In the earlier hours before the gates are open and lights are on
He stays back near the ocean, avoiding the sting of solid ground
But slowly he must creep forth, and envelop those beyond the bridges
Into the city before dawn, creeping down past Maiden Lane
Surrounding the chatty store owners of the Embarcadero
Confusing the seals, who look around for their mates through the haze
Then past the city, onto the mainland
Cargo loading dock crew members shout through his mist
And men on their way to work must push through his gloom
Can he make it over the Oakland Hills today?
But yes, he must push past Berkeley and climb the uneven mass
Traveling along the highway, he forces himself to settle dew upon cars
As young drivers struggle to make their way to school
But he must continue, on to Mount Diablo
And when he finally reaches the foothills
The fog knows he has done his job.
Tag Archives: poems
Fallen In Love – Elena Barrera-Waters
fallen in love
i’ve fallen in love
a few times, i think.
the first, with my 8 year old birthday present.
that puppy,
selfish and golden both in spirit and in color,
saved my life. when my second grade self
suddenly had to be the terrified person i shouldn’t have had to be,
i had a baby dog to remind me i was still a baby human
and i’d be just as ok as he was.
the second, with a boy.
a boy who didn’t care, and who convinced me i didn’t care,
that he loved a lot more people than just
- a boy who made us code names, because
that’s all we could ever be to each other. a boy who knew every
inch of my soul, until he didn’t anymore.
then, guess what? another boy.
i can’t say if it was love for sure, i only know it felt like it
once it was over. once i was listening to that song
and pretending he hadn’t called me all of those things,
over and over and over. then forgiving him and then hating him
and forgiving him. finally telling myself
that even if it was love, it wasn’t the good kind.
i fell in love with school.
with binders full of study tips and summer reading lists created entirely by myself,
because school doesn’t go away.
with reading everything i could get my hands on,
with reading everything and letting the idea of college carry me.
i fell in love with working.
finding as many internships as i could get my hands on,
because all these people i worked with were as in love
with it as i was,
their lives just as wrapped up in balancing work and school and
life as mine.
i fell in love with happiness.
middle school wasn’t happiness, so once i’d found it again,
i was in love. yelling songs at the top of my lungs
like you see in those movies and having a group of friends
that felt like forever and ever
and baking cookies for fun like i used to love to do.
but as in most love stories, that goes away.
friends go away.
happiness has to go away so you can feel it and know it
when it comes back.
and it does come back.
most recently, i’ve fallen in love with you.
the one who told me that if you ever acted like boy 1 or boy 2,
that I should just be done with you.
the one who helps my world perception clear,
the one who listens and really hears.
and even if tomorrow this one decided it was no more,
at least this boy loved me like they hadn’t before.
Teen Angst – Iman Messado
I think I’d rather call it cognitive dissonance.
But the only thing about that practice
is that it’s wrong because it’s not fragments of my mind that aren’t aligning.
If I’m my mind then nothing is really wrong at all,
except that my body is my temple and
i’ve been forced to inhabit it.
But if my body is my temple,
who am I being made to worship?
If it’s my mind, then I’m even more upset
because that’s cognitive dissonance without wiggle room.
Tell me, who’s visiting the temple?
I’m somehow both my mind and my body and whatever is in between or whatever is higher than all of that and maybe i’m on some other dimension or plane of existence or state of being and–
The problem is that all of that doesn’t help right now.
What are metaphysical musings when
hormones or whatever are leaving you depressed beyond common conciliation?
I’ve got a decided mental dogma.
I know what I want and I know how to act and I know how to think,
but all of that doesn’t seem to matter,
in the face of all of this
(bland/nothing/self-pitying/why does everything matter so much)-ness
I kind of hate being a teenager because
it’s not as if anything is coming out of these
silly little down-in-the-dumps-horrible-miserable episodes.
If I’m still wondering if my body is my temple at 34,
I’ll be taking my morning coffee with a teaspoon of bullshit.
(metaphorically though).
Slut Wall – Alex Esterline
If high school walls could talk; they’d probably say: “Why are you using ‘gay’ like that?” or maybe “Why do you keep calling people ‘sluts’?”
For the last week, our school’s gender-sexuality alliance has been working on a mural that was recently approved by our principal. Murals had been painted on the walls before, so at first; this was nothing too unusual.
The design centralizes around two eyes; one closed, and one wide open. On the closed eye are all of the detrimental words and phrases people use, such as “Slut”, “That’s gay”, or “What a wimp”. The bolder, more colorful eye that is open uses words such as “Beautiful” and “Strong” and centralizes around the word “HUMAN”. Below it is a quote from Laverne Cox, which says “…We are not what other people say we are, we are what we know ourselves to be, and we are what we love”.
Soon, however, this design started sparking controversy in the school. The use of the word “Slut” had been criticized by a couple of people before spreading like wildfire in the school. If you look at the wall, however, “Slut” is actually the smallest word on the entire wall- and it’s being taken out of context. Soon twitter featured lots of people from our school planning to petition to get the word “slut” removed. I like to imagine the controversy starting like this:
Person 1: “Wow the word ‘slut’ is on that new mural”
Person 2: “Woah, they painted ‘slut’ on the wall?”
Person 3: “I CAN’T BELIEVE THE WALL SAYS SLUT ON IT WE CAN’T HAVE A SLUT WALL IN THIS SCHOOL WHAT THE HECK”
So, naturally, the entire school is now up in arms about the mural. We’re hoping that the attitude will change once the wall is completely done. One thing we have certainly learned throughout all of this is that good art generates good discussion.
Many people have come up to me and the artist, asking about the wall, with generally underdeveloped arguments.
Their side consists of this argument solely: “What if children walk by and ask their parents what that word means? I want this high school to be a good place for everyone”
Our side goes like this: “First of all, ‘slut’ is not the only bad word on that wall- in fact, it’s one of the less significant ones to children. One child, in particular, walked by and asked his mom about the word “stupid” and talked about how that’s a bad word that people shouldn’t say. His mom simply responded, ‘That’s right, and the painting tells you that you shouldn’t’. The son’s only response: ‘Oh.”. Second, we combat the use of the word ‘slut’ by proving that it is only a negative word when that power is given behind it, much like the use of the phrase ‘That’s gay’. There is no negative connotation to it when people realize the true implications of what they’re saying. If you want to remove the stigma, support the mural. Finally; Art is supposed to make an impact on your life. Good art will raise discussion, and you may have differing viewpoints, but this mural is our space to express our ideas. Do not fight our movement unless you truly see it as corrupt, and do not interfere with others’ beliefs if it might not coincide with yours; because after all, that doesn’t make you opinionated; that makes you a scumbag.”
Generation Y+Z= Love – Ugonma Ubani-Ebere
But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is social media, and Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram is the sun
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious Myspace
Who is already sick and pale with grief.
That thou her maid art more fair than she.
Love they said. It will make the world go around they said.
In a world where chivalry is replaced by thirst.
A virgin now wears a Scarlett Letter with a V, because she is a rarity in society
Sex is as casual as a conversation.
Body counts are the new public relations.
A relationship status means more than “I love you”
While some are content with just being a side chick or boo.
We argue through 140 characters instead of actually talking it out.
And words can only be expressed through texts instead of our mouths
Flirting has now evolved into multiple likes on Instagram.
Intimacy is shown through FaceTime.
It is now easier to find a hot date on Tinder in the palm of your hand.
Self pleasure comes from a selfie as we kiss ourselves through lenses.
Waves of materialistic pleasure wash away our expenses.
No longer do we value relationships, but put our hopes in “situationships.”
Social media is becoming a sanctuary, where we worship celebrities as Zeus and Aphrodites.
Morals come from Worldstar, as we wish upon it to make us famous.
We are walkers, walking dead in barren land of lost authenticity and insincere affection.
Social media has become our generation’s predilection.
We have fallen truly, madly, and deeply in love with our soul mates.
If you listen closely, you can hear the soul chant:
Oh Social media, Oh Social media! wherefore art thou Social media
Deny thy maker, and refuse thy name;
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love
And I’ll no longer be a Human.
Our Now – Harika Kottakoka
Now, we must stand!
stake our lives
for equivocal things
that our hearts certainly
Revere.
But our gazes steady,
our triumph ordained in diamond
even the finest
edges of terror
Will shatter.
Now, we must choose!
between eternities
embalmed with reticence
or seconds of compassion,
a sparkle of
Fulfillment.
Old Friend – Alexandra Mayer
Fuck. It’s happening.
I’m feeling again.
Splayed open on the grass,
the sun makes my lipstick stick
and my dress cling.
And Old San Juan is cracking.
Paint stripped from Cafe Cola’o
digs beneath my fingers.
Let this place burrow inside of me.
Let the tourists trickle back to sea,
they’ll remember the pastel colors.
And my pink undies, lined in lace
peak out at the sky.
This isn’t about sex.
It’s about laughter.
I am the best friend.
Look back on what I’ve done and crumble
in awe, I am in love
with everything.
Flowers and vines won’t stop bursting from my eyes.
And he feels like home– like coffee rings on the old oak table,
on loose leaf paper, on my mother’s piano compositions.
I wish I could draw music.
It’s all just lines anyway.
like the dutch horizon,
threaded with tulips and crimson.
or the angles of a new york city corner
or the way night soothes the ocean.
I scribbled notes about what I’ve learned and how I’ve changed
on the train home from London.
Funny how an old mental institution with crusty yellow walls, and five locks turned to family.
Sometimes, I even miss that quivering light.
And I miss the electronic beats.
And biting my lip till it bled because I couldn’t feel my mouth.
And the wobbly bike and that damned quivering light.
I’m fluent in Spanish, but only when I’m drunk or dreaming.
He snatched my hand,
tore my bones away from the party.
Collapsed in a puddle and screamed.
“Scream with me.”
I did.
And rips of yellow, that crusty yellow, scattered the sky
And I started crying just because present always turns to past
And that’s the only thing I know.
“Are you okay?”
I am.
—
I tried calling the other day.
His voicemail recording is still the same:
“you are not dreaming.”
And the automated lady was curt when she said “goodbye.”
And the butterflies sleeping in my stomach finally woke up,
They stirred a bit, before flooding my lungs–
Only some tore their wings in my teeth on their way to the world.
I Pick Me – Brooke Safferman
I longed for the days we used to have
Back when we were free from our shadows
And the things that existed beneath the surface
But quite subtly but yet so boldly all at once, you had
Changed.
You were always my favorite escape
Until I knew all there was to know about you
Or so I thought.
Or so I thought.
You imprisoned me, kept me in a cage with steel bars built of your emotions
Some metallic alloy composed of your cruelty and my acceptance of something Primitive and unforgiving
Your rules were Creed and Scripture and Rhythm
Every word you spoke dictated the very substance of my life,
All actions traced back to you.
But could you blame me, really?
Spellbound by the authoritative way your lips moved across my own
I lost myself somewhere
In between the “I love you”’s and the “You’re the best”’s
I knew who you really were:
A ruler and a tyrannical dictator
Control was your elixir, Power, your mighty Pandora’s Box
As much as I crave you, sublime in all your mercilessness,
There is something I must tell you:
I Pick Me.
And I must walk away.
Menen – Ian Dean
As far as I can see I admire you,
And so you have inadvertently lead me into folly.
But how could you, that has said so little,
Lead so passionately without even speaking?
As misunderstood as the worth of diamond
The thought of speech of the beauty not siren.
Such a note that is yet unsung;
I wish to hear your native tongue
Which I have been told is nothing more than
What can be found, and has been, here
Regardless of how shallow informant’s depth
Your vibrant face is full of breath
As brown as coffee of your country
I found you new as herder Kaldi
And often, I know, I’ll meet your face
A habesha girl with hair of grace,
That shelters you from eyes of envy,
Rests as soft as your skins consistency
As passionate as my perceived bestiality,
I have yet to know of your personality.
Past waves of tef that equal nigh
The count of stars found in your eyes
Had cursed men and sent to die!
They look to much in glaring skies.
Will you take me as am?
Consider despite a foreign man,
Or maybe was it yet my plan
That led me here by my hand?
Could you ever gave the damn,
To hush the world and take my hand?
The One Who Knew Me Best, The First One I’d Never Lose – Brooke Safferman
My dreams are haunted by
The loss of you, The One Who Knew Me Best.
Golden hair thicker than the forest
That we took a walk in that first time
You kissed me
And I vowed you would be
The First One I’d Never Lose.
Here I am, a year later and still scratching
My first two initials with that of your last name
Onto my notebooks like some 10-year-old in puppy love
Onto my desk chair like a punk who sits in the back of the classroom
Into my heart with each and every memory
Of the way your face lit up when you bought me tiny sunflowers,
Of the earnest sound of your laugh when I told old jokes
that weren’t even funny,
Of your whispering breath when you told me how I was
The Girl You Had Always Wanted To Find.
Time is a funny thing I’ll never understand;
The older it grows, so does your soul.
But mark my words:
No matter how many days and
Hours and
Minutes and
Seconds tick on by
On the retro cat clock with the scanning eyes
(Back-and-forth, back-and-forth)
That you had given to me as our last anniversary present,
Well,
Just know that there will never be another you.
You and me, we were burgled that night.
A hit-and-run,
A drunk driver and his equally drunken friends,
Robbers.
They stole your life,
And they stole you away from me.
So rest in peace,
The One Who Knew Me Best,
The First One I’d Never Lose.
I will Love you always.
-The Girl You Had Always Wanted to Find
Inkling 