Weapon of Choice

By MR

My mom’s once told me, “Son drop the gun and pick up a pen…”
And let your words become a weapon that’ll demonstrate
positivity amongst both women and men…
So I began to express my pain and disregard
my insecurities and shame…
Because I soon understood, being myself wasn’t a façade,
but a position of change…
So I no longer encourage violence when there’s a glorifying truth in talent…
Within the message to obtain balance and orchestrate proof
that will conquer the challenge…
That we face every day in modern society…
The system was designed specifically to degrade convicted felons,
so nobody would hire me…
However, I chose to remain clever…
Because resilience became an evolutional guidance that created
opportunities beyond measure…
So if my words can somehow inspire those who are lost to find
their truth and desires…
Then the sacrifice was worth me weaponizing my thoughts
instead of picking up a gun to fire …POW

The Gift of Flowers

By AC

A seed is planted in the fertile lands inside my mind.
I faintly hear it turning into a beautiful idea
as if, I heard a voice trying to speak to me
through time, through the distance
and through any obstacles that there might be.

But I pay attention to it and nurture it
until it transforms into a thought
with roots spreading fast;
Trunk, branches, leaves,
and then there are flowers, at last.

I cut one of those flowers and offer it
to a kind soul willing to hear what it’s about.
And I know that I can share any of these flowers
as long as none of them is meant to do any harm.

I give you the flowers that only grow inside my mind,
because I have the freedom to express
the things that I can only see with my own eyes.

We have the right to show the world what lies within our hearts;
The right to declare that we are alive;
And the power to show them exactly who we are.

 

About this poem: to write a speech or poem about what the phrase “freedom of speech” means.  

Untitled (Flow)

By AC

I close my eyes;
Inhale, exhale,
Take a fraction of a second to grasp
And truly comprehend
The task I have at hand.

I pick up my pen
And one by one,
I pull the thoughts out of my brain
Like pulling threads out of a cloth,
A veil.

Everything around me disappears,
I hear sounds but they’re not clear.
It seems as if everything slows down
And yet the hours pass me by.

I feel that I’m creating
A way to put my silly thoughts on to a paper
In the hopes that some of them are helpful
To the reader, a passerby
Who decides to give me the gift of time
And spend a few minutes reading my creation.
Thank you, good Samaritan,
You’re very kind.

Another One

By BG

I just had to write another one
No need to end on a bad note
I have plenty of reasons to smile
I’ve learned plenty of ways to cope
I love to laugh and chill
I love to work and play
God is my savior
To Him, I pray

My family is strong
My friends are well
I am listening to songs
Right here in my cell
So I appreciate what I used to overlook
This is just a page of a chapter of a story in my book
To you I thank for sending a postcard my way
Like your postcard made mine,
I hope this poem makes your day

Pen-Spilled Emotions

By JC

As my pen spills an emotion I don’t know if I’m physically
Able to verbalize the words that are written on my heart
They are caught because I don’t want to release them
With ill intentions, but knowing the truth sometimes hurts
And knowing what these words may cause, I seek the best way
To say them without causing division or discomfort hoping
You’ll understand at times the right words can’t be found
Or said so I rather show you through my action
If all fails I’m left to let my pen continue to spill my
Emotions that are written on my heart