Power Poetry

Sad and Real

I choose to be sad and real
Instead of happy but fake
Internally gaslit
So that other people
Are comfortable in their bullshit
While force feeding it
Into my mouth.

It looks like cooking
And waiting for the food
To burn just right.

It feels like being annoyed at roommates
Doing whatever they want and
Not washing a wine glass
That they know you use
And had also drank from.

It sounds like the fire of the stovetop
Burning hotter and hotter
As the depression swallows me up
In its suffocatingly comforting waters.

When the food is done
The leftovers are heated up
And the juice is poured
Into a recycled Pure Leaf tea bottle,
I am just simply being
In my sadness.

I accidentally
Made my roommate’s
Pad fall into the toilet
And all I did
Was wipe off the water
And put it back on the
Medicinal container.

It dried and looks like
Nothing happened.

They won’t know
What had happened.
I mean they aren’t good
With telling me things either.

They’re even worse
With not noticing
When I need someone to
Be there for me.

Sad and real
Is not a trend
A hashtag
Or a movement.

I simply am being
What I am
At this moment,
Even if it means
Doing it alone.

Power Poetry, short writings

Short Writings No. 3

Image Description: Black text on white square block image reads a short writing/mini poem as follows below.

I feel safe under the trees.
They move in the gentle
Motion of the wind.
I know I can rest now.
I know that my body
Will not be exploited.
I know that my rest
Will not be politicized.
I can fantasize,
Anything in my dreams.
My inner child
And I are one.
I am free
In the wide landscape
Of slumber.


short writings

Short Writings No. 2

[Image Description: White text on black image reads poem as follows.]

That little girl

Who I sung my love song for

Deserves the best in everything

Is worth

The whole

Goddamn universe

I’d die for her

Fight armies for her

And is my only one

I love her so much

She is magic and so worthy

And I’m never letting her go.


Power Poetry, Uncategorized






Bullshitting myself on the daily

Moment-to-moment screwing up everything

Because I don’t have anything left to give the world

Because I have nothing left to give myself

My self-loathing intensifies as I hear fellow humans start their day

Cars flood the the intersection next the three-way stop sign

Next to the tree

That marks the wooden house with a red door

Screeches and hip-hop music blend into my annoyance

Birds chirping have me wanting to scream at them

But I don’t utter a word

For I am that unable to care enough

That’s why I did not shower the night before

And I unfortunately itch in the worst areas possible

I become frustrated at life moving on without me

From the steps of roommates meeting creaky hardwoord floors

To long-wailing squeal the bathroom door makes before closing or opening

And when life is playing its usual hum as the day progresses

My self-loathing,

My insecurities intensify

They are deadweights that pull me farther down

And down into an ocean I never learned to swim in

Life is too scary, too unpredictable and potentially traumatizing

That while I lie down

The place I made my safe zone in my mind

Becomes my prison

And I only want out because I see others being free

Wishing they could be my key

But then I am reminded that I am my own key

That I must unlock myself from the deadweights

In order to float back up

And if not that, then at least stop myself

From sinking further into the oblivion of depression

While I lie down

I fight that fight

And struggle with all my might

Because what is easy will keep me stuck in my pain

Trapped inside an endless cycle of nothingness

A nothingness that increases the distress of my mind and body

Yet what I want

The wanting to join the rest of the world

And be that person I dream of being

An individual who lives their dreams

In balance with their demons and light

That amount of effort, that amount of dedication

Frightens me back into abandoning myself

On more mornings than I wish to admit

I got so good at abandoning myself

Giving up before a day started

Because the possible challenges awaiting me

Seemed more treachorous than it was worth

It is only when the day is gone

When the night is waning

And just before the birds begin singing for the new dawn

That I see how much I could have gained

If only I fought to take off the deadweights

I have grown so accustomed to carrying

In my sleep

Photo by Mariana Montrazi on Pexels.com

Power Poetry, Uncategorized


I am the nightmare.

I am the dream.

I am the god.

I am the Satan.

I am the moon and the stars, the sun and the comets.

I fall like rain and rise in time with the tides.

I flow with winds that travel beside mountains from times of old.

I am at once the wonder and also the terror.

I have known and hold both innocence and perversion within the confides of my soul.

My body has been torn apart then put back togther with the scraps of sanity I grabbed with each trial I suffered.

I know the gray areas are only bridges that keep the infinity within me anchored.

And that makes me no less the powerful human I am right now, the one I always will be.

I am Jourdan R. Lobban.

And I am Riv J. Lobban, Riv-Rayne J. Divinity.

I know that I am a survivor, a warrior, a miracle baby and person whose existence is worth celebrating.

I am at peace with the light and dark within myself. And I love all parts of me from feriociously ugly to downright beautiful.

For everything I have done that is unspeakable, I hold myself with compassion, nurturing, love, and non-judgemental, unconditional accpetance. I know that the reasons why I did those things came from parts of me deeply wounded from all the trauma I experienced.

I know who I am. I embrace who I am. I accept who I am.

I am the king who defies all.

A queen of her own right.

A downright Godx With An Edge.

And most importantly, a flame that lights up in the dark without any fucking apology.

Photo by Being.the.traveller on Pexels.com


Dirty Digs: Chapter One

Image by Luis del Rio

It’s weird.

All of it’s weird.

There isn’t a specific pinpoint for the peculiarity of this new stage in my life.

I could be poetic in my description, however, only one phrase best sums all the my emotions and sensations I feel inside of me.

And that is, “What the actual fuck?”

Extra, extra emphasis on the word “fuck”.

I moved out of the only home I ever really knew and took a one-way train ride to the one and only buckeye state. Most of the things in my possession are already destroyed by the trash compactor because I had to throw out almost everything I had. There were journals, books, clothes even, and it still had to be removed from my life. And in addtion to cleaning out my entire dorm room, setting up my new phone with service that I now pay for, booking an Air Bnb for a week while I figured out a longer-term housing situation, and filling out electronic paperwork for leaving my university permanently, everything was preparing me for leaving Delaware, my childhood home as well as prison, behind.


I spent most of my short twenty-one year life living from bedroom to bedroom. The one bedroom I spent the years of my early childhood to my late teen years is seared into my head like a hot iron emitting pulsing gas while stuck into cooling water. The four walls covered in paintings picked by my parents, banners with my deadname drawn in the style of Philadephia Zoo artists from when I was child posted above my bedroom door and ontop of my windows to the outside world. Back then, my neighborhood was the whole world to me. Walking around the many streets, with varying houses and townhouses, listening to birds who sung their hearts out in joy of their freedom, it was all I really knew. It took many years before I was allowed to walk outside, and then all over the neighborhood. It never made sense to me until I was older why I never received a key to the house, which was that my father never wanted me to have true autonomy over myself and my life. So for the time I was naive, I relished whatever little liberation I received. Those walks were little sneak peaks into a life I dreamt in secret of having, one where I went wherever I wanted without needing anyone’s permission, made new friends, experienced rad as hell adventures, and fell in love with wonderful people, hoping one of them was my soulmate. I was sincerely envisioning for a one-and-done type of deal. Whenever I came back to the house, the deepest parts of my subconscious knew I was officially back in the cage again, never knowing when I would taste the exhiliration of liberation once more.

That was my life for twenty years. And I thought it would stay like that for the rest of my life, a sanity-searing cycle of broken promises, violent codependence, and brief, rare moments of the freedom I so long craved. It was all my body knew how to live on. It was what I was conditioned to experience.

A nightmare will never be enought to describe it, but it was a nightmare, a nightmare I slowly began waking up from.

I wasn’t ready, no way in hell for sure. But it was happening, and I realized soon enough I needed to get ready.

It was time for me to break out of my own tower. The motivation?

The tower was crumbling ontop of me.


Implosion that's Golden

A young girl told she was bad

Her blackness conceived into evil perception

Conception of her being

Based on perverted sexualization

Of her shape

Of her curves

And the melanin-soaked skin

That people feared for all days

A father with many faces

And only she saw the fury

Only she felt the silence and violence

While the women saw his glory

A dead mother made into a martyr

But no one heard her pleads for a savior

A school that only remembered what she did wrong

Forgetting her many deeds of good

As they attacked her on all sides

A bad little black girl

Is to always be punished and unseen

Violated while she hopes

For relief from unfair grief

Insanity was born

Deaf to those closest to her

Everyone’s rage drowning out her voice

The men who preyed while she prayed

Licked their lips at the sight of her hips

The women who scowled in jealously

Because of her unreal innocence

The continuum of pain

The vacuum of suffering

With each punch

Blow to the face

Violent verbiage

That cut into her back

Each time a person

Loved her

Then cursed her

Before abandoning the girl’s begging form

A tower of screams was built

Higher and higher

Into the unknown skies

Only to fall

With no one around

To hear and see

The jarring sound

Slash through the apathetic quiet

The world wrapped itself in

Like a blanket that kept it warm

From the silent genocides of its imaginations

Now is the era

For the change

Epic and earth-shattering

Heaven and hell

They both stand at attention

The girl would no longer keep the universe

Locked inside of her

When she took her first step

On her right foot

The second step on her left one

It all came out



Nothing held back

All colors and numbers

Will forever surround

The never-ending space

This time

This place

Is where screams are our songs

Lullabies contain death-notes

The blood of our wounds heal

And our nightmares are dreams