, in: the reader,
an intricate, slow, dance, bringing: inspiration. “I
live in these pages,” it exhales, as we inhale:
it’s tale: slowly, to the left. “Read, breathe.”

The book,

in it’s anonymous, anomaly; read, beneath, each
heart-beat, “This weaver’s tale…” and it reached:
drowsy, dormant, regions in my mind, that were
anomalous, sprouting, watering: emotions, inherited
versification, I couldn’t see, but felt, reading

the book.