Tag Archives: poetry

Poetry, Prosetry

It Comes and Goes in Waves – Alexandra Mayer

I was quiet that night

mesmerized by the fire– 

I guess. 

And I saw 

Embers float to the heavens 

where they became stars. 

The moon greeted them 

with a cheshire-cat smile

and they all laughed at the mortals below. 

There was music in the crackle of the fire

and in the way accents melted together

stealing meaning from words. 

And your lover told me that we should be friends. 

“Because we both like to drink a lot.”
Whatever that means. 

I tried my best to be kind

because you showed me the painting she created-

two hands of daisies, bursting from the clouds.

It’s hard to explain,

But I like it. 

And I like her knobby knees 

and her red hair

and the way she bites her lower lip.

So we shared a bottle of fourteen dollar vodka–

And together we swallowed fire 

and we smiled when the heat slid into our stomachs 

and when the world started to blur into a haze of browns, oranges, and blues.

Then a bright light trickled through the trees. 

And a shout: 

“Cops… Run!”

So I did

I fled 

deeper 

and deeper 

into the forest 

before diving into a prickle bush

where thorns clawed my skin,

drawing blood here and there. 

But I didn’t really notice, or feel any pain.

I didn’t notice you either

until you knelt down next to me and whispered in my ear,

“this doesn’t leave these trees.”

A kiss. 

You kissed me. 

A moment. 

Nothing more. 

And when the sun rose,

I wasn’t dizzy. 

I could see the trees clearly.

I could feel the gashes in my skin. 

And I laughed

because you were nowhere to be found

And I was okay with being alone.

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Poetry

The Shadows We Run From – Brooke Safferman

You are the Splenda in my cup of tea

A little something sweet, even if you aren’t the real deal

One little sip is all I need to keep the nightmares away

When my hand is in yours, invincible becomes more than just a word.

 

You told me my yellow sundress embodies the springtime itself,

My peppermint lip balm, the dead of winter

With you, I become one of the cherry blossoms blooming on the tree next door

The only thing you made me lose is loss, itself.

 

And the windowpanes would speak if they could,

Whisper their memories about who and what happened in this house before we did

The floorboards creak with stories, and hopes, and dreams 

Fulfilled and latched on to, 

We will write a story of our own: 

The closing line, the acknowledgments, but most importantly, the epilogue

 

The shadows we run from are merely ourselves.

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Poetry, Prosetry

Water – Iman Messado

Here’s a thing I read in a science book once,
The world is like 70% water.
There’s lakes and oceans and ponds and bathtubs and –
Water doesn’t scare me at all,
What’s there to fear in oxygen atoms and hydrogen bonds?
I’ve always wanted to learn how to swim though,
I’ve dreamt of being at home in water,
like the stage is to a dancer.
Did you know that I’m a cancer?

Here’s a thought I had in the shower once:
Crying is a waste of time.
I mean, sure, there’s catharsis in the tears struggling their way out of the confines of your tear ducts and stubborn pride.
Catharsis that can’t be found when bottling your tears up and hoping something good can work.
But I’m not the type to wade in pools of Fear and Pity,
It’s better to patch up the dams and feign laughter at something witty.

Here’s a secret that that’s not actually a secret:
I don’t know how to swim.
I’m sure I could if only convenience granted me the opportunity.
I’m not scared, not apprehensive, there aren’t any storm clouds of doubt and derision spoiling my confidence.


I’ve asked quite a few people how they swim, people who know all about hydrogen bonds and who probably shed a few tears once in a while.
People who swim without ever having their head touch the water and others who do this strange kicking thing and still others who make exaggerated gestures and knock other people out of the way.


I’m standing on the edge of the concrete border of the community pool when i affirm a sneaking suspicion I’ve had for a while now.
There is no uniform way to swim nor is there a predestined form i’m to take so as to swim in the most efficient way possible.


All I can do is leap and splash and wait until the sun turns my skin even more brown.
So that’s what i do: i leap and splash and wonder if a day will come when i’ll drown.


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Poetry

Home Alone – Haley Ingram

Home is were the heart is. 

Veins and arteries interlocked 
Stronger than the hands you used to make me think twice. 
Looking every direction
Never quite understanding why
And never questioning the use of the word 
love. 
Because questions were just another way of getting your deigning breath into my system;
Recognizing the sound as if it was a morning’s alarm. 
As if every failed attempt of pronouncing our name deafened you to anything that sounded like a cry for help. 
So I’d run and hide. 
You didn’t quite like that. 
You didn’t like the idea of your words being so loosely held,
So you shortened the chain 
and I shortened my veins. 
Every time. 
I ended up with an empty muscle and a pathetic travesty of emotion. 
So I’d run. 
I didn’t hide, I drank and drank
The rain hoping to forget the hand that fed me
Because it pushed me from dancing. 
I ran in the street that I never learned my lessons in because I was taught by the book
The book you never wrote
But followed so vaguely until you decided to add a page 
from the bark our tree,
To write accommodations for the mistakes you refuse to have made. 
So you slice a sheer and process your final say. 
But your words are not strong enough to resist gravity-
You never recalled the impossible regeneration of deadweight. 
But it’s okay now!
I didn’t die at my own hand and I
SUPPOSE
Letting go is a natural cause
So I can still make it to heaven-
I am a fallen branch.
And darling,
You cannot recycle broken limbs. 
There is no hospital for a broken home. 
This home is too perfect to be broken,
So I understand your frustration when my skin didn’t cut the way you intended me to.

Maybe it’s because of the countless rejections of becoming closer to you. 
When I was afraid at night. 
When I drove myself to be near you
But was shoved in the positioning
Of our portraits. 
Maybe it’s because when I touch the grass you fear me growing too fast. Is that why you’re allergic to weeds?
Perhaps all of your spoken success I will never feel in your memory.
When my life(or lack thereof) started to weigh you down you grafted me back onto to your hip claiming me to be a loved one
And marking me number 4 in your 99 cent pen. 
A chain gang of-
Love. 
Family. 
The sweat from your grip is enough to wipe off the labels you give me. 
I can slip from your eyes- your ball and chain eyes-
And the world I offer this disregarded muscle
Will never be as dangerous to you,
As the home metastasizing to it. 
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Prose

the adventure I wish I could have – Elena Barrera-Waters

spring break, I’m flooded with everyone’s pictures.
all of their shots of the waves at the beach,
or of the castles or the food of the new country they’re visiting, 
or the ski lifts above those gorgeous green pines.

it’s a little bit hard,
to be able to submit my own to this
grand collection of memories when I know that you
won’t get yours.

it’s not my fault, i know that.
but more than anything, I wish you were here.
I wish you were my adventure, 
or at least a part of it.
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Poetry

A Ballad to The Beautiful – Ivy Juniper Manchester

To the condescending misters,

Frowning upon the girls,

Who are afraid of food,

And scratch at their bellies,

Begging to be twigs.

You look down upon us,

Patronizing our emotions,

Asking why, dear god, why

Why are we so damn unhappy

With the way we look-

You gasp at our comparisons,

To the photoshopped models  

We can never be.

You beg us,

Preaching oh so saintly,

That everyone is beautiful.

You show us

Expectations of what we cannot be,

Defining our thoughts of beauty,

Sighing sadly at the girls,

Who claw at their thighs,

And run away from dessert.

And still,

You have the audacity

To tell me to feel pretty.

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Poetry

One On My Mind – Brooke Safferman

 

Dancing into the twilight,

Stars ablaze, much like your wide-open heart

Twirling into oblivion, you are the only

One on my mind

 

Gold and red and silver and bronze

Fistfuls of thick hair that I’m always so honored to

Touch

In the morning light, By the fireside, with the hot chocolate and the blueberry pancakes

We’re all slightly overcooked but without a flaw, all the same, you are the only

One on my mind

 

Curled up in Paradise on a couch,

books are the only sand and sun we need

we pay no matter to the clocks on the wall

the only ticking is the sound of our heart beating

one heart, we are two of the same and you are the only

One on my mind

 

And the bliss is never-ending.

You respect me on the days when I don’t even want to look at myself, and

You know about things I never would have dreamed of:

Palindromes and the perfect angel food cake; crossword puzzles and blanket forts

But even with all of this newfound knowledge, well, you are the only

One on my mind.

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Poetry

on space junk and stars – Ivy Junpier Manchester

“If the universe was more celestial than theory and technicality, 

you would be the Sun, 

and I? 

the moon, 

mere space rubble, 

waiting to be illuminated by your presence. 

A collection of asteroids clash, 

Showering meteorites, 

And even Halley’s heart melts. 

You make Earth, Pluto, 

Billions of people 

deprived of you, 

Stuck in winter, 

missing what they never knew, 

forever craving the idea of you. 

you swear 

on Jupiter or whatever god you believe in, 

I’m different, 

but I’m no one, 

another fan, 93 million miles away, 

still imagining our fates intertwined, 

like every constellation, 

spelling out your name. 

And there goes the story 

of nobody’s star.

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Prose

the back of a book I will never write – Karlee Sanders

you know that feeling when you step outside for the first time on a snowy morning? that awe-striking moment when you can’t breathe because of the intensely fresh air flooding into your lungs? well, that’s what he was to me. he was my breath of fresh air. he was my new start. and honestly, nothing else mattered

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Prosetry, Short Story

The Time You Set Your House on Fire – Samantha Forsyth 

Put off by the smell of gasoline. It was hard to ask yourself to abhor your senses. To walk out of the front door without saying goodbye and disregard the dizziness when you smelt the petrol. It’s the feeling of breaking your own nose with movements quick and uncontrolled when you were running through the hallways, and now you’re pouring a trail that starts and ends out the front door. You’re unsatisfied just being happy. 

It’s not enough until it’s burnt. Until you can see a fire consume itself in real time. Your mother makes you breakfast everyday in that house and your father shares the paper with you. You won’t ever have to worry about losing them again because you know you’ll be able to keep the ashes if you decide you want to. Now you can run your fingers through every memory of early childhood and bathe in the question of permanence. Stand before the destruction you’ve created. 

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