POEM 13

Polished Till Dull (Pancho)
 
I turned in a project to the teacher,
That followed the model to the T.
With only two comments about it.
One that it was perfectly done,
And second it was quiet.
Every other project had noise,
They spoke with energy.
While my own had a single eye,
An eye polished with Vyvanse
Till it was dull.
An eye that perceived all,
And yet returned no light.
With cups and pockets,
With joints that could swivel.
The tin man could perceive and hold,
Allowing for plants to take root.
He held seeds and dirt,
With roots that bind,
Hindering his free joints.
His eye being all that is his own.
In the crevasse of his chest.
Like a fly trap that’s still,
Holding onto everything.
Only showing what’s captured,
As achievements of its work.
It’s work the only thing that’s cared.
Wishing only to continue to watch.

Please don't put me back on Prozac (Spud)

Some days you will find  

The light spilling in.  

On days like these I sit

In these spaces created 

By the sun peeking through, 

Really trying to soak it in--

The light that does not come often. 

Most days, I find myself in the 

Artificial glow of a medication 

Meant to mimic the way the sun 

Feels on your skin. 

I would hesitate to call it an approximation. 

A bastardization, an abstracted concept 

Filtered through layers of telephone. 

Items from past hobbies sit 

In corners, picking at their fingernails, 

They’re not waiting for me anymore. 

Like the butt of a cigarette, I grind 

My passion to dust under my shoe.  

I guess I’ll turn on the television 

And stare until my eyes glaze over

And wait for the light to seep

Through my window again.

I'll keep the blinds open.

“The world that shaped me” (Nehemiah) 

I would say that my whole life I've been sheltered

Though I was very much a sheltered child I never liked doing things everyone else way 

Sheltered but grew up fast

Weird right 

I grew up faster than most girls my age but not because I was fast, 

not because I had no other choice 

I was a baby taking care of babies 

Turned 15 years old and got my first job 

Turned 16 years old and received my very own contract from my parents 

stating how I had bills and was now on my own

This isn't normal I would think to myself 

This can't be normal, then one day the un normal became normal 

Yelling, fighting, stealing, sadness…cutting

That all became apart of my life and apart of who I was 

Toxcicity, mental abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse all became normal 

until it wasn't 

I knew one day the world would force me to grow up 

What I didn't know was that it'll be from the people 

who were supposed to keep me free

But instead locked away in a cage away from everything everyone and at times 

even from my own self 

I've always known we lived in a evil and cruel world 

The saddest part about it all though was that all of this pain 

was coming from my parents 

Biologically and non-biologically 

It wasn't the world whom was breaking me 

but yet the people whom brought me here 

To think that for so many years of my life I thought it was all normal

At one point I wanted to be more like other people I didn't like 

I didn't like the house I lived in to be honest 

at one point I didn't even like the people in my life 

Then one day I left and never went back 

I lived with friends, family, I even stayed with my manager 

I got older and still struggled I was functionally depressed, 

biopolarly depressed and had real bad anxiety 

Eventually I went down real bad with bad habits 

but I knew that wasn't me 

So I wanted to find God and reach for him, 

I was lukewarm 

I got a boyfriend whom I watched die then I looked at life more differently

I've been shaped tour down and back up multiple times in this world 

But it wasn't until now that I've been grateful 

because it all made me the strong independent young women I'm becoming today 

TEMPORARY RELIEF IS STILL RELIEF (Vinny W) (Vindo)

I take my last line
I thought it would solve my problems
But it only creates more
Like a starving dog waiting to be fed
I stare at my phone
Desperately waiting for that text back
Telling me where I need to go
Which parking lot to make my temporary home
McDonalds? Dollar General? Marathon?
It changes every time
I don’t know why I keep doing this
I’ve been dead for years
Or at least it seems that way
Withdrawal can be hell
But if it wasn’t for the withdrawal
I wouldn’t feel anything at all
I’ve never used the needle
But I’m still a slave to the poison
19 Still no text back yet
All I can do is wait
I’d probably wait forever
My lip is bleeding from biting the skin off
My legs are getting restless
Finally my phone makes that familiar sound
I read the message
“Go to the gas station and wait”
I get my refill
And the cycle starts over again

*

Endless Plainness (Haley)
 
I wish crochet was more profitable
Then maybe I could twiddle my thumbs for a living
And create small sculptures and accessories
That someone might keep in their damp dingy
Basement. The sonographer and the college dropout
Relay to me what they love most about their lives
As if the lady at the yarn shop on the lake
doesn’t know me by name
Ruffling through the merino wool and silk
I hear all about the pastures where
Baby sheep are born so that I may pet their pink pelts
Posthumously. This looks like a hat.
This could be a nice sweater
If only I had the right pattern
My loops and threads weave through endless
Formulas and mathematical theorems
That flood the vanity that is now just an office
I wonder how plain I must look from the outside
All of me contained in one small room
Exploding all over the floor and onto the bed
It creeps up the walls too
It is a mess, but it is mine

Tainted by Garrett Redding

It's an oil slick; oh how

it keeps you entertained

like a kaleidoscope

of heavy muck and death.

If you had but one day

to tell me anything and tell me again,

as you so often do

that your cosmos cannot

fall now, in its beauty

and grace, you’d find me--

a blind man, smiling merely

to keep their bobber afloat. 

The slick offers little solace

in its Madusaean gaze

to the reef beneath its domain

and the fish holding their breath.

It churns the ocean into soup,

a pleasantry that’s turned monotony

into comfort food fossilized on a stovetop

like the bones which make up the oil 

itself. I find it hard holding to anchor

only to drift to that same spectacle

of choking, and a smile gone stale.

Myself and the Moon (Maggie D.)

I spend an unordinary amount of time 

facing the mirror. My tired face 

facing inwards. I twist my face 

so the slowly-burning yellowed lightbulbs 

catch my eyes in the one way 

that doesn’t make them resemble 

the same dead, cloudy eyes

of my grandfather’s preserved 

black bass. It’s mouth gaping

permanently, skin thick and shiny,

plastered like a prize on the wall. 

I’m about as quiet as that fish, 

strangers would say. Although

my friends admonish me 

for being too loud. Neither see

the way I talk to myself in the mirror, 

running drills of imaginary conversation topics

I will never bring up to anyone. They won’t see

the child I once was, obsessed with the moon.

I used to cry for it when it swathed itself

behind those dark clouds of the night:

My moon! My moon! Where is my moon!

Slightly older, I used to pray to it, more faithful

than I was to the God my pastoral mother 

preached from. As if the moon could save me

when I prayed: please don’t let me die 

tonight. But if I do, don’t let it be silently.

I want to die screaming.

The Moon (Megan)

The clock ticks by hour by hour.

The hands advancing, time passing.

But I do not notice.

My eyes are still closed

and my dreams continue onward.

“You waste your day away!”

“Your day is already done

before it has even begun!”

They do not know that our definition

of days do not match. There's start

with the rise of the sun, a beacon,

and ends with the show of the moon, a deterrent.

But not for me. I hide from the sun as 

if just a simple ray of light will poison me

while I dance with the moon, a veil to my actions.

Under the protection of the moon, I bloom.

There is no pressure, no responsibilities.

I am free from the expectations of the world.

I can sit and finally think clearly,

no voice clouding my mind.

How do they expect me to give 

up my one true freedom?

The one place that I finally 

can feel like I belong?

Oregon (Olivia)

 

Loud music and crowds never 

repulsed me, yet the enjoyment 

is far from what solitude brings. 

In cities and towns full of clubs 

and rap, I have hiked to reach 

the forests and contemporary. 

When they find I skipped  

the party for thirty more minutes  

of practice, the commentary buzzes 

like screaming flies that you can  

hear, but they won't come out. 

Oh, but how does one resist  

when their fingers caress keys  

the way a stream hugs every  

rock in the river. Nothing brings  

more tension than choosing  

“Tuesday rain” over Drake  

for the commute to school.  

Each season that passes creates 

a new scale, a new rhythm 

where reflection and praise can 

start anew like cells regenerating. 

I learned that I was nerdy 

for my enjoyments, but how 

do they know they are not  

shallow for theirs?   

Simon Says (Cesar Jaramillo 04/01/2026)

The geese quake together

Bees pollenate the world

Butterflies bring color to us

Sheep give us warmth.

They also follow the same man.

Day in and day out.

I was young too

Following the same man

16 years old working

I was told that’s my whole life

9 an hour is what takes my life away?

Hell no.

I enjoy nature, like butterflies floating through the air

Watching the birds soar through the sky

They’re all free.

But the sheep who are they

I decided to cliff jump

For the adrenaline of course.

The cold water reacts to me before I can

The sheep follow next

But I’m built for the water.

They’d sink if they follow me

Sheep follow blindly.

No questions ask, just blind.

Now I’m 20, I moved up

Own apartment, married.

Glad I never listened to them.

Simon says jump and they jump.

They asked if my friends would jump from a cliff

Would I. No but they did

Followed the same system that failed

Defending corporations that view them as a number

I am no number. Nor will I ever

Let myself be one

Avoidant (Jaelyn)

I'm high up in the air

My mother loves her baby

My father sees himself in me

All my friends are happy to be around me

I feel like I'm on top of the world 

Everyone sees me on the surface level

I don’t like feeling vulnerable 

Yet I crave love

But when I have it I want out

I don't like difficult conversations

I don’t like insecurity 

I don't like being challenged

Who sees this?

No one but you

You cater to all my needs 

And all I can think about is leaving

What kind of a man is that?

Am I supposed to believe that the ones I love

Would love me back if they knew 

I’d push them away.

I hate the way I am

I hate the way I act

I hate my mind.

Loud house (Autumn)

 

Life felt like I was hearing a broken record I kept hearing the same thing Shhh be quiet you’re so loud and what seemed like harmless words to others were like knives in my heart a wall became built around the thought of talking and a fear of laughing too loud I became a crustacean hiding in my shell of shyness and nothing could bring me out until I realized that there is nothing and will never be anything I can do to measure up to the heinous heights of expectations and opinions of others so instead I talk loudly and laugh obnoxiously because the the thought of losing to the patterns of this world became much scarier than being judged for being too loud 

Oversight (Lilly)

The dress code said no ripped jeans

 yet I really didn’t want to wear the

 skinny ones. For the first few months I

 obeyed. Squeezed into the constrained

 cloth that weighed down who I really

 was. What was I doing? My heart 

beating out of my chest, scared to be

 reprimanded. I walked in, the air

 hitting my legs through the holes in my 

jeans. Yet, no one said a word to me.

I suppose it really wasn’t that big of

a deal, just like everything else I ever

worry about. Let yourself be free, no

remorse and uncaring for the opinions 

of those who weigh you down. 

Do what you want and have all your fun,

yet obey the rules you need to. Who cares

about the shows you watch or hobbies

you partake in. Do you even really care?

Spread the ink of the tattoo machine, 

and read your romance novels. Don’t doubt 

that you may be found odd but there’s worse

things in life to be known for. 

Un-Normal is Normal

I used to be a mockingbird. 

Flying around while mimicking those

on the ground. “I also like that book”, “I

do enjoy this TV series”. Refusing to step on

the grass, fearing my different song.

Until a gem that gleamed in the sun

drew me down and down. “I really like this”,

the mockingbird exclaimed. Finally finding

myself, I became unashamed of

my song, singing it for all who wanted. 

Not every bird was happy to hear,

they stood in the corner whispering softly,

“What is that mockingbird singing? It’s so… Weird”.

“And those gems… Is she trying to be a crow?”, one 

giggled. Yet I stayed true, defying the stares and talking

that felt like it came from everywhere. The 

mockingbird became very, very lonely.

Sometimes it thought of going back to the sky,

to once again mimic, but a small voice

said; “one day, you’ll find your flock”.

So I waited, and waited, until like striking gold

I found the jackpot. A flock of all types

of birds, singing “follow us, we have room”.

The mockingbird chirped happily, hopping along,

finally free.

 Mar'te

Strange World of Sticklers

The wildness of my mind is like an unkempt lawn

full of small creatures going about their business.

I do not fully understand the rules or pattern my silly

brain would like to follow, but my chaotic lawn of a

mind usually gets me through this weird world. Then suddenly,

an outsider comes to trim the grass of the ever changing

rules my brain has created. Being questioned about the

method I go about figuring out my problems is old. Was

I doing something in a way that you think is wrong? Did I

get distracted by what I was being told? “Normal” people

will never try to understand the frustration of a mind I

can barely control. Everyone seems to be a critic, and I

am the one get tomatoes thrown at me for the millionth time.

My lawn is not pretty or orderly, I am perfectly aware of that.

I am not you so why try to make everything I attempt feel like a

mistake worthy of punishment. The yelling and judging is always

unnecessary. My mind’s habitat is thrown into chaos trying

to do what does not work for me. It’s like I’m putting on a

performance that I had no clue I was even part of. I’m spoken

to like I wanted a mind that differs from what is considered normal.

Apologies for being considered wrong for a small mistake, maybe they

are one too many small mistakes. Or maybe my lawn does need

some trimming every once in a while.