Guurrr

Author: Annika Bastian

Girl

You and I are a weird pair

Because I can bust out a pan of brownies

As easily as Michael Jackson can bust out a sick moonwalk

And you can bust through my anxiety even easier

Every time you walk in and see me stress baking

And say dang girl we having another Netflix marathon already

Then we stay up til two a.m. eating brownies and emptying out our Netflix watch list

And then you tell me this just means we'll have to spend more time together

Going running so we can burn off these calories and get my endorphins up–

You calm me down as easily as Zoloft does

But with none of the side effects

Unless smiling too much counts as a side effect.

I can clean a house cleaner than Mr. Clean himself

And you can clean out my mind cleaner than any antidepressant ever could.

I talk to my therapist like a two year old talks to their mom.

Incessantly. And urgently.

And you sometimes talk to me like you're my mom but never like I'm a two year old or like I need a therapist.

I have more coping mechanisms than a porcupine has pointy bits

But when you see me curling up in a ball you hug me like I have absolutely no pointy bits.

Girl I love you hard.

Hard like a geometry test.

Hard like saying goodbye to a puppy

Hard like really old gummy worms

I love you a lot.

That's what I'm trying to get at.

Get at like you got to me.

I love you girl

More than a whole pan of brownies

More than the sickest of moonwalks

More than Netflix with no chill

A whole lot more than running because no one really likes running.

Love you more than a clean house

Cuz girl you're my home now.

Love you more than my therapist

Because you listen to my problems free of charge.

Love you like a two year old

Incessantly and with my whole heart.

Love you more than porcupines

And they're my favorite animal

More than hugs

And they're my favorite pastime

What I'm trying to say is girl–

I love you.

My Life

Author: Madaline Cannon

reveling in the memories that I've never had

living a life composed of wistful dreams

wishing for days that won't come to pass

making friendships that become nothing

fixing a heart broken beyond repair

trusting ideas that can't be proven

asking questions that don't have answers

staring at a star that's already gone

talking to a moon that cannot answer back

an existence that is nothing

a nothing that means more than everything

Passing

Author: Reed

An older man sits beside me and

says he likes my shirt

I know what he likes

even though his are bigger than mine

The "conversation"

Read: him talking

and me not-listening

half-turns inevitably to him

and his disappoint-man-t

"It's hard to find other straight people here."

My coy smirk means

what he wants it to mean

and my silence on the matter

allows him to speak for me.

I'm the spring in the trap

for this thirsty rat.

He thinks he's slick.

"We should text. For class." For dick.

"Sure." Text. For class.

I know he wants this ass.

Not yet, though

Don't tell him yet.

I can't reel it in until

I get the inevitable line.

"I've taken this already."

"So I can help you." So pro-tip:

Take gen ed twice to be an expert*

*Some assembly and penis required

I am quiet up til now

Quietly tapping in his digits

Digital bag for DNA

"I'm a guy," I finally say

"Guess that makes you kinda gay."

And by the way, I make an A.

So suck on that if you're thirsty,

rat.

Machinations

Author: Chelsea Yates

Smile. Good morning. Elapse time. Gears smooth from same.

Same grin. Same hello. Motions same, time keeps on.

Auto-mation of old routines and apathetic cogs

Intangible relations from metal heart not linked

By corded wires of electrical feelings, frayed beginnings

And ends. Auto-mation, no one to see

Real sparks of life within, not same or cookie-cutter in

Likeness and circumstance. But warmth and alive.

Alive to break through hard encasements, years of

Programming. If only molds could be easily broken.

Comfort versus unknown. Human or automatic responses.

Non-conformations, yoke forsaken. Freedom granted.

Lesser Tears

Author: Chelsea Yates

I am but a doll screaming in dusk’s due

Compliant, wrists rubbed raw, weeping internally.

Porcelain skin, glassy eyes, arms sore from holding

Bare except for soul, smiling teeth break. 

I am but a doll, set high upon shelf

Stared and beheld, then discarded as time permits.

Silent in harsh light of day, muted, voice stilled

Doll, but a prize, a toy, erased from history.

Nothing.

with unbelievable risk

Author: Wanda Wesolowski

How strange it is: a few curious moments

we just so happen to be reading

like a story. we are pushing limits.

we empathize. and the weight of ones hands

seems to be all we can can relate to.

but what does a face do

when contorted with grief?

is the rest just gone? are we painted

on plaster, weightless,

beaten gold, coming to the fore?

we’re mere things in space.

with unbelievable risk, we get a little bit of it back

but the rest? just thrown into shadow.

Us

Author: Savannah Cleckler

When my friends ask me if I still think of you

I don’t know what they want me to say

I could tell them how

I pour thoughts of you into my morning coffee

Watching the negatives swirl with the positives

Creating a cloudy mess of confusion

I sip down the bittersweet concoction 

Still trying to decide whether you were good for me after all

Remembering the same arms that held me so tight

Pushed me away at the very same time

It was one fluid motion

Our push and pull similar to the ocean

That was less like a wave

And more like a tsunami 

The force of the crash wasn’t half as destructive

As the magnetic force that pulled me back

So no, I don’t think of you

I think of us, how we were such a mess

Of good things and bad things

A contradiction of my convictions

There was nothing about us I could trust

Now I’m split into three different parts

The before, the during, and the afterwards

We were a natural disaster

Our lives are better off spent apart

Knowing that still doesn’t seal

the hole we left behind in my heart

But still I’m trying to fill it

With bitter morning thoughts

And drops of sugar sprinkled throughout

Mixing together like our hands

I never thought we’d have to pull apart

Brite Song

Author: Chelsea Yates

Sun. Be my grace. Light reign down your pure joyous momentum. 

Love. Beat faster still. Heart throb, ignite, and burn. 

Darkness. Congealing shadows. Shelter me, wrapped in sheets of night. 

Bond. Tighten and grow. Forever in embraces long. 

Innocence. Purity of the found and new. Blessings bestowed. 

Shell. As hard as any metal. Encase protection of finite powers. 

Judgement. Omnipotence, gavel raised up against time. Firm hand, blessed by the divine. 

Dove. With wings of snow. Fly away into freedoms of blue. Not rust or bars. 

Eight hearts beating as one in this infinite sky. Reaching out, blinded with dreams of the light.

Days on earth, they wane, as shadows stretch to eclipse the sun. Grasping up, eyes dim, eight hearts twisting within. Breathe and maybe we’ll find that light again.

I’m the bright, bright sun. Day waiting for arrival.

I’m what is in your heart. Too much, breaks and expands.

I’m grief and despair, darkness at my stable.

I’m what you hold on to. Chains to lengthen and whittle.

I’m a white blank space. Just expecting to be filled.

I’m what makes you, you. Strength, enemy’s end.

I’m presiding counsel. My rule, always wins.

I’m what makes you soar. Dressed in dreams, not oppressed by doubts.

Eight hearts mingle. Side-by-side, goals the same. Sky. Eyes. Hands upstretched. And then there’s only one. 

Seven hearts taken over. Shadows within them squirm. Clutched hands loosen and they falter. Where does this story end? One left, will it ever end?

All we ever wanted was to see the light. Just to see the light. 

Not to see. 

Reach.

I’m the bright, bright sun. Day waiting for arrival.

I’m what is in your heart. Too much, breaks and expands.

I’m grief and despair, darkness at my stable.

I’m what you hold on to. Chains to lengthen and whittle.

I’m a white blank space. Just expecting to be filled.

I’m what makes you, you. Strength, enemy’s end.

I’m presiding counsel. My rule, always wins.

I’m what makes you soar. Dressed in dreams, not oppressed by doubts.

Eight hearts ripped at the seams. Everything not what it seems. Same. Goal. Same. Dreams, but still they push each other down trying. Trying to succeed.

Weep all you want, but never break.

Weep all you want, but rise strong.

Weep all you want, but regret nothing.

If this is the path you take, pick the one where you never weep.

Single heart, where are you now? Lone heart, after seven were stolen were you satisfied with where you are?

I’m sun.

I’m heart.

I’m despair.

I’m chains.

I’m blank.

I’m strength.

I’m counsel.

I’m free.

I’m you.

Untitled

Author: Georgia Toner

A halo of heat lightning drizzlingaround her hair

Moments of faded orange and black eye blue flare

Flying over glossy black depth, highlighted by the setting star

Closer, and the water melts like a glossy butter bar

And once again that looming dark future

Is illuminated by those brilliant flashes of curiosity

And sure it ought to be 

That celestial fight

That causes her to realize 

There is beauty in the moments flashing before her eyes

Fear of the unknown 

She's breaking out, away from dark expectations

Creating a burning sky, heat lightning drizzling for generations

Oh a Vixen

Author: Chelsea Yates

Oh… so… tantalizing, one caress

Then syringe whispers into neck.

Just so and woe head tilts as 

Gloved hand lingers over bare flesh.

A trail of crimson crushed dress,

Oh no, hands meet mouths mesh.

And next… so still blade 

Pressed wound fresh. As though

To heal from sin eyes dim

Breathless. Oh my, vixen’s tears,

Lashes smear; lust at rest. One

More kiss, a little twist then just death.

She

Author: Jayla Williams

She moves like bee-bops and b-flats on air waves

And wraps herself so tight in night that they can’t help but to see the heavens in her

She be a storm that nature crowned in hurricanes and tornadoes

Arms strong enough to hold sons and daughters that she may never keep

She carries the earth that was toiled by great grandmothers in eyes that wonder 

Eyes that hold more starry nights than the universe that made her

Sun-kissed skinned proving that when God made her, generations before, he was making art 

Something more than Master could piece together

So great a masterpiece that he couldn’t tear it apart

Her

Author: Briana McDade

When I grow up I want to be just like her.

I want to walk around my home barefoot, telling people how cold it is, while I wear a sweater.

I want to sing out loud to my heart’s content, not worried about what others think.

I want to step into her shoes, those legendary shoes.

Crafted out of whatever she could find, those shoes that haven’t worn out over time.

Made with beads from old shirts, and fabric from tattered cloth, and rhinestones from the lost abyss of nooks and crannies.

I want to quote people who wrote stories, who had imaginations that could be understood through sentences that gripped one’s soul.

One soul.

Her soul.

An old soul.

Museum Hands

Author: Abigail Betts

The children who are shrunk by shouts

In museums of oils and foreign lands;

Because of the oils on their hands,

Become the great impressionists.

The children whose voices shake,

In classrooms of plaid oppression;

Because of the age-old suppression, 

Become the darlings of The Academy.

The children with undeserved demerit slips,

In testing rooms of finished work and boredom;

Because of urgent, unbidden words that must come,

Become the antagonized authors.

All     Because they didn’t want to be published.

    Because they didn’t want to speak up.

    Because they didn’t want to get in trouble.

Dad

Author: Jalen Thompson

I did not like you, but I did not hate you. 

I wanted the real thing, but he was not there. 

I never called you “Dad”, but you were.

You were mean, you were tough. 

I was bad, always bringing notes home.

I remember the many discipline exercises you made me do:

Bear crawls, wall sits, push-ups. 

Really, it was borderline abuse.

I wanted him and not you. 

He would not discipline me like this or at all. 

Surely he would talk to me about it instead of 

bear crawls, wall sits, push-ups. 

Yes, it was abuse:

That time you made me watch IT and

on the playground at school

my light blue jeans would slowly

turn into dark blue jeans. 

I was afraid of you. 

You found joy in disciplining me. 

Yes, I did hate you.

She loved you. You loved her

and you both loved your son

and loved me too, out of obligation. 

I was there, simply there. 

That’s why I was always bringing notes, 

to feel like I was not just there, but that I was living there too—

I guess.

It was just me and her before you

got here and she was doing fine without you. 

No, they would not have gotten back together, 

but I would have seen him because there was no you and

she wanted a He there for me. But I was fine with me and her.

I thought you were just a replacement. 

No not even that: a place holder. But you stayed.

You were there for me, for us, me and her. 

You wifed her.

She gave you a son, a real son. 

I was the one you pretended to care for,

I still am, but now I don’t mind.

I understand, I do.

To be “Dad” is to be there,

and you were,

he wasn’t. 

I see that now. 

I see that you weren’t pretending.

I see the crawls, the wall sits, the push-ups,

The fear of you, made me, me.

Now, there is no fear, 

Only respect.

Is this like Stockholm? 

No, you weren’t that bad,

You were a drill sergeant.

You were “Dad”.

You are “Dad”.

And I love you, I guess.

Murder, Murder

Author: Ryann Taylor

Bare toes claw your wild leg hair

Skin suffocates skin— over and over again

You open the fridge, yellow bottles rattle—

Not your own.

My chapped lips encompass a water bottle.

One hair that peeps over the others

And a nose that sniffles day in, day out.

I keep searching for words—

And words I am lacking.

In words— there’s a thought that I could keep you

Apart from my “work.”

But you’re a part of my words.

Precious indeed.

Broken porcelain piled on your desk, 

 The scattered pattern on your chest; 

 Safety to me.

I dream of the suffocating smoke that once spun 

To your ceiling—is it home yet?

Your clothes are strewn on the floor.

Wrinkled, folded, and kicked in their residence.

Sheets scrambled. What dreams do you have?

A gentle hand to comb—

And the other

Protecting 

My tender scalp.

I said I would keep you separate.

Imagine

Author: Mary Parker

It’s hard to imagine. 

To imagine a world where we don’t personify our sins.

Daily.
Weekly.

Monthly.

As long as time permits, really.

Didn’t you know?

We can’t really escape them,

It’s natural after all.

After all the silence,

the hurting,

the weeping,

the pain of what we’ve done.

You ask.

What’s one to do?

It surrounds us after all,

tempts us,

manifests itself onto us…

Daily. 

Weekly.

Monthly.

As long as time permits.

It’s greed,

Its envy,

It’s pride…

just to name a few.

But really now.

Are you still unsure,

Of what’s one to do?

White Heather

Author: Miller Hagler

He grows white heather out in verdant fields.

A shallow, promised threat in his vast yield,

while she grows white heather out in the badlands.

Strong withered roses raised with dry, bloodied hands.

Defrost

Author: Abigail Betts

It’s a warm, wet world.

My body is damp,

And my jacket chills

My skin.

Hands slip along

A leather wheel.

It feels just like

Sweaty palms

But fingers are

Cold to the lips.

Face feels heavy and wet.

Drips on the brow,

Like a cold sweat.

Rain drips from hair

To the neck.

I swear I hear the drops

Sizzle and steam

On skin.

Headlights flash by

In a foggy glass haze.

And there are tiny

Headlights

Strung above and along

Lit-strip malls,

Arranged into snowflakes,

And wreaths.

In the dark rain

On black ice, highways

Are Technicolor holidays

Like pink trees.

You pass lines of

Christmas trees

Left out in the rain.

Your pity and worry 

Seem so silly:

Trees are born in the freezing rain.

Syncopation

Author: Callipoe Pettis

Syncopation, S-S-Syncopation

We're Livin' in a Psycho Nation, Ps-Ps-Psycho Nation

They'll try and tell you what to think

While your mind is on the brink of more Beautiful Things

They tell you that it's wrong, but you feel right

Don't let their judging words keep you up at night

Just follow your Good Heart

And you'll start to see a Change

Most Change is for the better

    It ain'teasy I know

But Change is Pain and Pain is Growth

    Have Faith in where you'll go

Don't Change for anybody

    Make a Change for yourself

Be a Better you than yesterday

    Take your life off of the shelf

Go someplace you've never been before

Just open up your Heart and Give far More

Than you've ever gave

Stop trying to save yourself

You feel uncomfortable, you don't feel right

You're out of Rhyme and Time, don't fit in anyone's lines

You change your Mind

Every time they speak

Most Change is for the better

    It ain'teasy I know

But Change is Pain and Pain is Growth

    Have Faith in where you'll go

Don't Change for anybody

    Make a Change for yourself

Be a Better you than yesterday

    Share in your Happiness and Wealth

Syncopation, S-S-Syncopation

We're Livin' in a Psycho Nation, Ps-Ps-Psycho Nation

They'll try and tell you what to think

While your mind is on the brink of more Beautiful Things

Bloodwood

Author: Reed

Winding roots the sturdy shackles.

Family name a choking vine.

Father fixed far away.

Mother hovers, gentle sway.

Ancestry, authority.

Family, slavery.

Sister tree, shelter me,

still vale of my anxiety.

Leeching roots, damp and dirty,

Steals from us what keeps us sturdy,

and only through them filtered rancid

drinks the water withered branches

Spokes of seasons, wheel of time.

Drought and desert, flood and blizzard.

Fretting fruitless, fit and choke,

Grieving leaves fall from the oak.

Germinate, obliterate.

Generate, incarcerate.

Leeching saplings strangulate,

so only tall proliferate.

Protection with your leafy roof

From warm embrace of sunlight through,

And keep the sapling low to smother

In cold shadows of the mother.