Day 22


In order to try and make up for my lack of writing for the past few days (thanks a lot, homework and anxiety), I wrote two poems today instead of just one. Hope you enjoy them 

Ideas at a Cancelled Club Meeting
by Mandy Berry

For Rachel Pontious

We should have been writing
but we had no ideas.
You sat there,
I sat there,
Sam sat there.
“Are there any more brownies?”
Heh – brownies.
Cue the weed jokes.

The reminiscing started –
Field hockey for you and Sam,
a Green Day show for us.
I did an impression of Billie
while you laughed about your team.
I got another brownie.
More talking,
phone surfing.
We brought up Dan & Phil
and class assignments
and then you said,
“I came up with all my poem ideas
last week.
I’ve run out of topics.”

There’s nothing else to write about?

What a blessing,
to not have a constant urge
to smear your anguish in graphite and ink,
and yet not write a word
because the pencil is shaking too much.

You have ideas
because you have memories.
We even share some:
Eyeliner whiskers and a llama hat;
Googling pink bunnies
while falling asleep in a car
as snow blanketed the interstate;
Trying to get into a horror movie
without IDs,
to name a few of the ones I know.

It’s not hard to find feelings
or poetry
if you look for it.

If only I could stop finding it…

[] – a false pantoum
by Mandy Berry

There is music playing,
speaking to the sad and lonely.
I’m looking for something permanent, though,
something to truly fill me.

Speaking to the sad and lonely
is something you can only do with experience.
You would think that emptiness fills me
often enough to know what to say,

but things don’t get easier with experience,
not poetry, not anxiety, not being happy,
and certainly not knowing what to say…
I don’t think there’s anything else to say.

Poetry, anxiety, not being happy,
they make anything good seem so far away
until I can’t think of anything else
but nostalgia.

But now, nostalgia
can’t speak to the sad and lonely, can it?
It won’t truly make things better.
Not when things are lacking.

There is music playing.


Pillows on the Floor
by S.A. Bowden

My pillows are on the floor
The ones I put on my bed for decoration
I take them off to sleep when I run out of hours to do

There is so much
Assignments to be completed
Tests to be studying for
Projects to be planned
Dishes to be put away
TV to be watched
Books to be read
A college to be chosen
Issues to be discussed
Priorities to be made
Financial aid to be worked out
Works to be written
Emails to be sent
A future to be planned
A room to be cleaned
Of papers, drawings, trinkets, doll things
Little pet projects and to-do’s that I have neglected
A duffel bag to be emptied of clothes
And laundry to be done.
But tonight the pillows sit where the bag was
I finally put the laundry in the washer
And I have so much I haven’t done
But dropping the pillows where the bag previously lay
Is a triumph


by Mya Smith

Call me a hoarder, but that’s what makes me unique.
And the one and only Fed Ex box is for all my pictures.
The two Adidas boxes are for report cards and certificates.
Those three Bear paw boxes are for holiday cards.
They each have special places under my bed.
I even have special boxes for them and
The pictures, and papers, and cards, oh my!
That I receive. I’m sentimental.
A Hoarder, but I just love everything.
Everyone else says that I’m
That no one understands, except me.
They are special in a way
The pictures and all the cards.


Let Go
by Sam Yoseph

I love you.
I don’t know if you can
Hear me.

Just listen.
I need you.
I want you to come back,
So please.

Call me.
I miss you.
You’ve been quiet for
Too long.

Wake up.
I want you.
Your warmth is disappearing
At my fingers.

Stay here.
I care for you.
Come back to me from your
Restless sleep.

I know you can
You’re still alive.
But you won’t talk or say
You love me.


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