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The Squares lived happily,
in their square houses,
in their square yards,
in their square town.

One day, a family of Circles
moved in from the west.

"Get out of here, roundies!" shouted one of the Squares.
"Why?" asked one of the Circles.
"Because this is a metaphor for racism!"
 Dec 2015 Joshua Haines
Akemi
We made nests in clocks
that Summer the electricity died.
Stars rose out of the ether for the first time in centuries.

Autumn rolled in
but it only grew hotter.
We climbed on rooftops to escape the heat of our homes
and saw the silhouettes of strangers follow.

Winter choked the freeways, the subways, the old ways.
Rust fell on us like rain.
We danced in the belly of an abandoned ship
cheeks burning with mirth.

By Spring
the plants had withered
and the animals had slept until their bodies devoured their souls.
We sat on the town hall as the sun engulfed the sky
Thankful for such a beautiful life.
2:35am, December 9th 2015

Can't ******* wait.
meeting you
was finding a pond
after years
of knowing only desert
sometimes getting out of bed feels more like a climbing
and some mornings waking up can be a triathlon of effort
I have completed many

sometimes I am all muscle
sometimes I am all skin
sometimes I am the long lost cousin of regret
sometimes I am the farthest thing from human

some days I am a Saturday
some days I am more Monday
some days I am both
it does not matter which day it actually is
it does matter if I can't remember

I get lost often
in poetry
in the process of writing
in movies
and moments of comfort

I don't think about the future a lot
but occasionally I'll wonder what it would be like to live happily in it
Now and then I'll draw people into mine and imagine how they'd fit

I take things day by day but tomorrow still excites me nonetheless

I was fifteen when I got my nose pierced
sixteen when I switched the stud for a ring
seventeen when I got my driver's license
and at eighteen I finally stopped sleeping with a nightlight

I am terrified of the dark
but I will never admit it

I am terrified of losing things
but I will hold onto my pride like it's my sole source of surviving

I will not always be smiling
know that if I am not, it’s not your fault
know that if I am, it is

it took me years to correctly pronounce ptsd
it took me a few, two exactly
to admit that I have it

know there will be days when the storm is too heavy to fight off alone
the winds too strong to fend off with just these arms
I will not ask for your help
I will think that I don't need it
I will

know that your laugh will never become secondary
your happiness, always a priority
I have loved too much for far too long to not do so consistently

I'm a hopeless romantic
but often times I will just be hopeless
this
is when I will need you most
when the loud of my vocality has turned itself quiet
when I can blame only tired for my weakness
this
is when I will need to be reminded
of that tomorrow that excites me so greatly
tell me
about all the times the stars were told they wouldn't glow bright and center
tell me about all those instances of defiance
tell me about the moments where the sun refused to let the clouds block her bravery
how she still manages to make herself known in the midst of chaos
tell me
is there anything more worth it
than being unabashed in your awareness?
to know that this is what I am
and it is all I have to offer
?

the thing is
I don't have a lot to offer you
only poorly composed sonnets and a good 99% of my affection
the other one percent
I'm saving for myself to have on a rainy day

the thing is
I don't have a lot to give
but I do have words I am willing to tie into stanzas
I will wrap them up and call them gifts
I've got a body,
not perfect but it's mine
and I'd love for you to know it

the thing is
there are a lot of things you should know about me
before you love me
but the truth is
a lot of them you really won't find out
until you do
and that alone
is the best part
about it
Sometimes rhyme schemes ****,
Like a Kirby or Bissell.
Rules I do not like!
© Lizzy Collins
A splash of cool water runs down my face.
The droplets collide with dust
that is settled onto the backside of my callused hands.
I tighten my grasp on the edges of the pasty, beige colored sink,
and slowly tilt me head up.

My eyes open...

The room that was once well lit, is now darkened.
Revealing only my hazy silhouette in the mirror.
I stare into the glass for a moment.
Subconsciously criticizing the inadequate outline of the reflected shadow.

The door opens...

She steps in.
Her bare feet slightly sticking to the linoleum floor,
creating a small popping sound.
A single ray of light follows her,
like she was stepping onto a dark stage in a theatre full of thousands
glaring attentively.

My focus is pulled away from the cloudy pane of glass,
and is forced in her direction.
My entire being flutters with nervousness as she walks by.
Her silky blonde hair flowing as if an ocean breeze is passing over her.
A short lavender night gown is draped over her soft, pale skin.
Each passing second is highlighted by her perfect form,
as she glides by seemingly unaware of my presence.

Exiting without a second glance behind her,
she slowly shuts the rusty hinged, wooden door,
and the light diminishes.
I stand silently waiting; hoping the door will open again,
and the goddess enveloped in white will return.

Not a sound...

I turn again to the mirror.
One last chance to see myself clearly,
and hold on to that abruptly fleeting moment,
but,
when I adjusted my worried and desperate eyes,
I could no longer see my dark wavy silhouette.
It was void.
An empty mirror looked through my solid outer shell,
and saw nothing.
I looked down at my hands,
attempting to unravel the puzzling circumstance.

I too, saw nothing...

The floor beneath my feet started to tremble,
raising an ear piercing screech.
The gold lined window casing stretched and morphed,
leaving the glass without holding edges.
The pane drops,
crashing into the sink below.
Broken glass raises into the air, pieces of the woman in the lavender dress appear in the separate shards,
and the entire room disintegrates.

I am left...

Surrounded by a blank, cold atmosphere of white.
Alone, and with nothing,
I walk.
Forever...
© Kyle Fisher
Huddled in quasi-complexity,
my mind makes for itself shackles,
that bore their ends into brick walls.
Like iron pig tails, they restrict all movement.

Will these chains ever be discarded?
Or will they corrode from the longevity of bathing in saline tears?
©Kyle Fisher
Black and gray *** leaf tube socks
are stretched up to his kneecaps.
They cover the rugged
saw-like shin bones that nustle themselves underneath a layer of soft, pale skin.

Beige khaki shorts, tethered and worn.
A rip in the left pocket, a hole in the back;
Cigarrettes and a *****, empty, leather wallet reside in the other two.

A hint of a minty, floral perfume, emanating from the cotton fibers of his tattered, black, t-shirt, remind him of the long, arduous night that had past.

Clouded and confused, liqour infested, and hardly satisfied. He stumbles through the morning dew covered grass, etching a new path home.

He feels no regret, no remorse. Only an uninhabited, nugatory self.
©Kyle Fisher
Thoughts about loving,
They cross my mind often.
Oblivion shoving,
Encased in presumption.

The fullest of hearts,
In masked appearance.
Of the same parts,
They battle for clearance.

Down to the key,
One shutters in pain.
This one I see,
Is lost in the game.

The other takes point,
Revealing it's eyes.
A crease in the joint,
Between honest and lies.
©Kyle Fisher
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