Carpe Diem
by Lina Zeng
Every moment of our life marks a mission to achieve a goal, to keep a promise, to fulfill a dream. Dreaming of what could be is jumping into the midst of the sea, yet knowing the risks of perils ahead, even drowning, causes doubts deep within our minds to multiply. Still, we must try and swim through strong currents, through crackling storms, through bittersweet songs of the Sirens’. Maybe we will wash up on the wrong shore; maybe it will take us longer than expected to reach the end of our journey; or maybe we will turn back, at last. But maybe, we will find our way to where the waves calm and lap the warm sand, to where the breeze blows and brushes our skin, to where the children giggle and build their castles. We will live and love what we do, not just survive, allowing minutes to pass. At least we know... we have jumped off into the sea, and our lives now ring with possibility-- more goals, more promises, and more dreams.
Beyond That
by Luka M
The brittle fragments of worms helplessly plaster across the sidewalk, each baked from the piercing sunlight. One was squirming off the side, desperately escaping the ray that was penetrating its little body. The worm, half fried, slowly inches toward a pile of cigarette butts mistaken for home before being completely devoured by a fat vermin. I watch all of this happen on a sidewalk to home just as the first segment of Naomi seeped through.
…Your prettiness is seeping through out from the dress I took from you, so pretty…
The rat retreated back to the unattended bush, amongst the blotches of gum that have been soaked into the black asphalt. I push the frame of my glasses up towards the bridge of my nose and carry on.
The stream of light melted like butter as every beam filled the pores of my cheeks. The incredible sun-filled sky radiated throughout the street with occasional clouds drifting by. I look up, squinting. I thank the sun.
The rosy color of my flushed cheeks hush when I take a left towards a paved street near a railroad track, separated by a rusted rail. I step into the dim street but almost retracted my toes when I see a girl leaning against the rail, legs crossed. Cigarette in one hand, she turns her head and shoot down a glare when our pupils meet. The brown halo around her pupil gave a warm glow when it captured the light’s mist and her chocolate strands swayed with the slight breeze coming from the railroad. Her arm emitted gold, while the rest of her ligaments remained pale in the shade.
I slowly take a step and another, carefully walking past her.
…So pretty and please, please don't leave me...
The last line from Naomi ends the track and the sound of the S train overpowers the silence. I pass her and let out a slight sigh trailed by a yawn from her.
“Do you think there’s an afterlife?”
I stop. I turn and the puff of smoke was now branching out towards me. I cough and squint. The haze waft out and a faint smile trickle from her lips. I was in awe.
The crescent shaped lips break when she asks, “Do you think I’ll go to hell for smoking?”
The sky was slowly blending with drops of coral clouds and everything was integrating into a dreamy canvas. Waves of tangerine occasionally weaved in and everything was surreal.
Everything I was beaten to remember about God swept off my mind and the only answer I was able to give back was my stutter. “I-I, uh, think…” Pathetic.
She tilts her head to one side and brings the cigarette back to her lips but she stops and let it fall from her fingertips. “Never mind,” she mutters. She pivots her body and hops off to walk towards the tracks. She turns her head back and a faint smile trickle from her lips. I was in awe.
…Your prettiness is seeping through out from the dress I took from you, so pretty…
The rat retreated back to the unattended bush, amongst the blotches of gum that have been soaked into the black asphalt. I push the frame of my glasses up towards the bridge of my nose and carry on.
The stream of light melted like butter as every beam filled the pores of my cheeks. The incredible sun-filled sky radiated throughout the street with occasional clouds drifting by. I look up, squinting. I thank the sun.
The rosy color of my flushed cheeks hush when I take a left towards a paved street near a railroad track, separated by a rusted rail. I step into the dim street but almost retracted my toes when I see a girl leaning against the rail, legs crossed. Cigarette in one hand, she turns her head and shoot down a glare when our pupils meet. The brown halo around her pupil gave a warm glow when it captured the light’s mist and her chocolate strands swayed with the slight breeze coming from the railroad. Her arm emitted gold, while the rest of her ligaments remained pale in the shade.
I slowly take a step and another, carefully walking past her.
…So pretty and please, please don't leave me...
The last line from Naomi ends the track and the sound of the S train overpowers the silence. I pass her and let out a slight sigh trailed by a yawn from her.
“Do you think there’s an afterlife?”
I stop. I turn and the puff of smoke was now branching out towards me. I cough and squint. The haze waft out and a faint smile trickle from her lips. I was in awe.
The crescent shaped lips break when she asks, “Do you think I’ll go to hell for smoking?”
The sky was slowly blending with drops of coral clouds and everything was integrating into a dreamy canvas. Waves of tangerine occasionally weaved in and everything was surreal.
Everything I was beaten to remember about God swept off my mind and the only answer I was able to give back was my stutter. “I-I, uh, think…” Pathetic.
She tilts her head to one side and brings the cigarette back to her lips but she stops and let it fall from her fingertips. “Never mind,” she mutters. She pivots her body and hops off to walk towards the tracks. She turns her head back and a faint smile trickle from her lips. I was in awe.
I'm Letting Go
by Khushi Lalwani
i'm letting go
cause right now
it's easier than holding on
and i know i said
i would never set you free
but the rope i'm clutching
is making my hands bleed
and on the other side,
there you are,
not making this any
e a s i e r
cause right now
it's easier than holding on
and i know i said
i would never set you free
but the rope i'm clutching
is making my hands bleed
and on the other side,
there you are,
not making this any
e a s i e r
No Need To Bother
by Elena Kamas
She gets fine grades
No need to bother
This quiet girl
And her father
She’s in no clubs
But breaks no rules
No one knows where
She goes after school
You know the empty house?
Near the corner of the street?
That’s where she sleeps.
That’s where she eats.
That’s where she watches
The sparrows play
That’s where she lives
That’s where she’ll stay
Where the wind whistles
And the trees groan
And the weeds crawl out
Between each stone
Where her father shouts
And where she cowers
That is where
She cries for hours
The paint has peeled
The glass has cracked
But still this girl
Holds up her act
Keep her secret
No need to bother
This quiet girl
And her father
No need to bother
This quiet girl
And her father
She’s in no clubs
But breaks no rules
No one knows where
She goes after school
You know the empty house?
Near the corner of the street?
That’s where she sleeps.
That’s where she eats.
That’s where she watches
The sparrows play
That’s where she lives
That’s where she’ll stay
Where the wind whistles
And the trees groan
And the weeds crawl out
Between each stone
Where her father shouts
And where she cowers
That is where
She cries for hours
The paint has peeled
The glass has cracked
But still this girl
Holds up her act
Keep her secret
No need to bother
This quiet girl
And her father
No Dreamers Allowed
by Renee Wang
The stars spinning in their eyes,
made us wary…
Their heads forever stuck in the skies,
made us scary.
Their inability to comprehend
the frightful reality…
Made of mark them
as one of those...
The boys and girls whose
heads were always stuck in the clouds,
feet dangling just a few inches shy from gravity.
Always smiling, genuine grins,
always proud, chests puffed out;
never failing,
to let us know of
far away worlds and endless possibilities…
a big construction scene of bits
and pieces collected from the galaxies.
But, let me tell you,
the secret of how they're cured…
How we chain them to reality,
and render them
unable to escape from the ticking time bomb
that is society.
How we rehabilitate them from their dreams,
and once!
We deem them clean,
reenter them into the everyday scene…
Where they must obey and assimilate,
we don't care at all if they are…
drowning from the stark contrast
of a faraway world full of possibilities,
or an unforgiving world filled with responsibilities.
After all, why aren’t you thanking us?
For allowing you to see…
the pointlessness of being a buoyant dreamer,
forever be stuck in reality,
never being able to do the impossible task
of breaking free from the prison that is society...
made us wary…
Their heads forever stuck in the skies,
made us scary.
Their inability to comprehend
the frightful reality…
Made of mark them
as one of those...
The boys and girls whose
heads were always stuck in the clouds,
feet dangling just a few inches shy from gravity.
Always smiling, genuine grins,
always proud, chests puffed out;
never failing,
to let us know of
far away worlds and endless possibilities…
a big construction scene of bits
and pieces collected from the galaxies.
But, let me tell you,
the secret of how they're cured…
How we chain them to reality,
and render them
unable to escape from the ticking time bomb
that is society.
How we rehabilitate them from their dreams,
and once!
We deem them clean,
reenter them into the everyday scene…
Where they must obey and assimilate,
we don't care at all if they are…
drowning from the stark contrast
of a faraway world full of possibilities,
or an unforgiving world filled with responsibilities.
After all, why aren’t you thanking us?
For allowing you to see…
the pointlessness of being a buoyant dreamer,
forever be stuck in reality,
never being able to do the impossible task
of breaking free from the prison that is society...
Surrealism
by Melody Chen
Strolling down the streets of San Francisco, no one seemed to perceive the archaic buildings and strange modification of color. The crimson color of the bridge is now a spectrum of black and white. Smartphones were nowhere to be seen. Gathering my work purse, I squeezed through the commuters and thrust myself into a bakery store. Multiple televisions were placed on the shelves. One television broadcasted scenes of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Another reported the end of World War IV. The third publicized the fall of the Berlin Wall. People, busy eating their meals, did not seem to take much notice. As waves of bewilderment occurred to me, the baker called to me to hurry up and take an order. I ordered a bagel and cup of coffee.
“What time of year is it?” I questioned the baker after I ordered my meal.
He frowned and took his spectacles off. “2017,”
“Come on,” a woman on the counter interrupted, “It’s 1941.”
“2172,” someone said.
Baffled to my own sense, I bid them good day and departed the store.
The sound of the clitter-clatter of the horse and chatters among commuters filled the streets. As I squeezed through the crowd with my breakfast goods to the office building, an AI robot approached me, cautiously. Its immaculate skin was indistinguishable to the blind-white office building. As I moved past the robot, it barrelled toward me.
“You do not belong here,” it said and its fiery-red eyes shone menacingly.
“How?” I inquired. “I work here.”
“Meet a new era of humanity,” it said as it slammed the door in my face.
I was beyond confused.
Remembering the back door, I circled back and unlocked a vacant room with a half-open door across the room. Keyboard clicks and feet shuffles were echoed across the room. Like a skillful cat, I tiptoed across the chamber’s wall and tried to match my shadow to the walls’ shadow.
I placed my ear up to the crack of the door’s hinge across the room, and heard miscellaneous chatters. I picked up incoherent phrases of a distinct language.
As I realized the futility of understanding the phrase, two fiery eyes radiated from thin air. I gasped and was knocked by an invisible force to the wall. The impact knocked air out of my lungs and I struggled to breathe.
“Haven't you noticed that the world has gone mad?” the supercomputer spoke, as its red eyes became more intense, “We offered the blessings of insanity to the good people of Earth and you found out.”
Roughly fifty unfamiliar figures came out from the door and encircled me. Having only one green eye and a fairly thin body, it seemed like if they came from another universe.
The robot shifted its body and its eyes became merciless. “We got to control all the greatest disasters that punctured Earth. Come work for us,” it suddenly hissed, “Say goodbye to your Earth friends.”
The color red illuminated before me and then black.
“What time of year is it?” I questioned the baker after I ordered my meal.
He frowned and took his spectacles off. “2017,”
“Come on,” a woman on the counter interrupted, “It’s 1941.”
“2172,” someone said.
Baffled to my own sense, I bid them good day and departed the store.
The sound of the clitter-clatter of the horse and chatters among commuters filled the streets. As I squeezed through the crowd with my breakfast goods to the office building, an AI robot approached me, cautiously. Its immaculate skin was indistinguishable to the blind-white office building. As I moved past the robot, it barrelled toward me.
“You do not belong here,” it said and its fiery-red eyes shone menacingly.
“How?” I inquired. “I work here.”
“Meet a new era of humanity,” it said as it slammed the door in my face.
I was beyond confused.
Remembering the back door, I circled back and unlocked a vacant room with a half-open door across the room. Keyboard clicks and feet shuffles were echoed across the room. Like a skillful cat, I tiptoed across the chamber’s wall and tried to match my shadow to the walls’ shadow.
I placed my ear up to the crack of the door’s hinge across the room, and heard miscellaneous chatters. I picked up incoherent phrases of a distinct language.
As I realized the futility of understanding the phrase, two fiery eyes radiated from thin air. I gasped and was knocked by an invisible force to the wall. The impact knocked air out of my lungs and I struggled to breathe.
“Haven't you noticed that the world has gone mad?” the supercomputer spoke, as its red eyes became more intense, “We offered the blessings of insanity to the good people of Earth and you found out.”
Roughly fifty unfamiliar figures came out from the door and encircled me. Having only one green eye and a fairly thin body, it seemed like if they came from another universe.
The robot shifted its body and its eyes became merciless. “We got to control all the greatest disasters that punctured Earth. Come work for us,” it suddenly hissed, “Say goodbye to your Earth friends.”
The color red illuminated before me and then black.
Those Days
by Clarissa Tadros
Sometimes there are those days that make you feel different. Just the way the sky looks, a little more indigo closer to the mountain tops. The clouds higher up in the sky with pink underbellies. It makes you look back at your thoughts. Makes you look back at how you saw yourself before this point. Those days push you to see yourself in a different way. What if you were at the bottom of the Ferris wheel and only needed to wait to be at the top to see everything clearly. Those days don’t happen often, but when they do happen, you realize how much you need it. It makes you realize how turned around your life was. Sometimes, all it takes is the light to reflect off the flowing river differently or the moon to be big and low in the sky. It makes you realize how big this world is, and how each and every person on this planet has their own story. They all had troubles, all have favorite memories, all are going to have decisions to make. Sometimes, the sunset is prettier than usual, and you just want to stare at it and let yourself go. On those days, you think.
You really think.
You think about the small seemingly unimportant things. They form a new purpose and definition in your mind. You connect the dots, tie the ties, and sort things out. On those days, you realize your life could be totally different if you just change one small thing, or if you hadn’t done a certain thing in the past. It you change the time of your evening walk from four o’clock to six o’clock. If you hadn’t gone to that one school event and met that student who slowly became your best friend. Even if you dedicated more time to reading instead of browsing on social media sites. Your life could be so much more different if you wanted it to be.
Those days are my favorite, because they make me realize things I never would’ve thought about before. They make me reach deep down and isolate who it is I really am, not just who I think I am. Those days are my favorite.
You really think.
You think about the small seemingly unimportant things. They form a new purpose and definition in your mind. You connect the dots, tie the ties, and sort things out. On those days, you realize your life could be totally different if you just change one small thing, or if you hadn’t done a certain thing in the past. It you change the time of your evening walk from four o’clock to six o’clock. If you hadn’t gone to that one school event and met that student who slowly became your best friend. Even if you dedicated more time to reading instead of browsing on social media sites. Your life could be so much more different if you wanted it to be.
Those days are my favorite, because they make me realize things I never would’ve thought about before. They make me reach deep down and isolate who it is I really am, not just who I think I am. Those days are my favorite.
Lovers Bridge Taiwan
by Erica Liu
Sparkling like an endless sea,
The bay shimmered so peacefully.
Somewhere miles and miles away,
My worries could wait for another day.
Faint and distant was the crowd,
Their chatter soft; the silence loud.
The air was warm; the sky dark blue,
This place was like a dream come true.
I can’t help but want to share,
This feeling of joy hanging in the air.
And I’m so grateful to be part of,
This place with these people I love.
The bay shimmered so peacefully.
Somewhere miles and miles away,
My worries could wait for another day.
Faint and distant was the crowd,
Their chatter soft; the silence loud.
The air was warm; the sky dark blue,
This place was like a dream come true.
I can’t help but want to share,
This feeling of joy hanging in the air.
And I’m so grateful to be part of,
This place with these people I love.
Nature's Contract
by Shaunak Bhandarkar
From an infant who can barely walk,
To a quiet little toddler who just passes the time.
Then, the mischievous child who always wants to talk,
Grows into the young scholar who learns to rhyme.
Then off into the wild, and away from home,
The young adult must survive on his own.
Around the world he must roam,
Before raising a new family, thus ceasing to be alone.
Life seems to have satisfied his every whim,
At last, the gentleman’s mind is at peace.
Until old age finally catches up to him,
Thus terminating a long life’s lease.
To a quiet little toddler who just passes the time.
Then, the mischievous child who always wants to talk,
Grows into the young scholar who learns to rhyme.
Then off into the wild, and away from home,
The young adult must survive on his own.
Around the world he must roam,
Before raising a new family, thus ceasing to be alone.
Life seems to have satisfied his every whim,
At last, the gentleman’s mind is at peace.
Until old age finally catches up to him,
Thus terminating a long life’s lease.
Entry Ticket
by Joshua Mumford
Light and dark
We are born into the light untouched by the poisons of the world. Where we would rather be open and unharmed without troubles. Even where light may shine there may not be a warmth or safe, instead it may be pain. Life as cruel as it is may be benefit dark instead of the light. people in pain feeling worse and worse until nothing matters to them in the open nothing to hang on to, just drifting along being wrenched by life back and forth BACK and forth until. Stop
Nature70
Time the one standalone currency that cannot be touched by humans, time to one it might mean minutes and seconds and to another just a point in space. Something we could never have enough of. As life with its bounds can’t be appreciated as an art but instead a existence. Time in this world, only few could ever comprehend what the meaning of it is. Time the world's true nature.
Life sketch
Too precious to lose, life. If only the world permit I would spend every second on something worthwhile. Nature in this world untouched a world of freedom whilst society a dead end. A closed shed only so much possible. If only I could find a cause. All the wants in this world overshadow what life is about. The true "meaning" doesn't exist you have to find it by searching or by stumbling across it. But maybe the meaning is to live with meaning.
Spirits
Emotions hard to formulate to words, the world, as it seems for only a second can look clear and understood until chaos people trying to create rules, trying to control everything, gods, politics, when does it stop. the only pure to be found is one without bias without a poisoned frame of mind living life is not a merely about grieving over wants. when they could be rejoicing about the span of time we have in this reality. As it is a beauty, life might differ in pain. But once you become assure of yourself it can become a state of eternal euphoria only ever reached by few. Sometimes a “broken” view may be the best way to look at things because you can look past the lens that was put in front of you. Through that the crack a ray of light shines through unfiltered. Pure. All the pieces put together you have all perspectives, darkness, light happiness, pure.
We are born into the light untouched by the poisons of the world. Where we would rather be open and unharmed without troubles. Even where light may shine there may not be a warmth or safe, instead it may be pain. Life as cruel as it is may be benefit dark instead of the light. people in pain feeling worse and worse until nothing matters to them in the open nothing to hang on to, just drifting along being wrenched by life back and forth BACK and forth until. Stop
Nature70
Time the one standalone currency that cannot be touched by humans, time to one it might mean minutes and seconds and to another just a point in space. Something we could never have enough of. As life with its bounds can’t be appreciated as an art but instead a existence. Time in this world, only few could ever comprehend what the meaning of it is. Time the world's true nature.
Life sketch
Too precious to lose, life. If only the world permit I would spend every second on something worthwhile. Nature in this world untouched a world of freedom whilst society a dead end. A closed shed only so much possible. If only I could find a cause. All the wants in this world overshadow what life is about. The true "meaning" doesn't exist you have to find it by searching or by stumbling across it. But maybe the meaning is to live with meaning.
Spirits
Emotions hard to formulate to words, the world, as it seems for only a second can look clear and understood until chaos people trying to create rules, trying to control everything, gods, politics, when does it stop. the only pure to be found is one without bias without a poisoned frame of mind living life is not a merely about grieving over wants. when they could be rejoicing about the span of time we have in this reality. As it is a beauty, life might differ in pain. But once you become assure of yourself it can become a state of eternal euphoria only ever reached by few. Sometimes a “broken” view may be the best way to look at things because you can look past the lens that was put in front of you. Through that the crack a ray of light shines through unfiltered. Pure. All the pieces put together you have all perspectives, darkness, light happiness, pure.
Longing for Peace
by Shaunak Bhandarkar
As I lie scared in bed, my courage begins to seep,
Away and away it goes until I start to weep.
The darkness has bound me tightly in its grasp,
And all I can do is struggle and gasp.
I flail around, with nowhere to run,
As my mind stares into the barrel of a gun.
The deathly smoke makes my eyes sting,
As I hear sounds that make my ears ring.
The sound of gunfire and bombs bursting on the street,
Leaves nothing but blood, tears, and hopeless defeat.
Many I know are already trapped in that storm,
Where “Victory or Death” is the number one norm.
I just want peace, is that too much to ask?
To not let our lives plunge into a bloody red mask.
I imagine a world with soft and lucid light,
Where birds soar high with all their might.
The sun is once again bright, as I happily run,
Through endless fields of grass, just having fun.
My parents are there, smiling and watching me,
At last, standing together by a huge birch tree.
And suddenly, I’m dragged back to the miserable world I live in,
Filled with nothing but thoughts of utter chagrin.
But I just know that it will all be over one day,
“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” I longingly say.
Away and away it goes until I start to weep.
The darkness has bound me tightly in its grasp,
And all I can do is struggle and gasp.
I flail around, with nowhere to run,
As my mind stares into the barrel of a gun.
The deathly smoke makes my eyes sting,
As I hear sounds that make my ears ring.
The sound of gunfire and bombs bursting on the street,
Leaves nothing but blood, tears, and hopeless defeat.
Many I know are already trapped in that storm,
Where “Victory or Death” is the number one norm.
I just want peace, is that too much to ask?
To not let our lives plunge into a bloody red mask.
I imagine a world with soft and lucid light,
Where birds soar high with all their might.
The sun is once again bright, as I happily run,
Through endless fields of grass, just having fun.
My parents are there, smiling and watching me,
At last, standing together by a huge birch tree.
And suddenly, I’m dragged back to the miserable world I live in,
Filled with nothing but thoughts of utter chagrin.
But I just know that it will all be over one day,
“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” I longingly say.
Today I Visited My Grandma
by Elena Kamas
Today I visited my grandma.
She smiled because I do not visit enough
And she called me a miracle
She wanted kids, babies, children
So badly
In the waiting room of the OBGYN
When a thoughtless mother thrust her
Screaming infant into her arms
“She could not have known”
My grandmother said
Leaving in tears
Today I was called a miracle
And I very nearly cried
She smiled because I do not visit enough
And she called me a miracle
She wanted kids, babies, children
So badly
In the waiting room of the OBGYN
When a thoughtless mother thrust her
Screaming infant into her arms
“She could not have known”
My grandmother said
Leaving in tears
Today I was called a miracle
And I very nearly cried
Poetry collection by Catherine Cho
Light
The fluorescent light
a captivating white
illuminates in their misery. But
gives them plight
with the face of an angel but
wings so heavy... burdened,
by the dead, lost souls they carry.
Inadequate to take flight
fairing like a siren
hunting its prey at night
their despair slowly dying,
gone is their light.
There’s No Going Back
Look into the broken shards,
the mirror of our nation’s past
starting at the first footsteps on Earth,
to endless footsteps from generations upon the soiled earth
to hooves clapping the ground,
to the purring of engines
to pencils to typewriters to laptops, we work and work
until bags of weariness under of eyes deem palpable
our latest inventions and advancements evolve us endlessly
there’s no going back
Reign
It’s late at night, the wind surges
the private jet lands in the vacant city
one by one her bags are brought out
announcing herself as royalty
the men follow her
worshipping her adverse reign,
she lounges lazily while watching her men labor
with her stony dark blue eyes
critiquing their every move with harangue
all their sweat accumulated into a river
enduring their pain
The fluorescent light
a captivating white
illuminates in their misery. But
gives them plight
with the face of an angel but
wings so heavy... burdened,
by the dead, lost souls they carry.
Inadequate to take flight
fairing like a siren
hunting its prey at night
their despair slowly dying,
gone is their light.
There’s No Going Back
Look into the broken shards,
the mirror of our nation’s past
starting at the first footsteps on Earth,
to endless footsteps from generations upon the soiled earth
to hooves clapping the ground,
to the purring of engines
to pencils to typewriters to laptops, we work and work
until bags of weariness under of eyes deem palpable
our latest inventions and advancements evolve us endlessly
there’s no going back
Reign
It’s late at night, the wind surges
the private jet lands in the vacant city
one by one her bags are brought out
announcing herself as royalty
the men follow her
worshipping her adverse reign,
she lounges lazily while watching her men labor
with her stony dark blue eyes
critiquing their every move with harangue
all their sweat accumulated into a river
enduring their pain
Corporate Grey
by Shelley Kim
I remember I used to daydream a lot in my senior year of high school.
I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life at the time, but I sure as hell wasn’t dreaming of telling people that I proofread mortgage documents for a living while keeping a straight face over coffee the taste and color of dried blood.
But I do. Every day I wake up and say good morning to the corporate grey and brush my teeth and take antidepressants before I commute to work. This morning I took one more pill than the prescription bottle recommended me because I had a good feeling about today.
The radio on the drive there told me about how it was going to be another beautiful sunny day, Chicago! I looked up at the spread of clouds and daydreamed about the radio announcer jamming a loaded gun up the roof of his mouth.
But anyway. To work.
“Hi.” One of my coworkers passed by my desk, where I was remembering how much I didn’t want to do this anymore. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” I said. “I’m just dealing with crippling depression and daily existential crises wondering when my dreams died and why I tried so hard to make my life end up worth nothing and how one day I’ll be on my deathbed looking back and regretting everything I’ve ever done.” I shrugged. “Nothing unusual.”
She looked at me funny.
But only for an instant before laughing, “Same, actually. Ha ha.”
“Yeah.” I paused, trying to think of something witty to say and make it seem like everything really was a joke, nothing was serious, nothing was wrong.
I couldn’t think of anything.
She sighed.
I coughed.
“What do you think of going on the roof for a bit? Get some air?”
“Sure.”
So we did.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
She glanced at me, bored. “Well,” she sighed, “now you know.” She pressed the cigarette to her lips and took a long, long, drag.
I watched the clouds of smoke skim the outlines of cranes and buildings and joining the humming shimmer of car exhaust in a corporate grey sky.
“Can I ask you something?” She blurted, the cigarette upturned and crumbling from her mouth like a question mark.
“Shoot.”
Several more puffs of tobacco joined the air before she spoke.
“Are you happy?” She turned to me, and spoke, with more force, more conviction, than she had ever spoken in the last two decades. “Are you happy now?”
I looked at her in the eyes, really looked at her, and for a moment I thought we were both going to cry, hold each other and fall to our knees and for a single beautiful moment be allowed to be lost in the universe together.
But we didn’t.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
She pulled the cigarette from between her teeth, shook it over the railing and we both watched the ashes fall down a long, long, way.
I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life at the time, but I sure as hell wasn’t dreaming of telling people that I proofread mortgage documents for a living while keeping a straight face over coffee the taste and color of dried blood.
But I do. Every day I wake up and say good morning to the corporate grey and brush my teeth and take antidepressants before I commute to work. This morning I took one more pill than the prescription bottle recommended me because I had a good feeling about today.
The radio on the drive there told me about how it was going to be another beautiful sunny day, Chicago! I looked up at the spread of clouds and daydreamed about the radio announcer jamming a loaded gun up the roof of his mouth.
But anyway. To work.
“Hi.” One of my coworkers passed by my desk, where I was remembering how much I didn’t want to do this anymore. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” I said. “I’m just dealing with crippling depression and daily existential crises wondering when my dreams died and why I tried so hard to make my life end up worth nothing and how one day I’ll be on my deathbed looking back and regretting everything I’ve ever done.” I shrugged. “Nothing unusual.”
She looked at me funny.
But only for an instant before laughing, “Same, actually. Ha ha.”
“Yeah.” I paused, trying to think of something witty to say and make it seem like everything really was a joke, nothing was serious, nothing was wrong.
I couldn’t think of anything.
She sighed.
I coughed.
“What do you think of going on the roof for a bit? Get some air?”
“Sure.”
So we did.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
She glanced at me, bored. “Well,” she sighed, “now you know.” She pressed the cigarette to her lips and took a long, long, drag.
I watched the clouds of smoke skim the outlines of cranes and buildings and joining the humming shimmer of car exhaust in a corporate grey sky.
“Can I ask you something?” She blurted, the cigarette upturned and crumbling from her mouth like a question mark.
“Shoot.”
Several more puffs of tobacco joined the air before she spoke.
“Are you happy?” She turned to me, and spoke, with more force, more conviction, than she had ever spoken in the last two decades. “Are you happy now?”
I looked at her in the eyes, really looked at her, and for a moment I thought we were both going to cry, hold each other and fall to our knees and for a single beautiful moment be allowed to be lost in the universe together.
But we didn’t.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
She pulled the cigarette from between her teeth, shook it over the railing and we both watched the ashes fall down a long, long, way.
Dreamland
by Sarah Teske
I yearn to stay in that place from my dreams
where the bustling sounds of the crowded halls
are replaced with the whispers of maple leaves
twirling through the wind.
Where fragile blue flowers dip their heads
in time to the sighing of the loon and dew drops
twinkle on the nose of a newborn doe.
A land in which the swans glide
gracefully across the pond, sending gentle
ripples through the tranquil crystal surface.
And when it rains, the droplets float
from the clouds like gem shard
tears from the sky, coating the hills with a veil
of mist.
Where the constant anxious chatter
fades into the lull of the flowing creek
traveling under the curious beaks of
ducklings.
Then as the golden sun drifts into the
cradle of night, I find my home in the soft
beds of clovers swaying in
the breeze under the glassy opal moon and diamond stars.
The place I visit only in my dreams that
fills my heart with longing.
where the bustling sounds of the crowded halls
are replaced with the whispers of maple leaves
twirling through the wind.
Where fragile blue flowers dip their heads
in time to the sighing of the loon and dew drops
twinkle on the nose of a newborn doe.
A land in which the swans glide
gracefully across the pond, sending gentle
ripples through the tranquil crystal surface.
And when it rains, the droplets float
from the clouds like gem shard
tears from the sky, coating the hills with a veil
of mist.
Where the constant anxious chatter
fades into the lull of the flowing creek
traveling under the curious beaks of
ducklings.
Then as the golden sun drifts into the
cradle of night, I find my home in the soft
beds of clovers swaying in
the breeze under the glassy opal moon and diamond stars.
The place I visit only in my dreams that
fills my heart with longing.
What is Love
by Khushi Lalwani
In a book i once read
a girl asked a boy
"what is love?
is it a simple emotion
or complete insanity?"
and he just replied
"well, love is love"
In a book i once read
a girl asked a woman
"what is love?
is it falling
or is stepping?"
and the answer to that question,
the woman didn't know
In a book i once read
a girl asked a man
"what is love?
is it a complexe work of art
or a hostage situation?"
and the man just said
"nobody knows”
And in the end of the book
her little brother asked the girl
"what is love?"
and she replied
"the answer to that question
nobody has ever had
or will ever have
because love is like the stars
that pull so hard
and burn so bright
uncontrollable things
that melt your nightmares away
and each of them is different
but similar at the same time"
a girl asked a boy
"what is love?
is it a simple emotion
or complete insanity?"
and he just replied
"well, love is love"
In a book i once read
a girl asked a woman
"what is love?
is it falling
or is stepping?"
and the answer to that question,
the woman didn't know
In a book i once read
a girl asked a man
"what is love?
is it a complexe work of art
or a hostage situation?"
and the man just said
"nobody knows”
And in the end of the book
her little brother asked the girl
"what is love?"
and she replied
"the answer to that question
nobody has ever had
or will ever have
because love is like the stars
that pull so hard
and burn so bright
uncontrollable things
that melt your nightmares away
and each of them is different
but similar at the same time"
Lost
by Nick Fang
Can’t really see very far
My eyes are straining really hard.
I can’t really tell where I am
It consists of dank memes and words like “fam.”
They say they invented fire and light
But argue over abortion rights.
Liberty or death they demand,
While standing on stolen land.
The chains of slavery they claim to break
But the poor work for the wealthy’s sake.
Immigrants face daily death’s prospect
But we build a wall in complete neglect.
Many complain about political correctness
Which leaves no communication directness.
People think they've figured it out
And when others disagree they make a pout.
I am no less guilty of these crimes
'Cause all I did was write these rhymes.
My pride keeps my eyes focused on me
And selfish to the third degree.
A man once said to turn the other cheek
And for others’ contentment you should seek.
He died to give me life to the full
So for his burden and weight I will pull.
My eyes are straining really hard.
I can’t really tell where I am
It consists of dank memes and words like “fam.”
They say they invented fire and light
But argue over abortion rights.
Liberty or death they demand,
While standing on stolen land.
The chains of slavery they claim to break
But the poor work for the wealthy’s sake.
Immigrants face daily death’s prospect
But we build a wall in complete neglect.
Many complain about political correctness
Which leaves no communication directness.
People think they've figured it out
And when others disagree they make a pout.
I am no less guilty of these crimes
'Cause all I did was write these rhymes.
My pride keeps my eyes focused on me
And selfish to the third degree.
A man once said to turn the other cheek
And for others’ contentment you should seek.
He died to give me life to the full
So for his burden and weight I will pull.
Nature's Happenings
by Derica Su
Botany bathed in sunlight
A flowering spring day
In the rustling grass
Prepares to strike
From that fatal leap
The world will end
For the rodent, rather
Not so much the predator
After having lunched
Searches for a warm spot
To clean the whiskers and paws
And take a nap before bedtime
A flowering spring day
In the rustling grass
Prepares to strike
From that fatal leap
The world will end
For the rodent, rather
Not so much the predator
After having lunched
Searches for a warm spot
To clean the whiskers and paws
And take a nap before bedtime
when you were born, my dear friend
by Alyssa Robins
when you were born, my dear friend,
i was a year and nine days old.
while i said my first words,
you could not hold your head up.
(and when you cried for the first time,
of course, i did not hear.)
why do we meet now? and how many others have we missed?
i was a year and nine days old.
while i said my first words,
you could not hold your head up.
(and when you cried for the first time,
of course, i did not hear.)
why do we meet now? and how many others have we missed?
Beyond This
by Luka M
Droplets first peppered the asphalt but very quickly submerged into the ground with heavy rain. Worms leaked out of the littered soil, suffocated in puddles. I kneeled and watched the worms slowly drown, twitched with hopes of living another day as a useless worm. Why bother?
My syrupy hair stuck to my cheeks when I leaned closer to the worms. I whispered, “maybe someday things will be fair for you guys.” I looked up and noticed tears merged with dewdrops from the hazy canvas above.
****
I shove both hands in the pockets of my caramel coat. My lips kiss the piercing breeze while my hair prances, braiding in between the air that soaked the scent of hot bread and strawberry jam. Indistinctive chatter in Italian bubble around my elementary ears and I could only understand the shrieks seagulls gave when I pace my heels towards them. The Mediterranean Sea extends on my left vast out to the horizon, the waves flickering white as hints of golden rays dribble through the rusty sky. I can see my breath escape from the corners of my mouth whenever I exhale. The sea moves in and out, like Persian girls dancing in their deep blue dresses stretching their arms to bask in the light. I think about how this would be a pretty place to close my eyelids and just sink in... I stop. I shrug and turn to hurry along, huddling my arms closer.
****
The rain stopped and everything scrambled into unsettling silence. I immediately felt dizzy when I bent my knees outwards to stand back on my feet. I brushed off the dewy pieces of gravel planted in my kneecap and I dug around my cardigan to find a pack of Lucky. I titled the red box towards me and grabbed the nearest cigarette. I lit the tip of it. A gush of euphoria streamed through my lungs. The smoke bled out through my lips as I sighed. I looked down and worms rocked unsteadily, each cooked by the blazing sun. I saved them from their misery.
****
The smell of hot bread has already died when I step out of the library. The dark street was illuminated with glowing street lamps. Nothing made me feel emptier. I trot down the steps and shuffle towards the path I took before. I release a shiver as I walked downwards towards the sea again. The brick path has a coat of slippery thin ice that made it hard for me to walk on. I shiver more. I reach the metallic rail between the black sea and me. I glance out and I see nothing. I wrap both of my blistered red fingers on the rail and leaned down to stare into the nothingness. I feel colder. I wonder, how long would it take me to reach the bottom. I pause. I think about how lonely I would be if I closed my eyelids and sank.
****
Do you think there’s an afterlife?
My syrupy hair stuck to my cheeks when I leaned closer to the worms. I whispered, “maybe someday things will be fair for you guys.” I looked up and noticed tears merged with dewdrops from the hazy canvas above.
****
I shove both hands in the pockets of my caramel coat. My lips kiss the piercing breeze while my hair prances, braiding in between the air that soaked the scent of hot bread and strawberry jam. Indistinctive chatter in Italian bubble around my elementary ears and I could only understand the shrieks seagulls gave when I pace my heels towards them. The Mediterranean Sea extends on my left vast out to the horizon, the waves flickering white as hints of golden rays dribble through the rusty sky. I can see my breath escape from the corners of my mouth whenever I exhale. The sea moves in and out, like Persian girls dancing in their deep blue dresses stretching their arms to bask in the light. I think about how this would be a pretty place to close my eyelids and just sink in... I stop. I shrug and turn to hurry along, huddling my arms closer.
****
The rain stopped and everything scrambled into unsettling silence. I immediately felt dizzy when I bent my knees outwards to stand back on my feet. I brushed off the dewy pieces of gravel planted in my kneecap and I dug around my cardigan to find a pack of Lucky. I titled the red box towards me and grabbed the nearest cigarette. I lit the tip of it. A gush of euphoria streamed through my lungs. The smoke bled out through my lips as I sighed. I looked down and worms rocked unsteadily, each cooked by the blazing sun. I saved them from their misery.
****
The smell of hot bread has already died when I step out of the library. The dark street was illuminated with glowing street lamps. Nothing made me feel emptier. I trot down the steps and shuffle towards the path I took before. I release a shiver as I walked downwards towards the sea again. The brick path has a coat of slippery thin ice that made it hard for me to walk on. I shiver more. I reach the metallic rail between the black sea and me. I glance out and I see nothing. I wrap both of my blistered red fingers on the rail and leaned down to stare into the nothingness. I feel colder. I wonder, how long would it take me to reach the bottom. I pause. I think about how lonely I would be if I closed my eyelids and sank.
****
Do you think there’s an afterlife?
Borders
by David Dominique
A world without borders, imagine that.
What would the world be like without borders?
Would it be more ideal?
Brooded about this over time.
Time hasn’t changed me. It's the people.
Borders, what good are they?
Division and separation, right?
I've come to realize something.
We shouldn't have borders.
But will it ever happen?
Human nature is what makes us.
That’s why borders are, a reflection of ourselves, our insecurities.
That's what I have come to terms with.
One can brood forever, but the world won't change.
A world without borders, imagine that.
What would the world be like without borders?
Would it be more ideal?
Brooded about this over time.
Time hasn’t changed me. It's the people.
Borders, what good are they?
Division and separation, right?
I've come to realize something.
We shouldn't have borders.
But will it ever happen?
Human nature is what makes us.
That’s why borders are, a reflection of ourselves, our insecurities.
That's what I have come to terms with.
One can brood forever, but the world won't change.
A world without borders, imagine that.
Waltzing Away
by Fremantle
Waltzing through the blight’d fields,
Devoid ripen’d fruit and flower
Bringing demise to the yield,
He wanders across these lands, forever
Whilst I ponder’d in my study, with my focus sturdy
I cometh across the divine wonder,
Whilst emerging rough and faulty,
I cometh across the divine wonder
Whilst I linger in my dwelling, unaware of affairs yonder
I bellow with faith, faith to the one who wanders forever
Sealing with him the contract, the contract of a soul,
I bestow’d upon me, the wonder of a life forever
Waltzing through the desolate lands, lands once filled with joy
Now devoid of bliss, devoid of life
bringing the demise of these lands
He wanders across these lands, forever
As I live, I begin to grieve,
grieve the life people adore
“Was I right to do so?” I implore,
Tis is all I can do, forever more
As I ask myself, “was this what I wanted ?”, I begin to ponder,
Ponder about what I chose
Was this really a wonder ?
Or evil’s sign I brought close?
As the drops of time drip away, I remain the same
Devoid of time and its friends,
I torment myself asking , “what is this game ?”
Even whilst the answer remains the same, the game of the fiends
Waltzing through the town I live in,
Bringing with him the ,
Cowering people, suppress fear within
As he wanders across these lands, forever
Now I am confin’d in my study,
Ever working, ever busy
Devoid of hope, I stare out at the darken’d moor
Envious of those, those who’d resist the lure
Whilst I ponder deep and sombre, I hear tapping
Tapping on the door
“Who is it, at this dull time ?” I think to myself,
“Could it be him again ?”, I wonder, staring through the window into the shadowy moor
As I look through the window, I notice something,
Something inexplicable - the rotting of life
Feathered beings falling from perches, bloom’d flowers wilting
Mighty trees are rotten lumber, devoid the essence of life
Reaching the door, he knocks again
With every thud, life fades
“Who is he ?”, you may wonder,
“Who is he ?”, you may wonder
Whilst I open’d the door, the wind flutter’d
With a mighty gust, I could barely hear what he utter’d
“Life and death, have known you not”, he said
Time for you to face the dead
Whilst I felt pleasure, for his arrival,
I felt, I did not want to perish
Sipping from the Holy Grail, the grail with most kings dream to dine
I knew, I did not want to perish
Begging for life, “I shall please to live”, I said
Whilst he look’d at me, he said
“ You shall not die, but rather,”
He stopped, and on me, an eye he laid
Whilst I stared him in the eye, I heard a rasping
A rasping, so dreary from him
“You shall find no escape”
He said, in a tone ever so dim
With his eyes fixed on me, he smile’d
A smile, mostly evil
Such a smile, which could unsettle even the dead,
Could only belong’d to the devil, forever
Devoid ripen’d fruit and flower
Bringing demise to the yield,
He wanders across these lands, forever
Whilst I ponder’d in my study, with my focus sturdy
I cometh across the divine wonder,
Whilst emerging rough and faulty,
I cometh across the divine wonder
Whilst I linger in my dwelling, unaware of affairs yonder
I bellow with faith, faith to the one who wanders forever
Sealing with him the contract, the contract of a soul,
I bestow’d upon me, the wonder of a life forever
Waltzing through the desolate lands, lands once filled with joy
Now devoid of bliss, devoid of life
bringing the demise of these lands
He wanders across these lands, forever
As I live, I begin to grieve,
grieve the life people adore
“Was I right to do so?” I implore,
Tis is all I can do, forever more
As I ask myself, “was this what I wanted ?”, I begin to ponder,
Ponder about what I chose
Was this really a wonder ?
Or evil’s sign I brought close?
As the drops of time drip away, I remain the same
Devoid of time and its friends,
I torment myself asking , “what is this game ?”
Even whilst the answer remains the same, the game of the fiends
Waltzing through the town I live in,
Bringing with him the ,
Cowering people, suppress fear within
As he wanders across these lands, forever
Now I am confin’d in my study,
Ever working, ever busy
Devoid of hope, I stare out at the darken’d moor
Envious of those, those who’d resist the lure
Whilst I ponder deep and sombre, I hear tapping
Tapping on the door
“Who is it, at this dull time ?” I think to myself,
“Could it be him again ?”, I wonder, staring through the window into the shadowy moor
As I look through the window, I notice something,
Something inexplicable - the rotting of life
Feathered beings falling from perches, bloom’d flowers wilting
Mighty trees are rotten lumber, devoid the essence of life
Reaching the door, he knocks again
With every thud, life fades
“Who is he ?”, you may wonder,
“Who is he ?”, you may wonder
Whilst I open’d the door, the wind flutter’d
With a mighty gust, I could barely hear what he utter’d
“Life and death, have known you not”, he said
Time for you to face the dead
Whilst I felt pleasure, for his arrival,
I felt, I did not want to perish
Sipping from the Holy Grail, the grail with most kings dream to dine
I knew, I did not want to perish
Begging for life, “I shall please to live”, I said
Whilst he look’d at me, he said
“ You shall not die, but rather,”
He stopped, and on me, an eye he laid
Whilst I stared him in the eye, I heard a rasping
A rasping, so dreary from him
“You shall find no escape”
He said, in a tone ever so dim
With his eyes fixed on me, he smile’d
A smile, mostly evil
Such a smile, which could unsettle even the dead,
Could only belong’d to the devil, forever
Origins of a Name
by Sean Cheng
I am not Irish, yet my name is. Chosen because of its likeness to my Mandarin name. Sean and Sheung-Yan, two parts that fuse Eastern and Western culture into one identity. The name means “God is gracious” or “Gift from God” in English, and in Chinese it means gentle. But why can’t my name mean strength? Maybe then I wouldn’t have stayed down after being shoved to the ground. Maybe I would have had the courage to stand up to the kid who snatched away everyone’s lunch money. If only I were strong enough to face everything that is wrong in the world.
Throughout my elementary school years, I struggled to respond to the kids who called me “seen”. Countless times I had to explain how to say it. “It is pronounced Shawn,” I said over and over. Each time the heat rises behind my ears and my forehead burns. Too often, “uniqueness” is a burden. There is no solace in being the one who doesn’t conform.
At times, when I felt isolated by my name, my mother would comfort me saying, “You know, Sean is the name of the actor who’s James Bond.” “But his name isn’t Sean Bond, it’s James!” I would reply. She would shake her head saying, “James Bond isn’t real, but Sean is who makes him come to life.”
In Taiwan, there is a strong belief that a person’s name ties into their success in life. If your business fails or you get bad grades, changing your name is an option. Because of this idea, changing your name is not taken lightly, and people spend a lot of time finding a new one. Some people even hire counselors to provide guidance when choosing a name. Others take personality tests that predict which name will lead to the most success.
I frequently debated this topic with my uncle Michael; Does the person make the name, or does your name decide your future?
I feel a bond with my name, so strong that I cannot imagine being called anything else. A name chosen for me by my parents I would never change; it has become inseparable from my identity.
I guess God is gracious. Gracious because of the good I can do for others. To serve others. To help others. Maybe the world needs more gentleness and less strength. People who would pull someone up rather than push them down. I can only imagine. Gentleness.
Throughout my elementary school years, I struggled to respond to the kids who called me “seen”. Countless times I had to explain how to say it. “It is pronounced Shawn,” I said over and over. Each time the heat rises behind my ears and my forehead burns. Too often, “uniqueness” is a burden. There is no solace in being the one who doesn’t conform.
At times, when I felt isolated by my name, my mother would comfort me saying, “You know, Sean is the name of the actor who’s James Bond.” “But his name isn’t Sean Bond, it’s James!” I would reply. She would shake her head saying, “James Bond isn’t real, but Sean is who makes him come to life.”
In Taiwan, there is a strong belief that a person’s name ties into their success in life. If your business fails or you get bad grades, changing your name is an option. Because of this idea, changing your name is not taken lightly, and people spend a lot of time finding a new one. Some people even hire counselors to provide guidance when choosing a name. Others take personality tests that predict which name will lead to the most success.
I frequently debated this topic with my uncle Michael; Does the person make the name, or does your name decide your future?
I feel a bond with my name, so strong that I cannot imagine being called anything else. A name chosen for me by my parents I would never change; it has become inseparable from my identity.
I guess God is gracious. Gracious because of the good I can do for others. To serve others. To help others. Maybe the world needs more gentleness and less strength. People who would pull someone up rather than push them down. I can only imagine. Gentleness.
Untitled
by Shelley Kim
He tried to kill himself two different times.
Don't worry. He’s not going to die within the next 500 words. This isn't that kind of story.
The first time, he knocked over containers in the medicine cabinet and took out every orange bottle he could find and searched up all the winding chemical names to see what the lethal dosages were. He finally settled on six grams of hydrocodone, swallowed too easily, then left a letter on his desk and lay down and tried to think about nothing.
He woke up four hours later to the world exactly the way he’d left it. He spent a few minutes examining the dusty orange six-AM-sunbeams glancing off the overturned pill bottle before crying and getting up to make coffee.
He still went to school that day and couldn't see through the surreality of it all. Talking to people, wondering, do they know? Trying to find ways to mention I almost killed myself yesterday but instead pretending to listen to Jenny talk about her facial expression in her Snapchat story because it was the most important thing in the world.
He slept later. He ate less. He cried more easily. He tried to go back to life as usual but his mind always wandered to the painkillers hidden in his second desk drawer.
The second time worked.
Because no matter what anyone said, his life was too gone, too broken, too many broken promises about his future, too much forced sympathy, questions about people who cared about him, who cared about him, what would happen to them? But as he threw back his head and downed fourteen grams of diazepam, all he could think was that all that happens is Jenny makes a long emotional post on Facebook and counts how many likes she gets, some stupid sixteen year old writes one or two short stories about the whole thing then never thinks of it again, and the world keeps on spinning spinning spinning like it is now in his head and he has to sit down and close his eyes and never open them again and no one cares it happened.
Because who really cares that one day his friend walks out of the counselor’s office with Tools for Coping crumpling in his hand, his teeth set, locked, loaded to say I’m okay, thanks, don’t worry about me, who cares that one day his brother stops mid-sentence – his mouth falters and gaze fades sad and empty, who cares that one day I will be standing on the edge of the auditorium roof and looking down, see the same concern in his eyes, in his eyes whenever I said something about killing myself and yet I know he will not climb up here and face me, who is to care that once my feet step into open air I know that in those longest two seconds of the fall I've never felt so carefree in my stupid short sixteen years of life?
Don't worry. He’s not going to die within the next 500 words. This isn't that kind of story.
The first time, he knocked over containers in the medicine cabinet and took out every orange bottle he could find and searched up all the winding chemical names to see what the lethal dosages were. He finally settled on six grams of hydrocodone, swallowed too easily, then left a letter on his desk and lay down and tried to think about nothing.
He woke up four hours later to the world exactly the way he’d left it. He spent a few minutes examining the dusty orange six-AM-sunbeams glancing off the overturned pill bottle before crying and getting up to make coffee.
He still went to school that day and couldn't see through the surreality of it all. Talking to people, wondering, do they know? Trying to find ways to mention I almost killed myself yesterday but instead pretending to listen to Jenny talk about her facial expression in her Snapchat story because it was the most important thing in the world.
He slept later. He ate less. He cried more easily. He tried to go back to life as usual but his mind always wandered to the painkillers hidden in his second desk drawer.
The second time worked.
Because no matter what anyone said, his life was too gone, too broken, too many broken promises about his future, too much forced sympathy, questions about people who cared about him, who cared about him, what would happen to them? But as he threw back his head and downed fourteen grams of diazepam, all he could think was that all that happens is Jenny makes a long emotional post on Facebook and counts how many likes she gets, some stupid sixteen year old writes one or two short stories about the whole thing then never thinks of it again, and the world keeps on spinning spinning spinning like it is now in his head and he has to sit down and close his eyes and never open them again and no one cares it happened.
Because who really cares that one day his friend walks out of the counselor’s office with Tools for Coping crumpling in his hand, his teeth set, locked, loaded to say I’m okay, thanks, don’t worry about me, who cares that one day his brother stops mid-sentence – his mouth falters and gaze fades sad and empty, who cares that one day I will be standing on the edge of the auditorium roof and looking down, see the same concern in his eyes, in his eyes whenever I said something about killing myself and yet I know he will not climb up here and face me, who is to care that once my feet step into open air I know that in those longest two seconds of the fall I've never felt so carefree in my stupid short sixteen years of life?
Pearl Hunting
by Sabrina Kim
Unadulterated youth is the dreamer tossing hope into the sea
Round eyes that are tired of stargazing
They want to become the stars
Bursting into the romantic colors of life
That these eyes have perceived since birth
Chance privilege has taken me on slow drives to the concert hall
Where the ripples of the soloist’s dress glisten
The perfect image of confidence
Stealing light to hold for a flicker in time
Acquaintanceship with success
And songs about falling in love
Widen coveting eyes
And fill them with anticipation
Our next years are summarized by a facade of eloquence
Masking sweat that lines the hairline
They’re little beads of determination and
A constant battle with ourselves
Our achievements never seem to be enough
To float a straw boat of pride
And the heart of gold begins to wonder
If it really is golden
But the moments we consider to be humble
A summer evening spent in the mountains
Lips that have withheld your secrets
The final exuberant chord of a Tchaikovsky concerto
Exhibit pearls invisible to eyes that search forever for them
The wave tossed onto the shore that will always return
Round eyes that are tired of stargazing
They want to become the stars
Bursting into the romantic colors of life
That these eyes have perceived since birth
Chance privilege has taken me on slow drives to the concert hall
Where the ripples of the soloist’s dress glisten
The perfect image of confidence
Stealing light to hold for a flicker in time
Acquaintanceship with success
And songs about falling in love
Widen coveting eyes
And fill them with anticipation
Our next years are summarized by a facade of eloquence
Masking sweat that lines the hairline
They’re little beads of determination and
A constant battle with ourselves
Our achievements never seem to be enough
To float a straw boat of pride
And the heart of gold begins to wonder
If it really is golden
But the moments we consider to be humble
A summer evening spent in the mountains
Lips that have withheld your secrets
The final exuberant chord of a Tchaikovsky concerto
Exhibit pearls invisible to eyes that search forever for them
The wave tossed onto the shore that will always return
New Religion
by Alyssa Robins
Once, after years of looking closer and closer,
I set a pair of glasses across my nose and left them there.
On the ride home, after four years of living in an Impressionist-world,
I saw telephone poles on the crest of the green mountains we always drove by.
Those tiny crosses were the most miraculous things I have ever seen.
(But I want to tell you that the happinesses of life are not dead, not contrite, not overused.)
I set a pair of glasses across my nose and left them there.
On the ride home, after four years of living in an Impressionist-world,
I saw telephone poles on the crest of the green mountains we always drove by.
Those tiny crosses were the most miraculous things I have ever seen.
(But I want to tell you that the happinesses of life are not dead, not contrite, not overused.)
Homecoming
by Elinda Xiao
It was morning when I stepped off the train.
Yes, it was morning when I stepped off the train, with the sunlight shining in my eyes and piercing through the fog that slowly evaporated with every warmer second.
It became clear that my hometown was not the same place that I had once known it to be. The asphalt had been replaced since the last time I had visited, and for some reason the smooth blackness of it was less comforting than scuffed, worn-down concrete. Where were the familiar etchings? Where were the carved-in initials?
I looked up from the ground, blinked, and continued on my way.
There was a diner I remembered, tucked away in the corner of town. It would be a nice place to lunch.
I thought that I would recognize it anywhere; the mint facade and neon lights were, in my mind, as immortal as any deity.
But as I turned the corner, there was nothing. Nothing but a bulldozed mound of dust and rubble.
There were a few people walking through the area, and I was certain that one of them would recognize me.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “But do you know what happened to the building here?”
He frowned. “What building?
“There used to be a diner here.”
“Oh, that one. I suppose they tore it down a couple of years ago, but there are far better restaurants now. But it’s too late to eat lunch now...Say, do I know you?”
I was ecstatic that someone had recognized me.
“Yes! Yes, I’m from here. My family moved away, but I’ve come back to visit. Don’t you remember me?”
“No,” he said regretfully. “But do you remember me?”
I didn’t. I opened and closed my mouth and then finally averted my gaze. The man must have said something or the other, for I heard his voice again. But I didn’t catch it and he left.
The sun was getting lower, but the sky was still desperately holding on to its blue hues, even as orange tinted the edges. My watch told me that my evening train would be arriving soon.
The station’s old lights sputtered to life as the first chugs of the train could be heard. There was the shrill scream of the whistle. The familiar smell of steam and oil.
I boarded the steps with my heart in my stomach. This trip hadn’t gone like I had hoped it would.
I took my seat on the upper level, setting my head on the window. The train started again.
I stared out. The sky was pink and purple and blue now, clouds and telephone wires streaking across the sky. From here, the houses were tiny. The people were miniatures. I think I could have seen familiar neon lights. For a second everything was the same as it had been when I had left.
Then the whistle screamed again, and it sped out of sight.
Yes, it was morning when I stepped off the train, with the sunlight shining in my eyes and piercing through the fog that slowly evaporated with every warmer second.
It became clear that my hometown was not the same place that I had once known it to be. The asphalt had been replaced since the last time I had visited, and for some reason the smooth blackness of it was less comforting than scuffed, worn-down concrete. Where were the familiar etchings? Where were the carved-in initials?
I looked up from the ground, blinked, and continued on my way.
There was a diner I remembered, tucked away in the corner of town. It would be a nice place to lunch.
I thought that I would recognize it anywhere; the mint facade and neon lights were, in my mind, as immortal as any deity.
But as I turned the corner, there was nothing. Nothing but a bulldozed mound of dust and rubble.
There were a few people walking through the area, and I was certain that one of them would recognize me.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “But do you know what happened to the building here?”
He frowned. “What building?
“There used to be a diner here.”
“Oh, that one. I suppose they tore it down a couple of years ago, but there are far better restaurants now. But it’s too late to eat lunch now...Say, do I know you?”
I was ecstatic that someone had recognized me.
“Yes! Yes, I’m from here. My family moved away, but I’ve come back to visit. Don’t you remember me?”
“No,” he said regretfully. “But do you remember me?”
I didn’t. I opened and closed my mouth and then finally averted my gaze. The man must have said something or the other, for I heard his voice again. But I didn’t catch it and he left.
The sun was getting lower, but the sky was still desperately holding on to its blue hues, even as orange tinted the edges. My watch told me that my evening train would be arriving soon.
The station’s old lights sputtered to life as the first chugs of the train could be heard. There was the shrill scream of the whistle. The familiar smell of steam and oil.
I boarded the steps with my heart in my stomach. This trip hadn’t gone like I had hoped it would.
I took my seat on the upper level, setting my head on the window. The train started again.
I stared out. The sky was pink and purple and blue now, clouds and telephone wires streaking across the sky. From here, the houses were tiny. The people were miniatures. I think I could have seen familiar neon lights. For a second everything was the same as it had been when I had left.
Then the whistle screamed again, and it sped out of sight.
Kaleidoscope
by Sabrina Kim
You have no idea how
beautiful you’re growing
each and every day
Your eyes hold ultraviolet galaxies
they are honest
when your lips are not
Entangled in your hair is
sea salt you’ve attracted during
flirtations with adventure revealing
your childlike suspicion of
the world
I want you to inhale
my euphoric expression of love smell
the million roses I would paint with
vibrancy to match
the chromatism of
your unashamed laughter
See yourself through
the kaleidoscope
the lens of another soul that
makes you
broken and
spectacular and
you
beautiful you’re growing
each and every day
Your eyes hold ultraviolet galaxies
they are honest
when your lips are not
Entangled in your hair is
sea salt you’ve attracted during
flirtations with adventure revealing
your childlike suspicion of
the world
I want you to inhale
my euphoric expression of love smell
the million roses I would paint with
vibrancy to match
the chromatism of
your unashamed laughter
See yourself through
the kaleidoscope
the lens of another soul that
makes you
broken and
spectacular and
you
The Broken Sidewalk
by Asunder
And there I stood
With my world in pieces
Leaves falling at my feet
On the broken sidewalk
And there she stood
Already forgotten
Fading from my memory
Like the broken sidewalk
I wished to go but even more
I wished for her to stay
With falling leaves
And the broken sidewalk
My ears still ring
From the music she spoke
Soft as change
And broken sidewalks
Which did I love?
I cannot say
If it was her
Or the broken sidewalk
With my world in pieces
Leaves falling at my feet
On the broken sidewalk
And there she stood
Already forgotten
Fading from my memory
Like the broken sidewalk
I wished to go but even more
I wished for her to stay
With falling leaves
And the broken sidewalk
My ears still ring
From the music she spoke
Soft as change
And broken sidewalks
Which did I love?
I cannot say
If it was her
Or the broken sidewalk
Names
by David Dominique
I am David.
David is the name on my birth Certificate.
David is the name I was given by my parents.
The name people call me by.
But “David” is nothing more than a label, a tag.
For you to call me by.
But my name does not signify me.
It may sound like whatever to you in your mind.
But I am a human being.
I am a colorful piece of artwork.
But for your sake, call me David.
But remember, the name does not make the man.
The man makes his own self, his true self.
David is the name on my birth Certificate.
David is the name I was given by my parents.
The name people call me by.
But “David” is nothing more than a label, a tag.
For you to call me by.
But my name does not signify me.
It may sound like whatever to you in your mind.
But I am a human being.
I am a colorful piece of artwork.
But for your sake, call me David.
But remember, the name does not make the man.
The man makes his own self, his true self.
I Stand at the Threshold
by Tyler Deuel
Remember when kids participated in the streets
How they would chase with haste Life's fire like moths
[NOW!]wired to seats they have no feet.
In the ember we are all in december eating at troths
There would be those who fought for something
Like Che and Doctor Martin Luther King,
Those who had Ideas and made changes.
Today you see the Voiceless and Lost, I can scarcely sing...
Those moments when people gave out of Goodness for those with no sheets
the Unwritten of society, Now seem lost to Idolatry,
they seek all the blessings of college
everyone has lost true Knowledge.
I miss the Intimacy that was soothing,
How people would call and tell each other everything
the art of writing that could bring out the new and strange.
(when a boy could tell a girl he liked her and not have fear of crumbling...)
I miss nights with my friends we performed feats
we would yammer and clammer, the whole world was ours.
Before they abandoned like long lost thoughts forgotten, sadly
choosing to be buried, because they carried only for themselves.
I miss when people would solve doubt, Speaking
[NOW!]---- so fleeting brightly gleaming, to old songs I slide into sleeping
dreams of better joys, who's precious times brought no derange
Those melodies of velvet Kisses, Shimmering.
The lovers who have love for more then selves, but for the poor
the---- Broken
that may let sparks fly by interlacing hands and true cores,
may the whispers of wonders be softly spoken
Hopes for sunrises at the cemetery gates unearthing being,
discovering, a moment where depths of death become depending
those of bones who are equal can exchange
the True, not money or status, but simply loving.
I carry faith in my heart that the world will (change
united) , Where I can hold my little angels in my palms.
When the KKK will cut off their crowns and hold hands with the black man
to see a second sounding like bells united singing----
--“Shoot Coward, Because We Shall Overcome!”...
How they would chase with haste Life's fire like moths
[NOW!]wired to seats they have no feet.
In the ember we are all in december eating at troths
There would be those who fought for something
Like Che and Doctor Martin Luther King,
Those who had Ideas and made changes.
Today you see the Voiceless and Lost, I can scarcely sing...
Those moments when people gave out of Goodness for those with no sheets
the Unwritten of society, Now seem lost to Idolatry,
they seek all the blessings of college
everyone has lost true Knowledge.
I miss the Intimacy that was soothing,
How people would call and tell each other everything
the art of writing that could bring out the new and strange.
(when a boy could tell a girl he liked her and not have fear of crumbling...)
I miss nights with my friends we performed feats
we would yammer and clammer, the whole world was ours.
Before they abandoned like long lost thoughts forgotten, sadly
choosing to be buried, because they carried only for themselves.
I miss when people would solve doubt, Speaking
[NOW!]---- so fleeting brightly gleaming, to old songs I slide into sleeping
dreams of better joys, who's precious times brought no derange
Those melodies of velvet Kisses, Shimmering.
The lovers who have love for more then selves, but for the poor
the---- Broken
that may let sparks fly by interlacing hands and true cores,
may the whispers of wonders be softly spoken
Hopes for sunrises at the cemetery gates unearthing being,
discovering, a moment where depths of death become depending
those of bones who are equal can exchange
the True, not money or status, but simply loving.
I carry faith in my heart that the world will (change
united) , Where I can hold my little angels in my palms.
When the KKK will cut off their crowns and hold hands with the black man
to see a second sounding like bells united singing----
--“Shoot Coward, Because We Shall Overcome!”...