One’s Precious Chance (Marlon D. Bourque- Lafayette, LA)

As I lay peering into the darkness of uncertainty ahead,
many thoughts of Why? Could-haves? Should-haves? race unceasing.
Yearnings of wellness, future plans, an equal solitude,
like those memories of times past frequently enter my senses.

I now see myself as an outcast, outsider from my own body,
as I view healthy persons in my perceptive eye as uncaring or inhuman in action.
Feelings of inadequacy, shame, or anger surface as I hear media spew stories of,
hate, rejection stigma because of the virus that found it’s way into my body.

Where greed and indifference vie as a form of success in the democratic society,
expressions of concern abound at creative solutions of which to fulfill my remaining quality of life.
Ironically it has taken a conversation with death,
to experience the anger to want to live.

This very threat to my health has given me willingness to get in touch with my inner feelings,
to share in my love of music, art, and writing openly without reserve.
All trivial, superficial mind games and material possessions ,
give way to trying to reach a higher spiritual path by being truly honest with myself.

For each change in my roller-coaster life’s path is now viewed,
as a unique challenge toward a dream or ultimately a fulfilled goal.
Though I may never know an extended freedom to live,
but shall begin to appreciate the tiniest quality to life time has to offer.

I may never know Why I stare at mortality so soon?,
yet the choices I embrace now can help me continue to love life.

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Louisiana Words Remembers Jorge Arturo

There’s nothing that hurts more than when we lose someone from our Louisiana Words family. But, the beauty of our writing movement is that the words of our loved ones live on with us. On June 20th, 2023, Louisiana Words Allstar, Jorge Arturo, moved on from this world leaving our hearts broken. He was a charismatic and talented human being. Jorge resided in New Orleans, LA and had been active on Louisiana Words for over a year. To honor Jorge’s life and work, we will be sharing his writing and live performances all Summer 2023. Please help keep his spirit alive by sharing his work. We know that Jorge’s words will connect with our readers and we hope to keep his spirit alive. Jorge’s first submission: “The Dog Show” debuted on February 6th, 2022 and is his most successful piece to date. In 2022, Jorge spent 10 weeks in the top with “The Dog Show,” “Weavers,” “They Say Love Kills, This Time It Really Did,” and “If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport.” His last piece was “Fairy Tale

The Man Under the Water (TK Craft - New Orleans, LA)

Sitting at the edge of the small motorboat, Jordan willed himself to take deep slow breaths. Every time he opened his eyes and looked out at the endless water; panic began to overcome him. Against the vastness of the ocean his small frame felt like almost nothing, this sense only made his fear grow worse. All he could do was stare out at the still surface for what felt like hours trying to gather the strength to jump into the depths. When he was fifteen, Jordan almost drowned in the ocean. He hadn’t been particularly frightened of the water till that day. In fact, he had no real emotional connection to it at all. He’d taken swimming lessons every summer so when the riptide carried him further out to sea he didn’t panic. He just reoriented himself to the shore and dove down to begin a swim towards land. That’s when he saw him glistening in the depths. Jordan was proud of himself for sitting on the edge of the boat as long as he did. He spent the

Ash Wednesday (Brian Falcon - New Orleans, LA)

It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far more i

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