A Poem by Chrissy Tu’ua

Eight layers of briefs and gym shorts
Sweatshirt was extra large
Khamel tugged at his pants
He started yelling
Voices were yelling and people were panting
A woman was crying
Blood was pouring
He rocked pitifully back and forth
Afraid to move
People screamed and fell to the ground
“He’s got a gun!”

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A Poem By Frankie Klein

Shooting

Shots fired at Seal Beach
The smell of hair dye and gun smoke
Nine innocents grasped and held
We didn’t think we would be touched
The ripping of family fabric
School is very quiet today
We walk with a sad knowledge in our mind
This kid in science was crying next to me
I just looked at him
His eyes are still red
And tears are still present
Lives are still shattering
And I still don’t understand it
I feel the melancholy spreading
Starting in my chest
I didn’t even know the mom that died
Or her son
Or any one of the nine
But it happened
And I’m standing in the middle of it’s chaos

Francesca Klein is a saucy sixteen year old who lives in Long Beach California and only Long Beach California. She is made of cutouts of Rolling Stone and Spin magazines. She wanders in the astral plane and doesn’t come back for days.

Alone and at Fault

(Originally from “It’s On Me”)

If I love her like you love him
Then why do I need a ring and a wasted tree to
Prove that?
With your persecution
Discrimination
You can’t have that satisfaction
I can’t back down
I won’t give up now.
Until the both of us have bands on our hands
And white as our shroud.
Because
I do, I do, I do
I do love you
And you love me, too.
Because you came to me
When they turned you away
But I couldn’t stand tall
For you
And I knew
I knew
I knew
I knew you would fall without me there
And I’m sorry
You’re gone now
I’ve lost you for good.
They think they’ve won and maybe they have
But I won’t let them know.
I won’t let this go.
I will fight forever
For you and for me
For us and for we
For them and for they my anger prevails
And I don’t know what feeds it more;
Not having you here
Or them putting all the blame on me.
Pushing me
Until I know it was me.
That I brought it on.
And now I’m alone
So alone.
No farewell. No goodbye.
I couldn’t come in.
“Family only,” they said.
And that’s my fault as well.
Because I
I am not a guy.
But without me you had no one
And I lost you.
Alone.

– Melissa

 

Poem: Estranged

Her words burn like churchfire. Hardly a strand or mere leaf of kindness emits. I’d like to introduce her to a bag of knives. I’d like to introduce her to a new car smell at the bottom of the lake. But she takes hold of my shirt collar and pulls it close to hers. It tears. I flee. Flee like school gates flung open. Like car alarms and shattered glass. Like searchlights. Like a crowd of rolling churchgoers. When will I be free?

– Ryan

A little something interesting…

Stumbled upon a true gem here. There’s this online comic called “Garfield Minus Garfield” which is exactly as its title entails. It’s your favorite little comics starring a lasagna-lovin’ phat cat, without the phat cat. It “[reveals] the existential angst of a certain young Mr. Jon Arbuckle” and it’s depressing (yet comical and witty and stuff). Click the link in the quoted text above and check it out.

Also, I found a pretty amazing haiku written on a t-shirt. It goes:

How much can I fit
Into a haiku format
Oh no I’m out of 

– (http://www.toothpastefordinner.com)

And that’s all folks!

Poem: Suffice

Because I’m starting to believe my work won’t be good enough,

The jealousy, eating away the worms in my brain, rotting any idea worth enough to compare.

Developing the thought of becoming your permanent subordinate, meaning your bitch.

To think, your bitch. Beyond understanding how i even began to give two damns about your opinion or writings.

I’m not one to think lower of myself at comparison of others. But you,

Your the God at everything. You have my everything, what I wanted/want to be.

So I thought give up

Because to your comparison, I’m mold on a rock

Because you make me bite my nails, i loath biting my nails

Like this writing, the likes it will contain will not even amount to half of yours

But I’m not giving up on writing, because I love it more than you.

-Ana Garcia