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  Dec 2014 Alexandra
Danielle Shorr
He told me
That I'm not over you

He can tell
By how everything I write
Has traces of you in it

I tell him
This is not true
That I do not directly
Write about anyone
Anymore

But see,
The spaces between words
That's where you fit in
I don't even need your name
For you to be mentioned
Just a hint of your memory
Or the way I describe
A body that is no longer next to mine
Provides enough insight
For anyone to guess
That you are still very much
On my mind

You are in every sentence
Every stanza
Every syllable
Every breath

But he is wrong
To say
I am not over
When I have already passed the finish line

Yes I still write you
Everywhere
But only because
I have nowhere else to stick you
And I like the idea
Of rewriting a story
In order to remember what you want to

You sound much better in poetry
Than you do in real life
And your description tastes much better
When it is drenched in metaphor

I like to make you
Sound pretty
Even if we ended
In so much ugly

He told me
That I'm not over you

He can tell
By how everything I write
Has traces of you in it

But I am over you
I have been
For quite a while

My heart
On the other hand
Is still learning
To let go.
  Dec 2014 Alexandra
Joshua Haines
Dear reader,


Reno doesn't smoke and it's a relief because I'd rather my smile stop her heart than a Malboro. I told her that and she considered never talking to me again because of how corny I was being. If anything, I'm glad she doesn't smoke because her teeth are as white as the snow suffocating the landscape. She asked me if I ever smoked a cigarette and I said no, because my hands would start to tremble at the idea of picking up another of one my father's habits.

We walked in the snow and, three steps and two breaths in, she asked me to stop. Reno bleeds other's blood, and it showed when she dug her hands into the snow to reveal a dog's frozen carcass.

"I saw the tip of his tail sticking out of the snow." She studied the dog's body and brushed some snow off of it's side. There was a wound, the size of a child's fist. Frozen blood stained matted fur, as the front and back legs seemed miles part. "He must have been so cold."

"Someone shot him," I looked at her, as a strand of blond hair cut her face in half when she turned to me.

"He doesn't have a collar...  I know what it's like to not have a home, too," she whispered to him.

I watched her, with her knees in the snow, cry. The tears slid down her cheek when she asked me if I thought that the dog's owner killed him.

"I don't know, Reno. I hope not."

She took off her left glove and wiped her face with a pinkish hand.  She turned to me,"Do you think my dad would **** me, if he could?"



The tree branches hung over the blanketed path, as clumps would fall off and plop frostbitten kisses on the bright, eggshell ground. Eventually we reached the grave of Hilary.

Hilary Natasha Drake
Born October 12, 2001
Died December 8, 2007
May God grant you access into his kingdom
as easily as he granted you access into our hearts.


"She was beautiful," Reno smiled, before she looked away. "My mother would always say, 'Hilary, don't you know how pretty you'll be?' ...She had these lily green eyes that lit up a room-I could have swore that she stole them from the garden of Eden. She was sweet, too. Too sweet. Too kind-hearted."

I felt my hand tighten, as I looked down to see Reno's fingers wrapped around me. Her eyes were holding hostage a flood, as her lip quivered as much as her voice.

"In nine minutes, it will be the anniversary of when we lost her. It was just too much for her and I understand, Hilary. I do.

"It ate her body and wouldn't stop. Every day she seemed thinner and thinner. I remember when she lost her hair. Hilary didn't want to wear a bandana or a cap. I asked her why and she said, 'There's nothing wrong with not having hair, pappy does it all the time.'

"She was so strong, Josh. Stronger than me. Stronger than my dad. When she died, the hospital bills and funeral expenses were too much. We lost everything. My dad lost himself.

"Then, my mother left when his drinking got bad... It was the night before Valentine's day. I remember because I was given so many flowers. I didn't understand why because flowers die, too.

"My mother didn't even say goodbye. She left the photo albums. I never got to say goodbye to her or Hilary and it's not fair because I love them so much. I love them more than anything."

Reno couldn't erupt into tears like they could in the movies. This was the scene where she was supposed to cry uncontrollably or have an epiphany that could alleviate the loss, but neither occurred.

"There's one thing I want you to know, Josh: You can't save me. Don't try, okay? Please, do not try to fix the broken pieces because you'll only cut yourself.

"But there's also another thing I want you to know: You can be there, as I fix myself. I want you to be there."

I looked at her and told her I wanted to be there too.

I think I understand why Reno doesn't smoke, now. The idea of possibly giving herself cancer, when it already has taken away everyone she loves, would take something away from Hilary's fight and only add to Reno's loss.

"I can cry over a dog, but not my sister," she whispered. Reno wiped her nose, looked at me and said, "Am I too much yet?"

"Of course not."



Sincerely,

Joshua Haines
  Nov 2014 Alexandra
Danielle Shorr
A boy told me
That the skin on my back
Is beautiful
That it makes me unique
I am not sure
If his words
Were supposed to make me feel pretty
But they made me think
Made me wonder
How a near stranger
Could admire my skin
Almost as much as I despise it

My skin
Is a combination
Of freckles
Of scars
And of spots

These marks
These sun-stained,
Disease-ridden patches
Are not beautiful
This lack of pigmentation,
Scattered formation of color
Looks more like a puzzle
Than it does human
And often times
I feel more puzzle
Than I do human
See I know what it's like
To feel your skin changing color
To feel like your body has betrayed you
The cells that are supposed to protect
Have instead chosen to neglect you
Denying their purpose
Into abandonment

I have spent hours in the mirror
Turning my reflection into stranger
Staring at these flaws
Picking apart every piece of my complexion
Until all that remains
Is insecurity
But the problem with self-hate
Is that it never ends in satisfaction
Only in disappointment
And destroying yourself
Is not an art form

There are times
When I forget
That my body is home before anything else
That it is mine
Before anyone else’s
And although it is shelter
It often feels more
Like the aftermath of a storm
A battlefield left behind
The remnants from wars fought
And wars lost

Some say
I should take pride
In the incongruity
In the mess
In this map I call my body
I have been told
To embrace the blemishes
That they merely proof
Of survival
Of being alive
Of breathing
And it is easy to say
Something is not that bad
When it isn’t you
Who it is unfolding
But this disease
Will not ruin me
It can take parts of my body
To twist into ugly
Turn my immune system against me
And leave scars as evidence
But I refuse to
Let this disease
Make me into anything but
Strength

I have spent years
Trying to find comfort in this skin I am in
Wondering
How unlucky I got
To be this mismatched
Forgetting that I am this lucky
To be this mismatched
And that originality
Is as desirable
As my skin is unclear

This skin that I bare
Does not define me
These tattoos that I have gotten
To cover up unwanted memory
Do not define me
These scales that I wear
Not by choice
But by default
Do not define me
Only I
Define me.
  Nov 2014 Alexandra
Abby Sanderson
flames lick the ceiling
the barn door crackles and splits
he reaches for her
  Nov 2014 Alexandra
Danielle Shorr
Sometimes it's okay
To say

"The world is too much
For me today
But I will try
Again
Tomorrow."
  Nov 2014 Alexandra
Danielle Shorr
I ask when you are coming back
I ask when you are coming home
After being miles apart for months
I am starting to miss you

You tell me Wednesday
I tell you
That is when I leave
And disappointment washes over my tongue
Knowing that it will be months more
Before I get to see you again

I offer to fly you out to see me
For a week or so in December
You could stay at my place and everything
I tell you it will be fun
You answer honestly
That it might be conflicting
You mention your music
That you will be working on it
And you just don't know
If there will be enough time
To sacrifice any of it for a break
You always put guitar and melodies
Before me
And I always resented you for it

I propose dinner in the future
You agree but hesitantly
Said the last time we were together
It was too much
An emotional limbo
That you never want to go through again
I ask if it can happen
You say okay but with strings
That I cannot kiss you
That I cannot touch you the way I used to
That the kind of touching I do
Should be reserved for couples
For those who are in love
And we are not

I want to tell you
That I have loved you for three years straight
And I have never stopped once
I want to say
That people will come in and out of my life
But you are permanently in my head
And my heart

We could go
Days
Weeks
Months
Without talking
And I will still hold you in the back of my mind
Keeping a place set for you always

I do not realize this
And how true it is
Until someone asks me if I wonder what my future husband will look like
And without a pause
I tell them I already know

It sounds terribly naïve
Maybe also crazy
But I have a spot in myself reserved for you
Somewhere for you to come back to

Even if it takes years for you to claim
Even if you never do
I have it kept aside
In case you ever decide
That it's where you need to be

I asked when you were coming home
As if the city we grew up in
Could still be called our home
When in reality home is much farther than an arms reach
I am on the other side of the country

I asked when you were coming home
I asked because
I am not really sure
Where home is right now for me
But you have always been
And will always be
The closest thing to it

You are a house
I could spend the rest of my life in
I know every square inch
Every detail that most would be unable to notice
Your arms are home
Your touch is home
You are home
And I am home
With you.
  Nov 2014 Alexandra
wecanonlywish
poetry should flow freely from the ravine of your soul.

not to be kept by the guardian of your conscience.

true thoughts and innocence are muddled by a large vocabulary and overworked mind.

sit back and relax. allow your inner child to pick up the pen and write what you've felt all along.
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