Author: poetryfest

Elites have
vaccines, links to an Instagram,
bins for skulls,
food, water, and shelter.

I was arrested for the creation of a lasting paradigm
which was renamed flesh magic.
The body recognized
milk’s temperature.

How much they like
counting coup
on sun-sprawled
tech moguls.

There are echoes of her magnificent dirty tricks.
The woman shapes
guards for
the oil wells,

tosses grenades into a population of elk,
disturbing trees
glowing with
relentless civilizing.

Sounds bruise my ears.
They sting, and they’re much too loud.
Locker doors slam closed, conversations I’m never invited to reverberate on the old walls, and
dirty floors
The sounds never end
Until today.

The school is extra noisy, buzzing with anticipation of the upcoming summer break.
I just want to get out of here.
I push through groups of people
Talking
Talking
Talking
Maybe about me.

The summer sun burns my skin,
Glimmering in its rays
A shard of glass—maybe something that used to be a mirror sits quietly in the grass
Nothing beautiful lies within its reflection,
But the broken glass outshines the image

Perhaps the sun is a friend I didn’t know that I needed
He won’t always be here,
He can’t stay.

When nightime fold over me,
I suppose it will just be the patient stars and I.
The stars might whisper,
And I might whisper back.
Finally a sound I enjoy to hear.

When an addict dies,
You mourn two beings.

The person before the addiction
And the person you learned to love from
a safe distance.

And in the event of their passing,
Your heart breaks twice,
Your mind is confused on who to grieve the
most.

Do I grieve what could have been,
Or what had been?

There were three friends lived in a town,
Panda and White Bear and the other one is Brown Bear
Yet she was known as Mama Bear
They joined college to study together,
Hoping those days would last forever.

Brown Bear acts like a mummy,
And the Panda is full of clumsy.
The White Bear is a little bit crazy—
“I know they’re hard to handle, maybe.”
Mama Bear sighs, “But I’ll take it easy.”

Brown Bear is never late,
She finishes all her work straight—
So, she could have fun and still get an A grade.

Contrary, the Panda—
Though she comes first in every grades—
Never forgets to get into fights with the staircase.
Her body full of bruises and pain,
Later she reasons with stories and tales again.
Mama Bear wonders,
“How did she end up in such a state?”

Here comes Lazy Bear,
Always there to mess with their brain, dear!
When Mama and Panda try to teach her,
They lose their minds in fear—
Forget everything they learned once clear.

Their days never end without little games,
Whispers, laughter, and sweet nicknames.
As for washroom trips and canteen stays,
Panda says,
“Don’t worry—
We’ve got lots of breaks to carry, anyways!”

Everyone asks with judging marks,
“How hard is it to write and pass?”

Mama Bear roars,
“Oh, come on! You’ve no idea how many days
We stood in lines for extra points to pass our ways!”

Always had time for momos,
With hot and spicy combos
Before heading back to their cozy domes.

Three years passed,
Graduated at last.
Now each bear is in a different place,
Working on dreams at their own pace.

How many hardships did arise—
In a life of twists, lows and highs?
But never apart in heart, no matter the case,
Even at full distance, they share the same space

I would bow on a plane of shattered glass
Just to run my brass hands through your blonde hair
And lay with you On the grass
one more time
But You dyed your hair brown
And I let my hands rust

I would gauge my own eyes out with a spoon
Just to swoon and listen to you talk about your games
Or to be how we were last June
One more time
But you don’t talk
And I can’t listen

I would bleed out in an old parking lot
Just to joke about how stupid pot smokers and druggies were
And Call all night and pray we didn’t get caught
One more time
But you go to bed early
And I’m trying to get sober

I would cut off a limb
If I could swim in your blue eyes
Or do dumb shit on a whim
One more time
But the reality is
You aren’t him, you are you
And I’m not her, I am me

But I still want him
And you don’t want her or me

I like your fashion.
Seeing you making efforts
to always match it is my passion.
I like my partner stylish,
just like I am.
Your glittery dress flows smoothly
just like my feelings for you, beautiful lady.

we kiss and go out—repeat
long enough to burn in the sun while we sleep.

we huddle around the lamplight
knees kissing the linoleum floors.
our bodies saved summer
’s heat. we rub our palms together
to resurrect the magic of the sun, falling
back into our shapeless, galloping shadows.
you ask me to tell a bedtime story
but i insist we say a prayer first.
your eyes are confused. you don’t understand
why we’re praying if we’re not religious.
i tell you that you don’t need to believe
in god to pray. you ask me why.
and i say that’s just the way we are,
doing and undoing. such conversations
seem to go nowhere. they seem to not
exist at all. a distant station exhales
from the radio, turned halfway on. i don’t
know when you started to eat your own
skin at night, to blister your lips to sand
and tuck them in the seabed of your
stomach. i thought i would stay with you,
at least for tonight because tomorrow’s
the day you’re dying. you don’t
seem to know that and i don’t
tell you, that this prayer is for you.
i don’t know what your name means
but the second syllable sounds like “beauty”
in my home tongue. under the lamplight,
your skin is liquid gold.

He felt emotional pain
His heart was melting
The type of pain he didn’t want to feel
Instead of cutting his body
He cut his soul
Becoming a slave of the world
Letting his body belong to others
Drowning himself in lust
For the pleasure of others
What had he become?
Whatever they needed him to be he said
He didn’t exist for himself
He didn’t want to
He wanted to escape his emotions
He just wanted to be apathetic
So he drowned himself In sexual desire
A desire he didn’t have
But it was his only escape
Picture after picture, video after video
He lost his dignity, the respect of his body
He lost his soul

it was my life
jumping and spinning
perfecting the movements
mediocrity won’t suffice

a routine
perfectly crafted
practiced for hours

a chance
for my hard work
to be recognized

a jump
a perfect spin
a landing

the approach
a jump
a spin
but no landing

my broken blades
lay on the ice
by my side
as the crowd gasped

those gasps
hurt more
than the fall

forcing a realization
that my dream
would never be
completed,

paramedics,
ambulance ride,
doctors,

condolences,
apologies,
they helped

until
i heard their words

uncensored,
disappointed,
disgusted

“waste of talent”
“replaceable”
“insignificant”

it was true

it just hurt to know
that i wasn’t
the only one