T.Q. Sims has been contributing to Louisiana Words since 2022. Residing in New Orleans, T.Q. made their debut at Louisiana Words Live: New Orleans 2 and became a contributor to LouisianaWords.com. Their charisma and talent have made them a popular presence. Pushing us to question gender and love stereotypes, T.Q.’s writing is uniquely imaginative, progressive, and engaging, In 2022, T.Q. lit up LouisianaWords.com by being top writer 7 out of 31 weeks and was honored as an Allstar at the end of 2022. T.Q.’s writing has many underlining themes: addiction (“I Keep Dong This”), consumerism & afterlife ("Forever Murray”), acceptance/rejection (“The Ritual”), love, life, & nature (“My Favorite Flower” & “to the tree”), & death (“Living Room”). T.Q. is able to present real people and real situations with slight reinvention. With their writing at times feeling dreamy, yet real, it is certain that you will love and be inspired by everything they have to offer. Because o...

This brings us to the end of our Winter 2024 season on LouisianaWords.com! Enjoy the break as we return for our Spring 2024 season on Sunday, April 21st, 2024! We will continue the year with 8-week long seasons for the rest of 2024! Thank you all for your continual support! 

 

1 A boy was waiting for his father to pick him up from school. Once again. And once again it seemed his father had forgotten all about the boy. It was raining this time. And the boy has been waiting two hours. Sad. Soaked. On the verge of tears. Hoping and imagining his daddy was a superhero ready to rescue him. How many times does a little boy’s heart have to break? Its not easy being daddy’s second choice. Especially when the first choice is a drop of alcohol. The boy has run out of faith. His daddy will never be Superman. Now when his daddy speaks, All his promises turn into lies And they both suffer. 2 A couple at the end of their marriage has one more hurdle. Attending a counseling session. They’ve been waiting eight years to be in sync. Pour couple. They are just too exhausted to care. So, much fighting, not enough listening They could go at the world together, But they rather choose to go at it alone And they both suffer. 3 Just think. If we didn’t suffer, We could build spacesh...

It wasn’t lucky when I found it It was in a Walmart parking lot Face down as if too ashamed to face the sky Or too in love with the earth I still can’t decide which is better to say. I picked it up, because let’s be honest, when we want a new perspective on things we could always use a little change. I held it in my hands like a promise Whispered my choices like a prayer And let it dance between my fingertips While I figured out where it needed to be. I flipped it to the sky Called tails And it has not landed since. I’m still trying to decide if that is a good thing.

B efore I write about the idea that I have grasped in my mind, let me tell you about a guy that is currently in my day-to-day occurrences. For identity purposes, I'm going to call him Tom. Tom is a pretty cool guy, he's somewhat progressive, loves wine and travel, appreciates light conversation, practices martial arts, and can appreciate the beauty of culture. Tom is also a former Marine. And while Tom may have a lot of great interests, Tom also has a military way of thinking. He has seen the yellow eyes of his enemies, he has felt the intense heat of battle, and has endured the constant fear of danger. Now Tom lives in a civilian world, a changed man. A man that has fought for his country. A man that has done a great service to the civilians around him, yet little do they know of it. And he knows it. It bothers him, which also brings him back to his childhood, when he was picked on by his older siblings yet treated lesser than his younger siblings. He is forced to feel somethi...

 

 

 

 

  The story only begins with your voice Can you handle your own words? This is the first chapter of your life Are you ready to tell your version? It’s time to establish your characters Give motive to your life and a setting This is the chance to gain power  Give motion to your own narrative  Let the meaning of life shine through It’s the words that will renew faith It’s the words that will renew the people Let your letters explore a destiny fulfilled This is the first chapter of your life The first words of the rest of your lifek

 

 

  The butterflies in my stomach are talented . They write symphonies between smiles  And subtle serenades behind stares . They pull the strings of my heart  And tie them around my ankles  To puppet every step I take toward you . I don’t think I am in control of this , I am already running miles in my head Trying to catch up with my racing thoughts of you . I am stuttering and stammering , Tripping on my own words, My tongue  is as  clumsy as my feet Because I fell in love  On the first two steps walking toward you.  I have written love stories  That start with hello  And end with I love you , But I can never remember my lines  Between those points.  I want to call myself a hopeless romantic  But I can’t stutter out the romance  So I guess I’m just hopeless.

  “Don’t you dare ever do that” You told me on Mother's Day (last year) in the Chili's  as we talked about my trans nonbinary friends (as I clumsily tried to explain their gender to you) (did you sense that I was testing the waters about myself?) and suddenly that unconditional love began to feel very conditional felt like in high school when you warned me about the "Lesbian Trap" like a spider web, you said (did you already know it was her web I wanted to be trapped in?) my friends and I laughed but despite my bravado i still left her for a guy (never told her how much it hurt when she teased me and called me straight) and even though I love my partner dearly it's she who haunts my dreams always her disapproval, disappointment  (which I traded for yours) I wish I could apologize (I feel that I could never apologize enough) after all these years of hiding first from myself then to you i can't hide anymore upon reflection i have been trying to come out to you m...

 

Get ready for Louisiana Words’s FIRST LIVE Writer Review! Join us Wednesday, March 6th @8pm, on Louisiana Words’s Instagram (@louisianawords1) LIVE, as Louis Toliver Jr. interviews Louisiana Words featured writer for March 2024, T.Q. Sims! You don’t want to miss this! T.Q. & Louis will discuss T.Q.’s new book: Godspeed, Lovers ; their experience as a Louisiana Words Allstar, & their upcoming performance at the next live show - Louisiana Words Live: The Future Is Now!  

Dear God, Let my body be expelled Of any negativity I’ve spelled. I purge myself of insecurity from the past. With your light and community, I fast. Let all in my life that seeks to harm me Know right now that you are with me. For my family and my friends, guide them. Purge any doubt of me that may stem. Rejoin me, my God, let your river wash us. Let nothing but of your love for us to discuss. For you are who I know you to be. In this universe, you are all that I see.

  Bad days suck, it's a fact of life. There is no way to avoid them and there is no "prevention of bad days;" they simply are there and there is no changing it. Those horrid events start off horribly, then they start to look up, only to lie to you, making you feel worse. And then, the atmosphere is set to the dreary setting in your mind, which amplifies the bad day, and then just when you think it couldn't get any worse, you're thrown under a bus. (Which I've never really experienced, but I'm sure it would be deadly and painful. But more deadly. Or more painful. I should probably ask someone who has experienced bus-running-over syndrome. Whatever the case, I speak figuratively.) These days make you want to crawl into your California king, or your tiny college twin, or hammock, or whatever place of rest of your choosing, and forget the world for a year or so. But that's extreme. Maybe a month. The point is, they break you down. And I'm sure those of...

lights hit the sequins dazzling spinning into air dizzying distracting your eyes the dancer romances the music until it is pliable and bends to her rhythms the ringleader booms bantering cadence demanding your attention the jester’s laugh punctuates the pause between jokes and japes the aerialist dangles suspended on breath as she reaches for hope the lion tamer  cracks the whip seeking respect to replace fear the audience roars to their feet the stands rumbling beneath them hungry i leave the show fatigued worn depleted sleep doesn’t come as my brain spirals downward into the anxious waters of the aftermath i am the show it is the mask worn when i am seen by others outside my walls it is the cover story of the little girl who learned to avoid the hurt you performed a stellar act and always left them wanting more