Phillis Wheatley’s Response to Biden and Harris’s Victory

Relief has come with Biden’s victory

T’is true indeed for Kamala you see

Methinks there’s hope to cut Gordian’s knot

In which America shrivels and rots 


Muses tell me of two worlds we may live

One with work toward peace and informative

One with chaos, divided, filled with hate

God has saved us, I pray, from Satan’s bait


Now ye chosen by the people’s penned hand

Live up to your promise made to this land

Acknowledge pain and those bereft of hope

Lead all oppressed up freedom’s troubled slope 


Image taken from

Empty Poetry

Broken rhythm 

Hits thoughts in

Fallen poetry


With lowly rhymes 

Catch-all phrases 

Useless adjectives adding 



To make twisted 

Alliterated stages 


Grasping for spindly straw lines 


My fingers immerse themselves 

In words 

To make sentences 


Like bracelet beads

Held together by a thin thread 


Eyes absorb the colors 

The feeling 

Manifested in


The clench of the stomach with music 

And sweat

With meaning


Is the name you give to the tapeworm 

Nibbling away 

Keeping your stomach empty 

Something that to which your brain

Can’t help but wander

It made someone lace opioids 

Into their blood vessels 

So that their tangled veins force them to sleep 

For their mind to go to quiet 


That mingle

Regret with dreams. 


Old Thoughts on My Body

From the rigid 

Rough beige, brown 

Of ripped nails on stubbed toes


Ashy feet on rugged heels

Using a finger a shade lighter than my face

I trace the line of my legs.


With feet that tap on, or offbeat 

That jump to reach 

That step closer to embrace.


I move up to my hips 

Hidden, or accentuated in tight jeans 

That cover the dark skin on my knees. 


I’ve had hands encircle them 

Lick them and look at them 

With like, love, or disdain.


I’ve moved them in vain 

In ways that make me feel sexy or 

Make people laugh. 


I’ve seen them in the mirror 

And how they fit or don’t fit 

With my breasts 


That I pushed out to look bigger 

Or suffocated to fit in 

Clothes that don’t fit.


I’ve rubbed my skin

As if the color was a stain 

Traced it to map where it came from 

Compared it to that of my loved ones.


My arms move up to feel my face 

Where I washed away dirt,

Popped pimples, and hated 

How instead of burning, 

It just blackens with the sun. 





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