Ambience, tired talks morph delirious and mouths
meander out the door grabbing their coats on the way
down the steps to the homes they missed
where you sent them a couch of buried blankets
And we all mumble remembers but i blink and she’s
On the floor rolling and laughing and i blink and we’re
Flailing dancing turning spitting other written words
In haste and hatred with tender rehabilitation that
Once before we flung this from our pockets singing
Because we don’t need this, and you’re parents
They shun the shady dealer of sleep too, shrug off his dusty lazy
Offers - they truly gave the billion dollar seconds in a decision that
Became a being that became a love that everyone thinks they
Are ready for but no one really knows for sure.
Cackling edged guffaws
Bring heavy weights that file down to where & when
There’s nowhere left to put the truth so you
Match it with your eyes and that match ignites
Slowly watch the carcass with flakes crumble to ash,
Float away, rebuilt as a project stuck together to review
A forgotten non-necessity.
~ Cate McGlynn-Mandel
By: Tova Ricardo
you smuggle poison into the household of your body,
igniting a terrible tremble of panic attacks that even earthquakes fear of
I try remind you about the content of hours we spend together.
direct your mind from complex thoughts of self-loathing
stoning yourself in secrecy
but you’re the lethargic lungs I don’t mind reciprocating
poetic text to,
lengthening the amount of greasy fingerprints
on independent shop books - the little Oakland ones that I swore
underneath the oath of secret codes
would belong to you,
and only you
because you needed something to call yours proudly
each night, I always found myself tumbling deep into distractions,
as your flaky lips glistened with pure softness and innocence
but I realized that the perfection I believed so strongly
never wrapped around your head as well as I hoped it did.
nooses of aggressively somber thoughts
strangled every peep of a tone that flowed through your mouth,
so four letter words only creeped from mine instead of yours.
your voice escaped only beneath the darkness of a barricaded closet.
I'm the only one who could hear it,
I know I wasn't meant to
but don’t forget that ghostly depression senses
ones who have choked every thin skin angle of their body.
you gotta stay with me.
you gotta sway with me to Winehouse and Whitney
even as prickly tears wrinkle delicate folds upon your façade
those acid rain pellets will still exist tomorrow,
in some faint residing manner,
in the palms of your self destructive hands,
don’t phase yourself and forget
the ideas of body beauty and the beauty of body.
you told me about that.
now it’s my turn to reteach you.
before you kill and spill pills into your throat
direct a damning silence
even though I will cradle you when a coat
could never cover knifed notes of despair
on your corpse.
a corpse lay flimsy and empty
you’re the alluring tulip estranged from sunlight,
she who despised spotlight
was eternally haunted by anxious day nightmares
she, who protected her pride from frequent kisses
we’ve been taught to despise the pieces the world doesn’t approve of.
stitches won’t patched up your wrist much longer.
time gave up on a body no longer loved by its owner.
and all that you missed
was a half sized, fiery red man of harmful therapy,
shuffling his petite feet upon the edges of your hippocampus,
ones that childhood grew terribly nostalgic over.
he, who remakes dangerous thoughts that trample over intriguing pedagogies,
ones your teacher insisted would transport you into a fantastical realm
“away from this unloved body”
even amongst the timekeepers and demonic roaches
crawling in those stories
you tired, poor thing.
your dreams were violated like the arms you veiled with polyester black shirts
he, then so very distant from now and present
promised you as strong as he could,
that the roaches would return.
your body would never belong to a soul
you were reluctant to kiss,
or the name on a birth certificate.
your body belonged to real life roaches
that existed along the edges of your ash white bed site,
down towards trenches of sliced hollow land.
I wanted to lay my lips in those trenches.
you feared I’d fall into them.
do not let the remaining roaches wage war
against the finesse of your figure
that trigger the traumatic lack of home in the body.
remind yourself, once in awhile
the function of fatal attractions
once in remission.
chap up the lips of stitched limbs.
speak through those limbs.
witness how words pour endless, bloody riverwalk water
words come out of your fingers
to magnify notebook hidden truths
come out of your fingers,
not to dismay other voices.
fingers, connect separated stars in twilight with one another.
wrists, will summon the sky,
will give you permission to roar
to teach thunder what a real scream is.
the impact of a snapped soul.
wrapped up in a repetitive roll of rules
teacher maman wanted you to break from that.
you are not obligated to express to others
how you've got unapologetic glory.
let yourself be freed from the grasp of mirror reflections,
where all that you see is the “unnatural” width of your hips
those are bouncing burdening subtext into your life,
banish the gory.
welcome slight spills of love
to rainfall flow into your mind
once you have poured more tears
out of your eyes
than available water supply.
tell yourself, that you've got
that there's more to your body,
than the maddening thoughts
barking in your brain,
than the cinder block heavy yells
racing through your throat.
than the half sized man gunning you down
with opinions you translated into truths
this, you shall know
of your unapologetic glory
I am 17.
And I am a woman.
Living in this patriarchal society
That truly believes that we are equal
Someone define equal
Tell me if being checked out by a 40-year-old man is acceptable
Tell me if automatically being labeled as “weak” or “insecure” is a good quality
Tell me if not getting the same wage for the same job is equal!
And no, we are not exaggerating. The wage gap exists, despite what some people may think.
The average white woman makes 79 cents to the white man’s dollar.
Asian women make 84 cents to the white man’s dollar.
African American women make 60 cents to the white man’s dollar.
Latina women make 55 cents to the white man’s dollar.
Women work just as hard as men do.
But they still get paid less.
Let’s talk about Feminism.
What do you picture when you hear this word?
Some people might say that a feminist is selfish
Some people might say that they are a bit crazy
And when talking about a woman, some might say that she is a man hating maniac.
The true essence of modern day feminism is the belief that people should be treated and considered equal, whether that be in education, in work, or in any other circumstance where men and women are put together.
But the problem with modern day feminism is the labels.
Why are people who believe in equality being attacked?
Why are people who view men as superior to women, the ones who are unaffected by these issues?
What some people don’t realize is that there are two sides to this issue:
Either you believe everyone is equal no matter how they identify OR you’re sexist.
You believe that one gender is naturally superior than another.
So, fight. Don’t go asking people why they support equality. Ask people why they don’t.
The media has placed a notion on younger girls.
They have to have a man in their lives to thrive in society.
Look at Snow White!
A sixteen year old girl that is saved by the handsome prince
They desperately fall in love after a three minute encounter.
Then there’s Cinderella!
Also a young girl, that cannot escape her stepmother
Her only way out is through her rich, handsome, prince charming!
Why can’t more movies be like Mulan or Pocahontas?
Where both girls stand up for themselves? Where girls are the leaders of change?
Where they demonstrate that they are strong and that they, themselves, can succeed.
Why can’t the media reflect that we are strong, independent, and don’t back down from a challenge?
If I ever become a mom
I want my daughter to grow up in a world where she doesn’t doubt herself, she has the same strengths.
I want her to know that there’s nothing wrong with having a job AND working at home.
I want her to truly accept that her fate doesn’t HAVE to be motherhood. That there’s NOTHING wrong with being a 40 year old woman and NOT having kids.
I want her to have courage. That no matter how many times she is told she can’t succeed, that she rises above.
I want her to understand that no matter how much the world will try to undermine women, she has the power to make a difference whether it’s big or small
I want her to know that she needs to stay true to herself. That she needs to stand up for what she believes in and that she will continue fighting till she gets what she wants.
But, most importantly, I don’t want her to be ashamed that she is a woman.
I am 17.
I am a woman.
I am independent.
I am strong.
I am and will always be……….PROUD.
Folks, today we have a topic which i consider rather serious
Mr. Hagen has so far been a man who is quite mysterious
But I have found the truth which will send chills right through your body
Mr. Peter Hagen is in the illuminati.
Have you ever noticed that those who challenge him disappear?
There was a rivalry between him and Torin Rittenberg last year.
Each one in competition for who could be the best poet.
Mr. Hagen had the spot, but some thought Torin would overthrow it.
However not long after Torin simply disappeared.
He literally hasn’t shown up for a single day all year.
Some mindless drones don’t think and point to senior graduation.
However clearly Mr. Hagen ordered his assassination.
He is here, in our school, nobody can feel secure
If you mess with him or make him mad your downfall is sure
So when you are around him, make sure you are not naughty
‘Cause Mr. Peter Hagen is in the illuminati.
When they invent new mind control techniques, whenever he sees prudent
Mr. Hagen will test them on innocent Bentley students!
He makes them forget who they are and all the things they have to do.
Be careful, or one day he will test this out on YOU.
It happened to me in 10th grade, it really was a fright
He made it so I didn’t know I had homework that night
So I turned mine in two days late, I could have done no faster.
And Ms. Spector wouldn’t give full credit. What a disaster!
So be careful not to let him get too deep inside your mind
As he’s a secret agent of the most dangerous kind.
He may not be Bill Gates or drive around in a Bugatti
But Mr. Peter Hagen is in the illuminati.
However the worst of it is yet to be revealed.
So far his business at the school has been quite well concealed
As he’s here to recruit, to draw you in to all their lies.
Because the illuminati needs new people to become their spies.
Whenever he’s being kid’s helpful “writing coach”
He’s actually infecting them with the Illuminati approach.
Every noticed all his “thesises” are anti-government.
He’s turning kids into their minions, that’s why was where he was sent.
So tell your families to hide, go to a different school.
Wear a protective tinfoil hat, or do nothing and be a fool.
Learn the arts of jujitsu, kung fu or karate.
Because Mr. Peter Hagen is in the illuminati.
~ Baxter Brown
Yeah, avocado tastes great,
You can plant the seed,
But what’s up with the narly
All you can do
Is throw it away when you're done
Its potholed surface
Like 5 miles of bad road
What were you thinking
When you designed this package?
Is sandpaper included?
When i grow up
I want a full body massage
From a whole bushel
of avocado skin
~ Paul Dorskind
They look at you
they judge you
in their eyes
they are asking
why are you playing basketball?
“You’re a girl”
I should be ashamed
basketball is only a boy’s sport
I should be quiet as other girls
piano, violin, reading would be better
than playing basketball
Cuz I’m a girl
They don’t care about the speech Emma Watson made
Gender equality replaced by patriarchy
When her girlfriends drop sports
cuz they don’t want to be seen as muscle
When her boyfriends need to hide their feelings
cuz they don’t want to be isolated
They look at you
they judge you
in their eyes
they are waiting
to see if you will fight like a girl.
~ Siji Lu
I never thought I would say this, but thank you.
Thank you for making me stronger by fighting my own mind every day for the past five years. I can’t just “get over you,” and I won’t just “get over you.” It’s taken me years to just get better and even that isn’t enough some days, but it’s better than it was, and that’s enough most days.
Thank you for letting me know that those girls in seventh grade that told me that you weren’t really there were wrong. Thank you for letting me show people that you aren’t just all in my head. Thank you for showing me that people don’t make fun of me for having the flu; so why do they make fun of me for having you?
Thank you for letting me know that “go kill yourself” isn’t a joke but a trigger. That those three simple words can help put the noose around a neck or a bullet in a gun. Thank you for showing me that I would take sticks and stones over those words any day.
Thank you for telling me that, sometimes, when someone says they’re fine, they’re really just waiting for you to see that they’re not. That sometimes people just need people to be there for them and that I will be there because I know their pain.
Thank you for teaching me that really, it’s not me, it’s you and the chemical imbalance of serotonin in my brain.
Thank you for showing me that a trip to a psychiatric hospital is nothing to be ashamed of. Depression, you taught me that I can grow because of you, and that my definition is not you. My definition is that I like playing with my dogs at dusk, and I hate cake, and I both love and hate oceans because infinity both scares and comforts me, and that a book told me in third grade to hold onto the grass and never let go, because I may float away to the stars. But because of you, depression, some days I want to.
Depression, thank you for making me strong enough not to.
Thank you for showing me how valuable a day with rain in the middle of the California drought can be. Thank you for showing me that I miss my own smile some days. Thank you for making me stronger for when your best friends, anxiety and OCD, came to join the party.
Depression, thank you for allowing me to still be here to thank you.
-Claire Pulkownik 08.05.15
When I was younger
I thought that I was Jew-ish
I thought that I would never be more than
As if my mother’s Episcopalian blood
Running through my veins
Made my pride when I told my classmate
The story of Passover
Less expressive of a culture that I was less a part of
When I was younger
I would tell people I was half-and-half
It didn’t matter that I knew the Jewish stories better
And I’m pretty sure I didn’t even know who Jesus was
Or why he would matter
To my hyper-simplistic mind
Religion was not a choice, it was a bloodline
And when I realized
That it was a lot more than half my blood
Pulling towards am yisrael
I didn’t know what to do
And so I told my father one day
On the crowded BART train
Roaring through a tunnel at top speed
That I wanted a Bat Mitzvah
I didn’t know what that meant
I didn’t know the responsibility I was taking on
I didn’t know the way I had just changed my entire worldview
In five simple words
I knew the heartbreak in my father’s eyes
When I said I would give up softball to do it
And I knew the curiosity that tugged my blood
All of it
There were no halves
There weren’t even parts
No longer was I
Half Jewish and
Now I was
My mother is Christian
And my father is Jewish
But we celebrate more Jewish holidays
Than Christian ones
So really I feel more Jewish
As if the contentment I felt
Chanting sh’ma was because
I knew Judaism better
I remember very clearly
The day my teacher in Hebrew School
Read us a book
Where a boy was told
That because his father was Jewish
And his mother was not
He would have to convert
To be a Bar Mitzvah
And I remember the panic
Seizing up my throat
And I remember my hand
Shooting up in the air
Faster than Hermione Granger
Before my teacher calmly explained
That isn’t how we do it in the reform movement
How stupid was I
That I didn’t realize
My panic was not in my Christian blood
My panic was not in my Jewish blood
My panic was in all my blood
My religion is not my bloodline
My religion is my choice
I am Jewish
I am not Jew-ish
Any more than I am white-ish
Wants to be a teacher-ish
And you can try to say
That my mother isn’t
And you can try to tell me
That because my favorite holiday is Christmas
I can’t be a real Jew
But you’ve never felt the way my heart rushes
As I sing the mi shebeirach
And you’ve never felt the calm that settles on my shoulders
As I listen to the temple around me sing the bar’chu
And you’ve never felt the flutter in my stomach
As I chant an aliyah
And you’ve never heard me whispering
Bevakashah Adonai under my breath when I am scared
Or mentally reciting kaddish yatom during moments of silence
And you can’t experience the pride in my voice
Every time I declare
With complete certainty
I am Jewish
I bought Jordans for your birthday
Perfect and new
I bought shoes for your birthday
Like I always did, ever since you were the smallest bloom of a kid
Then you got big and so did your feet
You wanted to step up your shoe game
You just had to compete
So I got jordans for your birthday
Gamma blue and perfectly new
And they’ll stay that way
In the box
Next to where I buried you.
-- Alex Gailey
Lately America has been in the dumps
but soon the world will be trumped
so let me tell you a little about my myself
and know you cant put me on the shelf
and through this campaign we shall all be unchained
for the beauty of me is that Im rich
and everybody loves me
because I was there on 7/11 when so many where sent to heaven
My fingers are long and beautiful
and look at those hands aren’t they small
for I will build a great wall, a beautiful wall, one with a particularly nice piece of
for we aren’t being sent the best people
and with this steeple we’ll get better people
so let me tell you what I think
for the establishment will be hoodwinked
so when I come to your state
that will be the date when you get your chance to dance on the grave where
Obama’s real birth certificate is buried
~ Jacob Cook
~Jingwen "Jane" Su
Circle the sun forever,
Jealous of its fire.
See the Crescent ,
When the new month is nascent,
At milky way's end.
The red giant,
Flames wrapped around him,
Bringing us hope.
My wishes come true,
When I catch the meteor shower,
In my hands with you
I drove to Alaska
in a psychedelic taxi.
in the rays
of zealous sunshine,
a tintinnabulating breeze.
It crackled oceanside
caked with salt and sand.
Oblong leaves trapped in clementine trees
willing to dance with the wind.
The clouds like pom poms
in a sterling sky.
Excuses are not apologies
It was a combination
defied trust mixed with old crush.
A slew of insults directed at shutting me up.
What you said about women,
what you said about me.
Do you not know how powerful
words can be?
You made excuses
Said sorry to rid me of my anger.
Do you not know how powerful
words can be?
It hurts that friends from babyhood
can spew hate
because they hear it around them.
DO you not know how powerful words can be?
Love Poem; "Blind to Truth"
Within the depths of my preoccupied sorrows
There is a false hope.
For every drawn breath
It waxes and wanes
Its tempo in time to the
Of my heart.
But every now and then,
When my body tricks my mind
Into thinking it’s felt something,
I look through this diamond prism and
See everything I don’t want.
My faith falters, and with it
Memories of living.
This hope sinks back
To its slow torture,
And yet it pities me, knowing
it has told the truth.
Before the world of old did break
Before the strength of men did fail
The one of Numenor’s namesake
By mortal hands of all was hailed
The one true name of all he bore
Was Aragorn, the last great king
Elendil’s legacy he wore
Fate tied to the War of the Ring
By evils of the earth laid low
His father by the sword knew peace
The orphaned king to perish in tow
Were it not for Elven vigil, unceased
In Rivendell did the youth rise
With Elrond the Wise a steady guide
Though through growth he did not realize
Protection given him by lie.
At twenty years, enlightened was he
To a destiny daunting and grand
Afforded the heirlooms of family tree
To one day return to his homeland
About this time, love had he found
In forbidden, Elven form
Of Elrond’s stock, a maiden sound
Betwixt them was a growing warmth
But Aragorn to duty left
As chieftain of the Dunedain
His people no longer bereft
Of glorious herald, to never be slain
And glory indeed did Aragorn bring
To Rangers of the North
Of his victories did they sing
A testament to growing worth.
Until he listened no longer to battle’s din
For his wife he sought in Arwen, the elf
So he heeded the voice of his heart within
He would have her hand himself
In Lorien did they once more meet
Whence did they pledge each other’s vows
But marriage Elrond would not seat
To no mortal uncrowned would he bow.
In shame, he took refuge in Bree
A lone guardian to the Shire
Until The Grey he then did see
His newfound friend warned a future most dire
And thus it was that war began;
To think, over so small a thing
But few things allure man such
As a ring.
It was when Frodo’s company stayed at an inn
That Aragorn chanced on the Ring of Power
He suspected this war a hobbit would win
So they stole away from Sauron’s prying glower.
To Rivendell did they make haste
For aid would the hobbits need on their quest
And beset they were by nine ringwraiths
So off they went from the comforts of West
In Rivendell, Dwarf, Elf, and Man
Discussed the loop’s unmaking
The council of these races ran
Forging the Fellowship of the Ring
Thereafter Aragorn did show
His new compatriots the way
Whether it be through mountain snows
Or through the night and day
Through Moria a path they’d take
The once bright flame snuffed out
The Fellowship was then to break
It’s members taking different routes.
Two of their company now felled
“Three Hunters” set to seek two more
In looking for the hobbits well
They found The White prepared for war
For Rohan did the wizard ride
With Gimli, Legolas, and him
With restored leader was stirred pride
In fellowship and Rohirrim
At Helm’s Deep Aragorn did fight
For coming age of men
And finally by dawn’s first light
Battle he won with might of ten
But darkness bore down to the South
Against the city white
Yawn wide did evil’s ready mouth
With no aversion yet in sight
On oath long lost did he make good
And walked the Paths of Dead
Muster their forces he then would
An army of the dead he lead
Through enemy forces he tore
Dead and alive at side
Won he Battle of Pelennor
Sauron’s defeat the King contrived
Aragorn and his men set forth
The war was nearly had
MIddle Earth’s uncertain course
On shoulders of two brave young lads
Aragorn lead the charge against the nemesis of old
Sauron’s gaze then drawn from the ring
Away from pair of hobbits bold
The salvation, for men, their king
In Mount Doom was the ring unmade
Sauron vanquished for good and all
For MIddle-Earth had then been saved
By folk once known as small.
And so it was that Aragorn
To Minas Tirith went
To claim the right he’d had when born
As king of Numenor descent
At last to Arwen he was wed
The first among high kings
All did pay homage, it was said
To prosperity he then did bring
Yet all things end, and kings, too, die
His valour spent in years gone by
His body laid to rest, sleep nigh
The Flame of West then slowed and sighed
And the kingdoms of men did weep and cry
The glory of man undimmed to end-times.
Earth vs A Rubik's Cube
Rubik’s Cubes, are so fun to play with, but very few can solve them on this earth.
Earth is full life and very unique, but very few people understand life.
Life is everywhere on earth which is an amazing thing.
An amazing thing is the fact that I can breathe air and live in a place,
Where in World War II in Germany, I would have been killed because I was something hitler thought he needed to erase.
Nothing can erase what an eraser does but a new pencil.
Unfortunately some of these pencils also made the eraser’s action worse by adding to it.
The pencils checked off boxes and wrote names of people who were my relatives but their names I will never know,
because the pencil decided these lives had to go.
I can’t blame a pencil for the Holocaust but Hitler did use pencils to help him erase, he had Nazis record the names and events everything that went on during his time of terror. Some lives were saved or killed by the pencil but 99. something percent got the check mark to the gas chamber gates, the few who didn’t and got the mercy of the pencil, either died from starvation, or from exhaustion of labor, or shot for no reason like .
I know the times of the Holocaust’s atrocities are long ago in terms of history for the human species
but if everything that happens does for a reason, then there better be a frickin important reason for the Holocaust and I would like to hear it please. I no never will, because fate is a load of crap, if fate was real are actions would predetermined and the ability of choosing would be one big ass illusion,
like when you get one side of a rubik's cube but realize it was wrong because one side did not match one side. But the cool thing about rubik’s cubes is that the squares on them do not kill the other ones. I can’t say the same for people so the score is people: 0 ,Rubik's Cube: 1, here, another thing the puzzle doesn’t do that people do and have since our species begun.
The squares, on a rubik’s cube do not discriminate some cubes because of what color they are, neither their side, edge or corner they are on. The squares on the cubes can co exist with each other in every possible combination and situation.
People existing in the same places, has caused genocides in many places. Even after the the horrors of the Holocaust which one would think in the future would prevent such cases, nope people didn’t learn from that but they know about it, and still chose to make it.
The Human race ultimately can be dumber than a puzzle we made in the first place, but I’m not her to write about how stupid we are in this world and in space, because our species can be the best thing ever when equality and justices are created.
Things so strong with the good in people of the world that no evil has ever escaped it.
Let’s try to learn from the rubik’s cube and lets as a species coexist in the world and put aside our differences. If this is done, no evil will be efficient at breaking the human spirit if peace and love is our mission.
Oh and Hitler, the religion which you thought was a race, still survives and I see stars of david all over the place. You have been recorded in history as the worst of is and are the most hated. I am Jewish, and that is ok and any religion is ok but your stupid ass convinced a lot of people to kill many others. But the best part about how your place in history is that it was not the way you thought you would be remembered. You wanted to go down as hero who everyone would remember, you are remembered as a man of evil and one with goals so hateful, and the person in history who is the most disgraceful. Plus your mustache is seen as a sign of evil now to because it reminds everyone of you,
Shitler, I have made my final conclusion about you,
you definitely are not smarter than a Rubik’s Cube.
I am not saying the human species is smarter than it either, but were definitely a lot closer to being in line with it and have peace as our world’s main feature.
In regards to the country you ruled and the rest of the world,
your evil dumb mustache ass is respected by neither.
The only way I can end my disses of you,
is if I finish them in Hebrew,
Barchu et adonai Mother f***er, Morality and Justice defeat you.
The Revolution on Channel 6
The revolution cannot sustain itself
on the empty calories which crest and arc
with tides of applause and
I have tried to feed her white bread
through fence diamonds.
I have tried to twinkle my eyes at the lilt and the swing.
But distended belly and
cracked fingernails ring too loudly--
and the twinkle dims
for it is the voice (and not the mic)
the voice (and not the score)
the voice (and not the cage)
which the turmoil craves.
This is not to say that truth don’t love
a pretty sundress or a beautiful song.
It isn’t to say that we cannot armor truth
to fit the times or
dress her in skirts skimpy enough to
get her through the door.
Of course, truth can reside precisely in
the skip of a track, or
the swipe of a paintbrush.
to nod a head without using it, or
to praise a painting without hearing it
is to starve the revolution
Voice is a wild master of metamorphosis.
It’s in the hem of the skirt and
the song and it’s notes and
the dance memorialized in paint on canvas.
But this is not a concert nor
a Paris runway show.
This is an exhibit of voices.
Truth drowned in its own frill is a sick, familiar game.
Truth seized by its own heart is the playbook of silence.
You cannot assemble the revolt with the manual
of the very box whose walls you scream
and pound against.
I have yet to find the proper
uniform for my truth and my voice.
The ones I’ve tried tend to be somehow ill-fitting.
It’s always that the cap falls to cover her eyes
or the too-high neckline shields her mouth
or the pants pool around her hands and ankles
so that she may.. disappear, or
trip over them as she tries to run and gesture.
I have yet to find the best sheath for my knife
but I know that this is a journey worth
To rush such a quest is to risk the
dulling or the
snapping or the
my only savior.
And so while I seek my own
voice box, I will let my truth run
What is Love?
by Julia Koo
What is love?
Is love when waves of sound crash together like tambourines, smashing and fighting against each and every single pulse?
When a man raises his hand to his wife, a look so bland and dark, the air slick with tension. His lips move, moving his cheeks, moving his teeth, moving his tongue. Moving, moving, moving. Movements folding into sounds, sounds folding words, and words that spelled: “I love you.”
The three word sentence hurt. It stung like bees, microscopic needles that stabbed and pricked. Wounds that left rivulets of blood trailing down a child’s skin, subject to the crack that rang across her mother’s face. A choked noise.
Glass, split in two halves. Tears that ran down a child’s cheeks, staining the ground in patchy spots.
“I love you.”
What is love?
Is love when people crowd around one another, hands pushing, voices shouting?
“You goddamn worthless excuse of a human being! Why don’t you just kill yourself already?”
Words that pierced, that cut, that sliced. That brought tears to the corners of his eyes, that made his fists clench, knuckles white. Words that made him feel numb on the inside, made him crack and dust, chipping away at the tall stone tower that he himself, had built up.
“Watermelon head! Shrimp! Fat, fat, fat!”
They pushed him to the ground, feet kicking, fingers prodding. Their words that chased, that killed, that wounded. Words that burned, like toxic, melting into flesh.
“Rest in hell, you piece of disgusting shit!”
What is love?
Is love when the world seems to gyrate without noticing anything else, when the air is heavy and old, noises dull and lifeless?
Grey walls, black sheets. Black desk, grey clothes. Empty. Dull. Void of expression.
Rain pelting outside the frost lined window, smoke curling from the dying ashes of the fire. She felt cold. Cold like ice, cold like an untouched plate of food, made by the seemingly loving hands of a mother.
Multicoloured pills, silver metal.
Clear glass of water.
Colourless gelatin rose to her waist, hands forming, grabbing, reaching.
“Give in, relax,” they croaked. “Come rest!”
Croaks turned into cries, cries turned into screams; loud, echoing wails that resonated throughout the tiny, dead room. Fingers scratching, dragging over the surface of her cold skin.
Clinging onto her thin frame.
What is love?
Is love when everyone is blind, deaf, to the ringing bells that sound outcries against the raging typhoon of emotion?
Silver scars like medals over skin; medals not given for glory, or valor, but self-awarded out of spite, hatred, detest. A thin line that snaked around his neck; not as a decorative choker. Purple and red spots that pattered his skin, over the tops of his arms, down his legs.
The faces that stared back at him, empty and blank, staring. Judging. Glaring.
Hands that reached out to him, fingers flexing, beaconing.
“Come.” They whispered, their words an embrace of death. “Join us.”
This is love?
If that is love, then I do not want it.
by Shanga Labossiere 3/1/2015
When hearts start diverging from their organ appearance,
you know it’s real.
But when you have problems forming connections,
that “reality” is often seen in electronic boxes
crafted and constructed utopias.
Yet no one provides a treasure map
with x’s and o’s glamorizing the location
of that beautiful blueprint.
The destination often raised in pulchritude by the journey:
spend your time trudging through deserts
where dehydration becomes your nation
and your fixation for the lack of this aching becomes your motivation.
When oasis comes into view, hopelessness drops its suffixes
and you drop to your knees, basking in the shade.
You find your blueprint
and the directions say “not to scale”,
meaning that the elegance portrayed on this blue piece of paper
will be nothing compared to the assembled architecture.
But... sometimes an oasis can be a cruel hallucination...
the paradise fading before its allure can truly be admired.
A lack of linking is accompanied with longing
as I reach for a beam of light,
only for the particles to illuminate my hand
and pass through the voids between my fingers.
Trying to close my hand around the luminousness defines vanity
because no matter how tight a fist is formed,
the radiance will always tantalize,
never returning the reach provided to grasp its concept:
the luster a bright sense of hope,
but never the tactile sense of feeling.
Some things need to be concretized.
As the man in front of me parts the Red Sea
I stare in amazement at the environment that has been forged.
On either side of me I see a wall of blue
full of life,
full of diversity.
In front of me, I see a looooooonngggggg and
The trek to the other side
took the wind out of my sails,
and my lungs.
When you broke down those blue walls
and buried your oppressors and Earth’s basement floor with another world...
I wonder if I should have stayed down there.
Because the journey ahead is exhausting
and there’s no oasis in sight.