Poetry

By Malik Hampton So, what brings you in today? The doctor asks And I reply, I’ve been Turning ”let’s go our separate ways” conversations into “together we’ll find a way” Conversations I only lose a step when I lose concentration, and me losing that is like the hezi god losing his hesitation  I take the ions and tie them together like my assets suffered from sequestration  At times the pen is a burden to my heart like these palpitations Then other times it’s the relief that co

By Malik Hampton A few times i nearly lost my life before it began As a child, and now still I’ve always been curious  Often separated from the group to explore, intoxicated by it’s allure  Shortly after the sun fell, i began my quest While my dad was busy I was consumed, restless  Debauchery is timeless Mischief afoot, that is me Wandering around to find horizontal cemented cylinders with the moon’s reflection rippling underneath Under the night sky I test my balance  Pace,

By Sini Jerome (on the benefits of Neurographic Art) The pen is already on the page before I know what I'm drawing. The hand moves first, the mind follows later. Where lines collide, I round the edges. The pen scratches; the table wobbles. My breathing slows. For once, the sound outside my head is louder than the sound inside— the fan ticking, a scooter horn far off, someone's radio blasting old filmi songs. I add color— not to decorate, but to separate. Yellow for urgency.

By Sini Jerome I said yes in the group chat. Replies flood in— too many emojis, someone already asking what I'll wear. I pulled clothes from the cupboard, held them up to the mirror, imagined myself there. For an hour, maybe two, I believed it. Then something shifted. Not a thought exactly— more like a weight, settling in my chest, pressing down. I checked the time. Checked the weather. Looked up the route even though I know it. Told myself: I can still go. Instead, I cleaned

By Sini Jerome I didn't reply to the WhatsApp messages. Fifteen unread, then twenty-three— grey ticks sitting like quiet reminders. So I wrote it down instead— ₹30 notebook from the station, pages curling in the humidity. The pen skips; I press harder. Woke up. Ceiling fan. Crows. Nothing else. The page doesn't flinch when I write the same sentence three days running. Doesn't ask why I can't just try harder, think positive, pray more. I write around the edges first—what I had

By Sini Jerome The doctor’s pen clicked three times before she wrote it down. A word I couldn’t pronounce— long, English, like something from a serial. It stuck like overcooked rice to the roof of my mouth. I wore it to the market, let it explain why I stood staring at the bhindi for ten minutes. Let it apologise when my hands shook pouring chai, changing nappies, counting coins for the auto-rickshaw. But I’m not the shaking. Not the fog that makes me forget my neighbour’s na

By Sini Jerome The breath you take is a triumph.  The day begins without a cheer.  You rise, though no one marks the moment.  The silence folds around your fear. The day begins without a cheer.  You dress in clothes that feel like armour. The silence folds around your fear. You walk the edge, a quiet marcher. You dress in clothes that feel like armour.  The chai cools, the inbox waits.  You walk the edge, a quiet marcher.  The world forgets what courage takes. The chai cools,

By Kelton "KC" Castillo Younger me, I want to start with what the world sees, because that’s the easiest mask to name. They see a game-day-ready smile. They see the cheers and the praise, a polished person, and a leader that isn’t abrasive. They see speeches and scholarships. They see the way I remember everyone’s name, how I try to make sure everyone is ok, and how I’m quote on quote “destined for success”. But they don’t see the cracks in my mask, the tears that fall behind

By Kelton "KC" Castillo “Los hombres no lloran”, “deja de llorar que pareses marica” Words that I heard from my parents. Palabras que se quedaron conmigo toda mi vida. These phrases, often repeated, became the bedrock of my upbringing. They taught me that tears are a luxury I cannot afford, That vulnerability is a flaw to be hidden away. So what do I do? I suffer in silence, I walk through life putting up a façade. Always smiling, always energetic, always cracking jokes. But

By Kelton "KC" Castillo I almost called you today. Not because I thought you would answer, but because something happened, and my first instinct was to tell you. Like muscle memory. Like the way you breathe without thinking. But I didn’t call, Because I remembered what happened last time I did, and I couldn’t put myself through that again. Because I’m not ready to be met with more silence. And because that’s a privilege I no longer have. You see, my mind keeps reminding me, o

By Kelton "KC" Castillo Either I eat too much or I eat too little. Either I sleep the day away or don’t sleep at all. Either my room is a complete mess or it’s sparkling clean. Either I do nothing all day or I try to do it all. Either I feel too much or I feel nothing at all. Either I’m exhausted or have too much energy. Either I try to mask it or I let people see how fucked up I am. Wanting to scream but can’t get a sound out. Wanting to seek help but don’t want to feel like

By Kelton "KC" Castillo I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. For who? For you? Cause not for me! Not for the child whose skin bears a legacy of stolen lands, unpaid labor, and history which they try to erase. Not for the mother who cries. Because the red and blue she knows took her son’s life. The red and blue she knows works for a system b

By Kelton "KC" Castillo Black is the sunrise kissed by resilience, A tapestry of triumph in a world of indifference. It’s the hue of creation, the spark in the dark, The fire in a soul that refuses to part. Black is beautiful, bold, and infinite, Each shade a universe, each curl intricate. It’s the melanin glow, the rhythm, the flow, A history buried, yet it always shows. Black is pain, but Black is pride, It’s the struggle to live when the odds collide. It’s bending but not

By Kelton "KC" Castillo I tried my best to stay away from this topic, But this I no longer can ignore. We live in a world where gen-z’s are showing the highest rates of depression, stress, and anxiety. We live in a world where gen-z’s are so connected and disconnected from the world due to social media. We live in a world where humanity is so fucked up. But whose fault is it? Whose fault is it that gen-z’s are showing high death rates? Whose fault is it that gen-z’s are face

By Kelton "KC" Castillo For years on out, my mother tells me to cut my hair, And I say no, but I would be lying if I say I didn’t consider it. Este pelo no ase caso. Este pelo confuso que ase poco no existía. Este pelo que me vuelve loco, pero yo por nada lo cambiaría. Este pelo que yo amo, pero mi familia como si fuera nada lo cortaría. Because to them it means lack of opportunities, lack of respect, a high chance of death, and too much blackness. And the reason they hate it

By Kelton "KC" Castillo Yo soy Latino. Yes I speak Spanish, no I’m not Mexican, yes I speak spanglish. And no I’m not Puerto Rican, nor Dominican. Cause those aren’t the only Latinos that exist. I am Hondureño, I am catracho. Latinos come in different colors, shapes, and sizes. And we’re full of different and diverse cultures. Latino to me is punta, bachata, merengue, y salsa. Latino to me is going out on Friday and not being allowed to go out on Saturday. Latino is having a

By Kelton "KC" Castillo I just realized that I have never been loved unconditionally, I’ve never been loved the way I want to be loved, the way I should be loved. In a romantic relationship: I always cater to my partner, but don’t get the same in return. I am loved under the conditions that my energy does not overwhelmed them(although they claim to love my energy at first), that I open up(but don't get upset when they decide to not do the same or abandon me), that I trust the

By Kaveri Talukder Running,  Walking,  Crawling,  When did something  That used to be  So close,  Become so far? Where did I lose  The ease of living? Trudging,  With the sharpness  Of the sand,  Stinging the blisters  That have been burned by  Scorching sun. Wouldn’t it be  Easier to just  Let it go; Just give it up. Why am I moving forward? I know it’s not for me Yet I still keep going. Why? ... Crawling,  Walking,  When did something  That was so far  Become so close? The

By Kaveri Talukder Flushed cheeks  Swollen lips,  Painted nails. A shift in the conversation,  A change in the atmosphere, Controlled anger boiling  Too close to the surface With wine in  Crystalized  Glasses Left untouched.  Ripped skin,  Colour of the heart,  And the metallic taste  Of blood. White roses and  A diamond ring  Painted by  The ending of a life,  Remains of  Them  Scattered on the  Wall,  Until  The rain flowing  Down  Turns to  Red. By Kaveri Talukder

By Kaveri Talukder No one knows who I am And how wonderful is that. For a while  I can just exist,  And that is enough. No name, No face,  No role to take. The white noise of  People talking in the  Background,  And a dozen colours  That splash before my eyes. Here I'm not categorized As good nor bad; I'm not categorized  As a gift nor a burden; I'm not categorized as  Lucky nor unlucky.  Being alone in a crowd I can let my intrusive thoughts run wild As schools of shoes scur