By: Bailey Vincent I stand Steely scissors in trembling hands Over the scaly dweller of the stream The creature mellowed by morphine To lay its shivering silver body on the slate table I completed the paperwork But I was not prepared To take the life of the silvery White Sucker fish Between bones, the…Continue Reading Dissection Lab
By: Grace Crouthamel A warm room somewhere, chapped lips and the taste of cigarettes still on my breath. A sliver of my being, callous but coarse – what little is left. I can offer you a fashionable loneliness the last laughs of a dying star a billion miles away, a few centimeters between a raindrop…Continue Reading But What Can I Offer You?
By: Tessa Campbell Because my feet are like fish that flop helplessly below me, I decide to walk on my hands but my hands, sharp like knives, carve a path everywhere I go so I can never hide. My father says that the key to my success is to climb beyond where my fish feet…Continue Reading Carving My Path
By: Sydney Vincent Death has pretty eyes, eyes that glisten when the sun hits them just right, like a glass green bottle on the eastern windowsill of your gram’s house in the morning wake of the sky. They are those eyes that look up at a glance to catch your gaze from a few tables away in that lonely diner on the corner of your…Continue Reading Death has pretty eyes
By: Jordyn Taylor It began with all the poetry weirdo’s & worriers, and warriors, Worried that their words would be whisked away rather than Wondered, if their wisdom would be wasted on weakness. When you want to work, breathe in the wisdom of others And confidence will follow. Warriors can be wanderers too. It began when willow trees blew whimsical…Continue Reading Poetry Weirdo’s & Worriers & Warriors
By: Jack Snyder Ignore the smog. You have to use your imagination to see here. Peel the skyline like an orange, notice how everything glimmers with just the right light from far enough away. I think that’s why we call it “Tinseltown”, with so much wave and uncertainty, so much jazz and hip hop, so…Continue Reading another reflection in another pair of eyes
By: Victoria DiMartino Bleach her tongue so she can learn the lilt of foreign languages. Ignore her kicking and screaming And show that there is a world far beyond her cream-colored walls And sugar coated cereal. Drop her off not at the airport, But at the docks. Where the men are hardened and dirty, With…Continue Reading Gospel of the Foreign
By: Victoria DiMartino i know why the caged bird sings, full of promise and hope, her feathers slowly and painfully plucked out of her one by one she stands naked in front of the world her pain reads like a newspaper headline bold and overlooked she sings a warbled and broken tune hoping that someone…Continue Reading Dove
By: Victoria DiMartino sitting on silhouettes is when whispers are most likely to be heard. faint voices are to be delicate for the shadows to hear the innocence of silence is too much for children listening to sound is like hearing the secrets in your cars made from telling stories to the mind relish ungoldly hours that free you from half of your soul as time went by and started to fade…Continue Reading Silence
By: Kaitlynn Yeager Grandmom buried 3 of her 5 children, but little does she know there’s a 4th who picked up the shovel. He’s out there digging, high on methamphetamines, his cheeks hollowed out. His hands are shaking from digging all of these years, but he hasn’t stopped yet to take a break. Sweat drips off his chin and that vein in his forehead is pulsating…Continue Reading A Mother’s Love