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  Sep 2017 Sadia
Alyssa Rose Naimoli
I've stayed up passed my bedtime
writing words that don't make sense,
then I wrote again until my words fell flat,
tell me now, am I a writer yet?

I bled words onto paper,
and made rhymes from old news print,
then I lost my train of thought til 4am.
Tell me, anyone, am I a writer yet?

I wrote poems on the ferry,
for the boy who played guitar,
About a girl with too wide eyes,
and her lips all red like cherries.
Someone tell  me, am I a writer yet?

I read the words sewn to my chest,
and marked all my feelings in henna,
collected my thoughts like a novel,
and hummed every word to a beat.
It'd be a shame to say I wasn't a writer yet.

I read novels and sonnets,
from Shakespeare and Poe,
hoping that something would show me the road.
Tell me, please, am I a writer yet?

There is cursive on my forearm,
a few pretty little words.
A few tearful eyes at the sight of my words,
and a smile to accompany them too.

Perhaps I can answer for myself now,
and my words might shine a little brighter.
It was silly for me to ever doubt;
I always knew I'd be a writer.
I can't be the only one who has ever thought this.
  Sep 2017 Sadia
Peninsula
You and I are land and sea
For you only stay where you are
And I run to you repeatedly
With reckless disregard.
  Sep 2017 Sadia
JAC
The sea is vast as the clouds are rolling
And in between is air.
They'll never touch, though never falter
And this just isn't fair:

The clouds and sea wish to meet, you see
But they can never be together
For powers that be keep sky from the sea;
They're only bound by weather.

When it rains, the clouds can touch the sea
Gently, caress in wave -
The clouds give all they have to her
But the sea, it must behave.

The sea is aware, that through the air
Is something she never can touch,
But when calm, she reflects the beauty of the clouds
And they smile when they see this much.

So resigned, the two stay far apart
And the clouds look longingly to sea
For they see the weather, reflection and more
That they know can never, ever be.
  Sep 2017 Sadia
Nik Bland
If the sun would shine on me for just a little more
I could finish these few lines and know who I write for
Darkness is coming soon and I find my time is fleeting
A pen and paper in setting sunlight with lines that need completing

My lungs are tired and my throat hoarse from screaming past the distance
Arms so sore from wrestling with my heart and its resistance
Persistently finding myself with no wisp of what to do
Trying to find the proper lines that lead me up to you

Sun stand still, keep your place in this purple, dimming sky
Let me finish the words to my beloved in one last try
All my trying has come to naught, in purple, black, or blue
Dearest lover, pray the sun stands so I might search for you
  Sep 2017 Sadia
Sharon Alaniz
It's as if we are dancing in an never ending waltz with the wind.
Constantly being turned and led, falling in love and falling apart in the same moment in time.
All the colors around us turning into a brilliant blaze of fiery autumn, setting the world in flames.
And when the dance comes to a final bow, we are left out in the cold.
Always wanting a home to belong to, yet only waiting to be swept away again.
The wind is a lover we all want, yet is cruel and heartless.
Taking us in only to throw us back out again.
Entranced by what we want life to be, yet deceived by the beauty of it all.  
The harsh reality of it all is that life is but a dance and when it ends,
we are forgotten.
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