Poems

After the Storm

In bold the warnings of our collision was written.
Yet, pages could never fully capture the devastation to
come.
Day one... day 2, we waited, we rested we flirted with the
idea that maybe. Just maybe, peace was our forever.
Then it happened. It was there, it was always there.
Slowly crushing and advancing towards us.
We bent from the pressure, our vibrant green torn and
flung.
I thought at least we would be solid enough to face this
but our feelings like fallen roofs failed us.
We didn’t die but we grew distant.
Seeds tossed into the ocean seeking for a new heaven.
Perhaps, we could have held on tighter.
Afterall, the signs were always there.

- Jeveine Jones

-----

Unforgettable

I am not the beauty they frame
in neat lines and quiet symmetry.
I am the curve in the brushstroke,
the colour that refuses to stay
where the palette says it should.
Some may pass me by—
eyes trained for the ordinary—
but those who linger
learn to read the layers:
the storms I’ve survived,
the softness I’ve guarded,
the wild, unedited truth of me.
I am art—
not for mass appeal,
not for fleeting glances,
but for the ones who know
how to look deeply,
who feel before they judge.
And when they see me,
truly see me,
I am unforgettable—
a masterpiece carved
from resilience and rare light,
shining in a way
only the unconventional can.

- Thashaii Dixon-Muschette

----

Heavy Quiet

Some days I wake
with a weight on my chest
that no one else can see,
a quiet heaviness
that follows me from room to room.

The world keeps moving,
loud with laughter and plans,
while I stand still,
trapped behind glass,
watching life happen without me.

Smiles become costumes. Words feel borrowed.
Even breathing
takes effort I no longer own.

My thoughts circle dark corners,
asking questions with no answers,
echoing doubts that grow louder
in the silence of my mind.

I miss the version of me
who felt sunlight,
who believed tomorrow
could be gentle.

Yet somewhere beneath the ache,
a small pulse remains
a fragile hope, barely breathing,
but refusing to disappear.

And maybe that is enough for today:
to stay,
to breathe,
to hold on
until the weight loosens its grip.

Because even in this heavy quiet,
I am still here.

- Shekeiliah Easy