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 Jan 2019 Alle
Alex B
Someone stole my color
And threw it to the wind
Scattered like ashes
I don’t know if I’ll ever find it

Someone stole my color
From the face I know so well
I saw it in the cotton candy clouds
And the teal ocean swell

Someone stole my color
I guess that’s where it went
The world looks so much brighter
Like something heaven-sent

Someone stole my color
And that’s what no one knows
Depression isn’t black
It’s the color of a rose

It’s the light orange in a sunset
And the yellow of a peach
Light blue, my favorite color
So simply out of reach

Purple like my favorite eyeshadow
No, lavender, I’d guess you’d say
And my favorite music artist
Although he has passed away

Someone stole my color
Now everything’s too bright
I suppose sometimes darkness
Isn’t the opposite of light

Someone stole my color
So I’ll wear grey and black
As if in mourning
Until I get it back
 Jan 2019 Alle
Solomon
Starshine
 Jan 2019 Alle
Solomon
Stars in the darkness,
Of night skies or your brown eyes,
Latter is brighter.
 Jan 2019 Alle
elle
People often say that
you need bad days to build better days.
You need rain to grow flowers.
But why does it feel like my bad days are endless?

My head feels like it’s eating up my heart.
Hollowing out every semblance what I used to be,
scooping out all my memories,
leaving the barren remains of a fragile heart.

This feeling of emptiness does subside, though.
Sometimes, when I’m reminded of
two hour phone calls,
incessant texting,
unending laughter,
my heart feels half full
rather than half empty.

But other times,
some things just hit you like a truck.
Brevity is layered in every little aspect of our lives,
we are one in seven billion.

In the end, who are we, really?
To feel sad, to feel happy.
We are nothing but mannequins,
living a life we were destined to –
no matter how empty, or how full,
and then eventually having to face
Death.

After all, Life is just four letters out of twenty six.
 Jan 2019 Alle
elle
to my parents
 Jan 2019 Alle
elle
i never wished for a happy family because i never really knew what a happy family was like. i always thought that i was content with what i had, and that i didn’t need anyone other than the people i already had. but then i realised, one day, that this is not up to me. it’s not up to me to choose who i want in my life, it’s not up to me to decide.

childhood should be one of the happiest memories of your life, and in some ways, it was, to me. but there will always be a part of me consistently nagging, consistently questioning, how different would my life have been if i had two parents who loved each other as much as they loved me?

it may be selfish to wish for things that are completely out of my control. because, again, it’s not up to me. but sometimes, i hear people talking about their fathers, about the support they’re given by both parents, even about the scoldings they get. usually, i never feel envious. i always thought having a mother was enough. but as the years go by and as my heart grows older, the hole in my life left by my missing father grows bigger and more noticeable as well. sometimes i wish he would be there to give me advice when it feels like my world is crashing down. sometimes i wish he would be there to help me with my studies because it feels like no one else is. sometimes i wish he would be there to share my joys and my worries and the ups and downs in my life. but he hasn’t been here for the past 6 years and i guess i’ve grown used to that absence. i’d like to think that his absence has shaped me to become more mentally strong in front of others, and more guarded of my emotions. it has taught me some form of independence as well, because all those times where i’ve truly felt helpless and alone, i had no one to turn to besides myself. his absence was something that made me, me. keeping my composure in the presence of others has always been something i’ve been rather skilled at, and i know that this didn’t develop purely by itself. thank you, dad, for helping me rely more on myself. because at the end of the day, we’re in this life alone. but i do remember the times when you placed me above you. i remember, recently, when i felt so distraught over nearly spoiling my laptop because it was a gift from you. i didn’t want to replace it. and even though i kept telling people that it meant so much to me because my laptop is the thing that i spend most of my time with, it’s my companion, yadda yadda, i think the deepest meaning, and the one that i would never tell anyone out loud, is still because you bought this for me. and i’m not going to just replace it because it has a special place in my heart. i guess you’ve managed to make a significant impact on me even though i haven’t seen you for a while. sometimes i wonder why i was so upset over the computer. but i guess that means i do miss you. and i do wish you were here. i remember when i had a band concert at the esplanade. i was nothing back then, i had no solos, i was just one player out of many. but i asked you to come, and you came. you flew from china to singapore to watch me play, even though i couldn’t really play at that time (what a joke). i remember you sent me pictures you took of me, and they were so significantly zoomed in because i was just that difficult to pinpoint. i can’t confirm this but i’d like to think that at that moment, you were proud of me. even though i was nothing but a little fifteen year old at her first band concert, contributing close to nothing because i couldn’t even play the instrument properly. despite all this, you still came. even though i didn’t manage to see you because you had to rush back to china right after my concert, you still came for a two hour performance. back then, i guess i didn’t really appreciate your efforts much. i didn’t even try to see you before you left. i regret it now. thank you for coming, thank you so much.

i say all this now, but during the rare moments in life where i actually get a choice whether i want to see him, i distance myself from that possibility as much as possible. is it bad, desperately wanting something deep down, but then lacking the courage and ability to pursue the journey towards gratification? it’s only when i get these chances, that i decide to shut down and act like everything in my life is sufficient, and that i don’t need more. it’s not, though. it never will be. but then again, i know that he did not choose to be the kind of father he is. feelings are uncontrollable, rampant, misleading – i can’t blame them for deciding that they would be better off apart than maintaining some facade of happiness. i know that they both did not choose to place me in the middle of chaos, but they did, anyway. they also chose infidelity, which is something i would never be able to forgive either of them for, but then again, it’s not up to me. their choices are not my choices. i remember being a child, barely seven years old, reading my mother’s mushy, romantic texts on her phone directed to a man i did not know. i couldn’t comprehend it then, but as the years went by and i was forced to recognise the true nature of my parents’ relationship with each other, i understood. i also remember that trip to hong kong when i was nine years old. it was meant to be a family trip – me, my mother, and my father. i think they were fools to think that they could maintain this idea of “family trips”. i acted like i didn’t know a lot back then. but i did, and it made me uncomfortable. but then the big incident happened, there was more infidelity, and that was when i truly realised that i was never going to experience a happy family. at least not when i became more mature or when i grew older. that trip was painful for everyone and there is nothing i want more than to suppress it in the back of my mind forever. sometimes, i want to blame my dad. why did you do that? i also want to blame my mother. you did it too, way before he did. why are you making it such a big deal? i’ve kept this unhappiness sealed tightly within me for the past few years because it’s not my battle to fight and it’s not my place to say anything. but you both have caused me an unbearable amount of pain, confusion and suffering and that’s something i can probably never forgive you for.

the presence of a mother has also taught me a lot. i remember the moment when i truly admired and respected my mother, not only as a mother, but also as a woman. seeing her take charge, looking composed, showing off her skills – it made me respect her so much. being a single mother is never easy but somehow she has done it, and i’m still here after 17 years. though i wouldn’t say i’ve been the best, and neither has she, our faults are what make us the people we are today. the sight of your mother physically hurting herself because of something you did wrong is a sight that leaves a mentally scarring image, and i think those instances have built up my mental strength by a significant amount. keeping your emotions in check is something that i think everyone struggles with, but through years of emotional torture because of my own flaws, she’s imparted that skill in me, and that’s what makes me, me. you haven’t been the best mom, and i haven’t been the best daughter, but for years, i’ve felt like what you gave me was enough. it was sufficient, and it helped me grow. even though i’ve openly rebelled, even though i’ve been rude, you never once completely gave up on me as a person, so thank you. something i’ve always wanted to do was to make you proud of me. to make you feel like you did a good job being both parents at the same time. and i really hope that one day i’ll be able to achieve that.

if i had the choice, i would want to experience a happy family. but if it’s not with you both, the people who made me, then i’d rather not. i guess i’ve grown to appreciate what’s become of my life. both your absences, and presences, have shaped me into becoming the person i am today, and though i don’t necessarily love every aspect of my life, it’s something i want to cherish. i do wish i’ll be able to see you both together in the same space one day, without any harsh words flung at each other. i hope that when this happens, i’ll be able to feel contented, and not uncomfortable like i always have felt. i hope you both have matured as much as i have through the years, too. i appreciate both of your efforts in trying to deal with things, especially with a young child thrown into the mix. both of your flaws have helped me grow, and because of that, thank you. when i started writing this i felt a slight sense of dissatisfaction and almost discontent because of how your actions deprived me of the happy family that everyone else has. but then i realised it was never up to me, anyway. things happen because they were meant to happen. and sticking with things just because it’s something you desire won’t necessarily  bring happiness. so, instead of feeling like i’ve missed out on very important parts of childhood, and instead of focusing on the hole in my heart in the shape of my father, i guess i just have to learn to mend it, or deal with it as best as i can. i haven’t spoken to you in a while, but i guess it’s as much my fault as it is yours. you’ve done a lot for me when you were here, and i guess remembering that makes the hole a little bit smaller.
probably the most emotional thing i've ever written, and i admit i cried like a fool while writing this, but it's okay.
 Jan 2019 Alle
She Writes
**** doesn’t always hide
At parties and outside clubs
**** doesn’t always hide
In dark alleys and empty parking lots
Sometimes it is right in front of you
But you choose to look the other way
**** doesn’t always hide
Behind the faces of strangers in the night
Sometimes it is hiding behind the closed doors
Of your uncles
Cousins
Fathers
And brothers
**** isn’t always loud-
Screaming, yelling, and crying
Sometimes **** is quiet-
Gasping for air and silent tears
 Jan 2019 Alle
Abi Cash
Habit
 Jan 2019 Alle
Abi Cash
It controls her
She can't stop it
It's a constant battle
She can't drop it

It has become a habit
She can't quit
It's taking over her body
Bit by bit

The scars fade
But the memories don't
She wants them to leave
But they refuse.. They won't

It's an on going battle.
It's a fight she never wins
It's a constant struggle
It's a war that never ends

It's her sweet escape
It gets her lost in her own place
She gets to control the pain
As her adrenaline starts to race

She grabs it off the dresser
As a tear falls from her cheek
She presses even harder
Reminding herself not to shriek

No one understands
No one ever will
This habit now controls her
As the world around her stands still

But now the room is spinning
Her head is getting light
She falls back in her bed
Refusing to put up a fight

She takes one last breath as she turns out the lights
Then she closes her eyes as she calls it a night
No one ever understands my scars
 Jan 2019 Alle
Grand Piano
Steps
 Jan 2019 Alle
Grand Piano
Step 1: Get out of bed
Step 2: Look in the mirror
Step 3: Practice your smile
Step 4: Eyedrops to hide the red eyes
Step 5: Conceal the dark circles
Step 6: Breathe
The curtains are almost up
Step 7: Lock down the pain
Step 8: Ignore the weight on your chest
Step 9: Silence the screams inside of your mind
Step 10: Choke down the sobs
Step 11: Ignore the stinging in your eyes
Step 12: Swallow past the tightness in your throat
You’ve put on this show a million times
Step 13: Don’t let them see
Times up. Curtains up. Camera rolling
You know how when you’re not ok but you try so hard to pretend you’re ok that it becomes a ritual
 Jan 2019 Alle
Hannia Santisteban
Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.
 Jan 2019 Alle
Emily Miller
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
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