Patricia Drake
Patricia Drake
Sep 5, 2013

we were late
the gathering had already begun
a solemn voice recited
his stories
his words
became ours
among whitened walls
behind him were instruments
quiet like us
anxiously waiting
unfamiliar with house
he finished and we applauded
along with the faces
captured on canvas
and hung with nails
on the walls
The next voice was a woman
she spoke in verse
free, blank,
only slightly
but sensual
inside and beyond
our faces
her voice
her body
reflected in the windows
and we were invited
to eat and drink upstairs
that night
with words
and faces surrounding us
voices and music
a strange lady
mostly to herself
but everything
telling more stories
for us to contemplate
until next time

Like an assembly line
Feb 24, 2014      Feb 26, 2014

The horrors fill
Each inch
Of my shaking body
As I think about the future
And how I don't think
I'll be able to make it
That far
Because one after another
My demons
Come to see me
One by one
Like an assembly line
Of my deepest


Hannah Morse
Hannah Morse
Feb 25, 2014

'Look everybody, look at his eye!'
I look, at his face,
his contrived, forlorn expression.
Yet the class sees only the bruising.

'We don't hurt each other like this,
do we?' She looks at me.
Fire clambers up my neck,
pricks my chin and
gathers, finally,
in the balls of my cheeks,
where it blazes.

The mouth-shaped bruise
on my arm tingles,
teeth marks still bloody.
I roll down my sleeve,
too proud
to be considered a grass.

Later, she wants to talk,
but I can't for crying.
And I hate when she tells me,
'Just don't do it again.'

Assembly line humans
Grace Nicole Espinoza

You’re all the same
Assembly line humans
Intentions hidden on
Perfectly designed frames

Street light eyes
To guide me home
Are lit by the fire
Stolen from my soul

All holding smiles
Glinting until they blind
You’re all the same
And you cannot be trusted

Because everyone uses you when it's convenient
bucky barnes
bucky barnes
Feb 5      Feb 6

do i know you from somewhere/you look like someone i used to--/you're alive, and
who are you/sorry, i think i have the wrong number/i've been waiting for you

"shared life experience"
Nathan Pival
Nathan Pival
7 hours ago

Everything you say
Feels like a cliche
No new things to say
No new places to explore
How much worth
On what has been done before

It feels like small talk
Memorized and rehearsed
An endless curse
Over and over
Until the words
Don't even have any meaning
Saying nothing but screaming

The worst habit to have
Is not being yourself
Trying to fit
A cookie-cutter mold
Always doing what you're told
A forever quest to be
Accepted and respected

The world doesn't have any sympathy for you
Because your problems aren't unique

The only thing unique about you is

Somewhere in the fading echoes
as the daylight slows
my eyes will close
upon this scene
as if I'd never been at all.

On tombstones where names flake away
In year books from a yesterday
perhaps an image will remain
to stain your memory.

What price is it that we must pay?
What fee is due?
When you or I take that last look at the Summer sky
and fly off to one more blind fate
the final unknown unkind blind date
Who will wait to etch our passing in the book of time?
Who will catch the echoes that we leave behind?

And should I care?
I was never born,never lived,didn't die
I was not there
it was not me you saw
soaring free.
It was not me
It couldn't be.
How would I give up that which is given freely?
that which I should love so dearly
and so very nearly,
I begin to see
how it could be me
I could be there
could live and die with no one to care and at the fade out
would I still shout
It was not me?

These questions sent to try me
tire me.
The fire that was me if it ever was me
is now the embers in the grate.
The cold hand of that unkind blind date
is reaching out to me.
It cannot see me shake
nor can it feel as my heart breaks and daylight flakes away
into the coldness of the final night.

It might have been me that you saw soaring free
or in the echoes of light smashing into the ground.
Stick around
I'll let you know
but then one day,like me you'll have to go.
Just so you know
if you're looking
I'll be in the garden smelling of roses.

the day of the assembly.
Its ByrnByrn
Its ByrnByrn
Nov 16, 2013

It's the same dull presentation every year.
Her friends all aware.
She stands out today,
but then again,
not really.

She is of the few who remembered,
the occasion that is.
Simple black dress.
Black boots.
Poppy ablaze on her heart.
She is quiet today.

The Marlboro-huffing voice,
crackles over the P.A.,
telling students to report to the cafetorium.
She rises out of her seat,
smoothes her dress,
and straightens her poppy.

She is first to hand in the annual
"I Will Remember..."
slip of paper.
Along with her older brother's name.
Not looking back as she leaves.

Everyone files into their seats,
their bland, identical, mauve-coloured seats;
fidgeting before they even sit.
The "populars" in front of her,
texting and tweeting life away.

She silently studies the band, bitter as can be.
All there for extra cred, or to get out of class.
"Delinquents reading sheet music"
Printed on white, crisp new paper,
only to be forgotten about,
or thrown out tomorrow.

The anthem is played,
she loses control.
Tears tearing a path down her face.
Nothing but a scratchy wool sleeve to help;
all the while,
not without a stiff upper lip.

And as soon as it started,
the entire thing is over,
and everyone files out of their seats.
While she and a friend quietly duck into a bathroom,
seeking refuge from the common calm.
She cries.
Then quickly collects herself and walks back alone.

She enters class,
late with bloodshot eyes; daring anyone to speak.
Smeared makeup like warpaint.
Catching the eyes of her classmates,
as well as those of her teacher,
who now understands.

Though it's a silent knowing,
of course;
because nobody enjoys talking about,
nor remembering,
the day of the assembly.

-November 11th, 2012
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