Where we should Go?
We have absolutely no idea
Please show us the path
Show us our fate or destiny

Wherever we visit, wherever we Go
They ask Money, They Demand Money
Somewhere they ask for tickets
Unfortunately Tickets are sold for money

Please provide us Jobs
Then we will also have some money
Then we will also pay
But until then don’t ask money from us

my ears have been blown,
like shrapnel
by the elders always
reiterating
their complex tics of
indistinguishable versification

“energy is wasted
on the youth.”

well...

the youth need that energy
to patiently wait on the elders
as they buy an over abundance
of lotto tickets and hold up the line
at the local convenience store
because they don’t know what
else to do with their money
while they’re waiting to die

when i hear the word home
i dont think of a brick house
or the furniture that lie inside
i think of my sisters and my mom
i think of my cat waiting behind the door
i think of poem book in my purse
i think of my best friend
i think of my young renegade jacket
i think of my collection of concert tickets
when i think of home
i think of the people and things that make me happiest
i think of the things that connect to my favorite memories
i connect home to comfort and happiness
i dont connect it with brick walls and broken furniture
it may bring safety but it doesnt bring me joy
and home to me means joy

Sometimes,
I stand in the airport
and wait for you
to walk off an airplane
and into my life again

But you can't buy plane tickets
with all the stars in the universe
and you can't make someone come back
if they don't want to

By Chloe Elizabeth

I fell in love with you in the purchase of a postage stamp
I put your face and body and mind on paper
The way your hair curls
The way you jump with excitement and flap your arms
like a kid would on Christmas morning
How you were always there to turn to
Although I couldn't turn to you because you were never there
And by there I mean here, with me, where you should've been
I fell in love with the train tickets to you
The little orange squares like golden tickets
Granting me access to see you
To touch you
To share the foam of my coffee and laugh with you
at the man dancing at the hot dog stand
And when you finally stepped through my doorway
I swear it was Christmas and my birthday all at once
Planting my head on your chest
We bloomed and grew to heights I never knew was possible
And while little flowers blossomed at the ends of my fingertips
they grew on the tip of your tongue as you uttered those words
Those words to whom I have told but one; you
If I could find a word to describe the feeling of reading
the last several pages of a book you know has become your favourite
I would tell it to you
The hours that we whiled away and the ones that took up
the most of our day to get to each others arms before they took another’s
all meant something
And while the last bitter-sweet pages of our story have been read
Know that there's a girl who still writes you
You dance on the pages of her notebook
And while the postage stamps stay un-licked
She sends these poems to you
For in her mind you will always stay

Telephones.
Earphones.
Earplugs.

To drown out
Baby cries.
Engines exhaling.
Anxiety.

"Don't be afraid"
"You've done this before"
"He knows what he's doing"


The tired.
The disagreeable.
The impossibly experienced.

Tickets.
Bags.
Smile-free faces.


I'm ready.
You're ready.
Let's go already.