Storm: By Sabrina Hunter, CW
Her head was the lightning filled sky.
Anxiety and thunder coursing through her veins,
Blood substituted by sadness,
The fast beating of her heart as scattered as the rain,
Trembling hands echoed the waves of a ferocious sea.
A storm raged inside her.
Only the rain escaped.
Her tear stained cheeks told the story of fear.
She was afraid of her own mistakes and insecurities;
Lashing out on her own body.
Others knew the rain;
She knew her storm.
Stretch marks scraped across her body;
Clawing at the skin on her hips.
Her voice echoed the screeching alarm that awakens her self-deprecating thoughts.
Lips sewn tight drawing them closed.
Her mind outraged by appearance and flaws,
Bruising her ego.
Leaving marks for just her to see.
The anger of her storm left wreckage in her soul.
But the storm slowed in two beats;
Both of his heart.
He kissed her lips that broke the seal;
Traced his fingertips along the flowering vines on her hips.
He knew her storm.
And he sheltered through,
Until the sun shined on the dew drops along her rose red cheeks.
Daylight Funeral: By Alexandria Esteban, CW
Golden buttons sewn
On a hungry maiden’s gown
Pale as polished bones
She doesn’t make a sound
She made a deal to stay
But she breaks into a run
Toward one joyous day
Beneath the radiant sun
Her husband whispers every verse
And flowers start to bloom
The spring begins to thirst
For the love that floods the room
As their lips slowly touch
Tears fall from every eye
There falls a sharp hush
As fate is left to decide
A sad song still to learn
The groom leads her to a dance
Then he stops to give a turn
To give her a final glance
White Picket Fence: By Christine Tran, SSW
It was a while before I noticed the white fence outside my house.
I don’t know how it came to be there.
My parents reassured me and said we were keeping it.
But I never felt at ease with the fence,
Constantly surrounding me.
Soon, I had the idea to paint the fence.
At first I want blue, but my parents refused.
So I decided to settle on a nice shade of yellow.
But for some reason, each time I dragged my brush across the wooden boards,
I would try and try, but the fence stubbornly remained white.
It wasn’t until my parents came and gently guided me,
did the yellow finally shine.
It was so easy with them, but a new unsettling feeling begin to linger within me.
There will be One day, where they will no longer be.
No longer will they lay their hands over mine.
But without them, what will I do?
How will I paint the fence yellow again when the color begins to fade?
I fear the time where the original white of the fence will reveal itself.
And I am left on the fence,
unable to find a place within either color.