# data[].attributes.body
It's a free for all!
For one
And two
Not no one
But all

We go up and down
People spread about
We do nothing, we do it all
Because guess what
It's now free for all.

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wings like fabric
like spider-silk
like whispers

forever in love
with the brightness of light
envies the lampshade

like a moth to a bulb
like a bulb to a socket
torn like a kite
or a thread from a pocket

Jude

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i've seen plenty of cemeteries in my life
passed them on the way to school or home or to visit my relatives
they never look the way they do in horror flicks
i've never noticed any sort of foreboding atmosphere
a caw or hoot in the distance
a black cat curled up below a tombstone
the way the wind whistles against tree branches
or the way the moon seems to illuminate the whole area
it doesn't really exist like that, does it
the place is more sad than scary, i think
they're places built for closure but i rarely see visitors anymore

brother used to work at a cemetery
if people called in about a relative being dead, my brother would be the one on the other side of the phone
he would tell us stories at the dinner table sometimes when he got back from work
and none of these stories had ghosts or supernatural entities
no they were just regular retail stories of people getting upset and my brother having to deal with it
(he once told us a story about putting the makeup and perfume on the dead bodies
because once you get to be dead you really get to rotting
your flesh starts caving in, you turn this sickly color and your body gets all bloated
and the stench is the worse part
the smell of death so putrid it burns your nose
when they bring a body in they freshen it up by making it smell nice and putting on makeup
they close their eyes too to get rid of that unnerving blank stare
so when the funeral comes and the coffin is open
their family doesn't have to look at something that can only be described as remains)

i pass a cemetery on my way home sometimes too
it's not our usual route but when there's traffic, it's our go-to
it's a small cemetery with no tombstone rising up to be taller than your knee
all the names are clustered together
like one big family
and they all point eastwards
towards the sunrise
towards the Homeland

-victoria

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to the sea, we leave. we leave our homes and our past behind us so that we may go to the Horizon. To the horizon where all our dreams may come to reality. to the horizon where we must work together on the sea who wishes for our downfall. but we shall not falter for the horizon calls us. so help your fellow man for together we can make the voyage to the horizon, the horizon of our dreams.

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I wished the playing never ceased
here it ceased to exist
broken by extended sound
and weight in the mind

next door, the gradual progression was just half the clock

within walls strings sounded
centuries of steps resonating in the present
-Gracie Mendenhall

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Moths
They are the butterflies of the night sky
They dance around any light source they can find
They are common food for the frogs
They don't mind though
The sun is rising and they must go back to their moth homes and their moth families
If you see a moth don't kill it
release it
They are very pretty and lovely

-Cal

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it is death, it is
where they lay,
but why do they
lay? what reason?

is it sickness? is it
mental? is it an accident?
or is it because
of violence? why are
they no longer here?

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your rib cage glows
as strings of light shine through
your skin.
your iris filling with sparkling glitter.
blood spills from your mouth
as your brain considers the paradox.
your heart clasps your hands as the dirt coccoons them.
the light fills your body as your burden was
never there.
sharing light has never felt
so soft.

# data[].attributes.body
Paper wings beat ever toward flame
Driven by a mind, a memory
An instinct overwhelming in its depth
It drifts through the air with purpose,
The path to a solitary candlestick
Searching hungrily after the light
It reaches for the burning warmth within

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bathroom wet from the leaky roof
dank from the moldy walls
swallowed by the night outside

creaky yellow light
casting a dim breath of a shadow
on the nose-smudged mirror

a moth rams its silky head
into the flickering bulb
without a sound

swallowed by the night outside
dank from the moldy walls
nose-smudged mirror

it tries again

- miya

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music o music
im finna dance
music o music
im finna prance
music o music
im finna sing
music o music
im done writting this thing

# data[].attributes.body
from darkness in a small
corner grey stones were skipped
and single white flowers dried
until they rusted

Liora

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I know a girl
she is dead
and
so am i
it's unfortuante (sp?),
i know

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The open space inside my head
Resonating, movement that goes unnoticed,
a constant back and forth
that pierces or flows,
Dynamics change and shift.

# data[].attributes.body
a place where people see the future
of what their life will become
to understand their unimportance
in this massive universe
so much space and forms of nature
it's impossible that we matter
but people come here to see the future
their life will be over soon
so soon
time is long
but life is not
manifesting our existence

# data[].attributes.body
a tune so sweet
floating through the air
filling it with joy
and happiness

# data[].attributes.body
Only you know what you're going through
You ask yourself "why only me?"
A sorrow unique to yourself
That nobody else has gone through
Until you find the song that was written just for you

You are not alone,
people have lived what you're going through
And as their lyrics describe your world
you realize you can too

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How is it that we begrudge honesty?
Honestly...
we're jealous of the holy light of truth.
So we speak in sullied lies
to corrupt our world and break our lives
to shadow the blind eye of honest truth

Jude

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child of sun
child of day
where did my childhood child go?
why did it go away?

Jude

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It went earlier for you
Gone without a trace
You are left confused,
tired and un-easy.

You grew up to soon,
Now you're too young, but still too old.
You want what had left,
But it's gone for good
Because once childhood leaves
It's not coming back.

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I write it uncomfortably
like grass stuck to my foot
and hair in my eyes
the strong wind running through
packs of trees

I promised my pen
I wouldn't let it dry yet
the wind ceased and
there wasn't anything
to move the words

Liora

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in third grade

I had twelve cats

one was named Snowball

and if you asked me about the others,

well, their names changed every time

you know when you were a kid

and you really wanted a cookie,

or five more minutes,

or a puppy,

or whatever

but your parents said no?

you know how that made you want it more?

I think because my parents told me

don’t tell lies

don’t tell lies

I told lies

and how could they stop me?

it was forbidden, but it was so easy

now one thing I can say

in all honesty:

I don’t have the best relationship with truth

Raine

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It’s time for the annual celebration

This year, in the Kingdom of Fall.

The season that’s

Seasoned with spices

Made from crisp brown leaves

Crushed and bashed

Into flakes.

It’s sensational

And extravagant,

The annual celebration is held in the fall season for a reason.

Cam

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snail shell
round and crisp and golden
crushed under the sole
of my shoe

once upon a time, i would have cried

today, i wouldn't even notice

- miya

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We are surrounded by lizards!

They look like humans,

They talk like humans,

They act like humans,

But behind closed doors,

They shed their skin off

And they are nothing but

Green scaled and yellow eyed

Monsters.

When you are alone

Do you too

Shed your human skin

To reveal the skin of a monster?

I know I do.

Cella 🦎

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cobalt blue

swimming, shivering, laughing

hands sticky with watermelon

salt washes sweetness away

she goes back to school

and no one asks what happened

because it’s clear

in the way he

sits on the other side of the classroom now,

in the way they

don’t hold hands in the hallway now,

in the way she

can’t look him in the eyes

cobalt blue

Raine

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Hard to find

Because one must look

And not just see.

Below the sea

Set by the scene

With the sheen

Of the light waves shining through deep water and the windows of the Mermaid’s Ballroom.

The Ailouros Pearl is a treasure.

Cam

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white socks newly stained with the juice of crushed blackberries

young girls in a cardboard house in the middle of the French countryside

flowers in the soil to mark the places a dead cat walked

multicolour clips holding clothes in place on a laundry line

chinese checkers

“Oh Susanna” on the piano until both of us go insane

smoke in my hair, on my clothes

flies like banshees as I lay awake, cocooned in the heat wave

a public pool with a plastic waterslide

dust sticking to my fingers as I let them peruse shelves of books untouched for decades

ugly roses from the garden, picked by hands who’ve just barely escaped the bees

spilled wine dripping from a wooden table onto grass like dew

women who age too quickly to take down the clothes they put up in the morning

sunlight flashing off of our rings as we run hand in hand

willing our feet to move faster as if we could escape the end of July