Flame
by Demory Williamson
You grew up learning to make your own light
In a world where you saw none
Each flame you had only for a moment
Before they came and snuffed it out
But your anger and fear only fueled that little flame
That spark that danced and sang
“I am who I am
Whoever that may be”
That flame you began to hide away
In the darkness under your floorboards
Your fingers are cracked and bloody
From prying them up
Whenever you had to feel its forbidden
warmth
And when your bones are near breaking
You give up on digging it out
Late
When the darkness belongs to the night alone
And it’s the only darkness you ever trust
You remember the lessons
Your kindergarten teacher prided you on
Kindness
Love
And honesty
You wonder
Did everyone miss that lesson
Or did they just throw it away in the same bin
They threw you
And you don’t feel honest
You feel like you are harboring a fugitive
Under your floors
Sheltering a criminal
Beneath your skin
Someone wrong
Not right
And when it aches like that
You miss your little flame under the floorboards
Where you let it suffocate
And wither
And finally go out
In Memory of Me
by Brittny Price
If the posters on my wall could talk, they could tell you more than my chapped lips ever would. For they cry with me. They laugh with me. They comfort me more than you ever would. But it’s not your fault, it’s only mine. See I was made imperfect, made a complete mess. Who wants to clean up a mess they didn’t make? A big splattered, sloppy mess. A child’s broken castle. A shattered glass. Grape soda spilled on the clean white carpet, as bold and sticky and sickening as blood. What you never see though, is that I am the best mess you’ll ever meet. I refuse to be shoved under the rug anymore, or left on the shelf to collect dust. Yeah, I’m a mess, but the more you ignore me doesn’t mean I’ll go away. The more I’m kept silent, the louder I’ll be. Because every time you step on the rug I am kept under, I am waiting to reach out and drag you under with me. Every time you push me farther back on the highest shelf, the more I’ll work my way to the front to become the prized trophy on display. At least, I tell myself this when in reality, I will not be remembered and you are wise to hide me away. I don’t fit in here. I will simply fade
Nature
by John Jefferies
Spiders are not good
Nature is not good for you
This has been a truth
I
by John Jefferies
I am
In the fire
Of my own designing
Made from the broken branches
Of me
Choices
by John Jefferies
Why do we have to be told what to do?
Can one not decide what they want to do before someone else tells it for them?
Do we have to be forced to social norms that do not fit what we are made to be?
Do we have to conform to society to just be out cast when we reveal who we really are?
Is this why we still keep secrets?
Just to be accepted into a culture that does not want you?
Is this why some people decide to not want to live anymore?
No secret is safe in a world that will kill you for what you believe in, or what you don’t
It is our choice whether we want to be heard over the noise of millions of voices pushing us down
You don’t always have to be the hero in your own story
Seek help from others that can pull you out of the deep pits of despair
Make your own choices
Music--
expresses my feelings,
releases my anger;
I never fear danger.
I pop in my ear buds to avoid (sound)
Blasting music until I feel,
I might drown
my thoughts (free and wild)--
they run for thousands of miles.
I listen to the lyrics as I daydream,
and my reality melts like ice cream.
I wonder why things happen the way they do,
but when I reach for an answer, I can't find a clue.
My school work gets harder
while my days get darker.
My songs give me
strength like a fence
around my soul.
Music gives me hope,
a reason to cope.
Music--my life
I believe in me
with all my might.
Tainted and Forgetful
A tree
burning embers
bright diamonds engraved in stone
blazing flecks of amber
drifting sure and slow
down upon a ground
defined sediments of snow
the branches poised so still
caught in the sun’s prideful rays
A sight so sure and breathtaking
the dark seeping slinks away
A second having passed by
witnessing this storybook scene
before supposed life sweeps it away again
with strokes quick straight and clean
Other pictures enthralling
Importance lost most drown
by darkness thriving and pulsing
on deep souls
secrets lost found
Nonsense commanding the conscious
stupidity invading the mind
the grasp on light and purity and right
the willingness to hold now gone
Weeks of two of three of four
cracks of light quickly patched
memories passing in photo shop
painted under and back
A drive by repetitive route
memory comes to mind
excitement truly coursing
as eyes peer through the frost
The world slows to a still
as once again the tree is passed
disappointment
thick as blood dark as it’s ruby tint
dripping over the eyes of the tainted,
forgetful society
that is the heart of all
Leaves crusted brown, the silken tips withered
fallen dead and neglected
the chocolate wood less romantic without the fire’s embrace
The spark of life, existence
the burning blazing fire
real in a dreamed plane
existent in a world devoid
gone without a thought, notice
dead and burned out
exhausted from dealing with us, the unendurable.
Between Two Worlds by Gracie Talbert
I close my eyes and picture the trees
surrounding me.
They call my name,
or maybe the wind is speaking for them.
It seems as if the trees are lifeless,
stoic statues towering above me,
and the shadows cast their true realities,
dark hollow figures.
I open my eyes to study the stream,
gentle, quiet, until the water falls over the edge;
it moves, no matter what happens.
A deer stands behind me.
Water falls from its nose,
its hooves caress the ground,
and it breathes in a rhythm
I want for myself--peace.
Everyone wants to control Mother Nature,
but it is uncontrollable.
It holds life, yet it is lifeless like me.
The deer is now gone;
it left me surrounded by my thoughts,
a swarm of anxiety and fears.
I run until I can’t run anymore.
The sound of the stream is a distant
echo, and I have no idea where I am.
The air is cold and the night sky matches
the road in front of me.
Do I follow it back to society,
or do I hide in the woods where I truly feel safe?
I take the road with its twists and turns
to see where it leads me.
Smoke rises from a chimney,
and I see an old cabin with a Coca-Cola sign
hanging from the front porch.
I enter the store to see no one,
but as the door closes
I see a doctor’s chair in front of me.
I remember where I am, but I struggle
to leave that chair behind.
My eyes feel heavy, then I'm asleep.
I imagine a hospital, a dream,
a place where I hear water falling,
but if I'm not here, then I must be
between two worlds.
Time Between the Heart and the Mind (A continuation of "Between Two Worlds")
People don’t understand the difference
between my life and theirs,
but how could they?
They don’t know me,
or what I've been through.
As I walk around this lonely world,
bumping into others,
they hardly notice me.
I close my eyes and all I see is a field,
a field of flowers.
As the flowers flutter in the wind,
I feel the breeze on my face,
the wind through my hair,
and the feeling of dirt beneath my feet.
I open my eyes. I am in the hospital again.
There is a bed and a chair stuffed into a little room.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
I realized I just said the stupidest thing in the world.
Of course, there is no one here. I am always alone.
I open the heavy wooden door
and walk into an empty hallway.
I walk down the hallway until I see the front desk.
I stop and see that there are wilting flowers in a vase.
I slip into my mind and think, Those flowers are all alone just like me.
They're suffering, wilting, waiting to be thrown away, just like me.
I slip back into reality to find myself screaming, crying, running.
I stop out of breath, and my legs ache.
The pain is horrid, but at least it distracts me from my own mind.
I’m just hoping I don’t slip so I don’t fall right back into the deep,
black, depressing hole of thoughts and memories.
I am at the point of no return; my mind does whatever it wants,
hurts whoever, and doesn’t care that it is killing me from the inside out,
but maybe that is why we try to forget, so we don’t have to forgive.
I look around and all I see are trees, “Back where I started,” I mumble under my breath.
"Maybe if I keep running I’ll just collapse and die, or maybe I will find the truth."
I decide and I just start running, everything becomes a blur.
The trees, the ground; my eyes start to water, my body aches,
my lungs grasp for air, but all I can focus on is the beating of my heart.
It speeds up until it feels like it’s about to burst. My eyes fog with black and I collapse.
I slip back into reality to find myself screaming, crying; running.
I stop out of breath and my legs aching. The pain is horrid,
but at least it distracts me from my own mind.
I’m just hoping I don’t slip so I don’t fall right back into the deep,
black, depressing hole of thoughts and memories.
I am at the point of no return, my mind does whatever it wants,
hurts whoever, and doesn’t care that it is killing me from the inside out,
but maybe that is why we try to forget, so we don’t have to forgive.
I look around and all I see are trees, “Back where I started,” I mumble under my breath.
"Maybe if I keep running I’ll just collapse and die, or maybe I will find the truth."
I decide and I just start running, everything becomes a blur.
The trees, the ground; my eyes start to water; my body aches,
my lungs grasp for air, but all I can focus on is the beating of my heart.
It speeds up until it feels like it’s about to burst.
My eyes fog, and I collapse.
by Demory Williamson
You grew up learning to make your own light
In a world where you saw none
Each flame you had only for a moment
Before they came and snuffed it out
But your anger and fear only fueled that little flame
That spark that danced and sang
“I am who I am
Whoever that may be”
That flame you began to hide away
In the darkness under your floorboards
Your fingers are cracked and bloody
From prying them up
Whenever you had to feel its forbidden
warmth
And when your bones are near breaking
You give up on digging it out
Late
When the darkness belongs to the night alone
And it’s the only darkness you ever trust
You remember the lessons
Your kindergarten teacher prided you on
Kindness
Love
And honesty
You wonder
Did everyone miss that lesson
Or did they just throw it away in the same bin
They threw you
And you don’t feel honest
You feel like you are harboring a fugitive
Under your floors
Sheltering a criminal
Beneath your skin
Someone wrong
Not right
And when it aches like that
You miss your little flame under the floorboards
Where you let it suffocate
And wither
And finally go out
In Memory of Me
by Brittny Price
If the posters on my wall could talk, they could tell you more than my chapped lips ever would. For they cry with me. They laugh with me. They comfort me more than you ever would. But it’s not your fault, it’s only mine. See I was made imperfect, made a complete mess. Who wants to clean up a mess they didn’t make? A big splattered, sloppy mess. A child’s broken castle. A shattered glass. Grape soda spilled on the clean white carpet, as bold and sticky and sickening as blood. What you never see though, is that I am the best mess you’ll ever meet. I refuse to be shoved under the rug anymore, or left on the shelf to collect dust. Yeah, I’m a mess, but the more you ignore me doesn’t mean I’ll go away. The more I’m kept silent, the louder I’ll be. Because every time you step on the rug I am kept under, I am waiting to reach out and drag you under with me. Every time you push me farther back on the highest shelf, the more I’ll work my way to the front to become the prized trophy on display. At least, I tell myself this when in reality, I will not be remembered and you are wise to hide me away. I don’t fit in here. I will simply fade
Nature
by John Jefferies
Spiders are not good
Nature is not good for you
This has been a truth
I
by John Jefferies
I am
In the fire
Of my own designing
Made from the broken branches
Of me
Choices
by John Jefferies
Why do we have to be told what to do?
Can one not decide what they want to do before someone else tells it for them?
Do we have to be forced to social norms that do not fit what we are made to be?
Do we have to conform to society to just be out cast when we reveal who we really are?
Is this why we still keep secrets?
Just to be accepted into a culture that does not want you?
Is this why some people decide to not want to live anymore?
No secret is safe in a world that will kill you for what you believe in, or what you don’t
It is our choice whether we want to be heard over the noise of millions of voices pushing us down
You don’t always have to be the hero in your own story
Seek help from others that can pull you out of the deep pits of despair
Make your own choices
Music--
expresses my feelings,
releases my anger;
I never fear danger.
I pop in my ear buds to avoid (sound)
Blasting music until I feel,
I might drown
my thoughts (free and wild)--
they run for thousands of miles.
I listen to the lyrics as I daydream,
and my reality melts like ice cream.
I wonder why things happen the way they do,
but when I reach for an answer, I can't find a clue.
My school work gets harder
while my days get darker.
My songs give me
strength like a fence
around my soul.
Music gives me hope,
a reason to cope.
Music--my life
I believe in me
with all my might.
Tainted and Forgetful
A tree
burning embers
bright diamonds engraved in stone
blazing flecks of amber
drifting sure and slow
down upon a ground
defined sediments of snow
the branches poised so still
caught in the sun’s prideful rays
A sight so sure and breathtaking
the dark seeping slinks away
A second having passed by
witnessing this storybook scene
before supposed life sweeps it away again
with strokes quick straight and clean
Other pictures enthralling
Importance lost most drown
by darkness thriving and pulsing
on deep souls
secrets lost found
Nonsense commanding the conscious
stupidity invading the mind
the grasp on light and purity and right
the willingness to hold now gone
Weeks of two of three of four
cracks of light quickly patched
memories passing in photo shop
painted under and back
A drive by repetitive route
memory comes to mind
excitement truly coursing
as eyes peer through the frost
The world slows to a still
as once again the tree is passed
disappointment
thick as blood dark as it’s ruby tint
dripping over the eyes of the tainted,
forgetful society
that is the heart of all
Leaves crusted brown, the silken tips withered
fallen dead and neglected
the chocolate wood less romantic without the fire’s embrace
The spark of life, existence
the burning blazing fire
real in a dreamed plane
existent in a world devoid
gone without a thought, notice
dead and burned out
exhausted from dealing with us, the unendurable.
Between Two Worlds by Gracie Talbert
I close my eyes and picture the trees
surrounding me.
They call my name,
or maybe the wind is speaking for them.
It seems as if the trees are lifeless,
stoic statues towering above me,
and the shadows cast their true realities,
dark hollow figures.
I open my eyes to study the stream,
gentle, quiet, until the water falls over the edge;
it moves, no matter what happens.
A deer stands behind me.
Water falls from its nose,
its hooves caress the ground,
and it breathes in a rhythm
I want for myself--peace.
Everyone wants to control Mother Nature,
but it is uncontrollable.
It holds life, yet it is lifeless like me.
The deer is now gone;
it left me surrounded by my thoughts,
a swarm of anxiety and fears.
I run until I can’t run anymore.
The sound of the stream is a distant
echo, and I have no idea where I am.
The air is cold and the night sky matches
the road in front of me.
Do I follow it back to society,
or do I hide in the woods where I truly feel safe?
I take the road with its twists and turns
to see where it leads me.
Smoke rises from a chimney,
and I see an old cabin with a Coca-Cola sign
hanging from the front porch.
I enter the store to see no one,
but as the door closes
I see a doctor’s chair in front of me.
I remember where I am, but I struggle
to leave that chair behind.
My eyes feel heavy, then I'm asleep.
I imagine a hospital, a dream,
a place where I hear water falling,
but if I'm not here, then I must be
between two worlds.
Time Between the Heart and the Mind (A continuation of "Between Two Worlds")
People don’t understand the difference
between my life and theirs,
but how could they?
They don’t know me,
or what I've been through.
As I walk around this lonely world,
bumping into others,
they hardly notice me.
I close my eyes and all I see is a field,
a field of flowers.
As the flowers flutter in the wind,
I feel the breeze on my face,
the wind through my hair,
and the feeling of dirt beneath my feet.
I open my eyes. I am in the hospital again.
There is a bed and a chair stuffed into a little room.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
I realized I just said the stupidest thing in the world.
Of course, there is no one here. I am always alone.
I open the heavy wooden door
and walk into an empty hallway.
I walk down the hallway until I see the front desk.
I stop and see that there are wilting flowers in a vase.
I slip into my mind and think, Those flowers are all alone just like me.
They're suffering, wilting, waiting to be thrown away, just like me.
I slip back into reality to find myself screaming, crying, running.
I stop out of breath, and my legs ache.
The pain is horrid, but at least it distracts me from my own mind.
I’m just hoping I don’t slip so I don’t fall right back into the deep,
black, depressing hole of thoughts and memories.
I am at the point of no return; my mind does whatever it wants,
hurts whoever, and doesn’t care that it is killing me from the inside out,
but maybe that is why we try to forget, so we don’t have to forgive.
I look around and all I see are trees, “Back where I started,” I mumble under my breath.
"Maybe if I keep running I’ll just collapse and die, or maybe I will find the truth."
I decide and I just start running, everything becomes a blur.
The trees, the ground; my eyes start to water, my body aches,
my lungs grasp for air, but all I can focus on is the beating of my heart.
It speeds up until it feels like it’s about to burst. My eyes fog with black and I collapse.
I slip back into reality to find myself screaming, crying; running.
I stop out of breath and my legs aching. The pain is horrid,
but at least it distracts me from my own mind.
I’m just hoping I don’t slip so I don’t fall right back into the deep,
black, depressing hole of thoughts and memories.
I am at the point of no return, my mind does whatever it wants,
hurts whoever, and doesn’t care that it is killing me from the inside out,
but maybe that is why we try to forget, so we don’t have to forgive.
I look around and all I see are trees, “Back where I started,” I mumble under my breath.
"Maybe if I keep running I’ll just collapse and die, or maybe I will find the truth."
I decide and I just start running, everything becomes a blur.
The trees, the ground; my eyes start to water; my body aches,
my lungs grasp for air, but all I can focus on is the beating of my heart.
It speeds up until it feels like it’s about to burst.
My eyes fog, and I collapse.