When things are not as they seem by Monica Muznik
It bothers me, When people care I like being independent from the world A helping hand hurting a heart has a chance at goodness
YOU ARE THE REASON
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When things are not as they seem by Monica Muznik
It bothers me, When people care I like being independent from the world A helping hand hurting a heart has a chance at goodness
Untitled by Kasey Hickey
If I married a man we could stay within each others hearts, But if I married a lady, the world would end up in bits and parts? So if I held his hand, no one would think or wonder, But if she held my hand, all the mountains and hills would fall and plunder? And if he kissed my lips, my toes would tingle and heart would beat, But if I kissed her instead, all the children would be living on the street? And if I loved her instead of loving him, Our economy would fall and the communists would win? So I'll dream about his eyes instead of her smile, Because for sure if I did the sun would hide for a while. Every time I thought of her, the ozone would thin, But loving a boy instead, will help the earth spin. So maybe it's true, I'm in love with a boy, But if a girl wasn't, what would it destroy? The sky would still be blue and the grass would still be green, Even if a girl was dating the homecoming queen. So breaking my heart is the worse thing they can do, Because the boy that I'm in love with, he's in love with a boy too.
"Onset of Summer" by Anne Li
These past days have seen an explosion of green Vibrant green buds and tender leaves As flowers of color fade and drop In favor of summer’s classy trees. Watch the sudden, exponential growth Bare bones of winter and delicate spring See the new lushness of the world As gaps upon sky and ground fill in. See the changes in the light, The ways of drowsy summer morns Direct rays no longer pierce the sky At horizon’s clearing by the sun. Filtered through the thickening leaves Diffused to dimmer, summer green Summer of growth, and languid dreams When summer storms rise and split sky’s seams. All in the sudden greening of trees.
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Taken in New York by Emma Iacometta
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"Cupid's Response" by Steven Kwon
“Oh dear Cupid, what have I done to thee to make me love such a monstrosity? Her blood-red eyes, so void, yet full of life (the kind that fondles gently with a scythe). Yet I still gravely cling onto that scythe.”—Says he “Oh foolish man, you feeble-minded soul-- who can’t dodge an arrow, as big as a pole? And after it hits, have you no mind to just take it out, than to keep it and whine? Even a baby can do what you cannot!”—Says He. “But why shoot at all? Have you no shame to spread your vile disease just for the fame? Do you enjoy the fights, the screams, the tears? Are they to you pleasant to see and hear? I hope your cherished bow snaps with a shriek, and I can proudly laugh at the end of your streak. But sadly, such a sight is impossible to see.”—Says he. “Am I also a human, who enjoys such crimes-- who, at night, deeply longs for those times? (Though, I admit, my arrows might be the cause, for they bring up jealousy, and other flaws.) But have you thought that, instead of a poison, my arrows are rather a remedy for reason? Your answers are not in me, but in her.”—Says He.
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"Gift" by Gabriella Heifetz
Today was the day she would share with the world, Eyes gleaming with curiosity and hope. Armed with a large white canvas backpack full of The baby pink frosted angel food cupcakes that Her loving mother swaddled with supple white silk and Tied with sparkling silver ribbon and enclosed in Tiny glass boxes which she tucked away in her knapsack. They were beautiful and the girl loved them more than any treat, So her mother crafted hundreds and hundreds of cupcakes. Consequently there were entirely too many, more than Any little girl should have to carry so she was sent to Share her pristine possessions confident that she could Brighten all sad faces and cure any broken hearts because for Her these packages were the greatest gift she could offer. But you see, the very same hopeful day, A boy set out in search of something different. Armed with a small tattered and stained sack full of Absolutely nothing but a few inevitable specks of dust because Where he comes from, sweet goodies don’t exist so he set out to Find something to change his life even though he had no idea what He was looking for perhaps he would know when he found it. Of course it would eventually happen, Both traveling with no predetermined destination of course they would meet. Her baby blue eyes glowed and her smile quickly lit up as She cautiously unshouldered her large white bag which Left behind deep red marks with black and blue undertones on Her shoulders from the straps that repeatedly rubbed against them and The continuous weight of the packages she’d never put down. She eagerly removed one of the fragile little packages that she Trusted would be very well received by the boy. He looked at it with a perplexed gaze for he had never seen such Strange and entirely foreign little morsels and when the girl with Her careful hands passed it gently to the boy, the force of His hands at first cracked and then crushed the package as The cupcake and its trimmings shattered like the glass box that held them. The silk and ribbons were torn to shreds, Jagged shards of hope and frosting flew in every direction possible. Blood streamed from his hands and the cuts on his arms while The blood on her face blended with sugar and tears leaving a small river of Salty sweet blood trickling down her cheeks and onto the floor where They then mixed with the remains of the shattered package and Created images that she would never be able to erase from her mind. The boy, relatively unphased did not say anything but, Shrugged and casually continued along the path. He had neither the obligation nor the inclination to clean up for This was simply not what he had in mind when he set out That day so the girl watched him go while wiping away The red stained tears and crawling around on the dirt floor trying to Gather in her arms as many of the shards and remains as she could. When her frail little arms could hold no more, She picked herself and stood still for a moment while her eyes adjusted. Still carrying her large white bag now soiled with dirt she looked upon The disaster she had left behind and the blood that she let Stain the earth and she felt the weight of the bag still strapped to Her back only now it felt just an ounce lighter than before so she Wiped the last red tear from her cheek letting the shards from her arms fall to the ground.
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Love & Other Things by Anonymous October 2011 back cover
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"Does Jesus Lie?" by Molly Kirschner
I was on the A train pitying the car on the parallel track for the mariachi band it carried: Three full-grown accordion players and one child, a little girl collecting coins in a top hat. I was grateful just then that my fellow passengers were silent and unimposing; that they asked nothing of me but that I reciprocate the silence. I was grateful not to have to refuse anyone money and I was grateful that nobody minded my business. Then at 14th Street a preacher boarded. He began to talk about the lord and the like in a bombastic mumble. I couldn’t decipher the words but I could tell that they were scripted. I chuckled in spite of myself till he turned his torso- a perfect rectangular prism- towards me. “Folks,” he cried, as a prophet might cry, “Does Jesus lie?” I considered this earnestly. Does Jesus lie? How am I to know? I’ve never shared a barstool with him. When the train reached Chambers St. and the minister made no indication that he was leaving, when none of the passengers acknowledged his question, he asked it again. “Folks, does Jesus lie?” “Well there was this one time-” I blurted to put an end to this repetition, to drive out lunacy with lunacy. Without taking one step towards me, he responded to my heresy. “No! Jesus does not lie.” Then he added, “If Jesus says that you’re going to get pregnant, then you’re going to get pregnant.” And with that, he stepped off the train and onto Fulton Street. Still, none of my fellow passenger adjusted their expressions to this extraordinary happening. No one’s eyes fell to mine and I was grateful. I was grateful, though a strange and rectangular man had just threatened me with pregnancy. It’s a formidable threat, after all, when it’s men like him who decide whether or not my insurance covers birth control.
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Untitled by Anonymous
My feet momentarily touching the ground Been more than forever since shoved from cloud nine A lie that you beautifully shoved passed the line Just for a moment, I’m once again found If just for a moment, before you reply, Regret to confess my heart’s still in the sky There it remains, on the stand side our bed Along with the promise of bliss in my head I guess I was blind from the fog of our love Or faint from no oxygen miles above I guess the light shining around us was fake Bound by the halo you took time to make Guess I’m momentarily trapped by your spell Forging a heaven that’s clearly a hell In settings somehow just a breath from sun’s shine Fooling my eyes on exquisite cloud nine Through years since I’ve fallen, I’ve morphed to a soul That’s practically soulless, a vapid black hole Is now momentarily filled in my chest But solitude’s pain is, in truth, for the best ‘Cause, moments ago, when I saw my reflection I realized that I now decide my direction I don’t need your lies to protect my frail youth From this moment on, I’m defined by the truth Your ice walls are crumbling, melting at last But now I have vanished, the moment has passed And you’ll walk this earth with a tear in your eye And each moment wonder and glance at the sky
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"Alone" by Anonymous
Alone I stand No one by my side Everyone has left me When I needed them the most Like a beautiful flower standing alone in a desert No one to notice its beauty And no one to love and care for it My eyes twinkling at twilight With all the tears falling like rain drops from above beating on a beautiful red rose with all its beauty on its outside its inside is hidden and with the thorns it carries just like my tears falling a face that is trying to smile ignore the truth but inside it does not match the outside I am hurt and broken constantly I haven’t felt real happiness in a while now Everyone stares me down With hate, jealousy, and ignorance They don’t know who I am They look down on me and believe I am nothing But it is hard to ignore for a lifetime Everything, every world that is said Either kills me like a sword going through my heart or makes me happier than ever Yes you can say that I overthink But that’s life Everything is killing me inside Cutting through my heart Leaving me alone wanting to cry Wanting to even die But I don’t know who I am any more For I have changed a lot
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Untitled by Lauren Frankel
i can hear my heart beating beneath this cage, hidden from humanity sounds so distant, seems farther than arms length even if it's not even a fingertip away
this enclosure of bones embraces more than an organ; whims made of dreams escape my lungs with every breath and are expressed through every contraction, push, and pull made by my heart, haphazardly contriving a beat
but i am unerring, it is too remote and outlying from society nonetheless it is so much: it is life yet we as earthly beings hinder all that our moralities are, all that we as absolute mortal existences are, and we always look twice before going on this adventure called love
what is love anyway? how would we even know if we keep our hearts so jaded and far for us to possibly learn
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"I Heard a Bird Chirp" by Anonymous
I heard a Bird chirp -- When I was born -- The Light pierced my Eyes With an Inviting Warmth-- Like a double-edged Sword-- My Eyes -- for the First Time The World Revealed Itself-- Fear grasped me with Cold Fingers -- I wailed without End-- The Men In White -- their Sterile Hands Brought Me Away -- Away From the Warmth-- I waited--for almost an eternity -- But I soon heard the Sweet Song of a Bird-- A red cardinal -- calling to Mother Nature-- Singing Between Me -- And the outside World-- Closing windows-- And then Silence ------ I miss mother.
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"The Words that Used to Come Easy to Me" by Max Lauring
The words used to come so easily to me They blossomed patiently, waiting to be picked But now they deceive me and always have me tricked We laughed and danced together and cooperated naturally But now I can’t take it any more as we always disagree The words used to come so easily to me Lost like a blind-folded blind man The tragedy that suddenly began Memories of brilliance and harmony Now memories of afflicted debris The words used to come so easily to me You have become a plague of derision No longer waiting to be summoned The spark of inspiration and ardency Has now rotted away and turned ugly. The words used to come so easily to me They are choppy and serrated Apathetic like a balloon deflated Once a reservoir replete with ingenuity Drowned and suffocated, polluted undersea The words used to come so easily to me One time I even poured them into the palm of my hand And watched as they graciously glided through my very fingers grand Beleaguered by effluent language that once agreed But that was when the words used to come easy to me
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"The Page You Never Got to Read" by Kasey Hickey
Dear Silly little insecure boy that fell in love with me,
Whether or not the world decides to believe this is true, all love stories have happy endings. In the end everything ends up ok. If it is not ok, then the end has not come yet. I know it seems like our love story ended, ended with tragedy, ended for nothing. I’m not ok, and even though you act strong, I know that the little boy I fell in love with is not ok either. He fell too hard for it not to hurt when he tumbled toward the ground. So breathe in the pain, because the end hasn’t come yet. If “the end being ok” is really true, then real love stories will never have endings.
I have written you this letter a thousand times. I have read it over, and over. Then, I would think just a little too hard, or see your smile in a memory and feel the need to write it all over again. The other day I thought I finally had it finished, but my heart could not take over my brain and let me move my shaky hands. It was impossible to surpass the prison slates of your peeling, painted, old locker. I saw you standing there a year ago, just a few strides away from me, close enough to smell the heavy cologne that wafted off your shirt after gym class. The problem is that now you locker is new, and I forgot your combo.
But, these words you are reading right now, that I can imagine are running through your head in my overly familiar voice, are the final ones I will write. I have always been the playwright, the one with the reassuring lines, the inspiring stories, and the tragedies laid down in black and white. Now it is time for me to be an actress, and stop narrating my life. Like any true writer though, I must graduate my pen with a grand finale. I have one more story to be read, and you are the only audience. Don’t hate me if my writing is terrible, and don’t hate the characters for making stupid decisions. They are only humans like you and me, but they decided to live their lives with several ‘oh wells’ than many ‘what ifs’. It starts of very simple, with a girl just like me:
"Shroud of Time" by Anne Li
This thick fog, obscuring sight Symbolizing time's lost flight. What's before can still be seen, Close to you vision's sharp and keen. But travel further into the fog, And you will find all clarity lost. For in this fog of time and smoke, Illusions are worn as a cloak. Evermore will time pass by And more and less than meets the eye.
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"Ode to Madness" by Molly Kirschner
‘Twas a Monday and all was in harmony Where I sat at the Lunacy Pharmacy Filing papers and potions Till Denmark arrived with a ghost at his side and said Madness have I been prescribed I replied: Not if you wish to survive. He cried: Doubt thou this green will stay the white season? Doubt thou the virtue of the newly crowned? That slaughter appears fair beside treason? That light waves travel at the speed of sound? I laughed and laughed As though unmoved by his mask It was time for the tasker to be tasked I asked: So you want to go mad? You with a rapier’s wit? You whose heart beats split?
So you want to fool the court In a comedy of sorts, So you want to go mad Here’s the method: Marry this here ghost against the laws Of state, country, and physics Pine away for a love you have not and would not, For you’ll grow sicker by these gimmicks. And he thanked me as ever And we said our goodbyes It had always been too late to advise: Murder is no sport In the Elsinore court And eyes for eyes Are taxed with their lives.
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"It's the shore true" by Monica Muznik
Wrecked and abandoned, this shore isn't pleasant. Crashing waves of coldness are abundant in this atmosphere of bitter harsh reality.
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