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 Oct 2013 Schanzé
Riq Schwartz
stone faced, sand blasted,
cemented
and half-assed,
sleeping soundly
like Pompeii
dreamless,
uninspired,
uncorrupted,
unavailable for comment.


You see, there are bones
inside of me.
Bones embracing each other,
in tired poses
laying in the dirt,
uncovered by the studious,
                                   curious,
                                   fastidious, and
                                  woefully unlucky.

Good luck cataloging your finds.
I wouldn't buy it.

meanwhile,
i am petrified
in perfect fashion
filling my space
filing my cells
and ever.  so.   ****.    slowly.
i am whole again,
rock hard abs
and chiseled jaw
Adonis
in slate stone
with chipping lungs
stand **** for the world
in demonstration of man
"This is what I was,"
     i will say,
"Proud never to change."
pigeon **** on my shoulder
and no one knows what color my eyes were
 Oct 2013 Schanzé
Haley Rezac
Depression is not poetic
it is not beautiful
when examined under
pale moonlight

it is not something one should strive for
in order to be understood
in order to connect
with their temporarily sad peers

Depression is a continous thought
flowing from your fingertips
and vibrating in your eardrums
when you are wide awake at 3 a.m.
devising a plan to sleep forever

why do people think that
admitting to a neverending onslaught of internal battles
is glamorous?
do they not know that happiness
sits comfortably on the tips of their noses,
an arm’s reach away?

I dream of a world
in which teenage girls
eat three times a day
without using their fingers
as a garbage disposal
just so they can match
society’s standards of
‘pretty’.

I dream of a world
in which teenage boys
do not overload themselves
on some mechanical
technological machine
just so they can match
society’s standards of
‘strong’.

I crave a world
in which I am not artificial
in which I do not need pills
to smile.

I crave a world
in which we can all laugh;
a world in which
we actually live and breathe
rather than
exist and ruin;
a world in which
‘Depressed’
‘Pretty’
‘Hot’
‘Manly’
are simply adjectives
and not definitons
of who we are.
tell me what keeps you awake at 2 am
whether it’s the girl who took the knife of her absence and stabbed it into your sternum
or the loneliness that swallows your skin

play the one song which releases the floodgates in your eyes
and let me listen to it over and over again
until i find which line makes your heart drop to your stomach

describe the story of your body to me
tell me of the invisible scars too
and with each detail you describe
i will make a map
so i know which road bumps to avoid
or which holy sites to fall to my knees and kiss the ground of

remember that
i wear a mask brimming with self confidence and an armor of words that are both easy to tear for they were thin like tissue to begin with
i am sensitive
taking to hurt the way a sponge absorbs water

do not hide me behind closed doors or keep me entrapped in bed sheets
when you walk past me, do not pull your hood over your head and avert your gaze
i need you to look at my eyes as if they illuminated the entire world
and kiss my lips as if they are what allow you to breathe

open the door.
bring me flowers.
because the only boy who did either was my 5th grade boyfriend

be willing to meet my family and friends
for they were the ones who created the marble statue whom you marvel at today

take note of how my heart is a reflection of myself
how she is too kind and will kiss the same man who tore her in two
so please do not say words which will make her wings flutter
if you are not ready to be the nest she flies to

let me know that me, as myself, i am enough
that i do not need to be a chameleon
dipping myself in new colors each day to please you

remember the little things about me
like how my first phrase i uttered was shut up to a man in an elevator or the delight i take in handwritten letters and mix CDs, or the significance of my first tattoo
because everything about you is being etched into the walls of mind
so that i can never forget

trace your fingers with a loving tenderness over my scars from the times i transformed my body into a crucifix
pinning my hands and feet onto a cross out of habit
thinking love was a word synoymous with self sacrifice

you must learn my language
know what zips my lips into silence
know the difference between when i want to give up versus when i will actually do so
and be there to hold me when the seams start to unravel

if you want me to love you
know that many have tried and failed
that people like me are not meant to be soft
if you want me to love you
know that to me
love is not a word you spit out of your mouth and juggle in your hands
you need to promise that our love won’t be like an hourglass
for my body has been disfgured enough from the times my chest turned inside out from the pang of abadonment
if you want me to love you
reaffirm my body is a kindgom, my heart is the treasure, and that i am your queen
paint pictures for me in what you do and say
telling me i am worthy to be loved, worthy to be kept, and worthy to stay

but if you really want me to fall in love with you
tell me what you see right before you close your eyes at night to fall asleep
and if you tell me it’s me
i will fall unfathomably further for you than i already have
 Jul 2013 Schanzé
Bruised Orange
Lately, I have been afraid to write.

**** words.
 Jul 2013 Schanzé
LJ Chaplin
I've got 99 problems and you're 98 of them,
Would you like me to repeat?
Shall I tell you again?
You frustrate me,
Irritate me,
You really do deflate me.

I'm trying to breathe hard
And swallow down the swear words,
But it's getting to the point
Where those sweet words need to be heard.

I've been a patient guy,
So give me some credit,
But I will be ripping into you
And when you read this I would've already said it.

I'm not a mean person,
I'm actually quite passive,
But if you tick me off,
My response will be massive.
B words,
F words,
And multiple more I shouldn't say,
But I've had enough of being treated
Like I'm the leftover cigarette **** at the bottom of your ashtray.

— The End —