Numbers Jessica Jiang Art by Hiruni Kumari One is the loneliest number, Jealous of other people, And wishing to have others to talk to. Two is the loneliest number, Either fighting or being hurt, Or purposely ignoring each other. Three is the loneliest number, Being the third and last wheel, Accidentally forgotten. One wishes to be three, A group of friends laughing together. Two wishes to be one, Satisfied and independent. Three wishes to be two, Without the forgotten annoyance.
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Gibberish JW Art by Hiruni Kumari I’ve been knocked off my feet by the hideous deception of the self. I told the Idiot I was ignorant enough for eternal bliss and salvation, I told the insufferable Prostitute I heard the rhythmic banging of metal against ancient bones from the city graveyard, I told the Tearful Mime pity was the only remedy to unbearable loneliness, I told the Unfashionable Alter Ego I had once been free and that I had been taken away by bitter numbness, I told the laughable Artist creation would fulfill my reckless hunger, I told the Criminally Insane my spectre would forever haunt the decaying heart of an unfeeling bitch. I will never be fit for death; my devotion to minor atrocities will send me to hell. There is much to fear--all angels appear as grossly indecent demons in my frequent nightmares. I shall plunge my sword of lies deep into the quivering bowels of Beauty, Strength, and Morality. I built an entire kingdom--decorated with solid gold more glorious than an Inca city, with rivers flowing with the rotten blood of unwanted men and guarded by the sins of my abandoned past. There, engulfed by the blue and indigo streaked sky, were golden birds with eyes redder than the drunken men on October streets. I had created countless gods with empty promises, and they have given my people miraculous gifts of despair and indecency. I was gluttonous for pain and heartbreaks, I prayed for heavy floods in hope of cleansing my sin of blatant mediocrity. I wished to become the conductor of a freak show, the cynical prison guard of an all women’s jail, the pagan that was burned to death on a stake by inquisitors. In conclusion, I no longer wanted to be trapped in this frail body of an inferior being with a broad skull and ridiculous limbs, destined to be looked down upon. The burn of exotic alcohol flowing down my esophagus was not enough to chase away the coward in me. I found other ways to expel him: Visions of balloon factories rising from the horizon on a humid summer night, Birds with human eyes stare at me from my ceiling in the darkness, Horse-pulled chariots running me over during battle leave hideous scars on my skin. Hallucinations have given me false hope and endless inspirations. This is good enough to make my intestines implode and to make my bed swallow me whole! I began to fabricate night and day. I said let there be light and there was nothing but hellish darkness. I created my own dystopia where I was finally able to rest my bones. There I wrote idiotic verses and showed off my deformities, I studied alchemy of the word with hateful Gauls and brewed potions stronger than the lust of mortal lovers. I went on a journey through Berlioz’s symphony: there I heard the whimpers of impassive cellos, saw my march to the scaffold—beheaded for love as the drums cheered me on and waited for the final BANG, as my head rolled off the guillotine. My executioners labored, covered in sweat, for my long-awaited release. Evil crowds rejoiced in a shower of personal heroism and my stale blood. Then I descended into hell where there was at least some hope. I was finally allowed to suffer. In a mocking voice, she sings; my beloved transforms into an indifferent witch and frantically shuffles her crooked feet during the sabbath, which leaves a trail of charred flesh around my throne. Heavy footsteps and the mystic sound of organs drive me insane as I watch my eventual rebirth as a hyena. And in that way, I fulfilled my prophecy. Alphabet Alliteration Selina Dai Art by Hiruni Kumari Aloof and alone as always Bored before being backstabbed Confusion clouds my consciousness Dreary, dead, and deranged days Emotionless efforts, empty eyes Fake friends, frolicking frauds Glares, grudges, grimaces, gloom Hung high with hemp rope Infectious insanity isolates Justified, jealous judgment Knowledge keeps kings kings Lost love lingers, limiting life Messy, moody, missing motivation Negligent nonsense, nervous nightmares Overwhelming ostracization, offending opinions Pointless, pathetic, painful parades Quiet, questioning quarrels Raw rage, resulting regret Sadistically smiling shadows surround Tumbling through tragedy, truth tortures Uncertainty undermines understanding Vain visions, violent vengeance Worry weighs, whispers wound Xenophobia, xlnt Xanax Yearning yields yelling Zero zeal, zilch Gift
By Selina Dai yest erd a y m y crush gave me a beautiful gift box t in h h si a a de d t it a tantalizing feeling r a a t th t e b f h r e s e e a a l w k i g n Bliss By Misaal Tabassum The clouds begin to collect overhead, as the wind begins to grow colder. I know this means the first snowflakes will soon appear. With snowflakes comes joy- the most wonderful time of the year. I anticipate the jingling bells and the hot chocolate and the cozy slippers and everything good and pure in the world that is to come. It seems as if the trials and tribulations of the previous year have all paid off when the first snowflakes fall. They make me think of family and friends and warmth and joy. Of going home and finally resting with few worries about the world, in a cozy blanket by the fireplace. Delicate snowflakes begin to fall, one by one. Each one crucial to creating the beautiful scene I will admire outside my window the next morning. It is perfect. I rejoice, for winter is here. The holidays are here. Utter bliss. Your breath fogs the window -
it's covered in dewdrops, reflecting the green light that had just turned yellow, now red. The wind blows cold, long, breaths. hyperventilation in a red car, hands pale and clenched on a steering wheel. The road is empty, and you wish the world was, too. Your mind is not; it is foggy, covered in dewdrops, filled with red and angry thoughts. You hold your breath until the light is green again, and the only sound that could be heard is the screech of your tires. Your car is denser than the air, and your mind is denser than your body, so your trojan horse is drowning. Dear
Lamia Haque dear Everybody dear people dear family dear friends dear those who look up at me and those who look down dear the ones who pass by me in the hallways locking eyes but never saying a word dear everyone who’s said but never done and dear anyone who’s been close but far do you ever notice the pain in someone’s eyes or really listen to what they say do you understand do you try to understand do you stand still do you try to stop it no you pass by without saying a word you’re the one who’s close but far the one who does not try to understand the one who looks down the one who causes the pain and never the one to speak You Are
Selina Dai You are air, So vital it’s unfair. You are air, Invisible and never there. You are snow, Beautiful with a glow. You are snow, Using cold insults as ammo. You are fire, Someone to admire. You are fire, Filling me with ire. You are life, Filling me with strife. You are life, Stabbing me with a knife. You are a liar, No one to desire. You are a liar, Pretending to be a crier. You are fake, And I am tired. I say goodbye To this lie of ours. I miss you
Emma Donnelly I miss you. Uncontainable laughter tickling every muscle in my stomach Our squeaky howls diffusing out of every window in our brick apartment complex Shiny, black walkie-talkies stuttering under white linen sheets Chocolate syrup drip, dropping onto wooden floors, powdered sugar melting on our mischievous tongues We didn’t care. Now My joints are cold as ice, frozen in a time I wish I could dissolve with an eraser Strangers panting as they haul brown cardboard boxes up to the fourth floor Lithium triple AAAs nowhere in sight Puddles linger on the ground. No one bothers to clean them up. Beracah Tries to Make Two Clocks Tick at the Same Time
Beracah Lam ka-Chunk! Tik-tik, tok-tok, tik-tik, tok-tok. Still the same. ka-Junk! tikTik, tokTok, tikTik, tokTok Almost. kjnk! Ttik, ttok, ttik, ttok, ttik, ttok Close enough. Changes
Rui Zheng leaves orange and yellow flutter to the ground. the wind rustles the leaves, blowing them towards me. orange and yellow — happy colors, but i only feel an overwhelming sense of regret. for all the things i could have done before things changed. i see the sky getting dark and i head home. The metal glints in the air as it is raised,
And it goes down. It has traveled through so many terrains Sank itself, under someone’s hand, into canvasses Of white, brown, the whole array They must stab multiple times Holes appear, which can never be healed Red issues forth, flies a little up Until it finds a place to land Small dots appear, a little raised, like flowers The face that belongs to the hand smiles Holds out their work, asks if we can see The message of love they made There are swooping lines, dots like flowers Can you see? There are leaves falling to the ground There is warmth in the creation There is a pumpkin, the one you carved for Halloween They laugh, a twinkle in their eye “Do you like the quilt, dear?” A Little Something from the Embroiderer Three Simple Words
Lan Xu You see her. It’s been three months. You still miss her. She looks happy. She’s dancing to a song playing through her headphones. You walk past her. Your eyes avoid hers because it would hurt too much to see her plain brown eyes that turn to golden honey under sunlight and sparkle when she smiles and you look down and see your favorite song playing on her phone. She sung it for you the night you fell in love with her before she left you. “Not even the Gods above Can separate the two of us You and “I” ‘m sorry.” Those words were the last she whispered. Those words echoed throughout your thoughts for weeks, haunting, numbing, breaking you. Did she mean it? She wouldn’t have been holding his hand two days later if she meant it. She was hard to decipher. Perhaps you never understood her. Did all those nights spent confessing your secrets and dreams and love mean nothing? What did she mean when she said “Someone can be who you want but not who you Need.” But you were never scared to need her because to you, she was a safe haven. Like the warmth of a fireplace to shelter you from winter’s frost or a cabin to protect you from the rain, she was your safe Space is an empty area, like your heart once she’d left. Boundless, like your love for her. Intangible, like she was to you, as if she was not quite real. Cosmic. She was ethereal. And like a silent ghost, she vanished, leaving you with three simple words: I Need Space. I Love You. Seasons of You
Selina Dai Spring brings new beginnings. Flowers bloom, Trees fill blue skies with green, Rain gently pitter-patters on my roof. Spring brings new beginnings. We meet for the first time, exchange awkward “hellos,” And smile awkward smiles. Summer brings brightness. The sun beams, Birds chirp, And the sky is cloudless. Summer brings brightness. We meet for the fortieth time, exchange excited “hellos,” And smile excited smiles. Autumn brings coolness. The air is crisp, The ground is covered with orange, And the days are shorter. Autumn brings coolness. We meet for the hundredth time, And exchange relaxed “hellos,” And smile relaxed smiles. Winter brings coldness. White snow coats the ground, trees are leafless, And the animals are gone. Winter brings coldness. We meet for the thousandth time, And exchange annoyed “hellos,” And frown annoyed frowns. Then summer comes again, And I begin anew with a new person, Exchanging those same awkward smiles, Hiding the pain of winter, Longing for autumn. Autumn is the season of relaxation, There’s no need to force a smile, Or constantly talk. Autumn is the season of trust, Where we show our true colors, And we tell secrets. Autumn is too short, And too bittersweet. Yellow, Red, Orange
Selina Dai Trees can be Barren, Green, Yellow, Red, Orange. Barren trees seem lonely, Without any bright colors Or anything to show off But their dull brown branches. Trees with green leaves seem envious, Not as varied as autumn leaves, All the same shade, Not as loved. Trees of yellow seem cheerful, Enthusiastic and playful. Reminiscent of summer, Yellow makes us optimistic. Trees of red seem passionate, Fiery and emotional, But also loyal and brave. They make us feel excited. Trees of orange are a mix, Both cheerful and passionate, Playful and loyal, Orange is the color of joy. Autumn is yellow, red, and orange. Mischievous, adventurous, and ecstatic. A mix of all three, Autumn is fulfillment. Autumn is Feeling like a child again. Your Name Jessica Jiang You meet me at the bottom of the stairs. You walk past me, The tree shadows over you Hands in pockets, head held low, I haven’t forgotten you, have you?
A tear slips on your tongue as you Say the words you’ve dreamt of, I Never forgot your name, have you? Your hair is bound up and you’ve Grown up now and I am no longer The fool I was back then so can you Find it in your heart to give us one more chance? I can hear our ghosts laughing as the train Gives me a glimpse of you and then it continues on, Leaving me an image of your happiness but I have Never forgotten how it felt to fall in love, have you? Sometimes I’m scared of the light Because I know you’ll be there waiting for me You tell me don’t be afraid but I’ve already fallen Please don’t come any closer, or I’ll fall into you If I watch the fireworks with you, Will you dream of a world of light or darkness when you sleep? Just promise me that when the last train comes You’ll lean your head against the window To watch the ever fading view and your reflection Will be my last glimpse of you, so can you smile? So even though you’re years away, I will be able to meet you halfway there Her Matters Grace Ye Yesterday, she recalls her eyes gazing out the classroom Towards the vast land of lights and mass of people Afloat, going here and there, she stands atop the roof Spinning doubt, still figuring it out
Falling on O’ weary A train travels Nodding off hums to a sea of mumble jumbles. She still peak at the pains and blemished face afraid Gazing into a selfie screen behind curtains of hair and cease Mocking those daily fought wars within dark under eye crescents I pray she’ll blossom into childish laughter set in mighty skies For that was all there really was; wonder. Be far Gone low some thoughts. To her young everythings. Wonderful, if each of their owns matter. Patches of gentle light spilled on waves to pointless chatter. Mirror, Mirror on my Wall
Irene Hao There it was: the mirror that haunts my dreams So silver and smooth just like paint. It gleams Chokes with the artificial smell of pigment Begging to be broken, but when I struck, no dent It was a parasite. And not even sleeping pills Could bring me to paradise, can’t see or stay still Wasn’t paralyzed, just terrified. Over and over The only truth: the glass grows clearer as I grow older Then one day, the mirror approached so near I saw a mirage, so crystal clear I saw what is was and cried so many tears Tears so silver and smooth, and a smell I couldn’t bear And so I became part of the thing that haunted my sleep, Parted this world, walked alongside the figure In silver, not black, the figure who reaps Echo
Luna You’re in my debt. I hope you stay blind. I can’t help but think, ‘You’re a mess.’ A thinly veiled threat Reminds me that I’m confined. Your wants and my needs not in sync, But the only word I can utter is yes. You’re dependent on me For a personality. Your self has been erased, Replaced. I want to flee, But I’m scared of your brutality. You stared at my happiness in distaste, So that part of me was replaced. Is hating you wrong? Watching you bawl, I know you’re a mistake. Everything I do is wrong. I collapse to the ground and bawl. I’m a pathetic mistake. You’re mine. I’m yours. A thought
Anonymous An imagination was a curse in a few ways. There were times when you were so wrapped in your dreams you can’t see reality, only a muddled and imperfect version of your ideals. Many times you create a story of love and friendship only for it to never happen. Hope you always build during these delusions breaks down from something as simple as the quiz you didn’t study for to the confession your crush will never witness. Creativity whirrs the brain into fantasies that are never realized and the sinking feeling of failure and bitter hopelessness are the only things left. Hopelessness Is...
Luna Hopelessness is blue For sadness, An overwhelming nostalgia. Hopelessness is white For surrender, A disappointing resignation. Hopelessness is black For emptiness, A cold void. Hopelessness is green For envy, A desire for others’ happiness. Hopelessness is yellow For caution, An unwillingness to try new things. Hopelessness is red For stress, An urgent sense of unknown danger. Hopelessness is gray For repetition, A lack of change. Ghosts
Blue Lemon They’re in love with a ghost town, the ruins of their dreams, shattered, glass shards beneath bare feet. With blue teens, drowning in nicotine and with too much on their mind. With the reflection of someone they’ve never met, raindrops on their skin, I’m in love with your ghost town Black n White
By Imkay Cute, silent, but quaint. You remind me I’m no saint. Deep brown eyes, glossy pink lips. No scars or scratches, more like rips. No Time
By Jessica Jiang Small jokes and inside conversations Averted eyes, plastered smiles Say you got no time, no time No time, gotta go, too much to do Pulled-low hats, wind blown hair Hand squeezed, lips locked, People saw but we don’t care Saw you laughing, it wasn’t with me Heard you crying, not on my shoulder Thought you were talking, not to me Call you up, late at night Early morning conversations used to feel so right But all you say is no time, gotta go There’s so much I have to do I’ll call you next time, when you’ve got more Lightning sparks across dark skies Red-chested birds, no heart, that still fly Saw them all, under the umbrella that you brought Said that it's going to be romantic, that’s what you thought Didn’t think that we’ll be soaked but that’s the way we kissed Now all you say, all I hear is no time no time No time for love, no time for good nights, and sweeter dreams Heard you fell in love, what do those words mean No time no time, all you say All I hear, there’s the door, it’s that way Door By Veronika Kowalski I’m in a room with a bunch of 20 year olds I don’t know but recognize
And I guess I’m 20 here too because I fit in just fine. The room is dark. Not pitch black, but dark. There is a guy whose face no one has seen, and he has been killing people. We are hiding from this guy. The way people die is they first get notes saying how they will die. They don’t know when it will happen it’s not a matter of if, but when. The girl across from me, since we are sitting in a corner, is crying she is sitting in front of a door she gets a note I guess it says “you will be stabbed” or something stupid like that The rest of us are trying to stay calm. After a while the door swings open from behind and the girl is half dragged, half falls into the man He is wearing long sleek black gloves and that is all I am really able to see of him For some reason I can’t see his face; maybe the door is covering it, but something makes me look away and look at the girl’s friend She is standing in front of her with her hands to her mouth It’s kind of like a movie where they don’t let you see the guy’s face; they tease you but you can never see his face |
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