On my wrist
is a bracelet
Of the deepest shade of red
Fluid and straight
It stains my skin
And cuts deep into my flesh
Handcrafted with loneliness
And embellished with hate
It glimmers in the darkness
And is masked in the day
A gift
Sent from the boy
Who made my sheets reek
Of black love ...
On Your Wrist
TBD
On my wrist
is a bracelet
Of the deepest shade of red
Fluid and straight
It stains my skin
And cuts deep into my flesh
Handcrafted with loneliness
And embellished with hate
It glimmers in the darkness
And is masked in the day
A gift
Sent from the boy
Who made my sheets reek
Of black love ...
On Your Wrist
TBD
TITLE
NAME
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The Contents of a cabinet
Renee Ferguson
Someone I love so much keeps me up at night. With the banging of cupboards and drawers and the opening and closing of the fridge, with quiet footsteps on carpeted stairs and the sharp squeak of the third stair from the bottom floor. I heard her last Thursday and then I slept out on Saturday but she’s fumbled down the stairs every night this week, too petrified to turn on a light. ..
The Contents of a cabinet
Renee Ferguson
Someone I love so much keeps me up at night. With the banging of cupboards and drawers and the opening and closing of the fridge, with quiet footsteps on carpeted stairs and the sharp squeak of the third stair from the bottom floor. I heard her last Thursday and then I slept out on Saturday but she’s fumbled down the stairs every night this week, too petrified to turn on a light. ..
Grey Bird
A.W. Lion-Cleaver
The grey bird beckons me to join him
Follow me! he says
Follow me!
A nest sprinkled with
Crumbles of ash
Built upon marlboro sticks
and poisonous leaves
Follow me!
Feathers grey, turn grey, turning grey
Feathers with knotted ends
Dipped in black
Feathers rough, turn rough, turning rough
Follow me!
Grey Bird
A.W. Lion-Cleaver
The grey bird beckons me to join him
Follow me! he says
Follow me!
A nest sprinkled with
Crumbles of ash
Built upon marlboro sticks
and poisonous leaves
Follow me!
Feathers grey, turn grey, turning grey
Feathers with knotted ends
Dipped in black
Feathers rough, turn rough, turning rough
Follow me!


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

Sophie Devicenti

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...


