A Hazy Day

After the overdue fight that seemed like it went on forever, we dragged our tired bodies to the edge of the sidewalk where the water flowed down the street like the waterfalls you tell me you are going to take me to one day.

But everything falls through at least once, the love we have wouldn’t be anything if it didn’t crumble at our feet. Your words tear through the foggy air that we stumble in and touch my brain softly like the butterfly that landed on my bruised knees when I was a child.

Though at this moment all I can comprehend is the buzzing neon light above us in the dystopian city that we call our minds. You nudge your way into mine.

You get so tired of living like a god that your ground has shattered into a million sparkling little pieces that now take place of the twinkle in my eye. My eyelids fall heavy and the we wait in the car as the sun sinks in the and the ocean starts to melt together with the ground we walk on.

Unresolved and pending in the nervous air we disregard any problems we once had and turn to our dreams for closure.

By Cara

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October Poetry Slam

Below we have included our favorite poems sent to us by readers and our team for this month’s poetry slam. Remember that each month you can send in poems to be included!

~

Dear Mother Nature,

Thanks, but no thanks. I want a do-over.

I want to be Factory Reset.

I need someone to delete everything that makes the rest of me glitch out.

No more stuttering when I remember how much I hate my voice,

no more tripping over curbs because I was staring at my big feet.

I want someone to snap my shoulders backwards when I walk down the street,

giving my neck the strength to hold my head high.

No, better.

I want to strip the flaw from my brain

the same way teenage girls peel away the dirt in their pores,

I want loathing and disgust to speckle the sticky paper.

When it tears away my soul is fresh and smooth

and everything I wasn’t before.

Here I am, everything you wanted me to be.

Here I am, everything I was supposed to be.

No, even better.

Forget the factory reset, scratch the stripping of my flaws.

I want to look at the red blotches and bumps on my skin and see constellations

like the girls with Instagram feeds filled with skinny, perfect bodies say I should.

I want to look at the bags under my eyes as something other than ugly purple stains.

I want to look at my doughy thighs and see a place for someone to trace their fingers,

smooth and soft and gentle,

tickling my skin like a paintbrush tickles a canvas.

I want to look at my long legs and arms like watercolor wings,

as dainty instead of daunting,

or graceful instead of gawky.

I want to be placed in a museum so that I can be told I am a work of art instead of a childish crayon drawing.

By Sydney Fallon

Self Analysis

last night i looked into the mirror like i would if i was watching a bad storm outside my window; frightened, yet somehow still intrigued. i imagine the eerie-ness of this old creaky house after the lights go out would completely embody who i am, or, rather, who i’ve become. tons and tons of inconceivable pondering. i push the thoughts back into a dark corner of my mind in which i never plan to visit; kinda like the one in my room with the tangles of mangled spiderwebs that im not entirely sure how they got there. no, this reflection i gaze at is not conventional. im accepting that i will never be the white picket fence american dream. but i am ethereal in my own way, all the same.

By Kaiti

The Real World
A perfect universe, is it real?
Where the hallows walk among us and the sinners stay too low
A perfect universe, define it
Does it consist of unwavering truthfulness from strangers? Do you dare to utter a lie?
The world that we exist in, in which heroism gets buried so you only get to save yourself
See earth is impractical, men in black with their fastidious behavior
Almost like robots roaming around to find imperfections
They adjust their ties, then get going with so called important life or death matters
Pitch black suitcases that carry your insignificant life
Dreary faces that usurp your right to freedom
In earth you don’t always get to breathe whenever you want, you need a green card
You have to pay your way through evolving
But men in black aren’t the only ones making this world a better place
Can’t forget about impeccable characters that rebuke the lower middle class
Trying to delude us into their propaganda set ages ago
Those sanctimonious, self righteous and superior men thrive on weak power
For world domination? Or to gain personal pleasures from the life they claim to love
In long towers and wide mansions, empowered with the sound of the broken wood from the homes they destroyed in order to build their infamous yet squeaky clean reputation
This is the perfect life, the one that causes silenced uprisings
A life in dark shadows which is ignored yet so loud.
#TakeAKnee #DefendDACA
Hitchhike Your Way
Dedicated to the embodiment of inspiration, Fai
To love yourself is more than just an eventful trip,
full of stops and continuous improvements.
To love yourself comes deep within.
That doesn’t just include your skin but also your cells.
To love what made you, all your thoughts and emotions.
And that’s the real trip
To love what goes inside your head and forgive yourself
To stop harboring resentment and let go of all the uncomfortable feelings you made yourself develop.
You get so accustomed by how much you wrong yourself, you forget
You forget that your clinginess that you hate, is what reminds others how good it is to be important.
And all the enthusiasm you show, is what keeps your loved ones so eager to tell you.
To love yourself, comes deep within.
You keep traveling around the world to find that pill you can just take and suddenly love yourself.
But never settling on a land’s soil is hard, and even harder when you can’t settle in your own skin.
But to love your outer surface is a mission too.
To let a standard determine your beauty is something, and letting those around you determine your beauty is what we’re guilty of.
Kids love themselves, until they realize that their skin is too dark and their eyes too small.
Don’t let your right get stripped from you, take a risk and love your thick skin and big nose.
Love the body you never chose but it still protects you.
Adore your scars, your thoughts, manufactured flaws and break all the standers.
Love your short legs, your weak hair, your small eyes, big nose, and petite body.
Love the body you didn’t want to be born in and love the thoughts you can’t stop.
Don’t feel obliged to apologize for being outstanding.
Self love comes deep within so dig deep and capture your astonishing core.
By Robin
Palm

she lay down as the last rays of brightness snuck through the slivers of her eyelids.

he holds her head as she whispers and weeps,

but he can’t hear her cries.

she asks him why me, why me.

the sugar swirled with her tears in her stomach as she yelled louder and louder,

she just wants to be loved for what she is.

deep down she would do anything for whatever being walked the earth.

her heart had once been full and she yearned to return it to that state.

but what she is is a monster created by everyone in her life.

everything they have ever said has pierced her skin, and poisoned her heart,

and left her hopeless and helpless.

every time they touched her, they broke off a piece of her soul

creating an empty space inside of her

mind

and leaving behind

rage.

she had an ounce of sunshine left that she stretched out for everyone she knew

because she thought that she might receive some light in return.

but she kept finding darkness until she couldn’t see through the thick black atmosphere.

a fist formed from the depths of the deep enclosure and grabbed her by the neck,

suffocating her until her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

she had been sheltered her entire life in attempts to keep her safe just to find it was the

same shelter that was killing her.

she was lying in the darkness pleading for help but he just sat there watching her.

begging for a being to let him hear her.

she reached out and touched her palm to his,

just to watch his own figure slowly fade to black,

and sink right through her fingertips.

By Virginia Cannella

a forgotten poetry reading, for a lost lover

i. you have never seen a girl like this, with crow-like wings where her arms should be and blue black feathers with knife edges. you think even her lips would be sharp to the touch.
(you admit that never before have you craved pain,
but for this girl you would change)

ii. you don’t approach her. there is war where her feet tread, a battleground spreads like disease as she continues to dance on grass once green.

(you think that if she spoke or sang, her                                                                    voice would be a wolf’s howl)

iii. you’ve been warned of void girls before but when she meets your eyes, a grin made for fighting and teeth bared for biting, you forget everything but the thought of her lips on yours.

(you like how darkness feels against your skin,
all satin and silk, those sharp lips at your throat)

iv. your first mistake was watching. your second was wanting. your third is a tentative smile as her cold hands find yours, pale flesh where feathers once stood.

(but if you’re honest,
you wouldn’t have it any other way)

The Morrigan – L.S.

Hi guys, I found an old file of me reading a poem to someone whom I loved with my entire heart, but never had the chance to send while I could. This is your sign to tell someone you love them – before you lose them. 

With love,

Rosie.

On Fire – A Tell Tale Poem

The pungent smell of smoke tickled the inside of his nostrils, disrupting his steady breathing pattern and sleep.

A certain warmth pressed against his still body, the pressure of heat slowly building up until he jolted awake, suddenly aware of the fact that his world was on fire. Flames licked the gap underneath the flammable door, threatening to spill into his room and devour the rest of his living space. He jerked out of bed, tangled in stained bedsheets. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. He could only feel the smoke beginning to coat the inside of his lungs, and his breath began to come out in little puffs of panic and anxiety. The oak door was eaten by the flames within minutes, where they angrily began blazing a trail toward his rigid body on the floor. People say that memories flash before your eyes before you die, but all that he could think about was the inevitable death staring at him straight in the face.

He always wondered what it would feel like to die. What his last thoughts would be, who he would be with, whether or not he would go happily. When the inferno first reached him, it did so timidly. The blaze came into contact with his toes, slowly enveloping his feet and dragging itself up his legs. The heat scorched his skin, pangs of agony reverberated throughout his entire body, but he did not struggle. He felt comforted by the stabilizing pain of fire. His bedsheets
provided no barrier for the fury of the blaze, they only added fuel to the conflagration. By now, his torso was practically eaten up, but he was still conscious. Scraps of his recollections, of the constant recitation of “Stop, Drop, and Roll” in his younger days, floated into his brain. He couldn’t suppress a giggle from bubbling out of his mouth, “Stop, Drop, and Roll” would do absolutely nothing in a situation like this. Blistering heat stabbed into every crevice and lit his body up from the inside out, gradually, his vision spotted.

The incessant screech of the smoke alarm punctured his ear drums and he lurched awake. The smoke alarm blared overhead, disrupting his unsteady thoughts and forcing him to become alert.

Thin smoke billowed into his room from the crack under the door, and he jumped out of bed, but this time, he didn’t fall.

By Nicole Figueroa