Category: Uncategorized

FREE VERSE Poem: Stove, by Bailey Barrett

I placed my hand on the red hot eye,
eye to eye as you stab me in the back.
Back before the memories were all that stayed;
stayed with you while you were in pain.
Pain flowing through the space between,
between the lies that you told.
Told myself to pull away.

A way to be free is all I need,
Need to pull my hand from the burning.
Burning down all that was left,
Left me addicted to the feeling you cause;
Cause me to lose myself in time,
Time spent wasted your words.
Words screaming to fill a void.

Avoid the blaze with my hand now,
Now living with not even your face.
Face the world where you could never remain;
Remain scarred from the ache in my heart.
Heart on my sleeve as grieve,
Grieve the friendship that was never clean.
Clean the stove with no heat.

RELATIONSHIP Poem: The Realities of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, by Killian Arnold

I lived my life a
MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL,
unconventional and giving my world to a slew of men.
Next in line!
Just the next stop on the train,
destination: anywhere but here!
They love my world- NOT my person.

They love that I’m not average,
that I’m a dropout- a bartender,
that I’m full of all this wisdom that doesn’t make much sense.
Eccentricity,
creativity,
I think differently from everyone else.
They’re never bored with me!

I inspire them to do more for their lives.
They leave this town,
yet I keep finding myself back here.
Like I’m the toll booth attendant,
showing everyone the way out,
but cursed to stay.
They soak it all in and when they get their fill,
they move on with their life-
minds broadened and memories cherished.

I never see them again,
solely on Instagram with their long-term girlfriends,
getting engaged,
having babies,
going to college and landing their dream careers.
And I’m left here in the dust,
the ashes of those memories they hold so dear
burns me to the bone.

I just want someone to stay-
to see that I’m more than my odd hobbies
and lack of traditionalism.
I’m a person,
not a dream girl.
I want to find me, too

RELATIONSHIP Poem: Hot Girl’s Workout Routine for Hourglass Body, by Julia Germer

I do Pilates every day
20 minutes
40 minutes
Go for a run
And take a rest.
Stretching out, waking up
Aphrodite’s smiling from above.

She also wants me to calm down.

But it doesn’t matter what I do
Will never be skinny
Enough for you.

The sharp glares and cutting frowns
Size large, better watch out,
She’s coming around,
to grab you tight until you drown.

It could make a girl not want to eat
but that’s not my reality,
coin’d me
The “Kung Fu Panda” of the family.

I do Pilates every day
20 minutes
40 minutes
Go for a run
And take a rest.

All while wanting to rip my stomach out.
Hip dips and the creeping love handles on my back.

Swap them out like in a store
But it doesn’t work like that.
And u didn’t build me like you’d hope for.

DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: A Match That Forgot How To Breathe, by Kewayne Wadley

I met her on a Tuesday.
But it wasn’t an ordinary Tuesday.
Sort of lukewarm, but heavy.
One of those just get in the car,
cut the music on and drive
kind of Tuesdays.

She was at the gas station,
wearing Beats headphones.
Not the discreet ones that fit
in your ears,
but those big-ass ones
that go over your head
mouthing the words
to what I guess
was her favorite song.

Moments like these happen quick.
All it takes is a look.
When she looked at me,
she looked like I interrupted a thought
she didn’t get to finish.

Some people just have a look
the sort of look that’s far from soft.
The look I reflected back
was one that wanted to know why.

The thing about her is
she talks like a puzzle.
Not a full one, already put together.
When she opens her mouth,
imagine 10,000 pieces flying at you
all at once.

If you can imagine that,
I don’t trust you.
Like at all.
I am laughing but I am serious.
Because you’re another one
that sees things
the way you want to.

At some point
especially dealing with 10,000 pieces
a few are bound to get lost.
But I like that about her.
She makes you earn those pieces.
Consider it delayed gratification
in separating intention.

It’s not really the pieces that speak.
It’s the silence between the words.

You learn she’s the type of woman
who shuts down at the slightest octave of your voice
whether you’re too excited or not.

At restaurants,
or even at the movies,
she counts all the exits,
knows where every door is.

She’s not really a match that’s been struck
but soon, you pick up
that many have watched her burn.

When she loves,
she tends to hold on to it
ultimately burning herself.
But she tries.

I, myself,
like a good rattle every now and then.
Nothing like the taste of splintery wood
soaked in gasoline,
melting in your mouth.

I live in my own world.
So it was an adjustment
learning how to wait without asking,
how to listen
without trying to fix anything.

She might have been burnt,
but she isn’t a victim.
Understandably, there may be a ghost or two
that keeps her up
but she faces them,
even calls them friends sometimes.

Some nights,
she cries
without so much as a single word.
A single tear.
Even then,
I just hold her
the same way people hold their jewelry.

Doesn’t matter.
Real or fake.
No judgment.

Everyone needs something to believe in.
Something to ease their mind.

Not everything is made to last.
The important thing
is to let it breathe
Rattle around your neck
Until it gets comfortable
but ultimately,
you protect the things closest to you.

You don’t ask about the scars,
the burns,
or the bruises.
Not even the names
of all the flames
that were fought
just to survive.

When I met her,
she told me she doesn’t believe in forever.

I looked at her and said,
“That’s cool.”
Then I told her
I believe that not all short people
should carry sharp objects.

I can only imagine
what ran through her mind.
But it couldn’t have been too bad.
Enough time has passed
to memorize the things she never says.

How she’s always intentionally early,
just to avoid talking
when everyone else arrives.

How her favorite foods
are the ones she couldn’t have growing up.
How she always wanted to travel,
but never had anyone to go with.

I think to some extent,
we all want to be touched
just don’t know the right words.
After all,
in certain states,
that’s a charge.

But more importantly
the memory of those who took
and kept taking
is still there.

All of that,
I get.

Then, on a random Tuesday,
it hit me.

While it’s a beautiful thing to witness
I realized
I am just standing still.

Breathing, nonetheless.
But I am standing still.

She disappears and ventures off
two, three days.
I am standing.

She forgets to call.
I am standing.

She forgets my name.
I am still standing.

Eventually,
I become a stranger.

Some days,
a smile casually strolls in.

Turns out,
she actually is a match
a match that forgot how to breathe.

I realized this some time back,
but didn’t know what I was looking at.

Eventually,
she’s going to learn how to breathe again.
And when she does
she’s going to burn everything down.

She doesn’t even talk to her ghosts anymore.
Then again,
the scars,
the bruises
they all make sense.

In her language,
The one she speaks between words.
Maybe she doesn’t believe in forever
not because she doesn’t know how to stay,
but because a fire always moves
suppressing,
devouring,
everything it comes in contact with.
Everyone needs something to believe
In

HORROR Poem: Lurking Under the Blood Sky, by Matthew Peel

Preferring a pitch black, I crawl
And slither alongside walls
And stride out of sight
I cannot control these urges
I wither my human self
I gain understanding of
The finer instincts called “mad”
Once a predator, always a hunter
Once a prey, always hunted
Lurking in a violent purgatory
Underneath a blood sky
Finer details, finer scent
Finer appropriation for the
Veins in the neck, for the kill
The thrill, the sickness and Hell
The mind in chaotic fringe,
I slash and there are no screams
And I have accomplished my dreams
The fantasy to keep me alive and thrive
Within my hole, a thief awaiting a noose
The loose cannon firing off wildly
Inside, I prefer to give in to the urges
I hide my bloody hands in throes
Of wild flowers and mannequin parts
Pornographic images and videos,
The sexual depravity I have craved
Beaten off, empty human cavity
And residing in regret
I succumb to all these ideas
And I cannot control the urges
I take no joy in quickness
And find comfort in the prolonged
Events of limitation obliteration
When done,
I stride out of
Sight
“Mad”
The idea
The ruination
The taste
The urge
Frayed ends of synaptic calibration cut
Like wilting daggers severing the strings
To my last puppet of humanity
Slithering in and out of remembrance
Once a predator, eventually a prey.

RELATIONSHIP Poem: GHOST, by Luca Asher

I wish you would notice me like I notice you.

I love your subtle, witty remarks.
Sarcasm flying from your lips,
And your voice,
How it comforts my anxious heart and racing mind.

I love how you twirl your long brown hair between your pointer finger and thumb,
And the way you look at friends in conversation,
To judge their reactions,
And then smile when they catch your eye.

I love how often you quote various musicals and sitcoms,
Even when I have no clue where they’re from or what they mean.
I love hearing you rant about which shows and music you like,
Because only then do I get an excuse to watch as you talk,
To watch the way you move your hands with every word,
So eloquent and full of ease,
And to see the rapture of joy and comfort cascade across your eyes, and cup your cheeks.

I notice how you scratch at the tattoos on your left arm,
Two little ghosts,
Each with different hats,
When you’re nervous.
I notice how you pick at your nails,
And don’t like the heat,
And how you were overwhelmed by the flashing lights
And loud noises of the arcade we went to one afternoon in June,
Yet still stuck by me,
Because you know I love the claw machines.
But what I really loved was spending time with you.

I notice how badly you sing along to every song in your car,
But I still smile and listen as I watch you drive.
Your hair flying in the breeze,
And the sun capturing your glow in the palm of his hand,
As if you too, were golden,
As if you too, were full of light.

But how could you notice me like I notice you?

How could you know that what to you might be a quick flick of the eye,
Is to me, an endless gaze that burrows deep into my core?
Your eyes leave trails along my skin
With even the quickest glance in my direction,
And your smile is lightning – the twilight that erupts in thunder.

And I miss watching shows with you and our mutual friend,
And how we played Jackbox games on their TV.
You kept putting your feet up on their lap,
And they would get so annoyed.
I miss how I’d stick my tongue out at you,
And you’d do the same,
I miss the countless bracelets and drawings I made for you,
And how we played truth or truth while sitting on bleachers,
With the zwoop zap zoom of go karts in our ears.

And I miss the times we’ve spent in your car.
It felt like home,
You felt like home,
Our friend felt like home,
Driving along the highway,
Music in our ears,
You and our friend shouting out the lyrics to songs I didn’t know,
And me in the backseat,
Taking it all in.

And I hated counting down the days,
To when you’d leave.
Me holding on tight to your stuffed bear,
His fuzz brushing the tip of my nose,
Breathing in the smell of you.
Because everything you do,
Everything you are,
Will always leave me breathless
And wanting more,
Even when it shouldn’t.

But you’ll never notice,
And I’ll never tell.
For I could write you poem after poem,
Draw you picture after picture,
And none of it could ever compare,
To how fast my heart beats to the light of your smile,
And to how much love I have for you.

Yet the comfort and familiarity of it all,
Is what now makes my heart cry,
Like the sweet tears that trickle down overripe fruit.
I miss you so much,
And the red of your car,
The waltz of your voice,
The comfort of you,
Continuously bleeds their rays across the lids of my eyes,
And sometimes,
I still find myself scanning each red car that drives along the road,
Just waiting to see if it’s you.

POLITICAL Poem: New world Water, by Oscar Sanders

Why the hell can’t I have clean water?
I said why the hell can’t I have clean water?
Are we gonna turn this into a fight?
Shouldn’t crystal clean water be in sight?
Who knew about emergency managers?
Who knew he was the devil’s ambassador?
As a bureaucrat, it’s your job to protect us.
Not create rust and lead
That causes all kinds of abnormalities and internal
tragedies in a child’s head.
Fuck that…In my head!
And it leads to all kinds of pathogens, which starve for
unique antigens.
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
Right now, I’m drinking piss
Or something that looks like piss
Something’s amiss
As I fish and dig and research
Clearer water for us was besmirched.
How you saving the State money?
When we find it hard to breathe?
How you saving the State money?
When the result inflects disease?
These are laws against human nature.
When suddenly the State becomes a traitor.
As if someone anointed them creator.
Waiting for the government to fix it can be slow yo’.
Or actually the problem is infectious with the slo-mo.
It doesn’t matter if you’re rural.
The plan is all about systemic poor urban removal.
You charging me for water I can’t drink?
Obviously, you have a PHD from the University of Don’t
of Think.
About the irrevocable harm and symptoms like:
Hair falling out what’s that all about
Back and muscles ache stuff you can’t fake.
Seizures in her sleep, now I can’t even sleep.
Long term heavy metals poisoning that I can’t say how
annoying.
Anemia, memory loss, brain fog and fatigue.
There have been reports of diverticulitis, a digestive
disease.
Chants of you gotta get the lead out
You gotta get the lead out
You gotta get the lead out
You gotta get the lead out
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
You mean to tell me that if it wasn’t for General Motors-
who complained that, the water was so corrosive that it
was affecting the manufacturing of their cars
That the people of Flint would still be displaying
undrinkable water in jars?
Rusting engine blocks exposed the problem
High levels of chloride was the problem
But if there was no General Motors would there be a
problem?
They threatened to leave the State if you don’t straighten
this shit out!
We can make cars in any fucking State with a doubt!
Man, you gotta cut off that water and switch back to the
Detroit water system now
Or we gonna move our whole manufacturing facility
somehow!
Finally, they have began to indict a few
But the process is so damn slow but you already know
what they were gonna say, “This will take time.”
Not when my friends are dying and it’s fucking with mine
These are inexcusable acts that are immoral and clearly
lack
The ability to right a wrong and get back on track
I say these are crimes against humanity
A psychosis defined as insanity
Equal to a cultural/class genocide that should be tried in
the world court
I say Loretta Lynch, please do your job
Before people assemble on the Great Lawn resemble a
mob
Put the Governor, Director of Water Works, and lastly the
Emergency Manager in jail
Left to drink that nasty shit they define as water with
every meal beginning with no bail
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water