Collapse
Sydney Smolenski
Sitting in a lonely room
Lights dimmed, blinds down
Reading all that's going on
Eyes wide, tears dried
Tired of the happy lies
Unsure of what'll come to pass
Ears open, heart broken
Knowing it's sooner than later
Pulse quick, legs shaking
That our mother's struggling to breath
Everything is doomed to be lost
Breaths fast, hands trembling
Underestimated their costs
Ice melting, bees dead.
More trees made to fall instead
Nothing can save us from our crimes
Pedal floored, eyes shut
Plastic in my blood and brain
Ears deaf, mind slow
Waiting for the great end to come
Can't decide what to do
Until everything I know
Is going to come
Crashing
Down.
Lights dimmed, blinds down
Reading all that's going on
Eyes wide, tears dried
Tired of the happy lies
Unsure of what'll come to pass
Ears open, heart broken
Knowing it's sooner than later
Pulse quick, legs shaking
That our mother's struggling to breath
Everything is doomed to be lost
Breaths fast, hands trembling
Underestimated their costs
Ice melting, bees dead.
More trees made to fall instead
Nothing can save us from our crimes
Pedal floored, eyes shut
Plastic in my blood and brain
Ears deaf, mind slow
Waiting for the great end to come
Can't decide what to do
Until everything I know
Is going to come
Crashing
Down.
mundane
Estella Lepore
ironic and cruel
how the world keeps spinning
apathetic to suffering
funny
the gift of time
never frozen or stopping
to honor death in stillness
life gives me what i need
even on days i feel like
i can't breathe
maybe normalcy is mercy
a kind of ruthless grace
mundane menial tasks
respite from graves
how the world keeps spinning
apathetic to suffering
funny
the gift of time
never frozen or stopping
to honor death in stillness
life gives me what i need
even on days i feel like
i can't breathe
maybe normalcy is mercy
a kind of ruthless grace
mundane menial tasks
respite from graves
The Burg
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with accompanying artwork: |
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Sneaking out when the day's worn through,
Finding comfort in the dim night. Street lights guide us to our hideaway. In the glow, our worries fade and I see that smile, Toothy and familiar, out to get me. We pass the river, running through our little town, A vain of the marsh. Jumping off the old rusty bridge, plunging to our fates in the summers, we'd drown. The woods guard our secrets, where dreams quietly scream. Hushed parties in the evergreens, Dancing in this apocalypse, Wailing out our shattered minds to the stars. Cigarettes on your breath, Even though we’re much too young. You say it’s cool and hack, I laugh and show you up. I was never addicted to nicotine, But the way you would look at me, As I ruin my lungs for you. But you were never really inhaling. Poser. Just an old and empty vessel now, My old house there, we pass, filled with childhood hollers and dreams. Old friends buried in the back, Condemned to haunt and fester But I haven’t forgotten. The tracks are where we go, Littered with who we used to be. A phantom train runs us over I want a love that splatters, Like us all over the railings, I would feel more at home. But I bite my tongue, and tell you about my day instead. |
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Love is Never Wasted
Emily Guardado Toledo
"Love is never wasted, for its value does not rest on reciprocity." - C.S. Lewis
Energy cannot be destroyed.
It can only be changed from
one from to another.
(at least that's what Albert Einstein
said)
So what happens to all the energy all
the love
I have for you
When all is said and done?
What happens to
the love that kept
me up late at
night itching for
more?
What happens
To that energy
After all this time?
Does it go away?
Does the love go away?
What do I do with that energy?
What do I do with that love?
And so
I am a firm believer in Albert
Einstein's statement Energy
cannot be destroyed. My
only option was to return that
love that energy
Back to myself
And that's why
I like to say
That love,
Any love
That
You or I give
Is
Never
Wasted
Energy cannot be destroyed.
It can only be changed from
one from to another.
(at least that's what Albert Einstein
said)
So what happens to all the energy all
the love
I have for you
When all is said and done?
What happens to
the love that kept
me up late at
night itching for
more?
What happens
To that energy
After all this time?
Does it go away?
Does the love go away?
What do I do with that energy?
What do I do with that love?
And so
I am a firm believer in Albert
Einstein's statement Energy
cannot be destroyed. My
only option was to return that
love that energy
Back to myself
And that's why
I like to say
That love,
Any love
That
You or I give
Is
Never
Wasted
Frogman
Syd Wilfong
Frogman taught us Melville and Douglass. Frogman croaked. No one understood him. Something about that liars “bleed stink” and mobsters “face your ears.” Frogman was cruel. I liked that about him. Reminded me of a kid I used to know who would throw rocks at my head. Smooth rocks because he liked me. Frogman knew how to spit. His fat tongue bruised the inside of his mouth and the inside of my brain. I liked that tongue. Last day I saw Frogman, I blew him a kiss and his tongue leapt out to me, trying to catch it.
Home Renovations
Katy Pennington
My childhood home was gutted,
the walls torn down, leaving nothing
but foundation beams and pink insulation.
The 70s chic wall mirror is a distant memory.
The rickety balcony, no one trusted,
Dad toppled over and used for scrap wood.
The dry wall in the kitchen,
Janie gnawed as a puppy,
workers took down with a sledgehammer.
The back patio, where we held talent shows,
was dug up to make room for the new living room.
The tiny upstairs kitchen,
where I blew my candles out every year,
and where I had first bath in the sink
was disemboweled and a new wall erected,
cutting it in half for a bathroom and an office. The stairs,
we crept down on Christmas morning, were sawed apart
and flipped around in a single school day. Everything was
shredded apart.
Our bedrooms, the only places untouched this time,
but for years, we swapped back and forth.
My sister and my shared room,
with my Dora decor and her dolphins,
is hazy in my mind.
I moved out to my own room,
my strawberry room,
that used to illuminate the hall
when the sun hit just right.
My swing set, stands slightly unsteady,
in the same spot for almost 23 years now,
across the horse farm,
surrounded by mountains,
seems to be the only thing unchanged
since before I was born.
the walls torn down, leaving nothing
but foundation beams and pink insulation.
The 70s chic wall mirror is a distant memory.
The rickety balcony, no one trusted,
Dad toppled over and used for scrap wood.
The dry wall in the kitchen,
Janie gnawed as a puppy,
workers took down with a sledgehammer.
The back patio, where we held talent shows,
was dug up to make room for the new living room.
The tiny upstairs kitchen,
where I blew my candles out every year,
and where I had first bath in the sink
was disemboweled and a new wall erected,
cutting it in half for a bathroom and an office. The stairs,
we crept down on Christmas morning, were sawed apart
and flipped around in a single school day. Everything was
shredded apart.
Our bedrooms, the only places untouched this time,
but for years, we swapped back and forth.
My sister and my shared room,
with my Dora decor and her dolphins,
is hazy in my mind.
I moved out to my own room,
my strawberry room,
that used to illuminate the hall
when the sun hit just right.
My swing set, stands slightly unsteady,
in the same spot for almost 23 years now,
across the horse farm,
surrounded by mountains,
seems to be the only thing unchanged
since before I was born.
Kintsugi
Estella Lepore
and right now all i want is to cry
sob into my mom's arms and have her tell me
everything's going to be okay
but i know that she can't solve these problems before me
she is only one woman and her skin looked heavy
with something i couldn't recognize today
we all carry our own weight
the heaviest of traumas and memories
we must carry it with us
we can never set it down
or forget it on the way out
it's always within
and i have to live with grief
sift through my aching memories
turn it into something worthy of the world
transform my sorrow
repair myself
restore the scorched land
somehow some way
day by day bit by bit
i will turn this pain into something lively
give back to the world what it deserves
instead of what it gave to me
sob into my mom's arms and have her tell me
everything's going to be okay
but i know that she can't solve these problems before me
she is only one woman and her skin looked heavy
with something i couldn't recognize today
we all carry our own weight
the heaviest of traumas and memories
we must carry it with us
we can never set it down
or forget it on the way out
it's always within
and i have to live with grief
sift through my aching memories
turn it into something worthy of the world
transform my sorrow
repair myself
restore the scorched land
somehow some way
day by day bit by bit
i will turn this pain into something lively
give back to the world what it deserves
instead of what it gave to me
The Never Ending Expanse of Not You
Jayme Moyer
These pink sheets hold summer’s air,
But we lay here, a measly nine at night,
City lights beaming across the street
Like fireflies flaunting might.
Within the hour, subtle movements arise,
And on slippery carpet, we dance.
Beyond my unwavering eye sits the waste,
The never ending expanse.
Haven bed, in this hour again hold,
As the window welcomes balmy wind.
Sweet are nights that swell with warmth
Following a winter who harshly sinned.
Tomorrow, as always, will steal my view,
Yet, I hold on to pathetic chance
Day will resist its tempting routine,
Hiding the never ending expanse.
Tiny pores cover your sleeping face,
And if I began counting each spot,
I could lie here for too long to admit,
Feeling your arm draw me taut.
Though, never could I tally one
Before surely falling deep in trance,
For to end would take my eyes away
To the never ending expanse.
But we lay here, a measly nine at night,
City lights beaming across the street
Like fireflies flaunting might.
Within the hour, subtle movements arise,
And on slippery carpet, we dance.
Beyond my unwavering eye sits the waste,
The never ending expanse.
Haven bed, in this hour again hold,
As the window welcomes balmy wind.
Sweet are nights that swell with warmth
Following a winter who harshly sinned.
Tomorrow, as always, will steal my view,
Yet, I hold on to pathetic chance
Day will resist its tempting routine,
Hiding the never ending expanse.
Tiny pores cover your sleeping face,
And if I began counting each spot,
I could lie here for too long to admit,
Feeling your arm draw me taut.
Though, never could I tally one
Before surely falling deep in trance,
For to end would take my eyes away
To the never ending expanse.
Time Travel Unseen
Katy Pennington
I long to catch a glimpse inside your stories,
to see your world, your youth,
through unfiltered eyes, not foggy memory.
You grew up in a time without home videos,
only still photos of your youth exist. I wish I
could time travel, but remain unseen, the
timeline unaffected by my presence. I want
to watch you like a movie,
I want to see it all.
I want to know it all.
I want to document it all.
The good and the bad.
I want to see how you became you.
to see your world, your youth,
through unfiltered eyes, not foggy memory.
You grew up in a time without home videos,
only still photos of your youth exist. I wish I
could time travel, but remain unseen, the
timeline unaffected by my presence. I want
to watch you like a movie,
I want to see it all.
I want to know it all.
I want to document it all.
The good and the bad.
I want to see how you became you.
You Know Who You Are
Aurora Mahoney
The hot air you push out of your mouth is born out of the empty air filled hollow of your head
Every thought you breathe is a criticism of another
You speak without purpose, without meaning, and without justification
Does it physically pain you to let someone else in this world hold more attention for any given moment than yourself?
You are pompous, pungent, and pedantic
A contrarian born out of the compliments others receive around you
The worst part is that you might even be likeable, if you could find it in yourself to shut the hell up for five whole minutes
Every thought you breathe is a criticism of another
You speak without purpose, without meaning, and without justification
Does it physically pain you to let someone else in this world hold more attention for any given moment than yourself?
You are pompous, pungent, and pedantic
A contrarian born out of the compliments others receive around you
The worst part is that you might even be likeable, if you could find it in yourself to shut the hell up for five whole minutes
Sergeant Hogg
Syd Wilfong
Sergeant Hogg squealed. Squealed like she did on Halloween, when she’d give out fat pieces of chalk to kids because she knew the real treat was her 4 a.m. wake-up call. Bang. Bang. Bang. Hammering a baseball bat into the utility pole, one bang for each veteran that took their own life. Sergeant Hogg played the bongos and got into fights with punks and moms and cops. Once while walking home from school, she called me over from her rotted porch. “Jump in that leaf pile.” She pointed to the end of her yard. She went back inside and I jumped. Jumped like I was a soldier following orders. When I landed I felt something scruff my arm: two solid cinder blocks hidden beneath the reds and yellows and browns of the leaves. Right where my head should have been. I looked up and saw Sergeant Hogg, her snout pressed against her window, watching me. Her small eyes bulged, and before she turned away I got a glimpse of her hand. Her fingers were crossed. Hoping.