If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport (Jorge Arturo

If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport (Jorge Arturo - New Orleans, LA)

“See ya later aviator,”

Lies the sign over the door to Hell

Where every flight you want to take it delayed.

In hell, the only destinations are ones with

Long lines, ones with screaming children,

Or Florida.

You need an outlet? You can’t have an outlet

Everybody’s using all the outlets to charge the phone

They’ll use to hold loud, familiar conversations over FaceTime.

You’ll get to learn about Aunt Carol’s rash, and David’s foreign girlfriend,

And “why can’t you just date somebody normal for once?”

And “why can’t you just put out when I get home for once?”

And “Hello? Can you hear me? Turn up your volume, mom.”

“You don’t need to hold the phone so close to your face, dad.”

“You don’t need to be such a dick, man.”

You think you’ll find a seat? You might find a seat.

It won’t be a comfortable seat.

It’ll be bleak and it’ll be plastic, like the life you led that sent you here

And it’ll be wedged between two people whose idea of personal space

is no less than 3 inches inside of you.

And they’ll be named after the grandparents you never called,

because hell loves a little irony

Maybe you’ll get some reprieve by the bar,

Hell’s gotta have alcohol, given the amount of people it’s taken here.

The bartender will come up

and you’ll ask for a drink

and he’ll serve you cheap beer that tastes like

the beer you drank before the first time you cheated on him

Blaring over the speakers in hell are the beach boys’,

Listing all the pretty places you definitely won’t be going

Aruba, Jamaica, oooh, I wanna take ya

to Florida.

Comments

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

Search This Blog