No one to hold his hand and pull him forward 


No one to hold him with warmth or hold him back

He awaits nothing

Attacks everything 

Lonely but accomplished 

Hungry for only the things a woman can satisfy

But not demolished by her prowess 

By Shaun L 

A Writer’s Plight


I poured out my soul
I poured it into a wine glass but you wouldn’t hold the glass by its stem delicately
I poured it into a tumbler
But you left it there sitting on the table
I poured it into a martini glass but it just kept splashing out, you wouldn’t sip it slowly,  and you wouldn’t take in its vapors.
I poured out my soul
I poured it into a flute
But you kept bursting the bubbles in it
What once was sparkling,  you stripped

I poured out my soul
Like fresh blacktop concealing all your cracks
Filling all your holes
But you stepped in it, wrote your name in it, and then complained when the heat scalded your delicate flawless skin.

I poured out my soul
Like a child’s toys from a toy bin
So you would be amused, entertained, excited and in awe of my trinkets and my bells and my whistles
And you smiled for awhile
But then you looked back in the empty bin seeking more
I poured out my soul and you kicked it all over the floor

I poured out my fucking soul!!!!

And with tears in my eyes I questioned
What was wrong with it
Why it was unwanted like coal in a Christmas stocking
Why its so burdensome
Why its so heavy
Why its so colorful
Why its so invisible

When did it become so black?
Can I ever get it back?
How do you solidify fluidity? 

I poured out my soul
I closed my eyes
I stopped reflecting
I stopped thinking
I stopped rehashing
I stopped speaking
For a moment,  I even stopped breathing

I poured out my soul
Now what do you suppose we do with what’s left of it?

By:Shaun Nickens



call me because you can’t live without me
call me because you love me
call me because you’ve decided to cherish me unconditionally
call me because you appreciate me
call me because I’m your “one and only”
call me because you’re lonely
call me because I’m the best
call me because without me you can’t rest
call me because I’m sexy, responsible,  loyal,  and I make you feel safe and free
call me because I make you happy
call me because your adoration for me is why you’re over her
not the fact that her adoration for him is why she’s over you
call me because I decode your messages
and decipher your texts like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics
call me because you want to be on a winning team
call me because my voice soothes you like a dry epidermis submerged in an oatmeal bath
call me because my aura heals you like vitamin e oil on scarred skin
call me because when you feel down I take my manicured fingers and lift your chin
call me because …


Broken Woman

She sat on a press and tile floor, Indian style, with the soles of her bare feet dusty from the filth of the floor. She used her old metro card to pick the scabs of the wounds left by those who abandoned her and slashed her self esteem with selfishness. Suicidal thoughts swarmed her mind and hovered over her daily like vultures waiting for it’s next meal to draw it’s last breath. She avoided mirrors, unable to hide from their brutal honesty. To call her pathetic would have been a compliment too great for her to accept and believe. Misery encapsulated her existence but only here on this press and tile floor.