Angel Wings


by Ashley Nelson


Angel wings flutter

in the midnight breeze

as the mother lays her head to rest

and wanders off to sleep.


Sparkling stars dance

in the dark night sky

as she kisses their heads.

and hums her lullaby.


Biting wind blows

in the wintry cold

as she sings to them softly

and tightens her hold.


Bright streetlights flicker

on the empty path

as she tiptoes down the hallway

to escape her wrath.


Autumn leaves rustle

in the midnight breeze,

as he strikes and beats

ignoring her desperate pleas.


Slithering serpents grin

in the bright yellow moon

as his laugh fills the air

and he whistles his evil tune.


Angel wings flutter

in the midnight breeze

as the mother lays her head to rest

and wanders off to sleep.


She Can Swim


by Nicole Musgrave


People don’t see, but she’s drowning.

A tidal-wave in the middle of the sidewalk,

she’s trying to grasp the air that wasn’t even meant for her.

It manifests in her lungs, and violently courses through the rest of her body.

The pain is relentless and unforgiving, she finds it hard to breathe.


Confusion sets in heavily on her brain.

Once again life has blown the cold wind,

freezing her shadow.

Using her as target-practice.


She isn’t sure if she should give in

and duck her head and cry, letting life win,

or if she should keep her head up and keep trying.

How could she possibly keep holding on when it was time to let go?

Just when she thought she could handle what was thrown at her,

she was sucked under the surface and fighting once more.


The people around her carry out delightful

conversations amongst themselves, smile happy smiles.

Nobody sees her, so they don’t stop.

There is no comforting hand on her shoulder,

nobody telling her that it will be alright.


No comforting hug awaited her,

she’d come to stop expecting that years ago.

They don’t see the rocks she hit on her way over the edge,

down the waterfall people labelled as emotion,

just to be met by the rushing rivers named life and be washed away again.


She needs them, but they don’t see.

She needs a comforting soul,

but they only ignore her. She is invisible.

They see her as “just playing”.

To them, she isn’t really sinking.

Because to them,

she can swim.


by Alex Kramer


You hear something once,

you hear something once,

Then you hear it again,

then you hear it again,

like a mimicry rhyme,

like a mimicry rhyme,

It echoes simple, and plain.

it echoes simple and plain.


Do you hear an echo?

do you hear an echo?

Or was it a person in reality?

or was it a person in reality?

It messes with perception,

it messes with perception,

And eats your sanity.

and eats your sanity.


But what if it changed?

but what if I changed?

Didn’t repeat exactly what you said.

don’t repeat exactly what you say.

Would you even notice?

would you even notice?

It would mess with your head.

I would mess with your head.


Then it echoes more,

then it echoes more,

then it echoes more,

But something is wrong,

but nothing is wrong

but something is wrong

It takes you a second,

it takes you a second,

it takes you a second,

But it took you too long.

but it took you too long.

but it took you too long.

The mistake was gone,

the mistake was wrong,

the mistake was gone,

Yet you heard it right there,

yet you heard it right there,

yet you heard it right there,

Your mind  is gone,

your mind is gone,

your mind is gone,

What’s that sound in the air?

what’s that sound in the air?

what’s that sound in the air?


Say goodbye to your mind,

say goodbye to your mind,

say goodbye to your mind,

It’s running away,

it’s running away,

it’s running away,

You will never catch it,

you will never catch us,

you will never catch it,

It just will not stay.

we just will not stay.

it just will not stay.


Can’t run away from your mind,

can’t run away from your mind,

can’t run away from your mind,

So why fight and resist?

so why fight and resist?

so why fight and resist?

Take that punch from reality!

take that punch from reality!

take that punch from reality!

Realize it’s REAL!

start to think!

and never…


Untitled no. 1

by Olivia Hamilton


her eye was like

the old and crinkling bouquet of

lilies and anemones:

(sitting on the dirty plastic countertop

that she hated)

purple petals bloomed around

her iris and crinkled

into that sickly yellow-green

then faded,

like the splash of used vase water

spilled onto the white linoleum floor

when she went to throw them away

(the stems covered six months thick

with mold) and

a little trail of wine dripped

from her left nostril

and landed in her cup

which she raised slowly

                to her blueberry-stained lips.

The Floors

by Olivia Hamilton


the floors are orange,

and they smell like cheese and dirt.

they are riddled with the tracks of tiny car tires

and green scuff marks from laundry baskets.


the floors are sticky:

there is smooshed rice on the bottom of my

sock that i (lazily)

rub off onto the carpet

because “i don’t care where it goes”

as long as it isn’t on my sock.


the floors are old,

they don’t want me to walk on them anymore:

it’s like a very aggressive back rub,

and they moan to let me know that

they really don’t appreciate the weight of

my feet.


the floors are dirty

they are covered in a million random food particles

encrusting the space between the slots of

damaged wood, and little grotesque

creatures infect the horrendous

amount of crumbs.


i hate the floors.


everytime i walk downstairs

there is always rice stuck to my sock.

it adheres effortlessly, digging its unseen teeth

in through the threads of my sock

into my skin, refusing all

entreating towards retreat.


the floors are cold

you can’t go barefoot.


without a  sock, the rice will shoot straight through

your skin and into your veins:

where it will lodge itself inside the arch

your  heart, or the branches of  your lungs;

burrowing inside some important place where it will tear,

without discretion and without healing.

Why Are Authors Not Appreciated Enough?


by Stella Archiyan


If you were asked to name an author, how long would it take you to name one? First of all, would you even be able to name an author at all? People today seem to not understand what authors contribute to our world. They’re a nobody in most people’s opinion. But why?

What sets apart the author of some inane gossip blog and the author of a powerful enriching novel? The author of the idiotic gossip blog somehow seems to be someone important and worth knowing while the author of that inspiring and touching novel somehow seems to be just another nobody. People always complain about how there isn’t enough time during the day, yet they find the time to do simpleminded things like read blogs about a celebrity’s half a million dollar wedding or read someone’s insipid and idiotic tweet and then retweeting that insipid and idiotic tweet. Society is hypocritical and it fails to realize this. It’s disappointing to see the world grow more unintelligent each day.

Authors do more than just write lovely novels. They enrich life. They give us new ideas, new thoughts, a new source of motivation. Then the question arises, Why are authors not appreciated enough?

The world has a gotten a lot more lazy and a lot more shallow. Technology and social media has also poisoned the world with its addictive qualities. Everyone wants to be a part of the new trend and they want to keep up with what’s regarded as conventional in our society/

People need to understand that authors contribute a great deal to our world. They are a somebody. Authors are not a waste of time or space and they are not overrated. Authors get people to think critically and they get people to imagine. Why read a stupid blog about some celebrity’s affair when you can instead read an influential novel?

There are some that do read, but when they do, they just read to get the book done for a school assignment or for a book club meeting. And then they end up completely missing the point that’s hidden in the novel. Why read the book at all if that’s all you’re going to do? Who cares if you’re a little late in getting the assignment done? Take time to seriously be engaged in reading.

Nobody wants to think anymore, and that’s sad. The number of bookworms out there is growing smaller and smaller. Who needs authors when Google can think for you, right? Things can only get worse.

Don’t think of books as just boring papers with too many big words and ugly covers and weird titles. Next time you pick up a book, think of it as if you are going on a treasure hunt. You’re hunting to figure out the deeper meaning in the book. You’re hunting to gain knowledge and new insights. Your goal is to broaden your imagination. What can be more valuable than knowledge and creativity? And who takes the time to help you broaden your imagination? All of the talented authors in the world that are taken for granted, that’s who.

The Birds


By Olivia Hamilton


The birds walked across the lawn in a great triangle. They dragged behind them their enormous human arms. The birds cocked their heads and jabbered at each other.

“Modern Refrigerator”

“Consonant Socks”


One pecked at a metal spoon abandoned in the lawn.

Above, sitting on the telephone line, was a person. He let out a squawk,  and his tiny sparrow wings fluttered.  The birds stared in awe.

“Mid century patio furniture!” one gasped.

The person swooped down and grabbed the spoon with his toes. Screeching, he took flight into the heavens.

The birds had an overwhelming urge to turn in circles. However, their large arms were obstructing their path.

“Three, dishcloths.” They stared at one another in perfect silence for 53 seconds.

Finally, one began to peck at another bird’s arm.

“Common amphibian!” the bird shrieked as a piece of its arm was torn away.

The other bird cocked his head again, his mouth full of human flesh. He blinked, stared at the sky, and then gulped down the bit of arm.

“Hairy, hairy!” The bird proclaimed.

“Hairy? Hairy?”



The birds repeated the chant and bobbed their heads side to side. All at once they began to peck and feast on their arms. They pecked until the ground was littered with autumn leaves.

At last, their arms were gone.

The birds began to float directly upwards, each grabbing an assorted utensil from the lawn as they went.

The people screamed as they fell from the sky.

The grass turned into packing peanuts.