<![CDATA[BITTERSWEET MAG - Poetry & Prose]]>

<![CDATA[BITTERSWEET MAG - Poetry & Prose]]>Sat, 07 Mar 2026 13:25:31 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Djembe by JhaNeal "Blue" StouTe]]>Sat, 06 May 2017 22:04:46 GMThttp://www.bittersweetmag.com/poetry--prose/djembe-by-jhaneal-blue-stouteThe Djembe still plays in the heart of the Atlantic,
When I am well and asleep I Still hear the drum,
Taste its blood like the first whip crack through chest, it never leaves my soul-

400 400 400
Thousand slaves went into the water,
Cruise ship over this body,
No one dares to look up my remains,
They are still searching for the blue heart at the bottom of the sea,
The ocean- corroded in my lovers blood,
And I still feel the Djembe,
Jumping bones, blood boiling, back burning beneath the water,
Eyes still bloodshot at the sight of a clear sky,
I was going to pick up some food for my family,
It was Dadas birthday,
I had pictured a sunset painted in God's canvas as my siblings sang songs to the drum, to the beat, to the soil, to the rhythm of the djembe,
I didn’t know the very second I step off pride lands I wasn't from my kingdom anymore,

400 400 400
Families flipped colonial,
The field reminds me of Africa, but the soil has missed a beat,
I can't feel my heart,
The music doesn't sync souls to mother- to earth,
I can't breathe in blue, in blood, in transatlantic oxygen,
I am learning a new way of life in a language my tongue cant form around,
They tell me to look up to find God,
But she's all around me,
I point to the water to show them the reflection they're looking for, they say-
God doesn't live in darkness, but light cannot exist without me, Melanin,
Can't trace back-
They didn't teach us the ocean could wash away centuries of Black before blood lines in one wave,

400 400 400
Niggas knee deep incarceration,
Population 12%,
Population down,
In crack, in coke, in tears, in blood, in bullets, in caskets,
Population, population, population-
My people have never been more than a number,
Than an equation,
Than an experiment,
In this pot of boiling blood,
American Flag this African body,

400 400 400
My God does not look like my oppressor,
This I know,
For the bible in my heart tells me so,
That we- Are the reflection of righteousness,
They- have tried to strip joy from our bones but we still dance,
Still relish in the sunlight,
Still call queen,
Still made of cocoa bean and brown sugar,
Still grow- Still dark as night and abundant,
Our melanin has been deemed the underbelly of the world,
But they forget to mention-
How it protects,
How it heals,
How they used to rub their skin up against ours in hopes of gaining our gift,

Black history month is more than taking history and putting it on pedastol,
It is taking history and giving it back to its rightful owner,
It is putting the crown back on the black man' head,
It is putting the black woman back in first place,
It is acknowledging the fact that black is a fabric of life,
That black is the fabric of life,
That we have never been a figure to hide,
A shade too dark,
A color too mysterious,
I wonder if the only reason they tried to shut us out is because they couldn't read between the melanin,
Couldn't fathom the power it possessed,
Couldn't understand-
How a gentle thing could be so strong,
How we- could still be-
Here,
Standing-
Smiling-
Praising-
In the sun.

]]><![CDATA[7:45 By Mykia Washington]]>Sat, 06 May 2017 21:54:52 GMThttp://www.bittersweetmag.com/poetry--prose/745-by-mykia-washington7:45.
Stand still.
Right there just like that.
Don't move... Stay just like that.
That's what I told myself in that instant.
I loved myself for 8 minutes and 15 seconds.

I loved the wilderness of my hair,
the nature of my acorn eyes,
the earth-toned sun-kissed beauty of my skin,
the permanent beauty mark that lay beneath my nose,
and the angelic blossom of my rosebud lips.

8 minutes and 15 seconds...

I saw angels and looked forward to leaning into your light.
But, the truth is I experienced demons.
He gripped onto my childlike ponytail,
His grip so tight I… completely disillusioned thought that he was trying to help me fly.
Why else would he hold on so tight… he didn’t want me to fall of course.
I… I was so naive I never realized that he was trying to cut my hair until he had succeeded.
Until I watched each strand of my beauty,
Each strand of passion,
Each strand of power,
Each strand of strength fall to the ground!
My hair.
My hair.

I could feel myself choking on daffodils as if they had blossomed within the pit of my throat.
I maintained a pleasant smile and kept quiet despite this unbearable sensation.
I was dying inside.!

she whispers, “your voice is beautiful”.

My voice shatters then breaks like broken glass.
Scarring my toes stepping on shattered statements and broken self-esteem…
You look into my eyes and still like water you see your reflection in me.

How...How could I have known that I didn’t owe you...

Had I not known love...
How could I have known the difference?
How can one identify what’s right and what’s wrong if one has never known love?

I was dying inside.
she whispers, “your voice is beautiful”.
And in that moment I loved myself,
Yeah,
for 8 minutes and 15 seconds… I loved myself.

]]><![CDATA[The Alchemist By Tyler Steele]]>Sat, 06 May 2017 02:14:19 GMThttp://www.bittersweetmag.com/poetry--prose/the-alchemist-by-tyler-steeleAmongst the greatest of cities, six blocks from Main Street where the traffic lights flickered to the beat of the street performers, is a crooked alley. It may seem abandoned but once, not long ago, down this alley in a rickety old storefront, resided TheS Alchemist. His store was made from worn birch wood. The old rings and patterns had aged heavily till they appeared like tears streaming down the warped beams. The Alchemist worked mostly in silence, sorting his flasks and elixirs by color and size. His worn old hands flickered back and forth from shelf to shelf with speed of one much younger than he.

Whether from bravery, stupidity, or sense of adventure, it is unknown, but occasionally pedestrians wondered down the crooked old alley and discovered the shop. The first of this rare bunch was a man in a suit. He was tired from a long day and started down the alley by mistake. His body was tense and his face sunk forming dark circles that drifted beneath his cheek bones. He walked with his head held high. His phone vibrated and so he removed it from his pocket only to shut it off, shaking his head as he did so. He carefully counted his money and placed it on the table. The Alchemist nodded and turned around to grab a rounded vial with white liquid inside. He placed it on the cracked wooden table with a bright, toothless, smile painted on his face and directed at the man. The man removed the cracked red cork and sets it down on the table.

"What is this?" He spoke in hushed tones.

“It what you want.” Alchemist nodded his head in excitement. He gestured for the man to drink.

The man tossed his head back and allowed the glowing white liquid to slide out of the vial and into his mouth. His throat pulsed as he swallowed. The air around the man seemed to glow with a warmth. A grin crossed his face.

"Thank you so much sir!" He said with a grin matching that of the Alchemist’s. The Alchemist nodded and turned back to the organizing of his store.

The second wonderer to drift down the alley was young girl. Her short skirt revealed torn stockings that attempted to hide her quickly aging legs. Her heavy makeup was smeared around the eyes. A single tear navigated this mess, eventually finding its way to the edge of her jaw, only to hang on due to its intense fear of falling.

She approached the counter with caution.

"Hello..." she squeaked.

The Alchemist nodded and a slight smile crept across his lips.

"What do you sell?"

He turned to reach for a pink tonic from the shelf behind him. He slide it across the counter with incredible precision as it stopped right next to the woman's hand.

"I don't have a lot of money..."

The Alchemist shook his head and gestured for her to drink.

She slowly pressed the glass near her face. The pink liquid rushed through the small purse in her lips and she swallowed.

The tear fell from her chin and she began smiling and crying all at once. The makeup was dragged away from her eyes revealing her freckles. She giggled to herself, one knee now pressed against the asphalt. She gathered herself quickly, wiping the tears from her face. The Alchemist grabbed a handkerchief from under the counter and handed it to the girl, his face now flat. She wiped her tears and excess makeup off her face, kissed the worn hands of the Alchemist before leaving, skipping gracefully as she did so.

On a day where the sun set and the light hardly poked above the tall buildings of the city the third wonderer came to the shop. With the flickering of the traffic light slowed from the saxophone players and the night owls about to depart for their evenings. A drummer, fresh off his afternoon concert stumbled down the alley. He carried a bucket in one hand and a pair of wooden sticks in the other. His toes poked through the holes in his shoes. They cracked a bled upon the pavement. His short, gray hair and beard gave him the appearance of a hermit, with or without wisdom it was not obvious. He walked forward and noticed the storefront where the Alchemist worked.

"Hey man, can you spare some change? Maybe a meal?"

The Alchemist turned to face him, his face was still but he nodded as he always did.

"Oh bless your heart sir" said the drummer.

The Alchemist wrapped his hands around a large vial, diamond in shape. The Royal purple liquid appear thick as it sloshed from one side to the other when the Alchemist limped to the counter.

"You're too kind my friend, too kind"

He popped rusted metal cap from the vial and consumed its contents in one motion.

As he swallowed he froze.

Laughter, pure and genuine laughter erupted from the deepest depths of the man’s throat. His laughter echoed off the walls in the alley and escaped into the air interrupting the smooth pattern of the flickering street lights.

The man then left grinning ear to ear still laughing as went. A single tear dropped from the Alchemist’s eyes. It slid from the corner of his eye and crossed the small valleys that littered his experienced face.
Another visitor came as the sun said its final goodbye to the horizon and the moon took up its post in the sky. A man dressed in all blue, his hair cut short with a badge stapled onto his chest that gleamed as it caught the light peeking into the alley. His steps were purposeful and long. The dull thud of his boots echoed softly off the walls just loud enough to cause the Alchemist to peer up from his work. The man caught sight of the small shack and started towards it, increasing his pace.

"Sir, do you have a permit to own this shop?" He said, a stern look on his face.

The Alchemist shook his head. A slight frown adorned him

"What do sell exactly sir? Are you distributing drugs and related goods? I've gotten calls!"

The Alchemist stopped. He hobbled toward the counter and gazed through the shades resting on the tip of the man’s nose.

"I give, or sell, perhaps even barter, for what everyone wants most" his voice little more than a whisper but with enough force to echo in the man’s ears.

The man looked stunned.

"And what exactly is that sir? If you don't give me a straight answer I'm going to have to take you downtown."

"You want it too. I can tell, I've even made you some."

He placed a glass bird on the table filled with an olive liquid that appeared permanently on the brink of evaporation.

"Are you trying to bribe an officer?" He shouted.

"No, I am giving you what you want more than anything else, what everyone wants."

"And what is that?"

He motioned for the man to drink, several tears now streaming down his face.

The man clicked the battered iron stopper open. The liquid seemed to blow like a gentle breeze into the man’s mouth.

The man was still for a few moments.

A smile broke across his face and his body began to shake with excitement.

"Thank you sir... Have a fantastic day! I'm sorry to bother you, I won't do it again." He embraced the Alchemist over the counter, bending his back awkwardly to do so, but too distracted to care.

The man sprinted off punching the air with his tightly clinched fist, leaving the Alchemist behind tears streaming down the old face.

The final visitor came when the moon was high in the sky and filled it like a brilliant pearl casting it's warm, laced glow down upon the great city. It was late when the boy, bandana in front of his face, tattoos littering his arms, with two guns latched to his hip, wondered down the ally. His steps were careful, almost predetermined as he made his way through the twisted path. The long chains around his neck rattled together and he quickly pressed his hand to his chest to stop them. He caught sight of the dark store front and immediately straightened up. His stride more confident as he added increasing and decreasing levels of swagger to his step until he found the right balance. He pulled out a gun as he walked up to the counter before immediately dropping it.

The Alchemist hung from the ceiling of his apothecary. A worn rope wrapped tightly around his neck which was twisted at on odd angle. A small green potion sat on the counter with a note attached.

"What everyone wants more than anything?"

The boy still shocked by the sight of the dead Alchemist attempted to grasp the potion with his shaking hands. He drank the potion as he backed slowly away from the sight. He had not made it more than three steps before removing his bandana, tossing his chains on the ground and disarming himself. After he shed the excess, he dropped down to his knees a smile gripping his face, and began to pray.

]]><![CDATA[Last Call For Dion by Jordon Neal]]>Sat, 06 May 2017 02:12:50 GMThttp://www.bittersweetmag.com/poetry--prose/last-call-for-dion-by-jordon-nealWhat connection do we share?
A bond that is
impenetrable.

Perhaps you are a mobster?
or you owe the IRS tons.
Not like, you’d ever pay!
Because your day is soon
To come.

You must be a renowned philanthropist,
Who uses an alias, so sacred we dare
Not speak. Homeless children,
Now feed in your name. The gods
Revel in their creation, wishing
They hadn’t made something so
Imperfect.

I wish to know more of
this myth or legend that tells tales
Of your heroic decisions. Maidens
Whisper your name
With quick reprise;
A sort of lustful cultist chant,
Wanting to bathe in
Your voice.

But when that lady rang my phone
Speaking those harsh, sweet nothings.
She whispered, so sweetly
“Can I speak to Dion?”
I was livid.

]]><![CDATA[Tossing and Turning by Yolanda Moses]]>Sat, 06 May 2017 02:09:44 GMThttp://www.bittersweetmag.com/poetry--prose/tossing-and-turning-by-yolanda-mosesTossing and turning, late night, can’t sleep
Is it because of that nap?
Is it because I can’t breathe?

Yeah it’s a bit stuffy but that’s not the only thing that’s got me
I am suffocating here within this stolen land that bought me
Not even bought me, stole me as well.. captured me

Stripped me
Starved me
Renamed me
Changed me

In my weakness, they destroyed me
In my strength, they used me
Then chose my destiny for me
Without compliance, killed most of me

As I crack open my window to intake fresh air
A refreshing wind blows through
with a cool touch that freed me
but not much follows

Now they clothe me
With uncomfortable standards I have no choice but to wear
But at least they clothe me

Now they feed me
Mostly lies to mold my mind
But at least they feed me

Now they hear my own name
But associate it negatively and guarantee a decline
But at least they hear my name

Now they leave me to stay the same
The same destroyed position they caused with no reconstruction whatsoever
But at least they leave me to stay the same

In my weakness I reach out to unite
In my strength I stand and fight
I choose my own destiny

Tossing and turning, late night, can’t sleep
Is it because of that nap?
Is it because I can’t breathe?
I. CANT. BREATHE.

]]><![CDATA[Becoming by Erin James]]>Sat, 06 May 2017 02:07:33 GMThttp://www.bittersweetmag.com/poetry--prose/becoming-by-erin-jamesI was your shadow, your second
hand trade--for everything you
wanted to be.

I thought your light shined brighter
than me but all along mine was
hidden inside my own thoughts.
the thoughts I'd never act on.

Now awakened to my own value,
I need no more to be apart of what
made me unaware. You're the shadow
of my past.

You were what I thought was bright but
you're as dim as the cloud that hovers
over your head day by day. You're some
thing I never needed.]]>