Poetry
Snakes
Sara Rosas
I
I bite my tongue,
Only seeing the snake.
She flicks her tongue,
I bite my tongue still.
II
She keeps my secrets,
I spill here.
She is stupid and doesn’t know.
I bite, draining the poison from my own fangs,
Right into her.
II
I saved the snake
That’s trying to kill me.
I should’ve left that snake
And let nature take its course.
IV
I have no more pure blood.
It’s taken over by poison.
I fight to not become the snake.
And I'll Be Gone
Paige Rutledge
The car is packed.
“Why leave when your families are here?”
”Why leave when you’ll end up in a town just like this.”
They don’t understand.
They never will understand.
I'm leaving.
The sun will come up.
The birds will sing.
My car will be gone.
My books will be gone.
I’m leaving.
My parents will wake up.
My siblings will wake up.
My dogs will wake up.
And I’ll be gone.
18 years wasted.
All in a little house,
with torn up dog toys and yellowed panels
On a little farm,
Full of cows and fields
In a little town,
Full of unhappy people
And I’ll be gone.
I’ll be gone.
I’ll be happy
In a place up north
Far away from my family,
And all the troubles of life.
And I’ll be gone.
And now the sun’s coming up.
The birds are singing.
And I’m gone.
That Backyard
Miles Sullivan
My mind will always travel back to that yard,
which held the joy of my youth.
A tree as tall as the sky
decorated with a swing and hammock,
so peaceful that the god of destruction wouldn’t lay a finger.
Like a jungle, the tall grass towered over my younger self.
Lightning bugs danced through the night, but
the thought of snakes kept me just observing.
Dark in both day and night, the woods had
boulders scattered in between the trees,
So mesmerizing that picnics on the large rocks were a must.
Returning to that safe haven would be a dream unmatched,
for the yard now is nothing but dead grass
and that measly stump,
once as tall as the sky.
You Married The Bottle
Miles Sullivan
I.
You walked along the wrong path.
Your mind pushed and pulled until it gave up.
Your brain stopped fighting against itself
And drowned in your addiction.
Along with your mind went your happiness and care.
You pushed away your family
And married the bottle. That toxic
Relationship was slowly your death.
II.
My mother wept when she heard the news.
She dug herself into a deep pit of depression.
Her husband, my father, was gone,
Lost in your ways, now lost without life.
Her one true love now nothing but decay
Still her heart seeks your touch, just to be
Met with the edge of your grave
And your memorial flag.
III.
I miss you everyday, and never will I forget our memories.
I kept your shirts and your pictures,
But I couldn’t keep you. You chose
The drugs and the beer over your life,
But did they love you more than your kids ever could?
Did they love you more than your wife ever could?
Trapped
Hailie-Jade Miller
I slouch on the window sill, pondering
how different could it all be?
I watch everyone else be lively,
everything around me, able to be free.
I watch the children outside swing,
like they are an eagle flying away.
I see the adults run,
like foxes leaving farm grounds.
I stay trapped,
looking out into the day.
I watch the sun,
setting on the deep lake.
Wishing I could leave,
Waiting for mom to be less scared of strangers.
Waiting for dad to trust my abilities,
that I can defend myself.
The moon crawls up.
I fear the shadows on my back.
Yet I stay put
watching the moon follow me.
Nobody else noticed me,
the moon always stayed by my side.
When everyone else was worried for me,
the moon worried about nothing.
I choose the moon every time.
The way the darkness looks,
the deep blue cast over everything.
Then the rain comes.
All energy vanishes for the night.
After all the light is gone,
just the little beacon of hope,
the sliver of the moon.
I sit there watching,
sunrise and back.
Wondering when I can venture,
and feel the breeze.
Friends?
Hailie-Jade Miller
I.
I sat on my floor,
waiting for him to open my message.
I knew he was waiting,
he always waited.
He half swiped me,
Peeking at my words.
He couldn’t even fully open it?
My breathing speeds, and I start to shake.
II.
He laid on his bed,
not knowing how to respond.
She really likes him.
He just asked who “dotted line" was.
He sits there bewildered for 10 minutes.
He doesn’t want her.
He never could want her.
He opens it.
III.
“I’m so sorry,” I read.
Oh…
My heart collapsed with agony.
Of course he says that.
He doesn’t need to say anything else.
“I get it.”
I turn my phone off,
and tears fill my eyes. It hurts.
IV.
‘She would never be that okay with this,’
he sat on his bed thinking.
‘Did I say the wrong thing?’
After all, he knows.
He knows she is magnificent.
“She deserves better than me.”
He can’t stop thinking of her teal eyes.
V.
My phone lights up and dings,
He sent me a new picture.
I see his eyes like a foggy day
looking at me through the phone.
My breathing slows
and I wipe my tears away.
Unfortunately, I can’t get his fluffy,
dusty brown hair away from my mind.
VI.
They continued to hang out.
She always looked lifeless around him.
He started to seem brighter around her.
Suddenly, she couldn’t hang out with him anymore.
Nobody knew what happened.
Neither of them really knew, either.
The spark in her eyes disappeared into her own mind.
He never stopped praying for that spark to be back.
Childhood
Emily Watson
I miss the young girl with scraped knees
Who played in the mud in her princess dress
Who would write entire novels
In one kindergarten class period
Using scented markers to color the lined paper
She asked her teacher to staple for her.
She would giggle and snicker with her best friend,
Not caring about her scratched knees
Being irritated by the rough lettered carpet
While they tried to stay silent
As the teacher reads them “Little House on the Prairie.”
”I need space” then meant more room to draw,
Moving to the tile floor, not caring about germs.
Her chubby hand covers the finished part
Of the purple pig she was coloring
When she leaned in close to focus
On what she was working on.
The earthy smell of crayon wax filling her nose
As she scribbled on the thin printer paper.
I’m no longer that little girl.
All that remains of her is
A jewelry box of baby teeth and plastic rings.
Her dollhouse rots with the flooded basement’s moldy carpet
With her tub of unlabeled crayons she took from restaurants,
And the Barbie dolls she cut the hair off of.
Now I’m the one people snicker at in class
As I draw characters of my own design–
A rock band with colored hair,
Farmers with hearts of gold,
Cowboys with trad-goth makeup.
I’m the easy target,
With my short hair and band shirts,
Claustrophobic hallways made hell
When a boy that smells of gym socks and cheap hair gel
Shoves me out of his already open path,
Mumbling “faggot” as he does.
Men I’ve never met terrify me.
I fear an insult, a slur, every time one talks to me the first time.
I dread their failed attempts to stifle their laughter
As they approach me during lunch,
In the cafeteria that smells like burnt collard greens and lunch meat.
“My friend thinks you’re cute,”
One says as a group howls like wolves with laughter.
All I can do is tell him to take a long walk off a short peer
While my cheeks burn from embarrassment
And my blood boils.
I rot in my bed,
My eyes burning from tears
And the bright light from my tablet screen,
with an unfinished sketch of someone who’s in a better world.
My weighted blanket feels so much heavier than fifteen pounds.
It pins me to the bed and makes my back ache.
As I listen to men on the news debate if I should have rights over my own body,
I think about that little girl
And I miss her.
Through the Cove
Emily Watson
Fog forms a blanket over rocks,
Concealing their edges like knives.
Harsh waves crash against their sides
Leaving white foam like lace on their surface.
The ship rocks as it passes through,
Creaking as the rocks scratch at the wood.
The sails ripple, at the mercy of strong wind.
Crashing of waves deafen other sounds.
The crew is thrown from each side the deck,
Each trying to grab hold of something to find balance.
Wind freezes their faces, tinting their cheeks red.
Boxes below deck slide and collide.
Soft singing travels with the wind,
Reaching the crew through the chaos.
They were captivated by the honeyed sound,
Like a rat in a glue trap.
As if possessed, one steers the ship, to the singing,
On the rocks sat captivating women,
Like guiding lights, they stood out against the stormy sky.
Their bright eyes and shimmering dresses draw the sailors in.
Wood grinds against rock, screeching, joining the wind and serenades.
The boat rocks violently, the crew standing near the edge
In hopes of catching a closer look at the women
And to hear their enchanting voices forever.
But, lost in their captivation,
They don’t notice until it’s too late.
The front of the ship crashes into the rocks,
Impaled, it starts to sink.
The sailors fall into the raging water.
Water fills their ears and mouth as they flail.
Their bodies go numb and their arms burn.
Their tongues go dry from the sting of salt.
The singing stops,
The women crawl down the rocks
Their tails catching the small bit of light
That pokes through the dark clouds.
The sailors' bodies go limp, their eyes void of color.
Blood fills the black seas, the white foam turning pink.
Sharp fangs buried deep in the flesh,
They enjoy their feast.
Alone
Emily Watson
Water rushes past the concrete.
We sit on the edge of the bank,
The only sound the rhythmic tapping
Of your heels hitting the wall
As you idly kick your feet.
The back of your converse
Covered by your bell bottom jeans
Softening the thumping sound.
New sunlight shines on my scuffed knees.
I play with the frayed edges of my denim shorts.
The beat down trail is behind us,
the campsite it leads to quiet
Besides the quiet chirps of birds.
For all the time before the sun rises,
It feels like we're the only people in the world.
Moonlight
Sara Rosas
I will choose the moon over the sun
The shiny stars over the dull clouds
The soft cricket chirps in the night
Over all the noises of the cars and people in the day
The cool air and the way it soothes my skin
Over the dry, warm breeze what burns my eyes
The feeling of peace from being alone
Over everyone talking all at once around me
The moon over the sun
Killing Plants
Rylie Ford
I.
I see the way you tend to your other plants,
the yarrow,
jade,
and cactus.
Everyone but me.
You shelter me on your window,
I can see the rain but never feel it.
I thought you’d give me everything I needed.
Im thirsty,
I can feel my leaves withering,
and the roots you planted are rotting.
You don’t realize it,
but one day you’ll come back to my pot,
to see a dried up ghost of what we would’ve been.
But all I needed was the water you so generously give to the others.
II.
I was grateful at first.
You were someone who cared for me,
placed me in the sun,
and watered me daily.
But when you saw how I flourished under your care,
and your obsession with my flowers grew,
you turned the fortune of hydration into something I dread.
You poured more water into my already drowning roots,
while your other plants withered away,
and my lungs were too full to tell you
that your care was turning my soil into a grave.
You And I
Paige Rutledge
I
It started out small
Little things, happy things
Overused jokes
Rib crushing hugs
Eight and nine
So young, so happy
II
You learned first
Broken thoughts, empty eyes
You found a way
Then you learned
A single rope
You try twenty times
You don’t tell a soul
III
We grew
Closer and closer
Older and stronger
Things soon change
Emotions skyrocket
We change
But we never leave
IV
It’s a joke at first
Compliments
Hand in hand
Gentle hugs
Then happy eyes
A single question
Late night calls
V
Happiness
I love to smile
I love your smile
I love what we had
I love what we have
Nothing will ever change
Everything will change
But we won’t leave
You will never leave
I will never leave
That is enough
We are enough
School
Sara Rosas
Day, week, month, all spent in school.
Classroom after classroom, repeating.
Repeated lessons, repeated work.
Nothing new, not even the people.
I’m so tired of the same useless cycle.
I’m not the academic weapon I want to be.
I’m average at best.
I’ve learned to see my self worth in numbers and letters
Through grades and comments.
I saw the inside of cells and learned what osmosis is
And how to tell the area of a square.
But I haven’t learned to pay my bills,
To be smart in life, to know how to help yourself.
I didn’t learn to find a new way out of a repetitive cycle.
Through The Window
Justin Schumacher
Through the window,
above the dining table, the light
glowed brightly. I watched you laugh,
smile, a version of you I once knew;
as you shined bright my own light dimmed.
A decision you were content with,
happy with, a decision I would venture miles
in order to find an answer that would never be revealed.
I stared through that window
at the man, a boy,
who I once let into my art gallery of trust.
The man who admired all the paintings displayed
each with their own hidden meanings.
I let him add his own portrait,
the portrait that displayed who he truly was;
the strokes were soft with bright watercolors
that illuminated his facial features—
youth and adventure.
I displayed that portrait with pride.
As I looked through the window
that portrait was unrecognizable;
lines were harsh, colors in deepened hues.
The facial features no longer expressed youth,
instead it resembled trickery and vindictiveness.
I miss the old portrait,
even though it’s covered in webs.
Through the window was the past,
a time that was no longer existent.
I walked away while I still could,
away from the hurt and the torture.
I no longer stared through that window.
Cycle
Hailie-Jade Miller
I'm done repeating the same pattern.
Friendship isn’t meant to be a spiral of doubt.
Something you can come back to when it’s convenient,
only to leave when it's easier to walk away.
I’ve let that happen before, too many times.
waiting on things to change, for you to change.
But I can not keep hoping for a prize,
that I was never competing for.
Real friends do not count favors
or fill in gaps.
It's not about being there, only when it serves you.
Or showing up, when there is nothing else to take.
It’s about showing up.
Even when its hard,
even when it’s inconvenient,
it's about giving, without expecting anything in return.
It’s about staying.
Even when life gets tough,
even when you could walk away,
in you choosing to be a steady presence, not just a rare sight.
I’ve learned that sometimes the hardest thing is knowing when to stop.
I’ve given pieces of myself,
that I can't get back.
I've been waiting too long for you to stop spiraling.
I see now that true friendship doesn’t demand more than you have to give.
It doesn’t take and take and take,
leaving you empty,
without ever giving anything in return.
It is not about the hoping,
that one day we could change.
It is about the understanding,
that we may never.
I’m not rewinding the moments anymore.
I'm not pretending that we can just re-roll.
Because the truth is,
some things just aren’t meant to last.
I’ve given enough chances,
And more than enough time.
Now it's time
For us to stop dealing and walk away.
Friendship is meant to be a shared journey
not something that always feels like a one way street.
And I’m done settling for anything less
than what I deserve.
Closed But Not Locked
Hailie-Jade Miller
The door is closed, but unlocked.
I never understood that.
Why close the door,
if it can be reopened?
Why run away,
just to stop every so often?
I’ve never understood,
how that hurts more.
Knowing they’re right behind the door,
just one step out of reach.
You never understand,
until it's happening to you.
Unadded but not blocked, on snap.
Unfollowed but not blocked, on instagram.
Deleted contact, but not blocked.
One small step out of reach.
