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Anais Vionet Oct 2021
Alissa had mentioned that Leonardo invited the cheerleaders to a private after-party at club Erehwon (“Nowhere” backwards). Leigh had an idea. It might be crazy but why should her sister have all the fun? She looked in Alissa’s closet and found some clean cheerleader uniforms. She called an Uber, then slipped into one of the white uniforms.

The Uber dropped her off in front of club Erehwon and the bouncer-sized doorman, noting the uniform, let her in, saying, “Take the second stairs on the left.” At the stairs, another large man unhitched a velvet rope and said, “First turn on the right.” She climbed the stairs to booming music and a pounding heart.

The door was closed - disappointment stirred in her. She’d expected the door to be open - all she wanted was a peek. Her curiosity immobilized her - she’d never seen someone as famous as Leonardo in person. She noticed the little camera above the door then there was a metallic clack as the door was pulled open - she could only gape at Leonardo in the flesh.

What did he see? A young creature caught in the spill of light. Pale blue eyes, a fragile neck, an ill fitting white cheerleader uniform, bagging slightly where there wasn’t enough breast or hip to fill it, white sneakers like hooves below narrow ankles. A gleaming yellow crown of hair wrapped an upturned face. Slender wrists, long fingers. He saw her startle. He saw fear and then something in her gaze flared like bared teeth. Defiance. He didn’t recognize her as a child. He wouldn’t expect to see a child here. He’d been expecting Alissa and radiated a perceptible and impatient hunger.

What did Leigh see? A surprisingly tall man, in dark gray slacks, a black t-shirt and a matching dark gray jacket. A fine gold chain hung from his neck and there was a diamond earring in one ear - blonde hair barbered precisely and a slight stubble of beard framed that familiar face pin-pricked with freckles up close. His complexion was tan but fair and his eyes were deep pools of turquoise. He was flat-out beautiful but looked older than on screen and right now his eye lids seemed heavy and his posture made her think of an alert animal.

She saw him see her, sensing how the sight of her arrested him. “Who are you?” he said. Then Alissa was coming up the stairs, she had on a crimson cheerleader uniform which fit her like her own skin. Leigh slid away, along the wall, and Leonardo followed, getting slightly ahead.

There was laughter and music coming from the room “Where’s Leo?” someone shouted.

She’d been foolish to think she could just observe the party. A silly child, all dressed up.

“Who are you?” he asked again. Helplessly, she looked at Alissa, who appeared to be both angry and trying to squelch the giggles. She couldn’t admit her name - say who she was and why she was here, not when she was dressed up like this and he was looking at her that way. There was no answer.

“She’s just a kid,” Alissa said, taking Leonardo’s arm. “She’s not supposed to be here.” she said, as she glanced at Leigh and twisted her head to signal “GO.” He didn’t shake her off, but he didn’t respond to her touch, either. He was still looking at Leigh. Alissa was looking at her, too, he couldn’t see that Alissa was biting her lip, eyes full of mirth.

Their faces cornered her like hounds surrounding a fox. “Shall we?” Alissa said, after a moment, her voice was rising. He yielded, and started to follow. Leigh pressed back against the wall and turned her face away as he passed, she caught the smell of his cologne and some other fragrance, slightly bitter. She wasn’t used to strange men examining her and her skin seemed to prickle. As he moved away, his step slowed. She knew he was willing her to look up into his face, but she wouldn’t.

“She’s just a kid,” Alissa said again. “Leigh, go home.”
“Leigh,” he repeated.

Still she didn’t look up, not until Leonardo and Alissa had finally closed the door. Leigh darted down the stairs and out of the club. There was a crowd now and what looked like paparazzi - but no one took notice of her as she moved partway down the block and began to pace, and chew a fingernail, while waiting for her Uber.
now for something completely different.
Everestnow Apr 2020
Alissa, tall,  I think 5’9 for a girl it is, dark skinned. Well I guess; losing it all at 18. Her circles a mess so I don’t think they’d ever notice. They never noticed how deep she’d fallen, how far she’d gone, how fast she drowned.

Oblivion is a mere state. Her voice echoed in an empty room. As loud as she could shout she couldn’t shout louder than her vocals. At mere sight, no one would resist, don’t judge a book by its cover and Alissa was the book, we were all her nonchalant and lackadaisical readers

Alissa was perfect, perfect in her acting, perfect in playing the part. A part time queen and a full time slave to her proclivities. Hmm I guess it’s the age, I looked straight in her eyes and saw the rage, not at me but at everyone plus me I felt bad I felt blind so many “what if’s” ran through my mind. I couldn’t spot a black head that stared right at me, I couldn’t clean the spot I missed, it was right in front of me too, I guess I’m not the only one. Even Alissa was her biggest enemy a friend to herself and a foe to herself, it’s a lot to take in, I know. She bottled all those feelings, emotions, and thoughts neatly, held them close to her heart so they’d be alive. Unfortunately, they over grew and began carrying her. On the outside, she carried her bottle, but on the inside her bottle bottled her.

Now there’s Alissa in the pacific floating with the bottle right by her side like a wish bottle, but no it’s not a wish bottle. I can’t reach out to Alissa nor the bottle anymore and it’s sad.
A soul like Alissa’s should never have gone missing, I feel bad for Alissa, I really do, but what more can I do than to write this dirge for Alissa.
They said a good writer not only possesses his own spirit but also the spirit of his  friends. This is Alissa’s.
Alissa could be you, or me, or anyone you’ve set eyes on. She could be anyone. Your mom, your dad, your brother or sister, maybe uncle or aunt. Anyone
Natasha Meyer Oct 2016
So fragile
so small
tiny hands
perfect fingers
and tippie toes
thrown into a world
where lies freely fall
If I could
I would keep you
safe from rage
broken lies
inevitable pain
Safe in my arms
Wrapped in my heart
Forever
....my sweet little Alissa
Danielle Shorr Feb 2015
Grandpa loved angels
Kept them scattered throughout his room, his house, his life
On everything from pictures, to figurines, to trinkets
Alissa found a penny with an imprint of wings with the year of her birth on it shortly after he died
How strange, we all thought
Grandpa had a lot of things,
Luck charms, knick-knacks, practical jokes he carried just in case
He kept his humor in his back pocket

I visit my grandmother in her home that used to be theirs
She is now as vacant as the Detroit winters are cold; the ten years without him have stripped her of any warmth
I think a part of her left when he did

I enter his study and look through every drawer, discovering a part I neglected to understand when it was present
I never showed much interest in anything he told me when he was still around
I only really knew of the things he kept in drawers, cabinets, on shelves
Everything he owned is as constant as it ever was
His belongings remain untouched as if he hasn’t been gone for over a decade
I feel too much alive in this office of a dead man

I run curious fingers over the bindings of books, stopping to pull at Dickinson, a faded collection of poetry inked with flowers on the front cover
I remember the dictionary the size of my six-year-old palm that intrigued me so greatly; the ability to fit so many words into such a small area was nothing short of fascinating
It is the one physical memory I took home with me after the funeral
I had wanted it always
I now picture it hiding in the back of my drawer in my childhood bedroom where I know it still is

On his desk there are so many key chains, bills from another generation, maps, postcards, watches
So many things I am not sure what to call them
I am not sure about a lot but
Grandpa loved angels
Angels and ***** jokes
One to keep you safe and the other to make you laugh
I keep both with me always,
Just in case.
Jade Jan 2019
Inspired by Judy Blume,  inside Jokes with Liz and the poetry of Alissa Grams (https://alissagrams.wordpress.com/2017/03/06/an-open-letter-to-god-from-an-eighteen-year-old-girl/)

~

God,
it's me--
jade.

I must admit,
I've never read
Judy Blume
or the Bible,
for that matter
(I could never make it
past Genesis).

I am not well-versed
when it comes to scripture--
I am fluent in tragedy
and tragedy alone;
then again,
is there really any difference
between scripture and tragedy?

I was never one
to pay attention in church,
unless the hymns
were of a minor key,
the sermons imbued
with woe and melancholia.

Coincidentally,
as I write this,
it has only just occurred to me
that Lot's Wife
was never given a name
of her own--
it was destroyed with *****,
forgotten amongst the
flames and the ash.


God,
you were wrong
to punish her
the way you did.

Have you never felt the
sting of salt
against an open wound?

Have you never watched
as all the familiar intimacies
you once knew
dissolved to cinder?

(I know you have).

Do you not see that,
if home is where the heart is,
then the heart
must surely perish with it?

God,
has anyone ever broken your heart?

(I think you know heartbreak
as well as I do;
it is the very matter
of our existence).

So I guess my real question is
why?
(and, no, this time, it is not rhetorical).

Truly,
I'd like to know why
you would ever think
to hurt your people
the same way
the archangel hurt you.

You say I sin
against you,
but did you not
create me in your image?

(Like father,
like daughter,
I suppose).

god,
I do not think
I believe in you.

At least,
I do not believe in you
like I believe in other things.

I do not
believe in you
the way I believe in
the beauty of
Van Gogh's sunflowers
(his starry nights, too);
or in dog-earing the pages
of my favourite books.

I do not believe in you
the way I believe in magic;
or in the integrity of
polaroids photographs
and listening to vinyl.

I do not believe in you
the way I believed in my love
during the final moments
before his betrayal;
or in the lingering sensation
of my past lives--
Ophelia.
Mary Queen of Scots.
Frida Kahlo.
Sylvia Plath--
and now,
dare I feel it,
dare I say it--
Lot's Wife.

(With her,
I shall share a name).

I do not believe
you are my saviour
because I do not
believe in you
the way I believe
in Poetry.

god,
it's me--
Jade;
this poem is
my hallelujah,
but it does not
belong to you
(not anymore).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.come/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Anshul Aug 2014
You know i try so hard
but i think you don't see me
cause i running so fast
we call it rock and rollin
football deathmetal rock
I know this is a terrible thing to say,
I really don't miss you in any way,
You were no better than Anna, in any way,
You both destroy my life in your own way.

The way we live is the way we die,
You took with you to many lives,
You destroyed two unborn children,
no consciences at the time,
You thought of yourself and not the unborn life.

When we live by the sword we die by the sword,
When we cause pain we suffer with the same horrid pain.

Perhaps if you had lived your life another way,
You would still be alive to see another day.
Your children are rotten to the core, and Anna
can't even raise them anymore.

Alissa destroyed John she did not care, but where
she learned that I dare not say where?

Did you care when you destroyed my life at all?
No, Anna and you were both rotten to the core.

I hope that God shows you mercy on judgment day,
or he will send you to far worse place.

I did cry some over you because thank God above I am not
like Anna nor you.
I was your sister in every word and I wanted you to
know that I was different from you and I pray
that God shows you justice and mercy when he
passes judgment on you.

— The End —