21st Century Problems: Let's Hear It for the Boy (#201) (Louis Toliver Jr-Austin, TX)

Hello, my name is Lyndon Powerade Nelson III. My friends call me Trey, well the writer of this series calls me "Trey" because, honestly, up to this point have you really seen me with any friends? I'm what you call a surrogate character. Simply, I'm just a vessel for this writer guy named, Louis Toliver Jr. I don't really know him and it's obvious he doesn't know me, yet. I'm not sure what his motives are but let's just roll with it and pick up where we left off last season. You see, I'm just a young guy working 4 or 5 jobs with A.D.D. I had a Michelle Branch obsession, but my neighbor, Nate, who has an internet addiction, has surely ruined that for me. I've been pretty traumatized by my recent break up with my ex-boyfriend, Terri, who is a female to male transgender. However, Terri has come to realize he rather be with women. On top of that, I'm slowly becoming the surrogate father to Ben, or Fisheater2013, a vulgar 12-year old I met online gaming. Any questions? Well, let's get back to Richard E. Nixon Junior High School and finally finish that 3-part episode. **This recap has been for the lazy asses that don't want to go back and read the first season.**

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Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

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