Another young man got shot in broad daylight.

Another young man got shot in broad daylight;
empathy for his death was narrow.

The marrow in human bones
is becoming colder than frozen stones;
feels like the earth has forgotten how to pray.

Tears turn to concrete;
a mother’s heart strings pop.

Another young man got shot in broad daylight,
not many onlookers seem to be shocked.

© 2015 abruvanamedsly



Growth hurts.

It pushes its way
up through fields
of comfort and
conformity laying
down roots of
uncertainty and fear.

It rearranges the soil
so much so that one
can’t get a proper
footing anymore;

each step wavering
between miss and wonder.

I survey those who
have grown around me
and either marvel in
their beauty or cringe
at their ugliness;

some say it was good that I was a late bloomer.

© 2015 abruvanamedsly


Nina Knew

After viewing the documentary, What Happened, Miss Simone? a couple of weeks ago, I was inspired to put some words to what I felt when the film was done; this is what I came up with...

Nina knew
everyone will love you
but no one will know
how to love you.

That artistry would
be savior, salvation
and sin, especially
when folks detest
the skin it resides in.

That the second you
become more revolutionary
than resigned, it will be the
life and death of your
career each and every time.

That you’ll continually exist
between courage and the
urge to cower to fear;
wanting to be seen, but often
times wishing to disappear.

That folks will constantly
desire to covet your flesh,
but deliberately miss
touching the inside
of your chest.

That some of the
best moments in life
may happen when
you’re all alone;
existing so much
inside your head,
it will truly become
your only home.

That you’ll smile
at the world while
swallowing your pain;
your soul sunshine,
consistently hidden
by gray clouds and rain.

That the stage will be both
freedom and an invisible
cage; thousands of eyes
held captive by the
brilliance of a
creative sage

whose genius still causes hearts to sigh;

seems like the most
tragically gifted amongst us
aren’t genuinely appreciated
until after they die.

© 2015 abruvanamedsly

Nina Simone

Ode To Sleeping

Today I attended the Free Writers on The Green Line workshop facilitated by poet extraordinaire Naomi Ayala. It was informative, enlightening, and fun; this is one of the pieces that came out of today's session...

You are a welcomed

companion on life’s journey;

if an ambulance was love,

you would be the gurney.

We meet at night,

we meet in the day;

we sometimes meet

after lunch when my

boss goes away.

We meet in bed,

we meet on the couch,

we meet on the train,

I miss my stop because of you,

but I don’t complain.

I miss phone calls

when we’re alone,

I took a plane trip to Cali,

we met over two different

two zones.

I think you’re awesome,

I can’t resist your charm;

I think we should get together

and murder the clock alarm. 

© 2015 abruvanamedsly

Flying Bed

Intent (30/30)

The final prompt for day thirty over at NaPoWriMo was to take a previously written poem and write it backwards, flipping the order of the lines from the last to the first. I’m using a poem I wrote back in January of 2014 entitled Meant To to accomplish this challenge...

I really meant to love her more,

but in reality,
I am genuinely sorry
for capturing our moments

Her smile,
her aroma,
her flesh,

while obsessing
over written memories.

Beneath her breast,
a thumping quasar
the universe 

in her eyes
ink strokes
attempted to mirror.

Our dreams,
our uncertainties,
our happiness,
all immortalized effigies
lingering like
a sunset with no horizon;

every letter
a tragic beauty
delicately embraced.

She inspired me to write,
but more than her,
I foolishly loved words.

© 2015 abruvanamedsly


The Inevitable (29/30)

You occupy

crevices of 

thought residing

next to imagination 

and the inevitable.

You own sunsets

and live in 3am;

the dream is to 

swim inside your mind 

and surf on its thinking,

watching synapses become 

the texture of ancestral 

sand as fingers birth 

hallelujah from 

massaging neurons so 

radiant they restore youth.

Amazing how the

mind draws up fascination

with sentences strung

together with shards of

starlight and the future;

I climb inside your words and make myself home.

© 2015 abruvanamedsly


Burning Bridges (28/30)

The prompt for day twenty-eight over at NaPoWriMo was to write a poem about bridges.

It burns!

It burns!

Yells the bridge 

you’ve set ablaze;

ashes won’t hold your weight if you need to return across it.

© 2015 abruvanamedsly

Burning Bridge

Uprising (27/30)

The prompt for day twenty-seven over at NaPoWriMo was to write a variant on the haiku called a hay(na)ku, which is a poem that consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words.


is broken

on pressurized frustration.

© 2015 abruvanamedsly