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 Dec 2013 Jamie
Katrina Wendt
I can lay
right next to you
and never touch you

I can see you smile
from across the room
without kissing you

I can watch you
leave the room
and resist hugging you goodbye

But sometimes
when I'm next to you
you have to ask me to move away

Because for a few minutes
I let fantasy get confused with reality
and I lean against you during a movie

And it's so warm
your arm and mine, touching
for that minute I'm at peace

But when you ask
of course I make room
Because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable

And if you weren't my friend
I would probably try it
just once, to know what it would be like to kiss you

But ideally,
I'll get over this
and when I am, we'll still be friends

So in the meantime
I try not to think about kissing you
and I only hug you when I have reason to

What I'm saying is
I will do what I can
to keep myself sane and our friendship intact

But just know
that with every look I give
I wish I could give so much more.
 Aug 2013 Jamie
Makana Queja
Sometimes, I write poetry for show.
People read my metaphors,
And claim that they love them.
I climb onto their shoulders,
Lean against their heads,
And scream in their ears until,
"Oh, wow, that's so powerful."
Then I move on to the next person,
Waving a piece of paper in my hands.

Other times, I write because I want to share.
Not because I want people to love my poetry,
But because I want to know that some people feel like I do.
I love it when I find someone else that had a common misconception.
Or when someone else is a Whovian like I am.
Or when someone one else has read Atlas Shrugged from cover to cover.
It makes me feel connected on a level deeper than all the time, alcohol, and conversations that we could possibly have.
It helps me not to feel alone.

But most of my poetry gets tucked away.
Enjoyed only by me.
Like writing myself sticky notes.
Sometimes they're little things.
A simple phrase that brings entire afternoons back.
A private moment with my father that I loved.
A one-liner that a 10-year-old nailed me with.
They are little things, but they are mine.

Then there are big things.
Things that I have tried to hide from myself, but they reveal themselves eventually.
Until I capture them on paper.
Imprisoned forever and never bother me again.

This is why I write.
To share, to embrace, to remember, and to forget.
Everything else is just me yelling at the world, claiming to be a writer.

— The End —