There is a war in the sky that creates the colors that we see. When electrons collide with oxygen and nitrogen gas in our atmosphere, they energize the elements. When said elements return to their natural state, they emit photons. Oxygen displays hues of red, yellow, and green. Nitrogen gives off blues. When I learned this, I wanted to tell you, but I could not.
Featured art: “A Great Weight Lifting” by Samantha Keely Smith
Lately, I have been writing spells on the back of bay leaves, manifesting that you will fall (back) in love with me. Practitioners say that if a bay leaf fully burns until nothing is left besides ash, than your spell worked. However, if the bay leaf has trouble igniting and/or staying lit, than your desires may come accompanied by complications or may not be possible. Time and time again, I hold a match to them with the purest intentions, but my bay leaves have trouble lighting and never fully burn; only partially if at all.
Featured art: Unknown
Distance stings like barbed wire embracing skin. As the wires twist tighter, the pain becomes a catalyst. For you, I removed the rot from around my heart, making room for you in a sacred spot. I repeated, "Forgive yourself" to the rhythm of my pulse, evicting the resentments I housed before. My past does not live in my present. Love, I ask you to wait patiently while I rewire the distance between us. Fear, I ask you to turn into courage and release me as your hostage. I string continents closer to bring us together, unraveling roads that run for miles. When we meet, I will treat you like a long-lost lover; holding you closer than the spark between synapses. Time will not exist in this moment; only the connection of our love wires. Love, thank you for allowing me to experience you. Fear, thank you for the hours of your absence.
Featured art: Unknown
I can swim, but I cannot swim well.
I can get into the water.
I can reach my arms and push the water out of my way, creating a personalized path the size of my wingspan.
I can wade through waves of impulsiveness, morphing each manic decision that surfaces with my movement.
I can avoid being drowned by tides composed of triggers. I learned how to swim sideways; to compose myself during time travel from the present to the past.
I can float above the deepest, darkest parts of my depression. I know that it is under me. It is in me. I am above it. I am in it. We are one and the same.
I can manage until I cannot.
Until the waves become rogue, growing large from everything that I pushed away and seeking revenge. Everything balances. With the bad comes good, but with the good comes bad.
Until the current is too strong for me to oppose. I am in the wrong place at the wrong time and I cannot do anything except let it happen.
Until my body grows tired of trying to stay afloat and I let myself go. I become comfortable in my sadness. I lose who I am.
Yes, I can swim, but what about the other factors?
What about the fish who swim too close to my body, startling me? Reminders that I have a fear of uncertainty?
What about the sharks? The possibility of being bit is too great for me to ignore. The probability is insignificant, yet it exists. I obsess over potential outcomes until I forget that I am in control and lose it.
What about the broken shells, sea urchins, and jellyfish? External factors of sharp accidents, or poisonous relationships? The little adds up. One cut, or insult, until I am bloody, or emotionally damaged.
Yes, I can swim, but I do not know how to open my eyes underwater. I fear the split-second feeling of water stinging my eyes; of my depression being acknowledged just enough to be real. If I close my eyes, I cannot see it. If I cannot see it, it does not exist.
I can swim, but I cannot swim well.
Featured art: Unknown
Koi no yokan; a Japanese phrase that roughly translates to “the premonition of love” in English / Finding them beyond intriguing / Like I do not have butterflies in my stomach. I house an entire circus / Quixotic thoughts / Romanticizing the ordinary / Being content with almost because their existence is satisfying / Learning both their heart and mind; showing them you love them in their love language / Teaching / Talking for hours about the past, present, and future / Laughter—so much of it that it makes your sides hurt / Shit talking and conspiracies / 444(4) / Telepathic conversations and subatomic pillow talk / Fantasizing about falling asleep and waking up next to them every day as well as literally falling asleep and waking up next to them every day / Always being open and honest / Shared morals and loyalty / When all others are a discarded memory tossed away / Being excited to wake up / Coming home to laundry done / Like bursting into tears because you are so happy / “There is no life without you” / Like a cycle of overdosing and sobriety; chaos and clarity / Like pretending to be a spy on a secret mission to obtain chocolate chip muffins from the pantry at midnight, or childish adrenaline / When the comfort of their presence is both enough and never enough / Never growing bored of them / When they make you your best self—even in the hours of their absence / Knowing what they want without asking / Providing because you want to / Altruistic surprises / Seeing them at their worst and staying / Never slamming doors / You do not let them go to bed upset / Biting your tongue and picking your battles / Knowing that you will not always get what you want / Forgiveness born out of unconditional love / Compromising. A lot. / A positively linear chart where, the more you learn about them, the more you love them / Growth / Saying “I love you” every chance you can / No hesitation
Featured art: Unknown
Twilight, or when the moon rises as the sun sets;
when the world is soft for a split second.
Twilight, or the gatekeeper of the stars;
when I can easily slip into dissociation.
Twilight, or before the world goes dark;
when I am safe from my mind.
During restless hours,
the addict inside of me grows relentless at the thought of you.
Withdrawals consume.
I trace the top of my arms and lips how you used to.
I struggle to remember the last time we kissed and how you tasted.
Misremembering or forgetting sends me into a panic.
I try to remember you by writing about you over and over again until
my words are meaningless.
You are becoming a figment of my imagination.
My latest obsession is closing my eyes as
I see you in my (day)dreams.
In-between consciousness, you are whoever I want you to be.
Twilight, or when the moon rises as the sun sets;
when I can feel sane for a split second before
I
am
dragged
back
to
you.
Featured art: Unknown
I bought the ingredients: flour, sugar, baking powder, butter, milk, eggs, extra virgin olive oil, and vanilla extract. I cried while mixing the dry and wet ingredients together. My tears fell into the mixture. I whisked them in. It came out looking and tasting how I felt; misshapen, crumbly, and unsweet. The following year, I baked myself a cake with the same ingredients. It came out looking worse than the previous year. The bottom was burnt It tasted like resentment. Last year, I baked myself yet another cake with the very same ingredients, but they expired. I made the cake knowing it was inedible just to destroy something I created.
Featured art: Unknown
I wish to puzzle you out of my memory;
to write you as a riddle too complex to solve.
The last time that I blew out a candle,
I lingered on the ache for selective amnesia.
Your words alone mark me.
I display bruises in vibrant hues of purple slander and brown libel.
Mixed together, I possess the color of rot.
Yet, I name you not.
You are nothing except my everything.
How do I allow myself to value you above all else?
If I held a gun to my head then yours,
I would be more scared of the sleek metal against your skin.
There is no life without you.
Featured art: Unknown
When did a body bag become more comfortable than your embrace? Was it when we became the dining dead? Was it when I had to ask you to show me kindness? Was it when the softness of your arms became rough with rot? I have become used to nosebleed seats and falling asleep while the shower is running. I hide myself away when I miss you most. Enclosed in a closet full of cursive confessions, I can miss you without judgement. If I lay on my bed for a second longer, than I may drown. I burn my throat and chase it with things that I cannot say. I lost my favorite parts of myself by allowing you to stay. Having left, I realized all of our mistakes. Anger is a default for insecurity. What if the difference between want and need? Loving you has become a self-given punishment. We are puzzle pieces bent from force. If I could, I would write you as a riddle too complex to solve.
Featured art: “but i am safe in here” by Glen Martin Taylor.
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