Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Alondra Rodriguez

Delmi Santos

Jessica Yowell

Teacups In Her Backpack

She kept teacups in her backpack
And wrote notes on her hands that no one understood but her
In fact she was a blackboard
She had tattoos and freckles so she turned modernism into picasso
She liked to roll up the cuffs to her jeans and sleeves so more light could touch her and
Maybe soak its way through to her soul
Or at least her bones
Because her father told her her bones were too small and
One day someone was gonna come along and break them all and claim it was an accident

She wore closed-toed shoes because she never knew when life could drop hot soup on her lap
She kept stones in her pockets so if she started to sink she could throw them overboard
And have a chance of staying afloat
She sits at her own table and makes her own lunch
And she’ll eat it with the backs of pens like chopsticks

Sometimes she wished everyone breathed like her
In a rhythm even when she was sitting still
But then they’d understand how her heart worked and she
Didn’t like that idea quite so much
Then they all might keep teacups in their backpacks
And it would no longer be beautiful


10 O-Clock Thoughts

I love food:
Breakfast food! Scrambled eggs, hash brown casserole, Canadian bacon, home fries, blueberry buckle, blueberry muffins, bran muffins, grits, gravy, sausage, and omelets!

Later on: Chicken nuggets, cheeseburgers, scallops, buffalo wings, nachos, steamed shrimp,  fried chicken, hot dogs, burritos, tacos, reubens, cheese steaks, crab legs, sushi, and broccoli, hush puppies, General Tso’s chicken, egg rolls, turkey, ham, roast beef, refried beans, baked beans, beef stew, sweet potato casserole, macaroni, meatloaf, clams, and pot roast.

Desserts! I forgot desserts! Ice cream: chocolate, mint, and chocolate chip, strawberry, cookie dough, cookies n’ cream, rocky road; sundaes, potato candy, apple crisp, peanut butter cookies, snickerdoodles, sugar cookies, brownies, chocolate cake, vanilla cake, red velvet cake, cookie cake, cupcakes, pumpkin pie, apple pie, cherry pie, pecan pie, shoo-fly pie, and chocolate covered strawberries.

And other favorites: Doritos, Cheetos, Skittles, Butterfinger, M&M’s, Snickers, Twix, gummy worms, candy canes, whoppers, Rolos, Pez, Mike and Ike’s, candy corn, Milky Ways, jelly beans, Hershey’s chocolate, Reese’s Puffs, and Lifesavers.


Why Don't Poems Rhyme?

Why don’t poems rhyme? They are stubborn words scrawled across paper Refusing to fly like birds Stanzas pile against the page It makes me sick with rage. Their A B format smothering my imagination. My brain resistant they scatter creating one nation. And they still don’t rhyme Poets laboriously slave over their vocabulary god knows they have time Pencils glide along side a poet's hand words stringing together like guitars in a band But where are the rhymes? Their endless stream of of words a symphony of chimes. Each syllable separate but together calling to the world An urgent whisper to hither A great cacophony of voices uncertain of their choices They chant their incantation a furious song of the nation. Why don’t poems rhyme? Cause baby you got time.
- S.E.


When you used to come near me
I unraveled, like a sweater
someone worked on their whole life
I hated it.

I hated it when you blew through my walls
When you attacked my defenses
Until you hit vulnerable inside

Vulnerable me

Your spite was all fury
bombshells exploding
Your malice was all rage
but with a smile on your face

I was broken afterwards
The words you threw were always
killing blows

But I hugged myself, patiently
until I healed
until I got strong

and I fought back for the first time
My words were angry hornets
the size of dragons
My fists were steel
solid and quick

I hit you again and again
until you ran
arms covering your head

I built my walls again

I knew you would come back
You always do

But the walls are stronger, now, thicker
and the fists I make are curling tighter now, sharper

I know your walls are no match
and I will



Stop The Theatrics

I could write about my anger
and frustration.

I could write about my loneliness
and agitation.

I could write about the bad in the world.
The melting ice caps,
and what I was told about the
and the sacrifice.

But, I don’t want to write about that today.
Because I want to feel
I’m tired of being

 I want to stop feeling sorry for myself,
 is that bad.
Is it bad to hurt or feel
Is it bad to hate this
This game of

“Are you up, or are you down?”
Why do I have to choose?
I don’t wanna be just
I don’t want to be
Do I even have a
So many questions unanswered,
is that my fault?

By the time I get to you
you’re already lost.
Either you’re far from me
or just floating right above me
telling me to
shut up.
And I try not to
look up.
But I do everytime.
Then I start to cry.

“Oh Kaia, stop with the tears,
the theatrics,
stop with the emotions,
it’s just one of your tactics.”
“NO IT’S NOT” I scream at my mind
of all things.
It’s your fault
not mine
go, just
My thoughts,
my worst enemy.

“You’ll never be like them you’ll see,
you’ll end up broken battered and bruised.
It’ll be all on you.”
I don’t want to be mad.
I don’t want to be fatigued.
I don’t want to be torn
between two things.
I don’t want to be broken.
I don’t want to be bruised.
I’m tired of telling the truth and no one
How is that my fault.?

Sitting and writing this is making
me sad.
I told you I didn’t want to be mad.
But, again with the emotions.
They don’t stop flowing.
I can’t make them stop.
They keep flowing
 and flowing.

Screaming for the truth.
Screaming for a lie.
Screaming for a way I can make them stop.
“Stop it” I say,
with all of my might.
But they keep coming,
I try and put up a fight.
My hands turn to jelly,
my muscles won’t work.
I scream at her
but nothing ever works.

My brain takes off in a swirl of emotions,
I say things that make me wonder,
about love
about life
about living
about fights.
Everything makes me cry.
I want to run,
to go someplace else.
By my shoes are off
and my phone
is upstairs.
And my mind is saying
don’t you dare.

since my mind takes over me.
I do what it tells me.
But not with all of my being.
Still mad,
still upset,
stop the theatrics.


Stay Strong

I believe in you.
You’re worth so much,
so don’t even think about
giving up. 
Don’t let life
bring you down, you 
deserve to smile and
be happy. Not walk
around with a sad frown.
So please stay strong.
I'll always be right here,
pushing you along 
reminding you that
you’re beyond strong.



Once upon a time, in a land where fact and fiction battled in all out war, lived a creature named Necro. He was feared by both fact and fiction. He was of average height and build, with skin black and charred. If you completed a task that Necro assigned, normally impossible for the mortals who tried, he would allow you to fight him, but no one ever has won. If you defeated him he would grant you a wish, but he would also take away something close to you.

Centuries of constant fights left Necro quite bored. One day in the year 20X, a creature, born of both man and monster, had risen up the ranks in Heaven's Army faster than anyone had ever been able to. This creature was given the title “Angel of Death” and full trust and respect from God himself. With this title was also the task of leading the Army of Fact on the frontlines, but the Angel of Death had married a mortal woman and had with her a daughter and needed to care for them.
On multiple occasions Necro asked the Angel of Death to battle, but every time was the Angel of Death denied the offer to care for his wife and child. After dozens of requests Necro became furious. One day while the Angel of Death was out on a meeting with the other angels, Necro broke into the Angel of Death’s house and killed his wife and infant daughter. Once the Angel of Death had seen what had happened, he vowed to destroy Necro at all costs. He trained and trained till he knew he could defeat Necro.

After 100 years, the Angel of Death confronted Necro. “Ah, finally a challenge for me,” Necro smiled. “YOU BASTARD YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!” the Angel of Death yelled.

“If you want them back you have to beat me in a fight,” Necro explained.

“With pleasure,” the Angel of Death said.

The fight was long and brutal, the Angel of Death used his 6 foot long, black-as-night scythe and brute strength where Necro used speed and magic.

After the brutal battle was over, Necro sat in his throne with a broken blade inside his chest, slowly dying.

“You beat me, what is your wish?” he asked with his final breaths.

“I want my wife and daughter back,” the Angel of Death explained.

“As you wish.” Necro said, snapping his fingers, sending the Angel of Death back home where he saw his wife and daughter alive and well.

Necro smiled “mortality is your sacrifice”. He smiled and closed his eyes, “it's time I retire.” He smiled softly and died in his throne.


A Favorite Word

For a long time my favorite word was your name.

It rolled smoothly over my tongue
and was always said without hesitation.

Your name was my favorite thing to say.

It filled my mouth with pleasure,
but after a while that pleasure disappeared
and it was replaced with distaste.

When I found myself wanting to say your name
I couldn't.

My mouth started to filter my words
and your name was never allowed to
pass through.

A long time ago your name was my favorite word,
but now I no longer find the need to say it.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Like The Wind

Let’s runaway
you can lead the way
show me your soul
and I’ll show you mine
together we can be unstoppable
No really, no one can stop us
They can try and oh how they will
but we’re like the wind
never knowing where we’re headed
just blowing along
So they can try to find us
but we’ll always be one step ahead
we weren’t meant for their world
So let’s runaway
you can lead the way

Friday, October 2, 2015

To Be or Not to Be A Unicorn

This is me.

My name is Sam.
I’m in 8th grade.
I want to be a unicorn.
I gallop when I run, just for fun.
I don’t know who to ask to be a unicorn,
so I just become one.

Two months have passed and I’m kinda relieved.
I’m becoming a unicorn, I believe.

Another day in boring math class, I endorse.
Then I hear a slight peeling
Now the truth is finally revealing.

A small thump on my desk
It's my horn.
The tape fell off.

It was the unicorn police
I swear
made me human again.

This is me.
My name is Sam.
I’m still in 8th grade,

a stupid human again.


Monday, August 31, 2015

If it were perfect
washed up yellow street light
glowing on the corner of National Ave
sparkling on the wet pavement
like a constellation heaped on the ground
thoughts keep me awake
turning and tossing
blankets thrown to the floor in a pile of frustration
it’s quiet
the sky opened up
like i never could
and drenched the earth in wind and rain
i sat on the porch
at 5:58am
because the thunder called me
and the lightning comforted me
it felt nice to know that i was not the only one
whose existence was merely something of chance
the storm raged on
as did the one beneath my skin
in the dark with a tight throat
burning eyes and a stinging nose
longing to go home
even though I was under a roof with a father and sister
who loved me
in a place i called home
knowing full well that the air i breathe sits like a boulder in my chest
and i struggle to stand
grasping desperately at the railings
i’ve been holding my breath so long
waiting for a miracle
that my lungs turned to sails
so that instead of drowning
i could live in the rain and sail the storm
just as the sun began to peek
over the crests of the trees
and suddenly the world was lonely again
just a small cosmic god in a kingdom of things
greater than anything imaginable
i wonder how it would taste
to sip the stars
and to place each of saturn's rings
on my fingers
how would it feel
to lay down in a blanket of time’s worn fabric
would moondust and meteorites grace the crown of my head
with gems of frosted crystals and small galaxies
what if my hands could create a universe

what if it were perfect?


Welcome to emptiness

I drink the pain.
Swallow my pride.
Burn with the hate.
Cry to my lies.
Bow down with my fears.
Stifle the vomit of my emotions.
Leaving nothing but hollowness.
A hole in my life.
A hole in my self.
A hole in my heart.
Gaping more and more as the days dwindle.
Soon nothing of me will be around except my mere existence.

Leaving me to fill the void with more emptiness for me to choke on.


Tuesday, August 25, 2015

My gift to the world

My gift to the world,
Some give medicine or peace,
Some tech or music,
I give what this world earned,
For the sins and sinners,
For the sex, drugs, and slaughter that fill the air,
This world earns my gift,
The gift to burn and rot,
From the inside out,

This is my gift to the world.


When Thinking Big Hurts

As a child I wrote fantasy
Because I thought evil meant
The bad guys finding me
Now I write poetry
Because I know that
The bad guys are inside of me
And sorrow means losing yourself

Have you ever tried not breathing?
What about not feeling?
Like an elephant
Sitting on your chest
Blacking out ‘cause
You can’t deal with the light that’s
Threatening to illuminate
The dark corners
Of your dark mind

God gave us walls in our minds
To save us from
The things that would break us
Breaks our tongues
In our heads
Because he knows thinking big hurts

Thinking big hurts too much

-Emma Beitzel

Monday, July 27, 2015

#Relationship Goals

Grab my hipbones and throw me
off a two story CVS.
When I land on unforgiving asphalt,
slide me through the automatic doors.
Drag my ailing body through every aisle,
and heal my wounds sufficiently, but with
only the most appealingly packaged,
and best smelling products.
Then, carry me through the
threshold of the rooftop doors,
like a baby bird, accidentally salvaged
from the street below. Blow gently
on the wispy hairs around my ear.
Stand me up on both feet,
grab my hipbones and throw me
off the two story CVS.