Dear Stranger by Cara Divelbiss
Cara Divelbiss
Dear Stranger
Are you real or just a memory?
Through distance and time, it is impossible to say.
I hate you; I’m afraid.
Is it me? Or did you make me this way?
Your face is now so unfamiliar; it saddens me to say,
Meaning has no meaning.
Do you remember?
Remember the little tutu-ed little girl
With eagerness to prove her love and eyes so thirsty for yours,
Wondering if love exists in your world.
Love is forever; love is infinite.
Is this something that you know?
I remember, I do.
Because she is me, and he is you.
I never realized but, upon my aging, discovered
You are the reason I never really knew
Assurance and confidence with men.
Ah ha! It all makes sense now.
You were around but never really there.
It all seems quite backwards if you ask me.
Hero to ZERO, is that how you’re going to be?
Are you real? Do you exist?
Or are you just a memory?
A picture is what I’ll cherish always
Of our lives before.
I’ve never loved someone that I hated so.
You’re everywhere I look and everywhere I go.
You’ll never read this confession of my feelings.
Dear Stranger,
You’ll never know.
Broken Love by Rebecca Perkins
Rebecca Perkins
Broken Love
Your presence is no more,
Yet still you trespass on my heart.
You tread across each chamber,
Breaking my wounded soul apart.
My love for you is bruised,
A tender black and blue;
And now it bleeds a steady flow,
As I forget all I thought I knew.
Your absence stings like needles,
A series of sutures aimed to heal.
My thoughts of you and me are bandaged.
I lay numb and cannot feel.
Weeks pass as I recover,
And my wounds fade into scars.
Yet still I’m a prisoner of our love,
A cellmate trapped behind steel bars.
My only option of escape
Is to give love a second chance,
To garner up the strength,
To keep moving at life’s dance.
Though hurt I am and missed you are,
I am not giving in.
Although I may feel broken now,
I’ve learned life’s quitters never win.
Titled by Samantha Baldwin
Samantha Baldwin
Titled
My mind’s voice is hoarse
From so many ideas flowing at once
So many words need to be expressed
The paper is my echoing wall
These aren’t the words I want!
Some fit better than others
Though they may all mean the same thing
This choice is hard but it’s the best
A life flows from my fingers to the parchment
Yet so too does a new essence flow into me
Be it a poem, a story, or a letter
This is the energy the spoken word cannot convey
Girl with Apple, 2014 by Mary Jo Vincent
Philadelphia by Stephanie Eberly
Where Treasure Lies by Erin Beardsley
Erin Beardsley
Where Treasure Lies
Much is lost in a storm from the sea
Treasures of gold hidden in the deep
Those who wander do not find
The treasures of that kind
But the King of the sea
Knows true indeed that treasure of the sea
While they sleep the night is woken
The moon glitters across the sea
Its light bringing new life
That type of treasure is of the King
The true treasure of the sea
Things of the earth will decay
Become broken or rust away
But the true beauty is here to stay
The beauty that no blade can steal
The beauty of the sea
Hidden Behind the Mask by Stephanie Eberly
Stephanie Eberly
Hidden Behind the Mask
On top of a hill, a girl sits beneath a lonely Willow tree. From afar it seems as though her eyes sparkle each time the sun’s rays reach between the branches. She is a beautiful girl with long dark brown hair and dark eyes. Her clothing is that of any teen these days, nothing unusual. But if one were to walk toward her, he wouldn’t hear a sound aside from the rustling of leaves. He’d try calling the girl’s name, but there would be no response. Pushing aside the flexible branches, the person would realize that she is crying- no, not a loud sob, not at all. Rather, a silent, constant sob, one that could only be noticed if a person were to take the time to see it. She is sitting with her knees close to her chest and with her head buried in them. The person would try in vain to get her attention. He would approach her and carefully lift her head. But what he would see would greatly surprise him. As his eyes would meet hers, he would be brought back to a different place and a different time. He would not see the happiness and smiles he would so expect he’d see. No, he’d see pain, struggle, anguish, and frustration. He would realize that her eyes, they do not sparkle in the sun because she is happy. They sparkle because each time the sun comes through, each tear rolling from her eyes catches the rays, sending out a brilliant shine. Her eyes are a window to her soul, to the struggle that she faces every day. But no one comes up that hill. They may think to offer a glance, but upon seeing a normal girl with sparkling eyes, they move on. The world beneath the hill only sees a happy, average teenage girl, and nothing more. That’s why she chose the hill, where there is no sound but the rustling of the Willow as a gentle breeze hits its branches. The sound comforts her. The old Willow, the breeze, and the sun are her only comforts. She is alone in this world of a million faces- alone to sink deeper into her sorrow. Because no one takes the time to walk up the hill.
Sand-Ghosts by Audra Haddock Martenot
Survival by Autumn Gray
Autumn Gray
Survival
It’s as if my feet have been drenched in gasoline and my heels are made of sulfur,
After burning every bridge I have had the privilege of walking on,
It’s time to start over.
As I look at my reflection while brushing my teeth,
I see the story of my life written in the lines on my face—
Smile lines given to me by the mask I wear to disguise the voices lingering in my head,
Frown lines above my brow coming from my confused “Why me again, Lord” face,
Bags that showed up at my front door from carrying the weight of held back tears for so many years—
And in that moment I realize that it may be too late. I’m tired of fighting.
Some might say it’s just an excuse not to get up, to get motivated, or to live.
But in my case living has been exhausted, and survival is my main priority.