Literary & Arts magazine Submissions

joy is when flowers bloom

in soil that's grown too many other things

other people’s beliefs

their big feelings and their fears

of a love they've never known

and to grow a garden, even in dry soil

is to believe in tomorrow

it is to believe that good things will fruit

but know that it will take time and care

to taste their sweetness

to be here is to plant the seeds

of the garden that will become tomorrow

it is to believe that good things will fruit

but know that it will take time and care

to taste their sweetness

there is joy in passing on these seeds

sharing slices of this fruit

with those who wish to partake

in this world, blooming and bright

there is joy in growing old

and watching young children flourish

showing them how to root, passionately

how to stand in the sun’s light

I’ll tug on this light so it radiates

on the living witnesses of our past failures

those who have been given the most

malnourished soil in which to root

for an ecosystem cannot flourish

without its most vulnerable

Dear Nex Benedict,

I’m sorry that the world was not kind to you

that it was screaming at you

and nagging at your clothes

and picking you apart, piece by piece

and then

blink

you left

and your beautiful, wonderful noise followed

how can the world keep moving when yours has stopped?

and there is no more beautiful, wonderful noise

I’m sorry that the world isn’t ready to listen to us

I’m sorry that it threw you out

like a sketch, full of mistakes

I know you liked to draw

you should still be here

doodling instead of doing your homework

the world should have been listening

to your joyous song

and your radiant laughter

but it is hungry for fear

it is eager to find people to blame for its faults

and it swallowed you whole, unforgivingly

your cats will miss you

and wonder where you went

their mournful meows echoing in my mind

the world was not ready

for your beautiful, wonderful noise

but I was

and I will miss you too

Rest in Power,

A non-binary high school kid

I noticed recently that when I cry,

my lips form the same crinkle as your’s

when it is my turn to experience the world

and its greatest joys and most painful faults

when the world feels heavy

too heavy to stop thinking about,

I will know that you are there, comforting me

reminding me that I am not alone

sterilize the groceries 

before they come in the house

and the air

before anyone breathes it in

and my feelings too, just in case

numbers wobbling on the tv,

indecisive and unsure of themselves

just a flicker, up, up quicker

up, up sicker

“don’t hold your breath”

but the whole thing was

one sudden gasp and then 

three years of mouth closed

mask on, more distance

oh to be a child again

in a world not dying, not lying

to grow, uninterrupted

into the flesh and fear

of a seventeen year old

without six feet

bound to the front of my shoes

without six feet of space

between me and myself

sage green stems conceal a love 

in fields of intimate pink and blue petals

and after the long, numbing winter

the purple flowers, planted with love, will bloom

this love will not die

before I am allowed to hold your hand

before our stems, sage green and blooming lavender,

can knit themselves together, over and under each other

Mother Earth will tend to the weeding and watering

her sun will watch us fondly, and nurture us dearly

her rain will moisten our souls, each drop, another “I love you”

her wind will carry us, delicately, out of harm’s way

she has been a witness to all love

that of man to woman, 

of water to earth,

and me to you

under her care, and in her arms

our love will grow, it will bloom

and for the love of all things earthly,

let the world witness our garden of purple, me and you

I miss my movie couch.

the rough, tan striped loveseat

that lived at my grandmother’s house

I didn’t let anyone else sit on it

If we were watching a Free Willy movie

If anyone insisted we watch the fourth movie,

my grandmother and I refused

It didn’t follow the storyline properly,

So we rarely watched it

And though she’s still gone, I won’t watch it

I had eyes that had never seen bad things.

And they stared in awe at the whales

I had no idea that they were not real,

that they were edited in afterwards,

like most things in life

If only I was allowed to be angry

But that would make noise

And I am not supposed to make noise,

Nothing louder than the clack of a heel

I have believed my whole life

That I am a stained child of God

A white dress on a clothesline

Blood from my breasts to my womanhood

If only I was allowed to be angry

But then a man would tell me

What it really is and what it really isn't

And I’d still be angry, but no longer out loud

I feel too deeply to feel anything at all

And I love too hard to love myself

But I speak with intention

I tell things as they are, not as they want to be

If only I was allowed to be angry

But my voice has been borrowed

With no intention of being returned

It would be too loud anyway, I’m sorry

the only place that really knows me is my bedroom

the green fibers on the floor have soaked up more tears 

than a tissue or a t-shirt sleeve ever could

and I have spoken more words to the ceiling

than to my own mother

I used to sit on the floor with my friends

we’d talk for a really long time

until I got distracted by something else

or fell asleep, or just had nothing else to say

poke me with your cold fingers

then with needles

one, two, three

sedate me with meds

so it doesn't hurt anymore

and force feed me emotions

that taste ugly

sad and salty

I'll throw them up later

when you're not looking

don't tell me why

or even listen

when I tell you I'm broken

just let me cry

and taste the sad, salty drips

that run down my face

the only nice thing,

the lady with pearly, white hair

who asked me why I was there

and told me that it would be ok

unfinished poems are my favorite

I like them because they have an emptiness

just like all the poets I know

who do not bleed red, but rather

words you might read

until their soul is as blank

as the paper they write on

broken pieces

of human flesh

lying on the floor

with words glued to us

in hopes they will hold us

together for another day

A needle and thread

In and out, in and out

To mend the holes

From many years of wear

The thin fabric

And the burnt edges

From when I ran 

through a fire

Hurry

Get some water 

Pour it over me

I think I’m burning

again

A needle and thread

In and out, in and out

Of my soul

sometimes I feel your hands on me, like a ghost

and I feel like you’re always watching me, lurking behind me

even though you’re not there it still makes me feel like a living zombie teen

no sleep, and no control over my own brain

we’ll go to your house on Halloween night

and we’ll tell people we just wanted to be alone for a while

You and I both know that you just want to help me put on my costume,

the one you picked out from the store the other day, that you knew was too small

you’ll paint my skin a greenish-gray with splotches of purple

because it’s the perfect mix of colors to cover the evidence you love to leave behind

the same muddy colors that come from your hate, now pretend to love me

and I’ll make sure to eat a light lunch and dinner so you can pull up the zipper all the way

I pray the five pounds I lost this year are enough for you to say I fit the part,

but not too much that you bring out the skeleton costume instead

you didn't even have to paint around my eyes because the skin was already purple

but you're not supposed to dress up as yourself, so maybe I should be the skeleton

you’ll say everything is all in my head, but I really do feel dead

we'll go out to the parties, and fill up on mini hotdogs and chips

and when people come over to talk to you, they'll see the angel outfit you put on

just your white halo headband and feathery wings, never the devil that lives underneath it

and If people ask what’s wrong,

I’ll just say that my costume doesn't fit right, that they didn’t have my size

and it’ll have to be okay because if I take it off before we leave

your angel costume will slide off in the bathroom and you’ll have to fix my makeup

and I'm only purple and green because today is really Halloween,

not because I'm a living zombie teen who’s dressed up every day, every single day

I love the cafe down the street

And its warm golden walls and terracotta colored leather seats

It's peaceful and comfortable

Like a cat purring or your favorite pair of sweatpants

I really like coffee, and I hate you

No, that's a lie

I like you a lot actually, and I hate coffee

But you’ll never know that because you love coffee so much

Just like how you’ll never know

That it's not a brown caffeinated drink that fills my cup

But rather slightly warm hot chocolate

With a dollop of whipped cream floating on top

I guess I never knew that you could brew secrets into a drink like that

But every time I sit down to have a cup of “coffee”

I think of you, all the secrets in my cup, and how I only drink it because I love you

I often sit on the park bench across from the coffee shop

To think about how we used to sit here together

How we used to people watch and enjoy the nice weather

On cool, crisp autumn days like this

Its fall, and the leaves are dancing their way to the ground

One lands on your head and you’ll laugh when I brush it off

You’re bundled up in the brown Carhartt jacket that you stole from me

Leaning on me, with a warm pumpkin spice coffee in your hands

It’s not like I miss doing that with you, but now that it’s just me on the bench

Holding a plain coffee, because pumpkin spice reminds me of you

I wonder if you’ve brought anyone else to this bench

And sat with them the way we used to

This is where I come from

The dirt and the trees and the sun

The wooden playset in the backyard

It's 14 years, magically molded by the laughter of the neighborhood

The rules of the yard, so simply understood

Out so late into the darkness of the night

It swayed as I swung, my hands clinging to the chain in the warm spring

The creak when you sit is almost like it’s trying to speak to you

This is where I come from

The dirt and the trees and the sun

I’ll be who you want me to be

Even though that’s not how I feel

Because I’m the only one who knows that it isn’t right and

that I’ve always been a boy

And I tried so hard to convince myself that you were right

I said I wouldn’t tell people because they’d think I’m lying

Because I’m graceful the way a lady should be

And I look good in dresses that flow in the wind

I’m quiet and dainty in the back of the room

I’m just a girl

But I so badly want to say

I’m just a boy 

And I have the confidence to put myself in charge

And the teacher asks me to move heavy things

Because I’m muscular but only slightly

I’ll be who you want me to be

Even though that’s not how I feel

Because I’m the only one who knows that it isn’t right and

that I’ve always been a boy

And I tried so hard to convince myself that you were right

I said I wouldn’t tell people because they’d think I’m lying

Even after I said to you that the old me isn’t coming back

You told me you miss the old me

As if I’ve been replaced by a totally different person

Even though I’m still in the same physical body

You’ll never see me the same

As the wind kisses the trees

Blowing off the golden leaves.

The sun wakes up the earth.

Leaving honey colored trails of light on the path.

Who knows what’s to be made of our life long journey?

I may never know which destination is right for me.

Do I search for joy?

Because it is everlasting.

Or happiness?

That must come in the form of small success.

The grass tickling me with its tentacles.

Shushing the creatures and their intense chuckles.

The squirrels preparing for their winter rest.

While the flowers still awake in protest.

Who knows what’s to be made of our life long journey?

I may never know which destination is right for me

How many people will reach out to hold my hand?

Or will everyone fall through my fingers like sand?

Will I ever be the sun to someone’s flower?

Or will it always be a lonely hour?

The morning fog embracing nature with its refreshing love.

As it reaches down with its arms from the clouds from above.

This journey we take while we are still awake.

The journey we make for tomorrow’s sake.

Thump thump thump

The monotonous sound of my feet smacking the concrete

As I run down the crumbly sidewalk on Seneca Street

Tick tock tick tock

Seeing the time on my phone steadily increase

The blue lock screen illuminating my cherry red face 

Boom boom boom

The pounding of the thoughts banging around in my head

How am I not dead? I just want to be in my bed.

Fwoosh fwoosh fwoosh

The blurs of color, cars cruising past me

They seem to be getting duller, as I continue to flee

Snap snap snap

Hearing the teacher snap his fingers

Diverting my mind from the memory that still lingers

Atch atch atch

Scratching the chalk on the chalkboard

While the thoughts in my head still roared

Red was my favorite color

It's the color of roses and poppies and tulips

The color of watermelons and cherries and strawberries

It’s the color of love and saffron and the main character in the Angry Birds movie

But now i hate the color red

I hate it because it’s the color of blood

The blood of my older brother

The blood that I saw when I found him on the bathroom floor

I have nothing left anymore

After he was gone I fell apart

It broke my heart

Now I hate the color red

I hate it because everyone else sees it as a happy color

They see it as the color of cranberries, peppers, and ladybugs

They see it as the color of apples and rubies and autumn leaves

But to me it is the color of death

It’s the color of anger and pain

That is the reason why I hate the color red

I hate it because it reminds me of when I found him dead

A bright azure blue fading into deep oranges and yellows

Leaving behind a mellow feeling

With dappled spots of navy blue invading

Bits of pink and purple showing through

As I sit here on this rock floating through space

I watch as the sun disappears without a trace

I know it will come back tomorrow

But still I am filled with sorrow

In the night sky I see the moon

As it rises high in late June

Seeing it replace the vibrant sun

All because the day is done

In the morning I will come back here

To watch the sun reappear

Over this mountain in Illinois

As the sun fills the sky with joy

Almighty

Just like Aphrodite

Goddess of beauty

Don’t think it’s your duty

To be always skinny

You are the definition of beauty

If only you could see

Through the eyes of someone like me

And learn how to love your body

And set yourself free

Leave your legacy

As the next deity of beauty

Take your trophy

Because you are worthy

And that I can guarantee

You've always been here.

Whenever I needed you most.

Even if you're "gone" to others.

It doesn't mean you aren't still here.

It doesn't mean that I'm not sad.

It doesn't mean that I don't miss you.

It doesn't mean that I don't love you.

With all of my heart.

And I never lost you.

Because I know I don't have to feel bad.

And I know I don't have to blame myself.

But as your closest friend.

I'm still sad.

I still miss you.

And I still love you.

With all of my heart.

Just as much as I did the last time I saw you.

We were together.

Laughing.

Smiling.

Talking.

For the last time.

Sitting in the creaky hospital bed.

With all those tubes and wires around us.

And the oxygen mask over your face.

Because they couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Eating the gooey hospital cinnamon rolls.

That you loved.

You ate them every day you spent there.

You were telling me how far away the end was.

Even though I knew it was coming.

Knowing that visiting hours were almost over.

Begging to the staff to let me stay the night.

Because I knew you weren't going to make it this time.

Crying so hard.

Because I had to leave you alone.

With all those tubes and wires around you.

And the oxygen mask over your face.

Because they couldn't figure out what was wrong.

I cried so hard that night.

For the first time.

Because I thought that losing you meant losing me.

And as your closest friend.

I still haven't lost you.

Nor have I lost myself.

And I'm sitting by your grave.

Laughing.

Smiling.

Talking.

With your ghost.

For the hundredth time.

About the plans we made.

To see the world together.

Eating the gooey cinnamon rolls.

That you loved.

In memory of you.

And all the times we ate them together.

Forgetting that night at the hospital.

And all the sad days we spent there together.

And how I cried for the last time.

Because I promised myself something.

I promised myself that I wouldn't lose myself to the pain.

Because you've always been here.

But that doesn't mean I'm not sad.

It doesn't mean I don't miss you.

It doesn't mean I don't still love you.

With all of my heart.

Just as much as the first time I saw you.

When you sat with me at lunch.

On the third day of school.

Because I was sitting alone.

Even though your friends told you not to.