Synnika's Poetry Studio

He is purer than America’s murderous rituals, blasphemous traditions, and praise practiced by pop-culture worshippers. He constructs my destiny with the residue of creation on His fingertips, plants and grows fields of renegades on my skin who are akin to Hip Hop’s furious tribe. He celebrates my... Sign in to see full entry.

I was raised to eat the attacks of society, raised to contribute scars when I was disrespected. Now, my behavior is similar to an insurgent’s, similar to militant cavemen who inhabit the small corners of urban and suburban decay and flash the ugly smiles of curtailed youth. I guess fatal cultures... Sign in to see full entry.

You seductively dance beneath my eyelids, and when your negligee slightly falls off your shoulders, sensual words undress on my lips like panting lovers. Eric Clapton’s “Layla” is the soundtrack, and as it plays I sing your name in the chorus because, for me, you are the inspiration behind every... Sign in to see full entry.

As I pray, I notice there are one-hundred and sixty-thousand scars on the world for immigrant girls and women forced to suffer female circumcision, and four-hundred thousand tears for the black Sudanese murdered because of genocide’s savagery. Yes, God, my faith is broken, shattered like a black... Sign in to see full entry.

I will trade you a “Fish Fry” for the insight of kings, For the intelligence of lesser gods who continually speak to God, For your post World War stories over fried chicken, Cheese fries, and black eyed peas. I will trade you a “Fish Fry” for the insight of kings, For a moment with our minds’ wings... Sign in to see full entry.

It’s hard to give up my unconventional nationalism, but I place the keys of my violent struggle in your hand. I’m more than revolutionary vigor in the American jungle, more than the barbaric Buddhism, which makes its home on my tongue. I gift my oppressive thoughts to the gods of freedom because... Sign in to see full entry.

When lonely nights create that sensitive Pressure of emptiness, When the stars refuse to acknowledge Their proper homes, Or when love is simply a stranger with an equally Stranger name you cannot pronounce, I’ll be there like a precious wind in the wilderness, Like a man who continues to experience... Sign in to see full entry.

A superstar is not supposed to reflect the sun, but you mimic its expansive brilliance, its heavy weightlessness; your perfume is its first born with long braids stemming down and through the sky, imprinting a new peace on the land. You’re the central figure of femininity’s movement, and when I... Sign in to see full entry.

I’m addicted to your smile, like a child obsessed with Hershey’s Kisses. I want to intentionally misjudge the fire on its bright body and fall into its brilliant peace on purpose. It must be my favorite addiction, and I’m willing to stage dive into its audience and crowd surf into its endlessness,... Sign in to see full entry.