Is it so wrong? No it’s quite alright I often feel like that lonely girl Waiting for the right boy to come Grab me by the waist Take me into his arms Dance me across the streets Whisper my name in the sheets All the dances we can think of He takes the lead I follow romantically Swaying through the music Letting our rhythms match He’s somebody who loves me We dance from sundown to sunrise The music never stops We never stop I’m just that lonely girl Fantasizing about that perfect boy Is it so wrong? No it’s quite alright that I wanna dance with somebody With somebody who loves me

it started as a sweet dance, a romance, you kissed me and called me "your girl" it felt like i was being rescued from a marriage that had broken me you fiercely defended me when others were rude or encroached on what you considered your territory and i thought it sweet, chivalric, at least for a little while. our love was desperation, late nights, too much Jameson, aggression, possession, violent fights without passion we are nothing, i reasoned to myself how can you love someone if you do not also hate them,  oh the lies i fed myself. the accusations followed shortly on the heels of my vulnerability you can't be truthful about liking boys AND girls and expect your partner to not hold it against you she isn't a SAINT, Madison, she has TRAUMA, you have to be UNDERSTANDING love her through it, MADISON, she has ANXIETY and that's why she calls you a cheating whore at the top of her lungs at 4 am each morning - you just have to learn PATIENCE and when to put yourself

 

 

  Surprise! Being that 2020 and 2021 were short seasons due to the pandemic, we have created a top ten list of writings published from 2019 - 2021. Starting January 1st, 2023, a new top ten list reveal be revealed for the following year! Congratulations to these these amazing writers! Look for a replay of these hits during our summer break this June!

  gator skin slips slides in green brown those banks knew your bones before your birth it was heralded by the wind through oaks air weighted and wet you have to move it to move through it sugarcane sang your story in sweet reprise the snake winds its way through the parish it cradles your roots on its back thick mud pulls at your feet a reminder this is your earth your soul in its dirt home

  Terry Winslow hadn’t visited Caring for You Psychology Clinic for three months, since the week before giving birth to Dillon. She’d driven across the bridge and into Metairie, but wasn’t sure if she wanted to go in. She sat brooding alone in the parking lot, frozen behind the wheel of her brand-new, powder blue Volkswagen Bug, the one Mark had given her to celebrate their baby boy. Typical Mark. Always buying her things, things he’d like for himself. A car parked beside her, and two people got out. She didn’t look around or notice who they were, just heard the second door slam shut. The blurry ghosts of two figures moved across her windshield. In the rearview mirror, her eyes were nothing but heavy bags, a blackish tiredness that stayed with her ever since the baby. Up at twelve. Up at two. Up at four. Up at six. And Mark? He was useless. Slept right through it. Her cell phone buzzed. She grabbed it from the drink holder.   “Damn.” She was late again. As usual. She’d sat in t

 

 

 

 

 

  rust the winding down of a vintage automobile the slow aging of a breathtaking beauty I could cry the salt tears of a woman but my body may melt the hesitant silencing of a brilliant concerto the languid violence of a sadistic rainstorm I could laugh the sardonic melody of a man but my gears may freeze the painful lull of a shrinking wave the shy intensity of a surreal sunset I could scream the jovial cheer of a child but my paint may crack a machine's monotony of callous days is infinitely more threatening than that of a human to be a machine and hear the rhythmic clicking of gears replacing the banality of breathing no hurting no worrying no remorse to be a machine out in the rain of mortal tears no death not me

There's nothingness where once love did reside. Empty in its longing to be filled, Her heart's a battlefield of wounded pride.   A child rejected, lost, and put aside, She weeps, bleeding, and her joy is stilled. There's nothingness where once love did reside.   Blind to hope, she builds walls meant to hide Her pain from those who keep her unfulfilled. Her heart's a battlefield of wounded pride.   A mother sat, and dreamed, and prayed, and cried. All for naught, the bitter tears were spilled. There's nothingness where once love did reside.   A lonely child is searching for a guide In hopes her heart might someday be refilled. There's nothingness where once love did reside. Her heart's a battlefield of wounded pride.

  Benjamin of a rare and noble breed a gentleman of intelligence and class to be enjoyed among indulgent company   Ben of dedication to an honorable creed your soul reflects of an intricately colored glass bringing translucent conversation to many   Your temperament enigmatic and enthralling is absorbed by an inspiring resilience and amusing is your solid essence   With pride and justice you seek a calling full of an ever righteous sense and you pleasure me with your soulful being   Benjamin, your audacious character displayed believe in yourself and you’ll live in irenic ambience your courteous demeanor is so befitting   Ben, whose dignity always shines through may you pertain to a life of rectitude full of refinement and self-respect   Remember those who know you true they’ll cherish you for your fortitude and embrace in your ability to connect

 

  again, again despite the din again, i hear that violin   again, again i smell the smoke again, i tell you this is no joke   again, again despite the conceited din it is plain to see to those open to see that the gates were opened to this tragedy by the ones who told us to trust them and see that in their hands was our history

  I drive my car to meet you Pick you up Spend some money on you Take you home with me What an introduction Feel you on my lips Put you inside me What an easy way to lose myself I don't feel when I'm with you Comfortably numb Is this better than emotion? I question; you have no answer My nights and mornings My afternoons and evenings Spent with you, always I can't look past you Because being with you Obscures my past and my future I feel lesser somehow Because of you Weaker but stronger But is my strength an illusion Or does it only stem from you? I hate you; I love you I Can't Live Without You

 

 

 

  (A list poem in progress)   Mud-stuck in the neutral ground parking Potholes’  tableaux  vivant s  gone viral Boosted, boosting, each   next boost Pre-diabetes: not from debris, see, but guilty of bread Pandemic sex with the ex  / the fine  fuck  of familiarity Robin and Red Riding Hoods – but  made  fetish! Any and every quiver Getting  m uh   baby ’d  by Miss Diane Bossy stage meets handsy stage of drinking A Scorpius tattoo to orient ones wants Matt cuddles Impromptu, multi-porch ,  jam sessions Whenever that brass band across from  Dat  Dog on Frenchman kills it The other Christmas tree on the  second floor  sounds like—and is—some Uptown shit Gunshots trembling the dog at what-in-the-goddamn-o’clock Tropical depression  depression The Venn diagram of vulnerabilities Just because…just because  

 

  I would ride the bus home every day. The bus would kick up dust on the dirt and gravelly road. It would drop me off at the end of the road because I was the only one that lived down there. I would cut through the neighbor’s sugarcane field. There was something kind of magical about wading through the tall cane…not being able to see where I was going and not needing to because I knew the direction by heart. It reminded me of the wheat fields of Kansas. I had never been to Kansas, but I had seen the Wizard of Oz and there were all these images of wheat fields in that movie! I imagined that there was some sort of portal to another world somewhere in that cane field. I never found it, though. I would sometimes snap off a piece and chew it on my way home. That super sticky sweetness of pure cane juice. By the time I would emerge on the other side of that field my socks and pant legs would have sticky grass all over, my arms would have small scratches and sometimes I would have stuff

There once was a boy or girl (whatever is fitting to you) Who had no parents nor family and felt very blue She dreamed of love from others that was never had The feeling of loneliness consumed this child’s mind real bad You see, this child's parents neglected her with no good reason Because they couldn’t handle how this child’s life would seem like treason This child appeared superficially different to them on the outside Even though much like her parents was her soul on the inside This lonely child wondered from foster home to foster home Adopted then rejected, destined on this earth to aimlessly roam This child wondered why she had been born and not aborted Since her parents never wanted her, their family values distorted Neither I nor anyone else could ever understand why this child was unloved Why are so many children requesting to be themselves pushed and shoved? One day I found this child walking towards me, head held low in melancholy I i