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By Sophie Lang They say you’re cracked – I say thank God. That’s how the light escapes the fraud. You never shrink to fit a space – bold, no need to mimic grace. You hold a quiet tension right, to me, you are a burst of light. It shines the most when split apart – how beautiful, your fractured heart. You speak in truths so sharp, so clear, they echo past the walls of fear. You live, though no one asked you to – each breath a step, each step: breakthrough. Not for applause, no

By Paris Providence There is Whisky for your troubles,  There is Bourbon for your fears,  If you're ever feeling lonely, Margaritas for your tears. Theres a shandy for the good times,  Wine and brandy sting the chest, There is vodka for the worst mind,  And Bellini for the best. Theres a shot of chilled tequila,  When the repo comes around,  For the nights that draw a party,  Crack a Hennessey and drown. See there's Cognac for the hard times,  Like communion for the blessed, 

By Paris Providence You are blues, in a bar,  When the city is wet,  From the tears of the sinners,  Who slept with regret. You are blues, in a jazz band,  The notes that drone low,  When the city is icy,  And speckled with snow. Tender blues, from the country,  When cotton was shed, As the words of a dark man,  Straw hat on his head. You are blues, as the gospel,  The southerners sang, When the masters would sit back,  To watch as they hang. Subtle blues in the evening,  Whe

By Paris Providence Once upon a time, These very grounds were seeped in laughter,  Every pirate knew the sounds,  That brought about a sweet disaster. When the lost boys gathered round,  As precious sheep unto their master,  And they'd tell him what they'd found,  Until they found what he was after. Now I reckon it was worth it,  For they took off to the sky,  All board my Jolly Roger,  And they left us here to die. Its been decades upon decades,  Many years upon a year, And

By Paris Providence  Will rhyme for food  Will quote for bread Will quill and ink To buy my bed. Will hum a tune Will sing a note And publish every  Word I wrote.  Will rhyme for food Will read aloud For just a shilling  From the crowd. By Paris Providence

By Paris Providence I wish to be your poetry The very air you rhyme The side matched to your symmetry Your host of space and time. For love, you are the end of me The place where I begin I pray, you are the priest of me Forgive me, I have sinned. I wish to be your sanity What you can't live without I wish to be your poetry So speak me, with your mouth. By Paris Providence

By Paris Providence They loved with the intensity,  Of hearts that sought the flame,  Of a lion and a dagger,  Of a hunter and his game. And they loved with the immensity,  Of all that’s love and war, As she held him with insanity,  He pinned her to the floor. For a violence seeped in vanity,  Had kept them both at bay,  So they loved with inhumanity,  Of night that swallowed day. And they loved into depravity, Then sunk into the Nile,  With her hands around his windpipe,  An

By Paris Providence I am cruel as a ruler, Spit hate on the blessed, Beguile at the vicious, I'm spiteful at best. I curse when they're smiling, And laugh when they cry, So I sleep in the daylight, And hiss at the sky. I'm known for a countenance, That few can possess, I'm green as the wicked, I'm witch of the West. By Paris Providence

By Paris Providence A twisted sight, anopsia, To set the heart astray,  A fragrant plight, conopsea,  For love that wouldn't stay. A devils blight, macropsia, Ten thoughts to twist the mind,  A precious lie, kalopsia,  A comfort to the blind. By Paris Providence

By Paris Providence YouTube is red,  Twitter is blue, Instagrams purple  And Twitch, it is too. Snapchat is yellow,  And Whatsapp is green, Tumblr is navy,  Or something between. MySpace is dormant, Vine is a must, TikToks still ticking,  But Facebook lost trust. Flickrs existant, Then Tinders a waste, Meetups existant, And Geekings replaced . Statuses blooming,  Attention a must,  Roses were red, Now the flowers are dust. By Paris Providence

By Abigail Ransegnola Roses are red,  or so they say.  But what if they were not?  What if they were white as snow,  and were cold to the touch? Like frostbite, thorns break skin and bring warmth to the flower that  is considered romantic. The romantic they consider love blossoms from the drops of  warm blood.  These drops, oh so elegant as they splatter,  stain the petals red as the heart shatters.  Unable to fade,  the flower of love now speaks a different meaning:  Heartac

By Abigail Ransegnola Cressa Jones was terrified of the water. She always had been for as long as she could remember- it was vast and unknown and the more she thought about swimming the more she wanted to scream. It was terrible, awful, and honestly, Cressa couldn’t understand where the fear stemmed from in the first place. Was it seeing a frog get eaten in a pond when she was a child? Or the time at her local pool when she watched a lifeguard haul up a practically lifeless b

By Nishka Chaube With a gasp of air, I break free from the pearly white egg I’ve called home for the last fifty-nine days. Tears spring to my eyes, threatening to fall on the fuzzy crimson sand and indent shadowy puddles, as from my peripheral vision I see muted dabs of green being stolen from the nest by angry talons. Before they could even experience the sense of sight, my siblings were pierced through the heart. But I have no time to ponder that. While my blurry eyes try t

By Nishka Chaube You’ll never know the manner in which  your mother, Studied the ridges and folds, Of the soles of your feet, When you were young. The way she hummed you to sleep, Held you close to your chest, Hearts beating as one. You’ll never know the way your father picked you up, Swung you round and round, Until you ached from laughter The corners of his eyes smiling,  And your tiny limbs are flailing. The way he fed you tenderly, Wiping crumbs of your lips, Even with a

By Nishka Chaube When the last wilted leaf has drifted down, From the parched, shriveled remains of a tree, Carried by a scalding, bone-dry draft, Of wind wandering aimlessly. When the final river’s drop floats weightlessly Into an abode of clouds and ether, It shall serve as a testament  To oceans that used to be. When the last pond is poisoned, With toxic waste and choking sludge, It shall violently expel all its contents, Flora rotting and desiccating in the open. When the

By Nishka Chaube Howls of agonizing pain echoing through the walls,   the crying of a fresh newborn.    I was just born,   so let me live,  let me live a few more minutes.    And as those minutes turn into days,   days into weeks,   and weeks into months,    Let time unravel before my young eyes,   a carpet threaded with illusion and mystery.  Let beauty make itself known to me.    Hug me close,  Let the glowing moon bestow upon me its blessings.    As I grow, inch by inch, w

By Nishka Chaube Dear predecessors,  Sentinels of the sacred.  Mountain-blooded, river-nestled,  Progenitors of the past.  You spent hours sheltering foliage,  Whether it be the dreaming orchids,  Or the musing marigolds.  For every thick-veined tree   That fell at your hands,  You restored ten more,  Each one better than the last.  Thickets of dew-kissed bushes,  Canopies of sage-green leaves.  So greatly did you consecrate,  That even the clouds,  Threaded with a foaming, m

By Nishka Chaube “We are in the age of the internet” is a common saying that gets more credible the further advancements humanity makes. With Gen Z (12-28 years old approximately) being the first generation to have been raised while the internet had become mainstream, it is inevitable that the younger end of the spectrum are arguably more impacted by the connection and entertainment that it provides. An inseparable part of the internet is, without a doubt, social media, with

By Parv Agrawal  Neon lights, loud music  Just you, alone, but not really  Bitter mid-winter, and the riffs of electric guitar.  Intense red  scratched around the traffic loud and bright.  You’ve rubbed eyes, rubbed palms. You’re flying. Suddenly, you’re covered in cold air that smells spent, by you.  A street where you belonged torching the bleak night into life  You let it sink in; it covers you  Like a thick fur jacket, that knows you. .You submit to find warmth. You disso

By Parv Agrawal When you feel something but nothing too, And cold air of enigma surrounds you. Don’t know how you do or don’t know what to do and you’re devoid of a thought or a view. Heart beats feel forced and fake for a while. Emptiness and vacancy of thoughts form a pile. And your mind and your soul don’t seem to reconcile. The loudness of the silence in the heart steals your smile. You don’t know what has left you so perplexed. The nonexistence of something feels so comp