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AKAYLAH Ellison is an LA based creative.

Welcome to her creations.

The Dailies

Judgement Day

I don’t want to be judge and jury

on the case of my own demise,

born the defendant’s lawyer to prove

myself just, so I’ve disguised myself


in the prosecutor’s suit, arguing away any

reasonable doubt that my art is enough,

trying to prove to be more exact, to be

more true, more—


when a fleeting thought comes across

the witness stand and the defendant asks,

what if just as I come is enough?

Complicate it further, no one answer.


Instead, let my subconscious awaken a deep concern,

what if the world doesn’t understand my language?

I am the sole interpreter—the victim of my crime, my soul,

cries out from the great beyond. There is no more to give.


For once, let that be enough to have justice.


And the world all around us was burning and all we could do was watch
and have no power over anything,
and wish it could have been different,
and wish everything was better, the all of it.

and the world was full of poetry once, and then it got criticized,
and it broke.

but it changed the way we could feel and we could no longer bare our soul and be protected.

and didn’t matter how good the pain was and no one quite understood,
but we thought that they would,
but we thought that they could.

even if it was raw and on display,

and that was an error in part,
And it was wrong.
And above all else we were wrong about the world.

and we overestimate the ability to see awe in things we don’t understand. But we were afraid.

and we wouldn’t examine our own fears
But we couldn’t,
and we understand that we were always puzzles.

and we weren’t alone and we were hopeful. But we had hope.

Bird Song

A song that you love

Becomes a connection

Something you could feel.

Do you feel close enough?

Or does that not matter?

It’s funny how the words escape when communicated.

But alone on a page they come rushing.

Scouring soul as if all they ever are and ever have been is but a whisper.

A page of unfulfilled conversation.

And still a bird squeals, singing its song.

And it wants you to hear it. It’s begging you to listen.

But do you?

Do you even care?

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