Flash Fiction, Poetry

(untitled) – Karlee Saunders

I never knew just how much I would miss the glances we would give each other every now and then as we walked

nor did I expect my hands to feel empty with every move I made

I didn’t realize the things I was taking for granted before he left

but now his eyes are filled with infatuation for another

and I’m still here

ks

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Prosetry

Heat Wave – Iman Messado

the heavy days of summer are over
the pregnant rain
and the ripening leaves
and the lazy breeze
embrace your still sleeping form
lying in the emerald grass
the heavy days of summer are over
sticky globs of strawberry jam
on thick cut meaty bread
gallons and gallons of too sweet iced tea
bumps and mounds on children’s legs
young blood running freely from cuts and scrapes
the heavy days of summer are over
sleepy eyes – inky, deepest black, almost celestial
i wonder
if i stare long enough
can i reach in
and pull the universe out?
i want this heavy, heavy summer to last for an eternity
and i see it in your eyes
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Poetry

a.w. Circa 2009 – Ally Ameel

why did she write

so often

of fireworks

as if she could have become one

exploding into the night sky

finally being noticed

to hear the applause

of the wonder she created

did she solely want to be loved

for the colors that she held

I think of her often

like a foreign film

with scenes

that I have seen before

but can not recall the words of

sometimes

I sit on the steps outside

and try to make myself believe

that she will come again

that I will look down

just as I hear footsteps

denying that it is real

only to find her

looking at me

with twinkling eyes

to grab my hand

and pull me along

for another adventure

I still have the notes

that she passed to me

in the days when I so admired

being noticed

it was enough

that she would write my name

in big letters

with swirling designs inside of them

we would run away

the house shrinking behind us

our shoes slapping the pavement

as we laughed

trying to catch our breath

but running even faster

i can see her looking back at me

our hands still folded into each other

like an envelope

holding a secret

I could hear our whispers

intermingling in the air

as ice cream dripped onto our hands

and covered our mouths

she would have gotten mint chocolate chip

and somehow

we would be talking to the cute boys

and I would be glowing

because that was what happened

she would be bright

and somehow I would be bright too

and we would be an unstoppable force

even when I spilled soda

onto my shirt at the movies

we ran into the bathroom

giggling

hurrying back into the theater

we smiled to each other

as the plot became lost

but I knew that

only she would have left for me

I remember when I knew

I knew that she was leaving

and wasn’t coming back

I saw her again

but never the same

she still glowed and twinkled

but I had to learn to be bright

on my own

I hope

that she still

remembers me

I hope

that she

sometimes

thinks

of the times

when we shined

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Poetry

Hey – Brooke Safferman

Hey, you say,

I just called to tell you that I love you.

Or do I? Do you? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

So I laugh, and hang up, and leave you hanging,

Like you always do to me.

This power dynamic,

It’s sick and it’s twisted and deliciously unbelievable

Like the kind of chemistry that they try to show in those old shitty movies

That you love so much,

You know, the ones that you always go on about

with all of your obscure references

that we all roll our Young and Fresh and Free eyes at

But your own freedom is something you crave

You’ve shown me how lost you’d be without it

Oh, but how you would find yourself if you gave it all away!

To someone you can trust,

To someone you could try to believe would never hurt you

But promises are dangerous things, I know.

Oh trust me, I know!

But I will never give up on showing you

What an amazing person I think you could be

If you would only let yourself become the guy you’ve always wanted

You were always too afraid to even try, you say,

Well, I’m here now.

So don’t you dare take my hand because that’s not the way we do romance.

What we have is dipped in arsenic, in benzene,

Like a shortbread cookie with the chocolate, oh,

The coating melts on my fingers, and my tongue melts in your mouth

It’s so damn easy to ignore the way anyone else has ever tasted inside of me

And I smile when I forget that you liked my friend

And you smile when I forget that I liked yours

And we come together, wrapped up in the salty smell of angst and adoration,

And we know that what we have is real, but that the movies tell us lies.

Hey, you say.

Hey.

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Poetry

Autumn – Ally Ameel

and fall

slipped in

on the breeze

singing songs

that I wanted to know

and the sun cast a light

over all things beautiful

as colors exploded

like fireworks

and smells drifted through the air

of pumpkin and cinnamon

and all things sweet

the coolness overtook me

drowning me

pulling me under

through the ground beneath my feet

the same color as your eyes

the sky was blue

just blue

like the backdrop of my dream

when you kissed me lightly

and my thoughts swirled

like the foam

in the coffee

i don’t particularly like the smell of

and i could feel autumn

coursing through my veins

as i sunk into your eyes

or maybe the ground

i’m not sure anymore

nor am i sure that i am falling for you

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Poetry

Regalities of Plainness, pt. 3 – Bryn Bluth

His face is sandpaper, his hands a safe-house. he passes by and I fight the urge to put pen to paper then and there. Even if I did, his face shifts this way or the other, avoiding me, my gaze, unable to be captured by something so worldly as a ballpoint. He is a poem, his hands the second stanza- not the kind you’d hold so much as the kind you want on your shoulder, holding you back from harm and pushing you toward opportunity. He is a poem.

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Poetry

Graffiti on the Berlin Wall – Alexandra Mayer

Another day passes outside the window of a plane
I cross dusk with 170 strangers who hold each other’s hands or thighs when the clouds quiver.

And I can’t stop thinking about your fingers running through my hair

or the way your eyes knocked into me that July.

You made me feel like feeling itself was cracking from my chest

and hurtling across the universe,

becoming every iron, nitrogen, oxygen, n’ sulfur soul that lost the sunset to the sunrise

in thoughts of “I want you”

Because your lips burn cosmic explosions into my skin:

a creation story.

Now, heads drape over the mountains

like the twinkle lights you hung out on the patio for Christmas–

You tried to play Claire de Lune on your harmonica

and remember that you loved me.

But you left 8 months later

on a Tuesday.

7:53 p.m.

The pool lights stained your words teal

and smeared my eyeliner into a glimmering sort of heavy.

You said “late summer’s nostalgic,”

noticed the fireflies had all gone,

and I could hear crickets whimper to the sun,

“don’t go.”

And I never wanted another falling moon or set of sandpaper hands to hang onto.

You said I felt frail

like a dandelion you were keeping

from the wind.

And then you just let go.

That night, I woke up laughing,

as 1,000 tiny suns sprouted from my lips,

already dreaming of drifting.

Crossing through purple skies

like telephone wires

rushing to the seaside.

Paris stole my lipstick.

smeared it across cheeks

and hostel sheets and wine glasses, Merlot,

turned my teeth violet and my heart

a violent sort

of love you,

maddened by the beauty of it all.

Like I could chase train tracks

into the self I wanted

into Budapest, or Berlin.

A decrepit sort of art,

like you could tear

my heart into dusty fallen parts

and I’d just become more,

and faces and feet would flood through me, paint

bucket lists on my thighs and think of freedom.
I was never meant to be kept from the wind.

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