Category Archives: poetry

Behind the Curtain (7/22/16)

An actor. 

I’m not a very good one, in my eyes, but I think I’m doing a good enough job remembering my lines and where to stand and how to take the bow at the end of the show with a huge smile on my face. Sometimes it’s real, that smile coming from a special place in my heart. And most other times it’s forced and pretend just as the character I make believe I am. 

Most people enjoy it. The happy, positive, overwhelmingly supportive Myke who dishes our affirmations and love. All of which is in me, thus the only way I can provide this for viewing pleasure. 

It’s what happens when the curtain closes that many people I know and those nondescript faces in the back,  don’t know, that in most cases I don’t perform under the stage lights. 

That I’m sad. Unbearably sad. Overwhelmingly so. So much so that I have to drag myself out of bed in order to put on my costume to perform this days act. 

It’s a blessing really to continuously be able to get up on that stage, take a deep breath and get my mask just right, the smile noticeably large so to distract from the cracks forming at the edges from the deep sadness and pain. All of course before the curtain opens. 

I should go though, I gotta get myself together cuz the next scene is about to start and the curtain is about to open. 

Here’s to another performance. 



The Threat by Mykell Hatcher-McLarin (9/1/15)

I remember the days when it wasn’t real.
I remember the days when I didn’t think
it was Real;
That I could walk down streets and
pretend I was safe.
Even though I definitely could have been safe.
Safety wasn’t second guessed.
I could walk freely and rest.
I could laugh at the carefree nature of the world.
It didn’t matter that I am boy
and the world saw me as a girl.
Only thing mattered was the laughter
curling into my cheeks,
the light in my eyes
Unphased by truths I never personally seen.
But that time was when I was a baby.
Soon as my brain grew conscious,
Everything Changed.
I don’t walk down streets the same,
Afraid of being
Even though boys didn’t get it “as bad.”
But I was a girl in the eyes
of men more knowing than me.
Momma taught me, “Can’t Trust men
They’ll take advantage of [me].”
So I grew up not knowing how to trust men.
One day not knowing how to trust me.
Compromised in My Dreams;
By a perspective on repeat.
And now where does that leave me?
Where does it leave the women
I’ve known and seen
Violated under all means?
Where does leave the boy who’s
told he has a girl’s body?
How do I learn to trust masculinity
When its always been shaped as a threat to me?
The playdo’s harden over years
charred under the degrees of inferno
and nobody even knows.
Shit, I didn’t even know
till realizations hit me that even
him trying to build intimacy is
Can’t trust the man laying next to me.
Haven’t trusted the man standing next to me.
What is trust for the man trying to support me?
What does it mean to trust any man?
I mean
My Body; raped
My Mind; fucked
My Heart; touched inappropriately
I sit here replaying the history
Frightened of
how it’s all Engrained so Deep.
Where at the core,
I’m having trouble trusting any man;
Even Me.

Ameen (Poetry Performance)

On Sunday April 19, 2015, I had the honor to perform “Ameen” at the Queer Monologues at the University of Maryland, College Park (my soon to be all ma mater).

This is one of my few poems I have had the opportunity to capture on camera. Finally a poem of me performing (and of course it had to be on the hardest poem I’ve performed ever).

I hope you enjoy 💚💜

Peace and Empower,


“Ameen” by Mykell Hatcher-McLarin (4/19/15)

I hold my stomach
And squeem
thinking of things
I’ve only dreamed
Her name is Ameen
Not quite real
But she could be
You could be
as you’re growing
In every crevice of my mind
like galaxies in formation
Iron blood pumping
through empty spaces
Stars aligning in rotation
As the thought loops
Like protons
around helium
building energy so
fast you’ll explode in my heart
With the passion of a thousand suns
And I know that’s cliché
Like the words that usually cling
Tightly in between the lines of my poetry
And I don’t mean you’re not unique
But rather you
Come to my mind so quickly
Like I’ve dreamed you before
Every night
When I was 18,
I dated a woman.
She was a lesbian
who wouldn’t have been
your mother
because she didn’t want
a daughter
in fear that she would be
her mother.
Found that out the hard way
when I woke up one day
and told her
“I just had a dream
about our daughter.
I called out Ameen
and she came to me.
Isn’t that exciting?”
She had nothing to say
and maybe it was
meant that way.
For My Dream
didn’t include two women
There was
You and Me.
Both of us enigmas
In a future
I want to Be
with You
Giggling Baby Girl
Bouncing into my arms
I love you Daddy
I love you…
Probably the same way I used to
when I was
Baby Girl
In the arms of My Father
Baby Girl
Grown into Daddy.
I’m not afraid to be My Father
so You’ll have Me
And for now I’ll have you
In moments
when boyfriend
Rubs my stomach
I ask him,
Do you want children?
I want two
so the first one won’t be lonely.”
Right there,
I knew the first one would
Be You
and the four of us
could be a family.
Not the same dream
but still those thoughts fill me.
And I start wondering
about Pregnancy
forming in Body
Reconstructing Man
in midst of Invisibility.
Those lines in between my poetry
I may not want anyone to read
But wanting to read her genealogy
And See Me
In the XX chromosomes
marking the spot
where two souls
came together
and made
A Baby
inside me
But I don’t want a baby inside me
Fear passed over ovaries
Semen too deep
In panic I drown in ocean
Rescue me
Rescue me
I want to be your Daddy
I want you to carry a piece of me
But I’m not willing to carry
And that pains me
At night
When he and I lay in sheets
rustled before bed
“We should use a condom”
He nods.
We grab one.
I smirk.
Mixed Feelings.
Wary of raw emotion
coursing through me
I want to say
Fuck It!
I want to be a Daddy
Your baby feet kicking
Pitter patter
on oak floors
Brown like Skin
if you were mine
from the beginning
You’d be
With Daddy and
With Daddy and
At Daddy
Being Silly
with His Baby Girl
His Baby Girl
My Baby Girl
But Ameen I don’t want to carry
I Just Want You

Age: 33 (poetry)

“Age: 33” by Mykell M Hatcher-McLarin 02/19/15

I looked in the mirror and saw you in it.
You were Me
smiling on pasts yet to come.
I say this cuz I’ve felt like I’m met you before.
Maybe in a dream.
Maybe in a haze.
Tripping on a memory yet lived.
You said to Me
You have yet to live
So keep fighting for this dream
It’s not as surreal as it seems.
Tripped backwards to move forward.
Mirrors don’t fool me
They just tell me truths unseen.
That’s when I looked in the mirror and saw you in it.
I saw Me,
a not so distant dream.

Shadowed Love (poetry)

Sometimes I see

silhouettes of hearts

trying to know what it’s like to



They climb into each other

Amorphous blob

of darkness surrounded by light

Love sometimes works like this

Morphing into one

collection of doubt

from another

collection of uncertainty.

Love usually works like this

from behind

shades of lusty panting

our silhouettes

combine at the hip


I Love You


I’ll love you only

if you make me forget

that I’ve been here before

trying to combine

with something

even if it’s the

Hope of Nothing

I can picture with

My Eyes Open

or with all the lights on.

Cuz when I saw

Our Silhouette

morphed into One

I realized it was

Only Mine

wanting to be


The Eye and The Exchange (poetry)

“The Eye and The Exchange” by Mykell Hatcher-McLarin 8/27/14

How do you have a conversation with a poet?
You speak words to their words.
You speak words to their words.
You do not just read them and carry on.
You do not stop at the first line.
You take tender steps to the end glazing lips over syllables and hands over stanzas to feel the texture of the underbelly of a soul.
You do not disregard their meaning.
You watch as the metaphors take shape into sceneries while not being fooled by their coloring but seeing completely into their truth.
You do not sit there silent.
You rhyme with their reason so to continue on a ballad that doesn’t just ask, “how are you?” but “how are you really?”
You do not take them wit a grain of salt.
You listen deeply to the rhythm of their flow and you let their words hold you closely in cold summer rains.
You do not end with the superficial.
You see them through your third eye vision cleared by the awakening of a consciousness captured in the exchange.
How do you have a conversation with a poet?
You speak words to their words.
You speak words to their words.
You. Speak. Words. To. Their Words.
You do not just read them and carry on.

Happy Birthday Momma!!!! 7/12/14

Today is the B(Earth)Day of the Most Fantastic, Spectacular, Amazing, Phenomenal Woman I will ever have the Pleasure and Honor of Being a part of My Life:

😍😍😍😘😘😘💜💜💜💜👑 My Mother, Sheila Hatcher!!!! 🎷💜💜💜💜🙏🙏🙏👏👏👏

I’ve been Blessed with her for 22 years of My Life, the World many more years and the Universe an Eternity 🙌🙌🙌

In Tribute to the Greatness that is My Mother, I wrote her a poem (that imma read her later today as a surprise :P) and I want to share:

“Sheila Hatcher” by Mykell Hatcher-McLarin 7/12/14

Hope comes in a form of something to believe in.
What do you believe in?
Hope for me is not a what but a who.
I believe in Sheila Hatcher.
My Mother.
My Mother who raised me, on her own, and did so with a force of a thousand mountains moving me from the Earth of Raw Sugar Skin up into Skies of Lavender Scarfs and Orange Peels and Black Pupils looking at me and saying,
“I am proud of you.”
She is proud of me.
Her child.
Her child who didn’t think it was possible to make a woman so strong, so powerful, so real, so everything loving that God wrapped up her into a Soul Unlimited by Life and Blessed Me by putting My Soul in the Body of her Womb.
I was Born into Royalty.
For My Mother is Divine.
A Queen.
A Queen who does not only Rule with an Iron Fist but also a Caring Open Hand holding me up with Love the span of Kingdoms and Heart encrusted with Gold of Truth and Gems of Wisdom.
She passed them to Me.
Her Royals given to
Her Prince.
Her Prince who never thought he could Rule his own kingdom or lead a people but is always Reassured by the Supportive Embrace of My Mother who took me by the hand and said in full,
“You are destined for great things Mykell.
All You have to do is Believe.”
And so I do.
I hold Hope in my Heart:
Her Child.
A Prince.
Mykell Hatcher-McLarin.
Because I have someone to Believe In:
My Mother.
A Queen.
Sheila Hatcher.

Mountain Names (poetry)

“Mountain Names” by Mykell Hatcher-McLarin 7/12/14

Open Plains.
Mountain Names
Shouted from the Top of the World right through the Pain
Disappeared within the Healing Frames looking down on past Loathing and Shame.
Echoing through the Caverns of Hope obtained is
Mykell M Hatcher-McLarin,
My Name.
I didn’t know I could Climb So High and feel Proud of where I’ve been Maimed.
Not cuz I Enjoyed those Days but because I came through them Changed.

May I Universe? (Poetry)

“May I Universe?” by Mykell Hatcher-McLarin 7/10/14

May I write poetry in your arms?
Laying under arches shooting stars into galaxies wrapped around My Heart, Me.
I’ll use novas to spell L-O-V-E.
I’ll write it out, Intentionally…
May I recite poetry in your arms?
You’ll hear me over the nebulas exploding from my voice as fear begins corroding.
Stardust comes down to Earth Free-floating.
And Life is Recreated, Hoping…
May I write poetry in your arms?
Move stars around to create words of Healing that’ll shift rotations of Feelings.
There’s nothing I’m Concealing.
I’m in the process of Revealing…
May I recite poetry in your arms?
It’ll sound like meteor showers raining Truth, filling this Space I Share with You.
Trust Me, Intimacy will Ensue.
I Promise, I Do…
I’ll write poetry in your Sunrise.
I’ll recite poetry in your Moon-filled Skies.
Look into the Stars through My Eyes
and watch all the planets Align.
As the Depth of this Moment Expands,
My Soul, You’ll come to Understand.
I’ll Be Here, an Evolving Man.
Just Please Hold Me and…
Let me Write Poetry in Your Arms
and I’ll cause you No Harm.
Every Word I Tell You is True
for this is All I Want to Do.