GRAVITY

Melanie Kessinger

I.

a rose is a rose is a rose a photograph a definition a flower but only one of those is tangible only one can prick you only one can sit delicately in a vase in your living room but why are they all considered roses when a picture of me is not me a description of me is not me only I am me but if a rose is a rose is a rose then what else who else am I

II.

not yet not yet not yet I’m not ready I don’t want to don’t make me I’m embarrassed and ashamed of myself but when everybody else has done it and everybody else is telling you to do it don’t you want to do it too don’t you need to do it don’t you long to do it do it do it do it do it do it do it and you’re going to do it whatever it is and even if you don’t want to anymore oops it’s already done
 

III.

hope is a thing with feathers and wings so fly fly fly away little bird soar away from this fucked up world before it’s too late too late too late is it too late for me to go with you because it never feels like I have wings it doesn’t feel like I can fly so what does that say about me maybe I’m hopeless helpless featherless wingless forever on the ground

Kirra Perry

SMOKE

Renee Ferguson

it’s easier living high off second hand smoke

watching from afar

as the center begins to crumble

I promised myself that I’d never

feel the guilt

in the backseat of a hotboxed car

and the glass never touches my lips

only the whisper of my purity

escapes my red lips

inhaling invisible smoke

we never see

that in which we are submerged

and dear smoke

I think

maybe it’s ok to love you

as long as we never kiss

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Finn zink

ANGST & POETRY

SARAH Flynn

Teenage angst: a feeling of anxiety about one’s life or situation. Often seen in the form of “I’m-so-misunderstood-what-is-life” or more conventionally, poetry.

 

The grey bird beckons me to join him

    Follow me! he says

    Follow me!

 

    I remember showering one late Tuesday night two years ago. It might have been in early December, but the leaves had not fallen off of the trees yet. The trees were red and gold, kind of like sunstone with a rustic hint. I’m not sure details matter - or maybe they do - but I am sure of the sunstones and the golds.

    I remember showering because it was a cold night and the heater had stopped working and I needed something warm. I wanted to get under the blazing water and let it cascade over me, making thousands of waterfalls that end up in the drain...

olivia Marwell

ANGST & POETRY

SARAH FLYNN

Teenage angst: a feeling of anxiety about one’s life or situation. Often seen in the form of “I’m-so-misunderstood-what-is-life” or more conventionally, poetry. 

 

The grey bird beckons me to join him 

    Follow me! he says

    Follow me! 

 

I remember showering one late Tuesday night two years ago. It might have been in early December, but the leaves had not fallen off of the trees yet. The trees were red and gold, kind of like sunstone with a rustic hint. I’m not sure details matter - or maybe they do - but I am sure of the sunstones and the golds.

    

I remember showering because it was a cold night and the heater had stopped working and I needed something warm. I wanted to get under the blazing water and let it cascade over me, making thousands of waterfalls that end up in the drain. ...

OLIVIA MARWELL

Olivia Marwell

FACELESS NAMELESS

The white picket fence faded into powder and I stood facing the house wondering, wondering if I was finally tripping on the rich people's drug. They were running races too. Handing off batons of gold and silver laced with something deadly. A different type of killer.  

Saved by luck, sometimes. But I know I’m not always so lucky. If luck is what you want to call it.

 

HANDS UP! I don’t want to play anymore. DON’T SHOOT! We can’t see we’re all racist. We don’t want to see we’re all racist.

We’re all racist.

 

I don’t like your fences and walls and fake lines. You changed my last name at Ellis Island. I am done with your targeted killings, your extraordinary rendition, your secret prisons. America, I am fed up with your murder and oppression and torture and lies. I’m tired of this history and this reality. Do better.

 

And fuck Chester Arthur.

Isabelle Khoo-miller

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ANGST & POETRY

Sophie devincenti

THE ANTICLIMAX OF CAPITALISM

Jean Pineapple

When I reached the top of

The World

There was so much fog around

The Summit

I couldn’t see a God-damned thing

I waited for a lifetime for

The Fog

To clear and when it did

I Turned

Around and settled halfway down

The Mountain

.95

Audrey Dickinson

Unnecessary pressure, why do you haunt me? my body aches to know who threw this bundle of stress over my cloudy head. parents, school, society, me. could it be me? how can i learn to breathe when i was born in an underwater labyrinth? how can i swim when the waves of the world swallow me whole, drag me into their uniform classrooms? the tide rises as the shore escapes my frail grasp. pathetic gasps for air, a sudden scream. the turbulent swell silences all. they tell me, “do not be stressed, worried about grades, college, life.” but they, the gods of the ocean, throw the weight atop my sinking shoulders. how can i recharge my dead battery? my body reads 0, but my grades say 95. 95. the only number that counts. ignorant ocean gods can’t read the one that matters once the storm has passed. when the battery shuts off and no number can be seen, they wonder why it’s not 100. why we, the drowning, place the weight upon ourselves. why we never recharge our dying batteries. why we didn’t try harder to breathe, swim, survive. it’s always our fault, isn’t it? the sinking swimmer is to blame, while the ones who threw her overboard shake their heads in disappointment.

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Melanie Kessinger

APOTHEOSIS

AIDAN Niles

He cries

Self conception of the soul

Shattering hill and knoll

He dies

Transcends beyond flesh and flies

He is more than whole

Overflowing bowl

He sighs

 

Breath on the air

Tales of promise and glory

Decaying in time

Silvering of his hair

Forgotten story

Frozen and lost in the grime

NEW FRIENDS

UNEXPECTED

Isabelle Khoo-miller

i want …”

no

 

“those eyes that waist

slow down

you beautiful

where you going”

 

“don’t you trust me

stop

slow down”

 

i don’t want …”

 

bitch.

SARAH Flynn

the sojourning heart yields

to echoes of feet against pavement

and nails against wood

wandering

still free, freely still

 

the silenced heart surges

through mountains of lead

and oceans of oil

quiet

still bare, barely still

 

the sojourning heart meets

that which is silenced

and echoes of oil and lead

and mountains of pavement and wood

paint the face of a startled child

still moving, movingly still

SophiDevicenti

Sage Rossman

MAEGAN Dillon

61 TRIBUTES TO 16

Renee Ferguson

This poem’s made up of excerpts from my friends’ social media posts.

I’ve taken to writing everything down

why am I like this

my head is fucking killing me

I’m in tears

the bloody dresses were there

once it’s gone I feel empty;

music tastes different when you’re high

this is all your fault

I promised myself I’d never do this again

it’s all coming back

home is the worst

she kicked my fucking ass

I have never craved alcohol

like this before

sometimes I hate her

I don’t know what I’d do without her

I’m not lost

you’re not my fucking hero

I feel like no one judges me

when I’m at group therapy

I am depressed beyond belief

it’s barely noticeable but it’s still there

I feel so broken

my heart is fine

so sick of doctors all the fucking time

so close

to being put back in the hospital

he died in a pool of his own blood...

 "I'm Fine"

ELLA Boscoe