Poetry

By Peter Harris Apparently, I'm meant to feel "whole" on my own. Which is hilarious, because I misplace parts of myself on my way from the kitchen to the couch.   They say, “You’re never truly alone when you have yourself.” That's cute. Tell that to my echo.   I’ve tried the self-companionship thing. I asked my reflection how its day was. It sighed and walked out of frame. Some support.   The walls have ears? Then they must be noise-cancelling, because I haven’t heard a singl

By Peter Harris I wonder if you worry About your mental health, And if you feel sorry That you can't see your wealth.   Do you go to sleep thinking Maybe tonight will be the night, Something will stop you breathing And you'll surrender your life.   Maybe you feel you're only living Because you're really quite scared Of what it’ll do to the giving Ones in your life, if you give in to what they feared.   No one wants to hurt their loved ones To carve that kind of scar, So even

By Peter Harris I haven't cried on the drive to work in many months. My therapist often asks me to describe how I feel, to help connect my mind to my body. I always struggle with describing emotions in a sensory way.    So sitting here in traffic, in this moment of vulnerability, I thought I'd try to explain how I feel:   I feel like my ribcage is made of glass and with every breath I might shatter. Tiny cracks threaten to spread, Like ice across a frozen lake. And I swe

By Peter Harris The coldest winter you'll ever endure Is the first one after they walk out the door. You'll cry, you'll scream, you'll fall to the floor, You'll break and you'll be a mess. And the next few months will test How long you can last in survival mode, Blankets and pillows your only abode. — Fight or flight will disengage And with it, the will to engage With work and people and art. You won't be able to help but fall apart. It's colder now so light the tinder Your c

By Peter Harris I'm going to try and find the good after goodbye, That's a hell of a task seeing as my life began after you said hi. But I think I owe it to myself to at least try, I deserve more than spending the rest of my life wondering why? — And wondering how? And where you are now? I guess I know where you are, I see the stories you share. And I'm really happy that life has taken you there. But I can't shake the despair. — Because I used to know more, I wasn't left wond

By Fatima Hussein Her red ghungroos were jealous of her foot he kissed them after all  her earrings were complex little complexes they were close  there was no third guy  there never was  the air between them suffocated  they were a cliché  so close , yet so far  she wore golden bracelets for him only  so he would play with them  make a spectacle  her lipstick just decoration  to mark on his cheek  they were so close  the clouds rained so they would hug  just to feel the hea

By Fatima Hussein Leave my hand  I cannot keep one foot in your life while living mine  see , I used to wonder if I was beautiful  you would not let me dare to wonder all this wealth ,  counts to nothing ,  he cherishes me like I am made of violets  and he plays she loves me , she loves me  not  his electric guitar painting mirrors  in electric blue lights  I do not think I have ever been more in love  his grey sweater  my tango dress  it does not get more verite  I am tired 

By Fatima Hussein I feel like a cat sometimes , it is great . I freeze and shiver like a king in leather , unsure of my tether, my shivers I call them glitches , more digital , more current , less cat , less social suicide . I hate water , how it sticks and warps , creates droplets of godforsaken liquid matter , pretty but not enough , poetic but boring , wet like melted ice cream , minus all the deliciousness and gagging , now you are wondering do you ever get thirsty? I do

By Fatima Hussein And other words that sound nice like you  treat , mine  gold , rush  blue , wine  stupid crush  fake blood  try mush  cacophony , chocolates dragon teeth  still waters run deep elegance in cursive  coquette lexicon  mirror of glitter  fin  nonsensicality  velvet gibberish  may flowers run down your lips  forever  By Fatima Hussein

By Fatima Hussein White room in mind  Being pushed from behind Eyes are burning at every sight Somewhere in a Neptunian dreamland  Lies a circus with an alien face  With grace and a dress made of lace  She tries to be forgotten like their millions worth bookshelf  But they clung to her like glue on skin  Come on little girl don't be too shy is what they told her  She found herself with big eyes looking  back at her  Their nails the length of her hair  Their faces like some

By Fatima Hussein Cooking  My favorite  Noodles with fish  Fancy  But not really  The color of my blush Intensified at the heat  Just forgot a good line It always happens  Watching a Salman Khan movie  Laughing at his auto - tune  Auto - tune is not bad  Just need to use it right  The tv glitches  I just hit it  My brother leaves  Wearing his kandoora  And sometimes I feel empty  Like it was my mother leaving me As a kid  When I have the house all for myself  I pretend I am h

By Fatima Hussein Pressure  You  Stop  One  Hand  Molly  Burnout  Hand - gun  Submitted  Panic - attack  Because  You  Fur  Forgive By Fatima Hussein

By Fatima Hussein Stop wagging  we got in therapy  since our relationship was toxic  there is a reason therapy did not exist  neither do dinosaurs anymore  What is love if not you in your glasses in the early morning on our grey couch reading your book drinking your coffee as you forget them  I like you depressed  as your eyes get those bags I like you shake your head  laughing like it has been a while  you fix your posture  you do not notice the leaning forward  not when y

By Kasey Rodriguez-Vizcarrondo They call me “she”— like it’s a compliment. Like the word doesn’t land like a blade between my ribs. Like it hasn’t been branded into my bones with every careless echo. Like it hasn’t burned itself into the marrow of me. They smile when they say it— as if their soft tone can soften the damage. As if a gentler lie hurts less. As if a girl’s name isn’t a noose I’ve learned to tie in silence. Assigned. Without asking. Without pausing. Without seein

By Kevin Masmela wet from the downpour detoxing by dancing deranged by dubstep the speaker makes my bones vibrate sometimes my brain goes numb while the song continues to strum my spine until the chord breaks I can hear the way our footsteps kiss the floor, stomping above hell-grounds because why not? Bury me under a mosh-pit so the crowd can wake me from my death, so the sound of the beat can pump blood back into my heart I love the way my body feels after a three hour set t

By Kevin Masmela On days like this I walk in the rain a little slower than normal so the raindrops can whisper that language I still can’t seem to translate that speak to me with your soul language that Mother-Nature feel me type language that shower my body with mantras language On days like this I listen softly to the showers that sing me to sleep so I dream of the Sky so I can finally touch the Sunsets’s shoulders so I can finally mold the Moon into medicine so I can final

By Kevin Masmela I watched fireworks try to kiss the moon tonight an attempt worth watching on my sunroof for (x) amount of hours. I counted a total of 386 attempts before the crescent glowed red & white. The sky was not blue, but there I was, my cigarette still fading into the city lights while the stars stuttered like no vacancy signs. I saw smoke swallow clouds for the first time, as I realized how many times my folks invited me here to watch the willows serenade the sky.

By Kevin Masmela because my breath blows like a saxophone tonguing on syllables like a mouthpiece to a trombone I love the sound horns make when they don’t sound like the city when they synchronize with the tempo of my body I love the way my lines move to the cadence the pacing of my pause like hands to a cymbal call me a beatnik because form is dated & I have dated all forms I sip Kerouac for dinner so my palette plays with his rhythm so my voice throttles between second & t

By Kevin Masmela I have known the City of Angels all my life, the in-between crevasse alleys that scream I am an artist but have nowhere to show it. Melodies the Pacific makes when the waves hit just right. You see, here, the Pacific Coast never sleeps & neither does the city traffic— I find myself wondering what it would be like if music were constantly played everywhere. If Charlie Parker was blaring down Central Avenue or if Fitzgerald filtered through the horns down the I

By Kevin Masmela It’s the middle of December & as I sit here with my eyes closed, letting the sun soak into my eyelids I obsess with the way the rays sink into my eyes even when they remain shut. That sun kissed Christmas breeze that reminds you why you live here in California, where you don’t find Christmas trees in the ground, rather floating above water because mermaids believe in Santa too— The ducks here have never seen snow & neither have I... I wonder if they even kno