Grow
Angelyk Roman
She grows deeply rooted in her ways. Sprouting, blossoming a beautiful mess of love,
bliss, mistakes and hardship. She stands alone, her body a temple, created to worship. She
strives with great passion and drive, holding the world in the grasps of her fingers. Others will
attempt to cut her down and break her branches, but she stands tall. A lifetime's worth of growth.
She is you. So stand tall and grow proud and never stop.
Angelyk Roman
She grows deeply rooted in her ways. Sprouting, blossoming a beautiful mess of love,
bliss, mistakes and hardship. She stands alone, her body a temple, created to worship. She
strives with great passion and drive, holding the world in the grasps of her fingers. Others will
attempt to cut her down and break her branches, but she stands tall. A lifetime's worth of growth.
She is you. So stand tall and grow proud and never stop.
The Historian
Rob Cahill The phantom notes of song bloom in his ears, its gentle key I cannot place. Voice soft, its low tones speak of the world behind his eyes. Behind his eyes is the grandest library I've ever seen, the tomes- young and old- neatly shelved away to be taken out and loved again. The youthful light is soft and warm against the atlas, fingers upon the yellow of its pages as I put rest to the thought of ages. Behind his eyes is the library, Alexandria tempered by the flame funneled by the mouthpiece crafted from mahogany and the sap that binds him together. Within his ribcage lies the moor, its fresh green air bears upon itself the burden of caring too much and living too little. His skin may carry the lightness of youth but his bones are of the antique father; his eyes have grown weary of the bleakness around him. Fatherhood has worn him away, but he stands tall- a tree firmly rooted bears the coming storm. He is the teacher, bringing the library forth for those who dare to listen. Walt Whitman, A Cosmic Inquiry
Emily Tonning Do you have a map of the stars? What did you use, Uncle Walt, All those years ago? What gave you the strength, Uncle Walt, To shamelessly walk against the scornful edges of this planet, Despite the chance that your clothes would catch Or that your skin would get cut up? How were you so brave, Uncle Walt? So sure of yourself, and so proud, Amidst a world where your kind wasn’t allowed? What constellations gave you the strength? Maybe it was as if the stars were inside of you the whole time. pyrrhic
Angela Yuan and maybe we were too caught up with the way words word themselves, the way they fire and trigger anticipated answers the way neurons spark on and on unabated, maybe we saw the helix, blueprints without variation or variations without blueprints but of course there is more; and it occurs to me that they are not cardboard cutouts not others or separate or joined but close enough and far enough to be more silhouette than shadow and maybe memories dissipate at the tongue but then i have never seen the sparks cut short by fire when the words stop firing. but it must sound like a rushed quarter note, sudden falter and pause like a mistake but not because what is sacrifice if not consequence forced, those heartbeats made staccato; how many memories go away before they stick, dulce et (sweet forever?) scribbling at blueprints without ink motion and progress blurred, watch the whiteout write out nobility, valor unabated and watch them conceal gold-caught eyes that never fade the way melodies do and let this memory stick, someday we will hold the pen and maybe then-- Clockworks
Maddie Witt Time cannot be regained Nor can it be exchanged But, It can be wasted. I spend majority of my time doing the wrong things; Preparing for the future, without acknowledging the now Preparing myself for the worst possible outcome, And never preparing for the best. I have bad luck In fact, I have the worst luck. I have realized that I fail to focus my attention on the present. I find myself settling with time rather than taking chances for my happiness. I deal with a battle between my heart and my future To which comes the point where I cannot chose. But then comes the question… Why do we focus on having the ideal future when we are never guaranteed a next day of life? Or potentially ever living in the same moment, at the same time, in the same place again? You cannot relive a past memory. I sometimes come to a point where I cannot always remember the flashbacks people reminiscence about over the dinner table. I cannot remember it because it feels as though I was never there. I move too fast. I try to speed up the process of life When in fact, All I am doing is slowing myself down, Racing against the clock. I love you, I hate you
Steph Serra I love you I hate you I despise the one who made you I want you I need you I can't believe I bleed you You love me You hate me You're wishing you forgave me You want me You need me You can't believe you freed me I'm aching I'm shaking Because of you I'm breaking I'm breathing I'm leaving I'll go before you leave me I'm slipping I'm tripping I'm on the edge and tipping You're aching You're shaking What I've become is heartbreaking You're breathing You're leaving Once again you'll leave me You're slipping You're tripping You want to push me as I'm tipping You hate me You love me But now it's all above me Poems
Emily Taylor worry I love how you are quiet I don’t know why you’re shy It’s concerning that you’ll leave me Without saying a goodbye… boring Today was lifeless Dead Long The same endless silence, just a different song Same classes Same conversation Same routine each dawn. midnight Little children Little souls Time to gather up my tolls When the clock goes off at night It’s telling you it's time for fright And when the clock goes off at dawn All us demons Shall be gone. |
Poems
Sarah Ferguson Little Poet oh child. it must be hard. figuring out what to do with the words that seep out of you. Survivor that narrowing of your eyes the way the determination seeped through. that was survival. that was wanting to live. that was needing too. you needed too. you need too. Maleficent your touch stung my skin because iron burns fairies. yet. I told myself to trust you. only to wakeup with my wings stolen. When the Sky Turns Red
Ireland Weber Flitters of light through a crack of blinds Body binded to a bed of roses, Thorns digging into what is left of my spine, I am scorched by the thought of a sunrise Simmering down, drenched in tear drops Cascading down staircases of skin and flesh, My heart strings have wrapped themselves around my neck And I am suffocating in my own nausea My cheeks are burning like white pain, Shivering nails into my face, Sinking slowly into a coffin of cacophonies Painted gold like the sun, Its insides white like the moon I am dying, very slowly, heat exiting my body Freeing itself from my brittle bones, And I let out one quick breath As the Reaper’s hand wraps around my own But oh - it is not a scifer that is held in the other But my heart - oh! It is not the Reaper but the keeper of my love, My one true beauty, hidden from the walls Oh beauty, oh beauty, you have not forsaken this world, You are here to rescue me from peril, please, You have taken my hand to bring me away from the cold, And now we are among the others, here to grow old. Maraschino Baby
Liam Loughlin There I was, your maraschino baby, Emaciated and Exposed, A nomad of the self Made to follow the star that burns, Even if it is only reflected in their eyes. I laid there, in the great wide open letting the sun sweat me dry, And the people stopped to take a sip. My veins cracked Lips split Nails snapped And skin grew coarse, Brought to this abject existence by a single Why. So I would wait for you, For when we could meet under our veil Of wide pointed leaves shading us from moonlight Where I would hold my breath, As the smallest things caused that veil to waver And reveal the devils afoot. Here you would allow me to breach the covenant with this Why And I thought I could taste the Red of an Exoteric existence This Red turned our rendezvous beneath the veil Into an inquiry of origin. I let this question lull me from the present, As I had been made a pennant in every present Called to repent to you, A drunkard of all things Red and Sweet, For this skin, this image, Your maraschino baby I float on a pasture of fur and silk Every hair undisturbed by my presence And yet they part and fall before you, The one to make me a paper effigy of this scarlet, You, the wretch, the sycophant, the dirt And still I must fall before you. Dense and pulling I found myself in your orbit, Hungry and patient. I have known the dread of Venus, Who must face her lover And fail to describe the concept of being Small. As it hangs in the background, Consuming all the space her eyes deem possible, She must accept that This fiery leviathan will let its sea of Red swallow them whole. She must love him despite the fact He can not see the end that lies just behind him, In his ignorance of this star, she bares this dread alone It's hot down here, Buried beneath the headboard, But away from this moment I allow myself to look on, Past this place, and past the sun, I see Venus held in the orbit of her lover, And him in hers, I see the two slide off into a place where the dark is opaque Letting this void birth a better love, Free of this scarlet scourge I dream of killing this edifice, And so I do. Your Maraschino baby plucks it from the sky, Gouges it out. I sprout up and through Dripping in that maraschino Red My skin flushes pink Then coats in a new red, I look out upon a darkened room I see the fine details and I think privately, Between us, Here I am, Dark, pitted, and tart, Christened by what is mine. Empty
Alia Batista Sometimes I lay down and question How much more pain I can take Before I truly can't anymore It's irreversible. it's deafening The voices like to crawl and whisper Until they fill every crevice of my head Until it's a cacophony of voices They get louder and louder Forceful and roaring Until all at once they go rushing out Making my ears ring with relief And my head is filled with emptiness An emptiness so draining and consuming That I can only continue to lay down An emptiness so pressing and heavy I cannot move or hear An emptiness so numbing I can only look at the ceiling And wonder how much more pain I can take A Spaceship In The Night Sky
Eleanor Bushway Let's fly far from here All the way to space To a different universe A new world Let's see the stars Who won't judge us for who we are Let's fly far from here Far away from this cage Of outraged beasts Eating each other alive Let's fly far from here In this spaceship of mine we'll be unstoppable We'll be free Flying away from reality The Bully
Small, soft Hands. Wide, fearful Eyes. Tall shadows and Loud voices. Cruel words tossed Like knives. A punch thrown Here and There. A bruise like A flower blooming in Sunlight. Red sweaters and Muddy jeans. This pain Is real. Why are you doing nothing? -3.1415 Exasperated Do you have this Irresistible Urge To open your mouth? Have you lost the Ability to Resist Your obtuse notions? -3.1415 |
Prince of Hearts
Anna LaPrade
Prince of Hearts,
Your curse was love unrequited,
And you were well aware.
You ripped out your palpitating heart,
And kept it in a small, dull, tin box,
Under silver lock and key
So that you could not find love,
And your heart could not feel the warmth of another.
Prince of Hearts,
May-haps I could split my heart in two,
So I could give you my heart without
Gifting you my sanity
But a half-heart does not beat as true
As the whole,
You would know because yours is locked away
Instead of suspended in your ivory chest.
I have fractured my wine-red heart
one too many times,
Never did I think my mind was so connected,
Because as the black blood oozes from my heart,
My mind oozes out its peaceful sanity.
Prince of Hearts,
We were both born with the same wretched curse,
But what if fate is not true?
Maybe I could fall in love with you,
And we could put
each other’s bleeding hearts
back together,
But alas, a piece of my stone-cold heart
broke off once again.
Anna LaPrade
Prince of Hearts,
Your curse was love unrequited,
And you were well aware.
You ripped out your palpitating heart,
And kept it in a small, dull, tin box,
Under silver lock and key
So that you could not find love,
And your heart could not feel the warmth of another.
Prince of Hearts,
May-haps I could split my heart in two,
So I could give you my heart without
Gifting you my sanity
But a half-heart does not beat as true
As the whole,
You would know because yours is locked away
Instead of suspended in your ivory chest.
I have fractured my wine-red heart
one too many times,
Never did I think my mind was so connected,
Because as the black blood oozes from my heart,
My mind oozes out its peaceful sanity.
Prince of Hearts,
We were both born with the same wretched curse,
But what if fate is not true?
Maybe I could fall in love with you,
And we could put
each other’s bleeding hearts
back together,
But alas, a piece of my stone-cold heart
broke off once again.
May 9
Anonymous
He touched her without asking and the chills fall down her spine. The smell of coconut fills her
entire being, paralyzing her. She knows to say no but her mouth won't open. He tells her
not to say a word; only his voice rings in her ears. She knows this man, she trusts this man.
So what is she to do?
eight years later she tells her truth and only receives shame.
they tell her there was a bullet with her name.
she tries to disappear
but the past will only reappear.
now she has found a love yet when he touches her all she knows is fear.
they tell you it's your clothes.
they tell you “you were asking for it”
they tell you you're a liar, so why would anyone bother?
but what nine year old asks to be raped by her grandfather?
Anonymous
He touched her without asking and the chills fall down her spine. The smell of coconut fills her
entire being, paralyzing her. She knows to say no but her mouth won't open. He tells her
not to say a word; only his voice rings in her ears. She knows this man, she trusts this man.
So what is she to do?
eight years later she tells her truth and only receives shame.
they tell her there was a bullet with her name.
she tries to disappear
but the past will only reappear.
now she has found a love yet when he touches her all she knows is fear.
they tell you it's your clothes.
they tell you “you were asking for it”
they tell you you're a liar, so why would anyone bother?
but what nine year old asks to be raped by her grandfather?