Live Not

By: Phalande Jean

These are your instructions
Live not by the standards set forth by society
Instead live thy own truth
As the sweat hovers over the skin to cool it down
Let positivity seep from the pores of your soul
Be a refreshing spirit in a world
that seeks to decapitate your will
Look not at each new morning with disdain and uncertainty
Arise with a spirit of gratitude and conquer it
Rest not your head at night disappointed
at your failures and stumbles
Reflect instead on your growth and the lessons learned
Declare your truth
Believe your truth
Embody your truth
Lies are toxic chemicals of the tongue
spoken to deteriorate sanity
Falsehood cloaks itself in humanitarianism
Those who receive it are left
starving for peace
and parched for authenticity
Deconstruct formulas set forth in these structure
that have you living your life to find x
Realize that you are x, you define yourself
Your life is the most intricate algorithm weaved together
to complete the equation for happiness
Cosmic dust and good intentions has enabled you to be
in this time and in this now to fulfill a purpose
Your purpose is not depression
Your purpose is not lack of self-control
Your purpose is not hatred, jealousy nor pride
The complexity of your being is to commit
simple acts of love, courage and honesty
Let not the seeming apocolypse of war, injustice and poverty harden your heart
In a globe of billions who seem lost
Look within yourself and you will find freedom
Now that you have released yourself
Unlock the shackles that are binding
your brothers and sisters
Unlock the shackles of fear, low self esteem
and rejection from your neighbors
Live not to cast stones and burn bridges
Instead become an architect of love
Engineer towers of truth
These are your declarations


Poetic Justice

By: Phalande Jean

There is no justice in poem nor prose
senseless killings and disregard for other humans cannot be rescued by stanzas
words are not enough when we are on a decline
the periods do not signify a stop to the bigotry, racism, sexism and patriarchy
no rhyme or reason can undo the bullets shots oversees for the sake of our own greed
the syllables echo religious dogma that has us brainwashed to
believe in a God of gender and color
we are limited by 26 letters to describe an institution that has no regard for human life
spoken word is a what a mime is to a blind man


This piece is unfinished, but I felt the need to post it. I mean no offense to poets, writers and spoken word artists, I love and respect this art form. But when the writing spirits moves you, you must follow it and let it use you.

I speak

By: Phalande Jean


I speak of a love never experienced

The ink flows from a place of bystanding-ness

I have yet to participate in the events of my writings

My poems bring up memories of a past time that was never mine

I am a vicarious creative

I need not experience to empathize

I need not touch to feel

When I write my creative mind transcends

Into other people’s shoes

I am able to tell their story without living it

As the tip of my pen etch letters that collectively

account tells of love, lost and lust

I begin to live that story

My work need not be my story

Instead let it embody the truth of my surroundings

Allow me the privilege, no, the honour

To paint an image of you, 

Bitterly truthful and so sweetly unapologetic

I speak of a life never experienced



By: Phalande Jean

Summertime is the easiest time to develop a summertime love
Nothing but time to bring you together
The sun rises and sets on your love (or like)
Time, summertime is all that we share
summertime romance
The reality of Fall is like cold water
Slowly the fire burning love dwindles
Back to our singleness, back to our mingleness
We left our summertime bones to decay
It was love only for a season

Casualties of the Heart


By: Phalande Jean

I want to briefly talk about the twilight zone, that space in your life where you keep in contact with your ex. In this zone you are at a standstill, because you are neither moving back nor are you moving forward. When they are not around you gather the courage to proclaim your singleness and exclaim that you are moving on. Then they show up at your house, pop up at your job or you run into each other at an event. The sight of them leaves your mouth dry, your knees buckle, your heart crumbles and all the good times replay like a mental movie reel. Those affirmations that you have moved on become a lie you told yourself in a moment of presumed strength. How can you move on when your heart says otherwise? These are the casualties of the heart.

There becomes this mass destruction of self esteem when you have been broken up for several years and you haven’t been able to meet someone new, fall in love or simply date. The obliteration of your womanhood, your manhood because you no longer have someone to reaffirm every single day that you are appreciated, needed, wanted. An attempt to date becomes a game of comparison. That ex becomes the blueprint for your next catch and you cannot control that. What if that’s the only person that you have ever been in a relationship with? The only love you’ve known, who knew what to do. Made it do what it do. These are the casualties of the heart. 

Let’s talk about that ache that no Advil can relieve, only the touch of your previous soul tie can begin to alleviate the ailment of this brokenhearted-ness. How easy it is to remember how they injected your life with so much joy, massaged out the knots of negativity and loneliness. They were the well that seemed like it would never run dry. Except presently you are parched for touch, for attention, for love. This twilight zone is a dessert of heated emotions, and cold nights of you alone with your thoughts. Your ex randomly texts, calls or sends flowers and you induce a mirage of a well that will quench your thirst. What if the consideration to allow your ex back into your life is only a mirage…a beautiful, beautiful mirage? These are the casualties of the heart.


A Woman Of My Words


By: Phalande Jean

I need to do better to become a woman of my words. I used to blame my father for always breaking his promises and here I am doing the same thing. After yesterday’s occurrence where I had to back out of an ordeal last minute I started to realize something. My roommate chimed in to remind me that as a woman, yes a woman, all I have is my word. She sealed the deal by saying “It is better to under-promise and over-deliver than it is to over-promise and under-deliver.” Too many time I have caught myself in a web of over-promising and although I did not always under-deliver, those few instances where I merely completed a task versus mastering it were occurring too often. It seems that I have inherited a trait; I have been infected by a virus, a disease that I call the ‘busy syndrome’. Continue reading

I Want

I want that mind blown, soul ties kinda love
Nibbling, caressing, possessing kindly love
Blood rushing, skin flushing, Physiologically insync
His sax hums my melodies, she sings
Reverb on my genitals, reverse to that ecstasy
Rehearse the tender strokes, rebirth of my sensuality