Tides rise, Happiness arrives.
By Claudia N. Saldaña DeCamillis
I wake up in the mourning.
You have too.
Look out the window!
There’s a low tide.
The moods are easterly.
You are sad because you can’t sail away.
But look on the bright side; I say.
The depths of your ocean are there, exposed.
Now is when you find all the interesting things.
Your vices, your virtues, your visceral reactions.
Let’s go exploring, what’s there to do when you reach rock bottom?
The sea monsters are out of water, they can now be tamed.
You step on an urchin; you sting more than you ever thought.
You now regret you ever set out and looked inside.
You could never sit with your pain, so you call me over.
I help mend your wounds and thought you would with mine.
But all you wanted was a distraction,
You needed an anchor so you could lift yours.
The winds pick up, and moods shift north. The tide comes in.
I can’t swim.
You don’t care.
You sail away, feel the cool breeze through your hair, you’re happy you can flee.
I feel the cold water fill my lungs; I’m happy I no longer feel.
Sure, it’s only “teasing”: A reflection on relationships and friendships
By Tyler Lissy
Sure, the more I like you, the less it seems like it. Sure, I often find myself accommodating with those I despise, and arrogant with those I love. Sure, I can be friendly with friends, or truly mean to those I’d rather have not met. Sure, “teasing” is the prevailing norm, however, and a destructive one at that.
Sure, it’s my own comfortability. Sure, this is just who I am, that sarcasm is a cornerstone of my personality. Sure, my jokes can be harsh, but people laugh. Sure, laughter is a defensive mechanism, but I tell myself that the reactions are genuine. Sure, I find myself unconvinced at my own comfortability.
Sure, it’s my own insecurity. Sure, I tease, joke, and sometimes demean when I worry about how close someone is getting to me. Sure, I’m worried about what they might see in me. Sure, my worries continue to grow as their closeness allows them to express that appreciation freely. Sure, I grow envious of others’ security in their own feelings. Sure, I constantly remind myself how a true friend would never act this way. Sure, I find myself convinced at my own insecurity.
Sure, I am happiest when I finally seek out that vulnerability within myself. Sure, I am proud when I express my displeasure to someone irritable. Sure, I am satisfied when I verbalize my appreciation to a friend. Sure, there is nothing more that I want in life than to be transparent with my feelings – both for those I hate and those I love.
Sure, I want friends to be treated as friends. Sure, I am convinced. Sure, am I really sure at all?
Sometimes I think my brain is not me
By Bella
Sometimes I think my brain is not me;
My body, mind, and soul
Disconnected.
Grapes torn from the vine.
One, inconsistent.
One, incomprehensible.
One, impatient.
My brain sits encased in darkness,
Isolated from sound, sensations, stimulation of any kind.
Is that all I am?
A mass of flesh encased in bone?
Which holds the soul;
The flesh; or the vine that yields the fruit?
Smoke and Mirrors
By Kelyn Gouveia
I have this dream each night as I sleep in my cold bedroom. I stare at the green glow of the night-light upon my wall, as a deep slumber begins to envelop my mind and body. Soon I am no longer within the confines of my bedroom, I am in a large and warm room, with the distinct scent of butter and candy in the air, there are people sitting all around me. They stare into a large glowing screen before them: I am in a film theater.
The theater is illuminated by the screen above us, it glows an eerie shade of gray, reflecting off of each person within, their eyes shining white in the darkness of their faces. Upon the screen are the same black and white images, played time and time again, but the people react each time as if it had never happened before, as if they were seeing it anew, they laugh, they cry, they jump in their seats, over, and over, and over again. But there is more, within their faces I can see that they believe everything that is happening before them, that it is the truth.
Why then am I not convinced? Why can I see the images as repeating falsehoods? Why do I not sit upon the edge of my seat, eagerly anticipating the conclusion, just to anticipate once more a moment later? What makes me different?
I sit perplexed in the theater for what feels like hours, surrounded by people, and yet all alone. When suddenly an idea crosses my mind: I wonder what lays behind me? The thought becomes overpowering, but somehow something holds me back, it stops me from turning, I don’t know what it is, and yet it controls me. But I must fight it, I must turn.
Slowly but steadily my head turns to look over my right shoulder. I see the projector, the source of the strange gray light, it is behind the glass of the projector room. I wonder who or what could be within such a room, when I see a soft glistening from what appears to be glasses. It turns away, as if it has seen me; as if I was not supposed to see it.
I want to walk toward it, I want to leave this theater and see what lies beyond, I feel like my entire life has been in this room, and it’s time to move on. The strange feeling continues its attempt to hold me back, but my will is too great: I am leaving this theater.
I walk up the dark steps in between the rows of seats, I am astounded that no one turns to see me, they remain glued to the screen. I continue my ascent up the stairs, each step harder than the last, but my determination remains unbroken. The door now stands before me, I take one last glance at the people below, wondering how they are not curious of the world outside the theater. I do not dwell very long; with each moment I stand here it becomes more difficult to leave. I turn towards the door, push with all my might.
And then, each time, I awake.
I find myself in my bed, wondering, could this life I live be just another screen? How will I ever know what is real, and what is merely a game of lights and shadows, of smoke and mirrors?
Your Spaniel
By Talia Cullum
I want to dutifully dote on you
I want to wait at the door for you
I want to watch as you run a bath and
Sit beside the tub as you bathe.
I want to listen to you complain about work
And the people you hate
My ears perked, my head cocked
As my neck grows tired
I want to rest my chin on the wall of the tub,
Secretly, silently hoping
You might run your fingers through my hair,
And pat my head.
When it’s time for bed
I will sleep at your feet until
You invite me to your side.
I will hold my breath.
As not to disturb your rest
I will watch silently
The rise and fall of your chest.
Though I will stay alert as you slumber
And guard your bed unencumbered
I beg, let me be your spaniel,
I beg to be used as you use your dog
Traveler’s Song
By Lu Markovitch
Upon the scene descended eyes do scan—
How green ye waves which glance o’er yonder shores!
What figment of despair dare grasp a man
Near remnants of Romans, Vikings, and Moors?
There blue-bathed mounts their glassy garments don
And sun extends to kiss receding night;
There bazaar-ghosts of myrrh and thyme trail on
Past twining tongues, odd jewels of Babel’s blight.
In moments when one yields to stronger fates
Or fails to spy the changeling’s pallid eyes,
Of fortune’s fool some foreign kindness makes
A dulcet bond which may o’er life reprise.
Yet still no earth the traveler will roam
Can shake ye, thorned and tender thoughts of home.
Aurora Borealis
By Sadie
I want to be the northern lights, dancing across the night sky, a splash of color in the dark, greens and pinks swirling like dreams, alive and electric, calling out to anyone who looks up.
If you take a moment to search, to really see, you’ll find me, radiant and free, a little piece of magic in a world that often forgets to pause.
But so many keep their heads down, caught up in the day, rushing past the wonder, missing the beauty that flickers above, that gentle reminder there’s more out there, more than the everyday.
I want to be noticed, to break through the darkness, to wrap around hearts like a warm hug, to spark a sense of wonder, to light up the hidden places, to inspire a moment of awe, a little connection that makes life feel special.
I want to be the reason to look up, to feel the night chill turn warm, to remind people that magic exists when we just take a moment to see it.
So let me shine, let me dance in the sky, a fleeting burst of brilliance, a nudge to show that beauty’s all around, waiting to be found, if only you take the time to look up.
