Day 2

A Wonderfilled Prose-Poem Rant
by Mandy Berry

There are so many things that I could write about today, but all I can think about isOreos.
I eat a lot of Golden Oreos – the ones with vanilla cookies and vanilla filling – and my friends eat the classic traditional ones with chocolate cookies. There used to be vanilla cookies with chocolate filling, too, but nobody seems to remember those besides me.

And then you have lots of other flavors. Pumpkin, mint, red velvet, s’mores, lemon… sometimes they’re only stocked in the store long enough to become someone’s favorite flavor before disappearing forever. They make Thin Oreos now, too, funny enough. Those come in traditional and golden, but not any of the others. Come to think of it, I bet there are people that say, “I’ve never heard of that, so it can’t exist,” about every Oreo type from skinny to double-stuffed to birthday cake flavor to vanilla cookies. Maybe somewhere, somebody doesn’t believe that Oreos exist at all.

This really isn’t much of a prose poem, now that I look at it, but oh well. Maybe there’s something poetic to be found in a rant about cookies.

 

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LAZARUS

by S.A. Bowden

At Mass today
We heard the story of Jesus raising Lazarus
Cause he was dead.
Jesus said Come out!
No, he commanded it
That was Deacon Fritz’s word choice
Like Come out of the dark and into the light!

But what if
Lazarus liked being dead
Unlike life
Which was so demanding
Goading you on day after day
Work without a clear purpose
Endure the suffering and the heartache that makes you wish it could all stop
That’s part of the deal
Wear the mask and stitch your lips into a smile
Cause They don’t need to know
Or This is something private
But It’s not that bad, life says,
You are strong (you have to be, or else)
You can handle it (you have to, or else)
Everything will be okay
(Never mind when)
(Everything has to be okay.
Or else.)

But the dark tomb was quiet and peaceful
You don’t have to be strong or handle it
You don’t have to deny it and fake fine
It’s okay to not be okay
It doesn’t have to work out
No obligatory happy endings or so-called-inspirational messages
Break down crying and make a scene, there doesn’t have to be a good reason,
No need for masks or stitches
The darkness was comforting
It didn’t force him to change or move on or do something
The darkness didn’t demand anything of him
The darkness said, just breathe.  Just be.

They say The sun will rise and think it’s so inspirational
But it’s not really.
Really it means The world does not care
The sun will rise and set without you
And all your tears can’t extinguish it
Or give you
Darkness.
(So keep up, or else.)

When Jesus commanded Lazarus Come out!
Did Lazarus want to come out?
It didn’t matter for the purpose of the Gospel. You’re coming out and facing life
Just when you thought it was over
Like it or not.   

You command me to come out
But you may as well command me to come out of my own skin

****

Alcohols Next Victim
by Cindy Ibarra

It took her away too
One of my close people
She said she loved it
And couldn’t help it
And now she’s addicted
Saying stuff
I’ve never heard her say
Because she isn’t sober
Speaking foolish things
In a state where she can’t control it
The alcohols next victim
“Hurt people, hurt people”
Because when she’s in another world
She hurts people
– stop now please before it’s too late

****

His Life
by Kasongo Pembamoto

He got his insides torn apart
Like being thrown into a lion den
He said it was to much to take in
Like counting threads of a sweater
He’s very sensitive
Like a mother to her first born
Then he lost his sweet to a knight in shining armor
Underneath was a bum, wanting no future.
He’s protective about his family
Lost a loved one
He was crushed for weeks
While she watches him in a place of marigolds.

His thoughts of pure freedom and happy ever afters
Turns out to be a dark room locked up forever
Having his emotional self, bottled up like a genie in a bottle.
Walks through high school, a promotion of education.
Meets a good girl that expresses feelings through different mediums of art
Her hoping his bottle would burst, it did not
Her finding out the truth,
A war has begun!

Living a life he does today
Secretly escaping a battle
There’s no way out of this!
She’s fighting a story that he sees himself as a nothing,
Going down a path she just came from.
Helping him avoid obstacles she had gone through,
He’s been attempting to fall in hell, just through his thoughts and mindsets.
Her helping him and another from falling off the face of this earth
She believes that they can turn down that route,
Leaving the world, feeds into the pride of the antagonists.
Today, we survive in the eyes of the one who sits above.

****

The Hoarder 
by Mya Smith

The pictures and all the cards.

They are special in a way

That no one understands, except me.

Everyone else says that I’m

A Hoarder, but I just love everything

That I receive. I’m sentimental.

The pictures, and papers, and cards, oh my!

I even have special boxes for them and

They each have special places under my bed.

Those three Bear paw boxes are for holiday cards,

The two Adidas boxes are for report cards and certificates,

And the one and only Fed Ex box is for all my pictures.

Call me a hoarder, but that’s what makes me unique.

 

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Wires 
by Sam Yoseph

Loving, darling, doesn’t come easy.
It comes with pain and suffering.

Constantly, you feel yourself walking on a thin line,
Any wrong step causing everything to fall apart.

You forget they love you too,
That you aren’t alone.

Becoming self absorbed in making them happy,
You lose yourself in wallowing sadness.

Suddenly their worth becomes something much more
Than your own care and well being.

And you are played into this constant cycle of love
That nobody but you put yourself in.

But sometimes, a sidewalk is next to the line,
And you can step away and take a break in the sun.

You remember that you love them
and that love is cooperative.

You become a team of bandits,
Stealing each other’s happiness and sharing them between you.

Their worth is equal to yours
As you walk side by side on the road full of dreams.

You are played into this constant cycle of love
That everybody and you put yourself in.