Poetry Book

Oak Park Preparatory Academy

Poems from Words Ain’t No Walk In The Park, v.4, (2017)



Skinny boy skinny.
“Skinny boy,” they say, “don’t even eat at home.”
Skinny boy look like he ain’t got no skin just bones.
Skinny boy not strong.
Skinny boy weak.
Skinny boy says, “But maybe you’re wrong.”
Skinny boy looks like he came from Africa.
Skinny boy came from his Black family home.

Torres Williams


Ain’t I Sweet?

My skin tone is
root beer that has been shook
and transforms into wet sand
that sits under the ocean floor.

My skin is a bowl filled with gravy,
like a lazy dog
that ate a whole meatloaf
and then collapsed on the front porch.

I am that maple tree
quiet syrup
to those I love

ain’t I sweet?
I am a lion,
the king of the jungle confident

ain’t I sweet?

End of a cliff
tree branch
with a lonely

Deon Burkett Jr.


Mean Girl

Mean girl don’t care
Mean girl is a bully
Mean girl can make you cry
Mean girl don’t cry
Mean girl has no feelings
Mean girl hurts your feelings just for fun
Mean girl has no friends
Mean girl slaps people just because
Mean girl don’t play
Mean girl stays to herself
Mean girl crazy
Mean girl not friendly
Mean girl too big
Mean girl has man hands
Mean girl not smart
Mean girl has ugly look

Mean girl don’t cry

Dymond Black


It Started With A Name

It started with a name,


Felt like bones breaking inside my body.
Felt like nails pushing up through the balls of my feet.
Feels like someone holding my heart in their hand and
squeezing it until it burst.

It would happen in my old school,
in gym,
everyone laughing.

I wanted to run and hide
in the corner,
sit and cry,
I stood up for myself instead.

They called me


I am a warrior.

Dasianique Birden


Mark Me ‘Here’

They say
I’m unidentified
I am noticed.
I am
like a stop sign at the end of the road.

They say
I’m a hood rat,
I am a girl,
who’s going to make it out of
‘the hood’
and be a scientist
who studies

I am not
or a hood rat
or another ‘statistic’

I am

Chandler Nicole


7 Ways To Look At Football

Amongst the 50 states
The only moving things
Was the spinning of the football
In the air
And the roaring of the packed stadium.

And God said,
“Joshua Black,
You will be better than Odell Beckham.”

Sports Authority and Dick’s Sporting Goods are open
So I know there’s a full stock of cleats in my size
Waiting for me.

An astronaut is orbiting Mars
And light years away
I am scoring the winning touch down.

Touchdowns and Super Bowls are one.
Touchdowns, Super Bowls, and football, are one.

The mighty warrior juked a field full of fire breathing dragons
And scored the touchdown.

Some one is getting shot, or getting high,
But I’m here
Playing football.

Joshua Black


A Poem Ain’t Nothin’

A poem ain’t nothin’ unless a basketball dribbles, goes through net,
or it’s the sweet sound of the whistle and the “swoosh.”
I want poems my Dad talks about like they are the latest sports stats
with his friends.
I want Fruity Pebbles and milk slipping off the spoon, words.
Words that end world hunger, but start on my block first, words.
Words that keep my shoelaces tied.
I want to hold a poem underneath me to break my fall for protection.
I want a poem for my Grandma in the morning,
“I’m tired of you staying up all night.”
Words that bring back my Grandpa from the grave.
Words that leave me with a crispy hairline.
I won’t write poems unless they are sand and palm trees, good memories,
unless they are cocoa butter on elbows.

Donald Whitlock