Flash Fiction, Prose

i took a ride on the subway – Iman Messado

Pull your thoughts together
as if they were stray strings
dangling off the hem of your silk camisole
spend a lot of money on
transportation
because you have two legs
and lungs and motor skills
but you’re sitting on a tattered bus seat anyway
paranoia is a clinical illness
not the fluttering urge to
shut your journal when strangers
pile in through closing subway doors
whimsy means platinum
and milk and stars and sky
it means trees and kindness and strawberries
it means wit and welcoming
and probably feminism
always get on the metro at the first stop
so that then you can watch
pockmarked faces and pockmarked thighs
and toothless faces and gaping mouths
also,
you’ll have a seat.
maybe.
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Poetry

Dark Heart – Ugonma Ubani-Ebere

Darkness.
I can see it
My eyes are open, but I am still blind
I can feel it.
Empty, hollow, and a velvety sorrow.
I can taste it
A bittersweet fear, mixed with salty tears
I can hear it
A silent muted sound of desperation.
And my pulse racing with perspiration
I stretch out my hand to seek your solace
Nothing
I call out your name, so we can embrace
Nothing
I feel the loneliness creep up my spine
Nothing
I repeat my mantra that I am fine
Nothing
Darkness cannot exist without light
But where is the light in my time of need?
The light is the only thing my soul can heed
I press on in the pitch black despite my conscience opposition
The darkness draws me in without caution
I’m convinced that you are in the darkness waiting for me
I just can’t see
I continuously call out your name
Nothing
Hoping you will do the same
Nothing
Extending my hand for your touch
Nothing
I miss your voice so much
Nothing
No light can set apart
The darkness in my heart
I call for you once more in the absence of your presence
Nothing
I am nothing
So I welcome the darkness, not as an enemy
But an old friend.
Who my heart will cherish to the end

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Poetry

Takeoff – Alex Esterline

a·vi·a·tion

  1. the flying or operating of aircraft.

That which man previously thought impossible,

now sold commercially.

The world is connected by flights

to any destination one could need.

Millions fly every day, strapping themselves in,

preparing for their stomachs to counteract the

soaring climb through the clouds.

Some excited,

Some terrified.

As the wings soar through the pinkest of skies,

Most are scared of the plane itself,

yet there’s one thing i’d fear most-

it’s stepping out of the jetway, and

seeing you-

the one who leaves sunspots in my eyes.

What’s it like knowing

that the slightest touch of your hands

would surmount any ascent through the skies?

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Prose, Prosetry

beliefs – Karlee Sanders

lovely,

unblemished,
immaculate,
perfection of the finest sorts.
never-ending purity and compassion,
ever flowing—yes—overflowing
with mercy and grace.
set apart,
holy, bold, and strong.
the King of all Kings.
Savior and honorary Lord of all.
miracle worker,
omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient.
Jesus.
this—this is what I believe in.
ks
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Poetry

We Tiptoe on Thorns – Poppy Lam

Forever alone
I’m surrounded by people
Merely puppets
With painted masks
Too afraid to rebel
To stand up to society
Unknowing eyes
Yet telling tales
Without words
They enjoy our fails
We swallow their glass
We Tiptoe on thorns
Aren’t you tired of loosing blood?
Aren’t you tired of wincing with every step?
Why not crack the mask and  make your own path
The candle is already flickering
And It was evernescent  from the start.
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Poetry, Prosetry

You Like to Play with Danger, Don’t You? – Brooke Safferman

You like to play with danger, don’t you?

Sexuality undulating like the ocean’s waves, wit as sharp as the scissors in your back pocket

Of course, you say, I like to be hands on, you say as you cut open the package with

One single line of bad intentions.

My eyes drop down to the dirt beneath the plot of grass, and

The toe of your left cowboy boot’s digging in to the very earth that birthed you

Mother, oh Mother, where are you now?

The entirety of my mind is a word-search puzzle,

Full of the words I cannot say because they’re all scrambled up hopelessly,

Like the eggs your papa used to cook for us when we were still just sleepy kids

But over the years I’ve learned the hard way not to hold your hand for too long because

You like to play with danger… don’t you?

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Poetry

Through Their Eyes – Poppy Lam

Through their eye’s everything is magnified,
A light touch is a mighty blow,
A flick of a switch is a raging storm,
A small ember is a seething hell,
They feel the need to convert experiences into masterpieces
Be it photos, drawing, music or writing
It may just be a snap of a camera but it’s their way of capturing their life and seeing it from a new perspective
It may just be a few sketchy lines but it’s how they portray their emotions and discover themselves
It may just be a few notes but it’s their sole way of communicating with the world
It may just be ink to a page but it’s their emotions soaring over the white landscape
The need to fill the obsidian darkness which lingers within
To drop the mask, stand back and watch it shatter
So you go and judge but we won’t be the one’s coughing up the ashes of a burnt out flame.

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Poetry, Prosetry

Perspective of a Man – Karlee Sanders

every sunrise,
every sappy love quote,
could never be as beautiful
as the words her fingers wrote—
in the sky
connecting constellations
to the moon.
maybe it was the way she looked in the night air.
the picturesque white light on her face,
she was all things innocent and as innocuous as she could be.
but when the moonlight fell upon her fair skin,
she was a wildfire of blue and purple mixed with the almost fluorescent light and soft brown in her eyes and hair.
she could’ve outshone the sun.
not a soul on this planet could ever convince me that she was flawed in any way.
the way she touched my hands ever so carefully made me feel intoxicated with the inane butterflies she always rambled about.
when our eyes met that night, we were a part of the same dark sky we wore on our shoulders.
we were stars.
and nothing else mattered.
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