My school of indifference opened and never closed; I remained its only student. BORN IN BABYLON is a collection of short essays, fragments, prose, creative nonfiction, and other miscellaney regarding Blackness, womanhood, memory, identity, and America. Highest Ranking: #1 in essays © z. t. corley, 2024
very old pieces i wrote/ some make sense/ some don't/ some i hate/ and some i feel rather attached to/ either way/ they needed a place to rest. this is a collection of whatever it was or maybe continue to be. © starnished 2020
i can love you, that's all i can do and hope it's enough, enough to make you stay, enough to be something to you. © starnished 2020
you've left me; constellations left unstrung within my veins. highest ranking; #2 in poetry november 2018
words strung together like stars to form constellations and galaxies resembling poetry. - all rights reserved.
poems where i appreciate the feelings my friends make me feel, the sad things that make my heart tougher, and the days filled with youth
it has been 6 years since our last night in paris. now, the words escape my fingers like smeared paint on sleeves and letters left unmailed.
To me you are the moon , moving the tides of my tears , a god , a witness ,wounded , an infidel , basking ever so brightly .
I get mean when i'm nervous like a bad dog Poetry Collection, ©rottenpoetry
the cigarettes won't save me now. yet, the lungkiller sits mercifully between my teeth to grant me a temporary bliss in exchange for my health. it's not like i'm going to live forever. OR i've glitterglued my bones together and taped my eyes open; you're everywhere in my mind and the veins in my heart (whatever's lef...
what drew your attention to this book? was it the delicate red rose on the cover? ... or was it its thorns? yes, the rose is daintily alluring, but you will only notice the thorns once you take a closer look. i like to imagine my poetry as this thorned rose, my carefully arranged words as its delicate petals: its beau...
it's through your words of mime, that conversations themselves lost track of their time. · part three of woven shreds.
