The Birds Lied (Madisyn Barbosa-Lafayette, LA)

As I lay upon the zebra waves, I think of ways I misbehave, I think of all my "must-be haves" and "must-be needs", on my back and on my knees, and all my dreams that I want and need to be true, Because of you, my body aches and quakes and shakes, and I know above all, those things I must haves and must need, can only be satiated by you, because if I achieve every thing that I dream, quiet every scream, wipe every tear that reamed out of face, nothing of it would matter without you in this place, torn lace, wrinkled ribbon, everything I have and will ever be given, is My decision, a Gift for You, a lift from blue, fading my depression, my sexual disgression, There is never enough repetition of these words "I am Yours.I Love You. I am Yours. I Love You". Those words flow so freely so naturally from my lips, and my body and hips can't help rocking back and forth, east, west, south, and north, while saying your name, my tongue on my teeth, saying your name feels like the only time I've ever truly felt my mouth, then I go south feeling your manhood on my tongue, so young this feeling of bliss, wondering my whole life what have I missed, as you kissed my skin, so deep, I melt such heartfelt your belt colliding on my ass, over your knee, wanting and hoping I bruise easily, filled with glee so happy, I run to the mirror to get a view clearer, seeing with awe, all the world becomes detailed, this girl her trauma derailed, she is no longer impaled, by the crazy train on the wrong tracks she used to be, a train wreck before the cliff's edge, how ironic it's massacre, because for her it's a blessing in disguise, realizing this guy's in love with her too. As I lay upon these zebra waves, his scent makes me mellow, my head on his pillow, the birds chirping outside the window a if they say, "Good Morning Babygirl, Happy Saturday, Your Sir is on his way, back to you..."

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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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