Poem: jungl3 fish 

I’m a fish tryna climb a tree

But gravity keeps besting me 

And honestly it’s stressing me

That no one will invest in me 

Save God who keeps on blessing me

They say one can’t be less than me 

Can’t be a bigger mess than me 

But oxygen is lessening 

Yet still they keep on testing me 
I’m @ fish trying 2 climb @ tree,

but gravity keep besting me.

Because gravity keeps besting me,

they’ll never see the best in me. 

Poem: jungl3 fish 

Poem: Voyeur

I can see you.

With no effort on my part,

I can see every click

where it comes from

and how many people where here.

Don’t freak out.

It’s not as creepy as it sounds and


it gives me a bit of an ego boost.


continue clicking,

continue reading.

But remember,

on the internet, anonymity is not entirely anonymous.

Poem: Voyeur

Poem: Waiting

I’m standing here waiting for the rest of my life.

The room is cold, white, silent.

The storm last year nearly killed me, and that was while I was in the room;

I’d rather not take my chances and leave it.

I shout into the emptiness.


My voice echoes off the walls

and returns to my ears distorted and too loud.

I crouch and cover my head to defend myself from the aerial attack.

I whisper to the ground,



Legs forward, hands in my lap, I wait.

I grow bored.


Search for a mirror.

I find that the darkness outside turns the window into a reflective surface.

I wish I’d found a mirror.

I can’t smash my reflection in the window,

it’d break my hand.


I don’t want to let the storm in.

I pace

the room,

playing with my hands.

The shelf is lined with all of my favorite books.

There are only books I’ve read in the waiting room.

I don’t want to be bothered with books that aren’t worth my time.


you have beaten me, insulted me, enslaved me, stripped me, tormented me, kicked me relentlessly when I no longer attempted to pick myself up.

My blood is on your shoe, and I certainly didn’t put it there.

Why then, am I waiting for you?

They tell me you’re good.

I can see the truth in it.

When you weren’t slapping me, you were making me laugh.

You’ve given me excitement, love, friendship, pleasure.

But every coin has two sides, doesn’t it?

I wait in trepidation

I wait in titillation.

Until you take me from this station

and deliver me from my nation.

The door opens.

I stand frozen, unsure whether to run towards it

or away from it.

It’s not a fear of the unknown; I know exactly what will come through that door.

I’m just not sure I’m ready for it.



Poem: Waiting

Poem: Prospective Immigrants Please Note

Either you will

go through this door

or you will not go though.


If you go through

there is always the risk

of remembering your name.


Things look at you doubly

and you must look back

and let them happen.


If you do not go through

it is possible

to live worthily


to maintain your attitudes

to hold your position

to die bravely


but much will blind you,

much will evade you,

at what cost who knows?


The door itself

makes no promises.

It is only a door.


—Adrienne Rich

Poem: Prospective Immigrants Please Note

Poem: Ain’t I a Woman, too?

Even if my hips don’t sway with each step,

Even if I don’t have beach waves

flowing down to my waist,

Ain’t I a woman, too?


Even if I don’t get married

Even if I don’t have kids,

Ain’t I a woman, too?


Why do we employ

such narrow definitions

of womanhood and femininity?
Ain’t I a woman, too?


Is my skin too dark,

Hair too kinky?

Are my nails too short are

My interest too masculine?

Ain’t I a woman, too?


And if I’m a woman,

Don’t I deserve respect?


Why is it okay for you to ask to see me,

All of me,

When I have clearly chosen not to

give the world that privilege?


Does veiling make me less of a woman?

less of a person?

Aren’t women people, too?


I am in a wheelchair,

wearing a back brace,

I’m missing an arm,

But ain’t I a woman, too?


If I’m not a person

I will still choose to be present

You will perceive me

And change your perception

Because I am a woman, too


Poem: Ain’t I a Woman, too?