Tag Archives: prose

Poetry

Capgras Delusions and You (The Body) – Matt Grydzuk

Degauss the stars like cathode ray tubes using only your hands

The body first thinks explicitly in omens, or foretelling the end of things

Sleep less than intended; corporeality was tailor-made for you.


The body is just a suggestion, though, like the outline of existing

Akin to the stars lacking crystal clear imagery yet making shapes

Yet causing images in the night

And I sat and watched them unfold, shaking mildly, how beautiful.


How beautiful, the suggestion of form;

The existence of existence

Like wisps of stardust off the tips of your fingers and the rest of your outline

You are a degaussed constellation.


How beautiful the burning sensation; the smell

How beautiful destroying the innards

Like dying stars or a comet moving faster and then it’s gone

Creating outlines creating memories making

Sentences with your movements but no words.


How beautiful linguistics; complete sentences with two independent clauses

Intertwined to make the sun rise.

Watch it leave you like blood from the mouth, like stardust from the nose and eyes.

All other things beautiful like the suggestion of an outline; like actually falling asleep.


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Poetry

I Reside Explicitly on Jackson Square – Matt Grydzuk

In the seventh grade I didn’t know I could like boys yet.

So when everyone else started dating

I spent my time idly liking this girl.

I asked her to dance once.

She was much taller than me and this altercation

dangled the notion of beauty overhead in every way like shitty dime store streamers scotch taped around the sistine chapel.

I stared into her eyes as the night fell apart and I was petrified to marble

Because there was pity in their dark recesses and in contrast

I was like

A monumental statue

Designed to fill

the negative space

in the worst possible way.

For the first time I felt ugly.


You never get called fat to your face anymore

it’s just particles of pollution

like acid rain eroding a statue.

So I am less afraid of being fat and more paranoid

because you cannot dodge glances and you cannot dodge concrete floors and statues don’t float

Thus I am not afraid of swimming, but I am afraid of the social implications of swimming pools.


What happened

To the era where “skinny” and “beautiful” were not synonyms

Where people like me were dashing and handsome and

Were depicted as

Grand marble statues that

reached up toward the sky in an air of grandeur

People have always implied

That I should take up less space but there is nothing authentic about me that

is not large and loud and in your face.

My body is no temple

It is a cathedral

Much too large for its initial purpose but it occupies the space it is given and it

extends infinitely toward the sky and

when people gaze upon it they are in awe of its beauty within and without

it occupies

the space

it

is

given.

I am constructed from stained glass and concrete and the bottoms of empty cartons of ice cream.

I don’t know what it’s like to not be fat.

But I do know what it’s like to be beautiful.


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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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Poetry

The Fri(end) – Ugonma Ubani-Ebere

I had a friend once.
He was a Marine.
Kind, funny, and a streak of some mean. 
He listened to me, and heard my dreams. 
The darkest secret tucked in the abyss of my heart.
He swam in and found it, but did not rip me apart. 
His soothing voice lulled me to sleep.
His loving arms rocked me when I used to weep.
Through the moments when I left battle wounds from being a complete bitch
He did not complain, he stitched up the wounds with understanding and without a hitch.
My friend was great, he was one of a kind.
Awesome person, with great morals, and a great mind.
Friends like him come once in a lifetime
But what is a lifetime, when your friendship is hanging on a lifeline?

I had a friend once. 

He was everything that I had hoped him to be.
He liked me for me.
I’m a little awkward you see.
A little too wild, and sometimes too carefree
I never had a guy friend because they somehow predictably
Would fall into my unfortunate spell.
My very wide smile, my undefined personality, my fragrant smell, 
Deep in their eyes, a love story fell.
A love story that would never come to fruition
Instead a friendship would fall victim to diffusion.
Crossing the thin line between friendship and lovers almost always caused bitter confusion. 
Who said girls and guys could never be friends?
I did because they always fall victim to my unintentional web.
One day, my friend fell into my unintentional web.
I intentionally led him there and I wept.
Nothing was ever the same, and I had to take part of the blame.
I unfortunately had to also take some of the shame.
We had too much chemistry which caused a combustion.
We never recovered, because we did not know how to function.
Now he is gone, his memory is a concussion.
No longer can we hold a conversation let alone hold a discussion.
I had a friend once.
He was everything that I had hoped him to be.
His only mistake….
He liked me for me.
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Poetry

Something Like Poetry – Brooke Safferman

 

Something like poetry,

Like magic,

You are the music that swells in the emptiness of my ears,

The spaces of my ribcage, and that of my fingers

 

You are the person who taught me that all I ever knew was incomplete

There is so much more to life than just drowning

I could be surviving, or more than that, even,

I could be living! I could be breathing!

Existing is far more than just going through the motions

Undulation, Premeditation

Acting on impulse, you said, can be a healthy thing

 

So I put down my books and searched for my smiles

Reached deep down within to find something I would have sworn

Was never there to begin with

But you proved me wrong –

Somewhere hidden under the treasure chest of the past

The heartaches more foreign than I’d care to admit made me feel more Guilty than Self-Reliant and the memories,

too painful to remember, yet too intoxicating to forget

I had a another treasure chest

One full of joy, one that the shadows of history could never wrap up as the fog rolls in

 

 

Previous loves, hopefulness turned sour, like a slice of lemon curdling the last few drops of sweet milk

I close my eyes and imagine your fingertips dancing upon the lace of my undergarments

I inhale with equal parts vulnerability and ultimate control and its like you’re right here all over again

Whispering the things in my ear that could bring any cold soul back to life

From a state of permafrost to that of permanent bliss

And as I wrap the scrunchie around my wrist

I think of all the ways I could tell you that I love you

But none of the words could do it right, other than “ineffable” 

So the best way I could describe the way I feel about you

Is that to me you mean

Something like poetry.

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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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Prose

Don’t Look at That Boy From Across The Room – Alex Esterline

Don’t look at that boy from across the room. I don’t care how many times you tell yourself that you’re just curious, or that you just want to take a glance, because a glance will always ruin you.

Don’t stare at that boy from across the room. Because that boy’s eyes might be a little too different from anything you’ve seen before, and you might look for too long. You’ll start to notice the color of his eyes, and the shape of his lips. And if you look for too long, you might see more than his eyes.

Don’t smile back at that boy from across the room. He’s going to flash you that smile. The one you don’t quite know yet, but still the one that will cause you to throw your head back and laugh alongside him. It’ll be the one that makes everything around him seem dull. Because that smile is when you ride the biggest roller coaster first, and then everything else becomes tame.

Don’t talk to that boy from across the room. Because that boy is going to talk to you. And his voice is going to be that feeling you get when you hear a great song on the radio, but you never can quite figure out what it is. His voice is going to be a constant chorus stuck in your head in the middle of class. And you’ll be begging for more.

Don’t let that boy from across the room get close to you. He’s going to sit next to you one day, and move his leg so it just barely touches yours. He’s going to ask you for high fives after he makes his stupid jokes that are going to make you smile. You’ll high five him and feel the warmth of his hand for just a little longer than what would seem normal. You’ll then both pull away slowly out of fear. This time, you won’t be able to forget about the way his hand felt and the feelings that lead up to it. And you’re going to start noticing his smile, and when he’s laughing at something that’s so stupid and doesn’t make any sense, you’ll notice his smile. And when you notice his smile, you’re just going to give in and start cracking up alongside him. You’ll both look like complete idiots but you will not care. 

Don’t go to the movies with that boy from across the room. Soon, you’ll both sit down, almost late to the movie, because he was so confident he could win that stuffed animal- if he could “just have one more shot at it”. You’re going to sit down with him and laugh and make jokes at the previews for movies to come. You’re going to realize that this movie is a little scarier than he led you to believe. Soon, you’ll find out that this was his plan all along. You’ll probably find out when he takes your hand, or when he gently places his hand on your leg, rubbing his thumb back and forth. When you realize that he didn’t put anything on the cup holder in between you two, he’ll pull you close to him. 

Don’t go to that boy’s house after the movie. He’ll take your hand and lead you through the house. You’ll pass his mom, who’s going to love you like your own mother. But he’ll leave no time for introductions, he tells her that you two are tired. You’ll walk into his room, looking around. You’ll have no time to sightsee, however, because he’ll turn off the lights quickly, and the room will be just slightly brighter than the movie theater. He’ll tell you to sit on your bed and he’ll get you some clothes to sleep in, he says. He gets you the clothes which you put on. You’ll notice they’re baggy, but they feel comfortable. He’s going to sit you down on the bed and hold your hands. You’ll look at each other and see the pattern of the moonlight from the blinds dividing his pale skin into glowing lines.

Don’t let that boy kiss you. Because he will kiss you. You’re going to notice his face coming closer. He’s going to use his hand to push back your hair. And he’s going to lean in fast, and kiss you softly. And then you’ll both get that feeling in your back, sending alarms throughout your entire body. He’s going to keep kissing you, his lips growing stronger and more secure as every second passes. Eventually, he’ll lay you down without taking his lips off of you. The kissing will die down as you both try and suppress your laughter. He’s going to lust after you and keep leaning in, but you’ll be smiling so widely he’s going to have no option but to laugh at you. And you’ll think to yourself “thank god I looked at this boy from across the room.”

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