CITY COLLEGE STUDENTS

 
INSUFFERABLE WALLS  

Knock not this wall, frail and unbecoming  
Listen instead to it crinkle in fear  
Indulge in its call haunting and humming  
 
Putrid plasters pivot from poor plumbing  
Tired tyrant tiling tumble and tear  
Knock not this wall, frail and unbecoming  
 
Rasterized railings restless and running  
Crispy chippings cackle with conquered cheer  
Indulge in its call haunting and humming  
 
Sick sailors shouting stealing and shunning  
Never nauseous nor new when night is near  
Knock not this wall, frail and unbecoming  
 
Daunting despair dwelling and or drumming  
Booming billowing bloodcurdling and bare  
Indulge in its call haunting and humming  
 
Mournfully misguided masked and mumming 
Jealousy jagged just waiting to jeer  
Knock not this wall, frail and unbecoming  
Indulge in its call haunting and humming 
 

Taylor Alexis

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TRUST ISSUES  
Don’t say you love me,  
If you’ll give up so easily, 
Don’t you know what those 3 words mean to me, 
Your actions and words show two different roads,  
But which way do I go,  
The safe route or the one that’s going to kill me slow,  
How do I love again,  
Knowing this is how it’ll go?  
 

Joshua Baumet

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VOICE  
 
First animation job doesn’t pay as much as I thought 
First animation job is worth it 
Barely any of my friends live around here 
and those that do already live with people 
so their apartments are full 
 
So I’m forced to room with these two  
“well-meaning” white men 
It’s like I’m Jess from New Girl 
Rooming with strangers 
A woman living with men 
Or the Big Bang Theory 
Except when they scrutinize me  
they are less obvious about it  
But I see  
 
Sheldon studies critical race theory  
Leonard analyzes imperialism  
Me moving in with them is like their gold mine 
 
“How did you get here?” 
Sheldon asks. 
“I came out of my mother’s vagina,”  
I answer.  
Not the answer he was looking for  
I know what he wants me to say. 
I was trafficked here  
I’m so vulnerable  
I’m so scared 
My homeland is so scary  
Save me white man! 
 
Leonard enquires about my family— 
If I’m able to contact them 
This dude is so convinced I was kidnapped—  
No idea where he got that from 
 
I’m an entry-level animator making an  
entry level salary  
I went to college 
here 
I spent all of high school  
here  
 
In middle school I left  
my large family in Manila 
and the income of my  
Nanay 
Tatay 
The income supporting us 
shrunk  
 
The thousands of pesos that gave us 
maids 
a driver  
never having to take the jeepney in Manila 
shrunk  
 
Transformed  
into American dollars 
where my ading and I have to share a room  
where nanay and tatay both  
worked two jobs when they first got here 
 
Yes we struggled  
A peso to a dollar is  
a slide 
to the short end of the stick  
 
But I’m grinding so that one day 
I can animate our story 
and those like ours  
 
But all Leonard and Sheldon see 
is someone in need of rescuing  
of their rescuing  
of their voice  
 

Evangelyn Beltran

 
PASSION 
 
Passion led me here. 
 
I was very adamant about spending four years in college  
for a piece of paper, but passion led me here. 
Many times, I considered forfeiting due to stress  
But passion led me here. 
 
Passion creates potential to move into purpose 
It fuels the creativity we feel deep within us 
Passion leads to a faith that it will all work out. 
Passion has fueled me to linguistically work out. 
 
As there’s passion in every thought I make 
There’s passion in every risk I take 
Passion within my wicked ways 
And passion in the things I say 
Passion within everything I feel 
Passion makes my dreams feel real 
Flavorful like passion fruit 
Passion gives spirit a reboot 
 
Passion links the mind to the universe. 
Where ideas spring from. 
Where manifestations are birthed. 
 
Cause passion weaves my words onto a page 
Synonymous to magic cast by a mage 
Passion makes me feel alive 
Inside this vehicle of life, this body that I drive 
 
Often, I wonder, why am I here? What’s the end goal?  
But passion brought me there as well.  
‘cause passion takes me wherever I go. 
 
Whether it’s to class to learn or to bed to rest. 
It’s passion that whisks me there. 
 
From my mistakes to my learning lessons, 
Passion leads me everywhere. 
 

James Charles III

 

LIFT 
 
Before plugging  
my laptop  
into the socket  
to work on my poem, 
I found a tiny  
crimson and black  
spotted hump 
on the windowsill. 
 
Whispered, “ooh, a ladybug”. 
As if my alto  
could shatter her antenna. 
 
Got busy  
googling symbolism. 
Plotting on the luck  
that’s on the way. 
Foot-rubbing love,  
here to stay. 
Pontificating on what  
other good fortune lives 
beneath God’s feathers and wings. 
 
Forgot to open  
the window 
so she could get back  
to climbing her rose bushes, 
the delight of aphids. 
 
I found cloak,  
faded to the  
color of brick. 
Seven black spots  
of sorrow. 
 

Carla M. Cherry

I TOLD YOU SO 
 
What’s the point of saying it 
It won’t push you out into the unknown 
Like mama bird teaching her babies 
I just wish you saw it sooner 
 
That night when I held you was surreal 
Weeks of waiting for the specks to stop 
Multiplying and poisoning our world 
And there you were at my doorstep, smiling 
 
Hours ago, you gave into your id 
Clothes stacking into your bag 
Emotion’s water gushing 
Out of your window 
 
I wish you could live in my embrace 
But your rage will never overcome pride 
It’s more like a melting chocolate, 
Rather than an untamed flame 
 
And yet, after the bullshit that ensued 
You returned to the cave that abandoned you 
And it did not nurture you, the darkness stole 
Your hope, and now your wealth is dry 
 
And though for years she pretended 
Masked deceit as “motherly love” 
And “what’s best for you” 
She cannot steal hope from you 
 
One day you will no longer need 
My soothing words which moisturize  
Your wilted confidence, you will breathe 
Like a dragon and know who you are 
 
Soon, you will trudge out of the blizzard 
Which blows despair and builds walls of ice 
Out of negativity, and shoveling yourself out 
You will find home in your own opportunity 
 

Ashley Clerveaux-Calixte

 

UNTITLED  
 
Here— 
Alone— 
Longing for Love.  
 
We search in dark places  
To end a Purpose we thought  
was ours.  
 
What is this life?  
Unbearable — Brokenness  
an abode of Desire.  
 
We endure here,  
Battling to hold to our Worth,  
Yet this illusion of self dissipates from within.  
 
Longing to Matter,  
Searching— 
What—really—is — our Purpose? 
 

MarVena M. Ganagaram

 
MAY 2021 NEW YORK CITY 
 
It is the first nice week in New York where you don’t need a jacket and you debate whether or not you should turn on your window unit  
 
And outside, people are gathering for the first time in what feels like forever, because it has been forever, and there is excitement over seeing faces again and breathing fresh air 
 
Music is pouring out of open windows— hip hop and reggae and merengue and big band all filling the air together to create its own symphony of the streets 
 
In the distance a horn blasts and a siren wails, but nearby you can hear a child laughing on a playground and people chattering excitedly while they drink from bottles in paper bags 
 
A car backfires, and for a moment you wonder if it’s that or gunfire or fireworks and realize it’s terrible that you think that way, but how else are you supposed to think? 
 
You remember this day, the first day of the year when the weather is perfect and everyone in the city is in a great mood because winter is finally over and it’s an infectious feeling that is good, instead of the infectious feelings we’ve all been afraid of 
 
That first day of good weather, when everyone wants to be outside, and they’re smiling and happy, and no one is in a bad mood and everyone is just enjoying how good it is to not be  
bundled up, cooped up, or fed up  
 
It happens every year—a gift that comes out of nowhere—its finally that day and it’s that day as we’re finally allowed to breathe easier and life is returning to some sort of new normal and you wonder if this is what it was like before, and if this is what it can be like forever. 
 

Kat B. Harrison

 
ETHNICITY VS. RACE VS. NATIONALITY    
 
i say Hello   
as if it is my native idoma, as if it  
isn’t the foreign invader sweeping  
through my mouth  beating my  
tongue into submission  dulling the  
rolls of my r’s   
 
yet it’s not enough.   
 
to straighten   
my pelo bueno,   
to americanize my name   
 
where do i fit?   
 
what if i go the other way?   
let my curls go wild,   
let my voice scream   
what my heart knows,   
Black. Lives. Matter.   
 
it is never enough.   
 
you’d be amazed at how i adjust,   
changing like a chameleon trying  
to find the perfect shade of   
White Privilege to match   
Malcolm versus Martin,   
matching “i don’t fear the police”   
with an accessory shade of   
kneeling during the anthem.   
 
i will never be enough.   
 
They say “you’re too black”   
in the next breath,   
“you aren’t black enough.” 
   
you think i care?   
 
i’m too fucking tired.  
 

Nabila Medina

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NO PRESSURE 
 
WAKE UP! Get up… stretch! It’s a new day. No pressure.   
What’s your story? Where do you find yourself ?   
On a bus, a cab, a train? Your car? At home?   
Too many questions… No pressure.   
 
Life’s weird. Be conceived, be born — you’re lucky if you’ve made it

this far.  “Go here!”

“Come here!”

      “Don’t do that!”

 
Why can’t I do things my way?   
Be careful, don’t disobey! Learn this, learn that! — You’re lucky if you’ve made it 
this far.   
 
Hey, you’re older! Time to discover new things… No pressure!   
But that’s hard. Everything is hard. I hate life, I think I hate myself. I think I like 
him. I think I  like her. What do I love about myself ? What makes me a he or a she?   
 
“Oh my gosh, I love that!”

“What do I have to do to be like that?”

 
Pssst… Hey. No Pressure. — You’re lucky if you’ve made it this far.   
 
Okay, time passed. Now I know what I have to do. Goodbye Mom, Dad, or person that raised  me.

“Love you! … Good riddance!”

 
Oh no, time to get up… Do I stretch? It’s a new day, it’s the first day and I’m running late! Quick, Quick! Do I have time for the bus, train, or cab? … I wish I had money for a car.   

How on Earth did I make it this far?   
Shit, I need breakfast. I’m going to need lunch. I’m going to need dinner. Groceries or takeout?

Do I have enough to make rent?   
 
Pssst… Hey. No Pressure.   
 
What’s the meaning of all this?”

“Do I need love?”

    “…I can’t stand him anymore.”   
       “…I can’t stand her anymore”   
          “My Life will be happy if I get THAT!”   
 
Why does everything look GREAT when it’s not in my hands? — I guess I’m not that lucky.
 
Sigh. Years passed, yet here I am.   
What’s your story? Where do you find yourself?   
On a bus, a cab, a train? Your car? At home?   
We did all this, and all that. What for? Am I happy?   
 
Who did I make happy? Who did I give a chance to? Did I give 
myself that chance?  I wonder who loves me. I wonder if I ever 
loved myself.   

Too many questions… No pressure.   
I think it’s time.   
 
I’m lucky…I’ve… made it… this —  
 

Jonathan Michael Mora

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NO TITLE MADE  
 
Imagine a world as you and I are equals  
Not a rank higher nor a labor too ‘sensitive’, 
Where a kitchen isn’t my place and an office isn’t a foreign land.  
Yet here we are, centuries later, with our never ending cycle.  
The beasts we create with our hands are forever ongoing  
And yet we complain of injustice.  
We give in, 
completely relax the tension on our wants and mute ourselves  
We accept the unjust and do our part in preservation of it all.  
 
How we’re raised and how we teach don’t better or worsen,  
it’s a linear line,  
Completely constant.  
It’s embedded under our skin: no reasoning, no logic  
“ Our history, our culture “ we say. 
Some of us scowl 
Some of us brawl  
But now we are ANGRY. 
Angry at mothers who dare to yell, “ you’re a girl”, to correct our tomboy ways.  
Angry at the fathers who preach the heirlooms of sexist remarks.  
Angry at my friends who dare not say a word just to get by.  
But here I am still wishing for a world where you and I are equals.  
 

Mohigul Nasimova

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HOME-HONED PIGEONS, AND TOMBSTONES: DICHOTOMOUS 
RELATIONSHIPS OF LOSS, SORROW AND REPAIR 
   
Independence and candle graves 
Fireworks and flower beds  
Candle lights and tea-tree oils********************>

Water graves and swimming pools 
Tear-drop pearls and oval wreaths 
Silhouettes and smoking mists

Casting cameos and crying cones<******************* 
Footfall stains and farewell stones 
Hallowed journeys n’ forward footprints**************>

Sculptured stones and shadowed sepulchers

Fire-sparks and Coburg larks 
Guitar strings and gated dead 

Selective songs and candled sexes<*******************

Tuples and tomb-buried memories 
Amen praises and ambushed voices******************>

Ardent visions and avenues 
Euphoria/s and vivid dreams 
Relations, reparations, and repairs 
<**********************************

Nuptials and votes 
Homed pigeons and homes 
Eulogies and vortices*********************************>

Horned sorrows and satin losses 
Dichotomous and autonomous 
Shipwrecked sails and tombstone tulle/s 
<*************************

Tell multi-lingual stories 
Of the people 
(Us) 
Who trembled 
Stumbled and  
Walked  
As sickness  
Yes,  
Clawing up at tealights  
On fervent hopes and chords 
Banking on the living banking  
On the breathing 
Unsilenced pitch-prosaic human octaves 
To get His House in order.  
 

Melisa Jn. Pierre

 

AN ESSENCE OF LIFE 

Where do the flowers go before they’ve grown? 
A different dimension it seems, they drift on their own 
One look at the stem, green as the vibrant spring 
A facade in the winter that the changing of seasons brings 
No mind, it will fade away as everything does in the end 
All will pass the sad gem, and none will tend 
Glazing gazes, a mere second send 
And at once, the crying flower bends 
Trudge in the mud and drag your feet 
You, who can’t seem to miss a beat in playing your deceit 
A facade indeed, unmatched endeavor of strength 
And at the same time, a recoiling feat of length 
Soon this brittle stem must not pretend 
Everything must die in the end 
 

Marina Shenouda 

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