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 Oct 2013 Lewis
Sarah Savannah
Cold
 Oct 2013 Lewis
Sarah Savannah
Hello World,
Do you remember me?
of course not.
I am forgotten,
as everything will eventually be.

I am the girl who smiles with pain in her heart,
a hopeless thinker from the start.

I'm taking care of your people you know.
The sad, the helpless,
the lowest of the low.

So where is my person?
Do I get someone?
No?
of course not

At least will you let me be happy?
To smile?
To laugh?
For all I feel now is your wrath.

Goodbye World,
Will they remember me?
Of course not.
I'll be forgotten,
for only the dead can see.
 Oct 2013 Lewis
Sarah Savannah
What is it called,
when you feel so much pain,
that you are beyond dead?

oh right...

*alive
 Oct 2013 Lewis
Taylor St Onge
-2009
 Oct 2013 Lewis
Taylor St Onge
It was on a crisp autumn night that I
sat alone beside you
for the first time in nearly four years.

The shadows of the looming pines surrounding me
seemed to press and pressure my eyes to slip
down six feet under along with

the bleeding sun as it continued to
decamp from the sky.  It slid so smoothly
past the towering pines while the
silvery fist of the moon
shoved it roughly back to the west;
I thought about how you mustn’t like the night
because of the chill that often comes
hand in hand with the darkness.  

For a moment, I considered
the slight possibility of my body heat
leaching down through the earth
and into your bones.

I wondered how cold it is to
sleep underground and then I
wondered if angels felt the
creeping chill of the
foreshadowing frost in the first place.

I thought that everything significant
must happen on Thursdays because
your book began and ended on
                  the fifth day—
born on the same day of the week
you and I compare and contrast
like long
                  lost
                             twins.

Sometimes I half-expect to see
your ghost staring back at me
when I look in the mirror and to be
completely honest, I’m not sure
what I’m more afraid of—
the possibility that you might not be the same
or the chance that you might be so
disappointed in what you see in me
now that we are separated.

The divide between us runs deep
into the earth and creates a whole
new fault line, rent and ruptured
beyond all forms of repair.

The breath I breathe is the
bridge between us;
the bed you sleep in is the
total distance.
Mommy poetry.  Please give me constructive criticism.
 Oct 2013 Lewis
Mikaila
Candlelight
 Oct 2013 Lewis
Mikaila
Last night I lay awake, long after you left
And let the sheets on your side grow cold.
Long after the door clicked shut
On the last sliver of hallway light,
I stared at the ceiling, wondering who I am when I'm with you.
I've never felt safe enough to really show myself to somebody.
And there I was with you,
Taking the liberties I always deny myself.
You know
Just how to touch me.
I could have stayed in that place
Where time meant nothing
Where we were a pinwheel of legs and wandering hands
And wandering lips, as well,
Breath snagging in gasps on the jagged edges of lust,
Forever.
It was like drowning in a person.
Amber and slow,
Somehow so calm but so desperate as well.
I've never met someone
Game
For the build-
The hours of little looks and casual touches,
Fingertips here,
And there,
Those moments that make the first kiss a slow, sweet death and rebirth.
It always feels,
With you,
As if time means nothing.
We have all of it.
There's no rush, no hurry,
Because you and me,
We're a sure thing together.
And yet still when you touch me I surrender to you
On instinct,
Full of need
All of a sudden.
You are a dangerous sort, I sometimes think:
You say yes to me.
Everything I need,
That I am not supposed to need,
You offer.
Every permission I have ever denied myself
You grant me.
Maybe that is why when you slide your teeth along my lip
I could cry out from wanting you.
Maybe that is why when I finally did manage to sleep last night
I dreamed every inch of you by candlelight.
 Oct 2013 Lewis
brooke
Junior Year.
 Oct 2013 Lewis
brooke
that white floral perfume
by michael kors reminds
me of the day we scaled
the abandoned house
down Picnic Point Road
and I took pictures of
Kaitlin framed against
the red flowering currants

We found the beauty in careless
graffiti and marveled at the way
the sun sparkled on the charcoal
shingles. That summer we buried
ourselves in orange honeysuckle
and irrationally proclaimed our
friendship (that never lasted)
but i remember sitting
on the roof with you.


I remember that, amidst
the evergreens.
(c) Brooke Otto
 Oct 2013 Lewis
brooke
Breaststroke.
 Oct 2013 Lewis
brooke
i fondly recall you
as I take steps forward
and sip the new air:
an acquired taste
that I welcome.
(c) Brooke Otto

step by step.
 Oct 2013 Lewis
Mikaila
Loneliness.
What is it?
It is a concept we so rarely describe in detail.
We've made up a specific word for it-
Three little syllables-
Just so that we can say it and be done with it,
And escape the contemplation.
But I know my own loneliness cannot be captured,
Cannot be encompassed,
By merely the word.
What is loneliness?
It comes in all shapes and sizes,
A space,
A lack,
That can be big or small,
Sudden or excruciatingly slow,
Sharp or fuzzy at the edges.
Hell,
It can even be comforting.
What is it about loneliness that is so insidious?
Harder to rid yourself of than fear
Or anger
Or even such tricky, barbed things as doubt
Or hope,
That stick.
Loneliness doesn't stick.
It seeps.
Steeps.
You stew in it.
It is beginning to occur to me that I don't believe,
Once one realizes loneliness for the first time,
That one is ever truly rid of it again,
Even for a second.
I think it is a permanence that we as a race refuse to acknowledge most of the time.
Some forms of lonely are fairly benign-
The little tingle on the edges of you, when you are home alone and the house is silent,
And for no apparent reason at all-
No sadness, no fear, no thought that is particularly unpleasant that you must drown out-
You nonetheless feel the compulsion to switch on the television
Even if you won't watch,
Just to break the stillness with a human voice besides your own.
Then there are the darker types, the truly ensnaring ones,
The lonelinesses born of the memory of times when,
Perhaps, you were less lonely,
Or even thought that you had flushed the feeling from your soul entirely.
Loneliness is an otherness,
An alien thing that lives in your heart,
That makes you question whether there is anyone out there who would have you
If they knew
What was on the inside.
There is the type of loneliness that creeps up on you and follows nipping at your heels like a shadow on the pavement as you move through your day,
Reminding you, whispering in your ear that here you felt less alone, and there, and that those places are full now,
Of emptiness,
Because those times have passed and not had the courtesy to clean up their cobwebs-
Memories linger in certain little spots, and collect like dust little pockets of loneliness that grab you all of a sudden,
The way forgotten spiderwebs stick in your hair as you move through an old house.
This type is jarring, disturbing, and
Afterwards I always feel the desperate need to wash away the feeling,
Scrub myself down.
There is the breed of loneliness that is a bit more genteel,
And curls cold at your feet like a well trained dog,
Formal and subtle, but constant,
Watching.
This is the sort that makes you feel just somewhat hunted,
When you try to sit in silence by a fire at night in your living room
And find that you must read a book to drive the stillness from your head.
There is the truly hollow kind,
The kind that has no courtesy whatsoever,
And actually slithers into you, inhabiting your heart and stomach and bones
As you try to fall asleep
With ice.
It is this kind that, if it is strong enough
(and you are weak enough)
For it to remain until morning
Forbids even the smallest human touch-
Every gesture of tenderness from another person
Makes this loneliness increase,
Every embrace, every handshake, every accidental contact of skin
Becomes unbearable,
And the afflicted shies away,
Perpetuating a cycle of vicious disconnection.
They all leave a little something cold, even when they recede,
In the core of you, that won't be dislodged no matter what you try.
Loneliness,
Like a cancer,
Can only be considered in remission,
And never truly cured.
For when given room to prosper even for the space of a second it expands and swallows up your thoughts
Until they whither with frostbite.
I suppose I shouldn't be shocked-
As humans we live side by side, arms linked with
Most of the things that will eventually **** us,
What's one more, cozying up inside our skulls,
Inside our hearts?
We have a partnership-
An entirely human concept-
With all that destroys us.
And so we live with out loneliness, like a second shadow.
What is loneliness?
I am still unsure.
I can only describe what loneliness does,
Not what it is.
*I think that maybe to understand it
Would be to die of it.
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