Poetry + Prose by Hayden Winston
Street corners in the inner city,
Cul de sacs in the suburbs,
Coffeeshops,
Nowhere feels safe.
They steal from us, then degrade us.
Dehumanize,
Arrest and slay us.
Trying everyday in every way to erase us from history,
But still we fight (and fight we must!)
we refuse to abide.
Truth spilling out like salt
Fire in my guts
But stiff legs keep me from flight
Holding on to the happy remnants of the past and trying to trash the rest
Punch a clock, pay the bills
Vacation
Return to stress
Gnawing at thoughts, eating skin
Deep breathing, deep sea of relaxation
Oils, candles, scents, and bath creams
All amounts to the same thing
Struggle
We’re all the same,
deep down,
driven by fears or desires,
shrouded in different colored wrapping paper, called skin.
We’re all the same,
searching, scratching, yearning for
adoration, success, acceptance
breathing in conversations like second-hand smoke,
faces, names, all jumbled up.
We’re all the same,
repeating past mistakes,
breaking promises,
you can fight it but
We’re all the same,
trying, needing, hoping to
unknown ends,
finding temporary ways to
soothe sadness, heal hurt,
extinguish anger.
We’re all the same,
deep down,
dark insides tucked into
shiny sweaters,
downing wine and craft beers.
We’re all the same,
judge less, love more
listen.
Vodka
First taste, first touch.
Long nights throwing up.
Hard lessons growing up.
Can’t say I’ll miss you all that much.
Whiskey
Tears and regret spilling onto hardwood floors.
Climbing out of taxis, searching for the love we all deserve.
Used to steady my soul (or so I thought).
The writer’s choice of self-destructive elixirs.
Gin
Bitter all the way down, ‘til you add olives and vermouth.
Held me up when I was but a husk.
Kept me together, kept me numb.
Pushed my body to the point of breaking.
All I’ve learned from these three, buried in my bones like hidden treasure.
Vodka, Whiskey, Gin – nearly a decade of love/hate, now it’s farewell, so long, our time has finally come.
lights
this is your story
love
no matter how hard you tried
couldn’t get enough
all wrapped up in
pain/pity
plated in glory
a crash, a bang
how IT all began
and nearly ended
spinning
glass flying through the air
out onto road
now you’re here
alive
all wrapped up in
love
blood in the streets,
still I’m not surprised,
hateful hooded men who carry torches breeze past me everyday,
in the supermarket, on the subway –
cloaks and masks removed.
blood in the streets,
and somehow the opposition is to blame,
how dare we fight back against an armed, racist, mob,
don’t you know who gets to carry the pitchforks around here?
(hint: it’s not you and I)
blood in the streets,
and broken bodies out on sidewalks all summer long,
when’s it going to finally sink in?
more incendiary threats and half-baked wars,
this nation will be its own ruin.
sealed in ink 