SILENT VOICES

MENTAL HELL OF AN ATHIEST by Ken Blevins

2014-05-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

It seems like I've traveled through a time machine. Today I remember my youth long forgotten. I remember the golden years, the years when I was just a teenager, the best years of my life. And I see the here and now, all the years in between my teenage years and now, today are not remembered. So it feels like I have traveled in a time machine, traveled from my past, to the current day in a split second, here I am, grey hair, the start of wrinkles on my face, and a body that aches from the slightest bit of work I do, the past is gone forever. All my friends of my teenage years are no longer with me, even if I looked them up today, they would not be the same people I knew years ago, they are gone forever. How the hell did this happen ?, I ask myself, How did I arrive to the present day so fast ?. A Time machine I traveled through. From 1985, to 2014. I remember as a teenager growing up in the 1980's, thinking about those people from the early 1900's, "Wow, How old those people were who are wrinkled and grey, those who grew up in 1910" 1910 seemed so ancient, so black and white. Now in the year 2014, I think to myself, "Wow, I'll probably die around the year 2050, and some teenager growing up in the 2080's will think, How ancient those people were, those who grew up in the late 1900's" Yeah, the music artists I liked, like Motley Crue, Ozzy Osbourne, Madonna, ECT. To teenagers now, the are considered Classic artists, Old timers music, that's how I viewed Elvis Presley when I was a teenager, Elvis Presley was viewed as music for grandmothers and grand parents. I remember mentioning Madonna to my niece, just a teenager she is, She said to me; "Isn't Madonna dead ?" That was a wake up call for me, "Damn" I thought to myself, I've grown old. Hell, I have a few friend's already that have grandchildren already, and these friends with grandchildren are the same age as me. A quick as life is passing by, I ask, what is the point of it all ? Whatever treasure or money or wealth you amass in life, your not going to take it with you when you die, such wealth is just dust in the wind. Even those you love, they will die to, die like dust in the wind. All that remains are the memories you carry with you, but even those memories are dust in the wind cause when you yourself die, those memories will die with you. Scary !, very scary ! This is the mental Hell of an athiest.

WHAT DOES YOUR MENTAL ILLNESS SAY TO YOU? By Elizabeth Hipwell

2014-03-30T14:59:00.003-07:00

I scratch you, I twist, harder, that’s it, I claw your guts out, I press, I stomp, with precision. I know exactly where to strike… I keep going until your heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s going to burst, explode… I’m gonna drag you down, down, down until you can’t walk, can’t get up out of bed…
You’ll only find relief in sleep…when you can get it.
I’m going to torment you so much with horrific visions, bad things, trauma, yelling, touching, hitting, biting, kicking anger and so on and so forth…
It’s gonna race through you so you can’t sleep through the night or at all. You will drift through a fog throughout the day.
am going to do this so you will always feel alone on the side of the highway while everything passes you by. No one will be able to stand you. You will burn bridges and I will supply the matches and gasoline. Your awkwardness and slow timing with alienate. Then Without warning I am gonna flip a switch. I am going to make you feel like superwoman. For seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks and sometimes even months you will be an unstoppable Whirling Dervish; a Tasmanian Devil of productivity. You will be going so fast that the words trip over one another, you will be off balance. You can’t win. Now people will avoid you because of your flibberty jibetness…
“I hate you? You are so ugly. You’re a loser. You feel good about yourself. I am going to take you down a few pegs.” That is what I am going to say at an opportune time when your confidence is at a high. The greater the fall will be into the depths of despair. Happiness will be dangled in front of you like a carrot.
“So, you think you’re so great? Huh? I’ll show you, you worthless piece of…”
“Stop it! I don’t need this. Who appointed you to take over where the abusers left off? Even though you mistreat me all I want to do is say ‘I love you. I understand why you are so mean and cruel. You’re insecure, damaged goods. I’m here for you when you’re ready…’”
“What? Who are you to love me? You don’t have it in you. You are a worthless waste of space, pointless...” “I am so done with this. Leave me alone. I’m tired. I’m tired of saying I’m sorry all the time. It’s exhausting. I’m tired of struggling. How long can you keep this up?” “I know I’m right…”
“That’s your opinion. I choose not to believe you right now. I am feeling good for the first time in years.” You see that’s my opening. I’m gonna pick a little bit at a time. I’m patient. I cannot wait for it; the chance to insinuate myself. You’re going to trip. I will say “Wow, you are klutzy; probably cuz you’re so fat.” Someone looks at you funny when you say something, now that is a wide gap, I’ll slide right in.
I will say, “You wear your crazy like a neon sign. You are never going to fit it. Just get up, I mean give up, hey me, you are flustering me, what’s going on?”
“I am strong BECAUSE of my pain. I have a unique perspective that is all mine. I don’t have to fit in. I am accepting, flexible, loving imperfection.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
“You cannot get to me. I won’t let you. I haven’t even had my cereal yet. These early morning conversations are not my favorite part of the day. I crave peace, ok-ness, calm…”
“Ok, fine, I will give you a break, ease up…a little. I am always here, you know; ready to pounce. I’m patient. I’ve got all day.”

THE FIRST TIME I GOT THE DIAGNOSIS by Elizabeth Hipwell

2014-03-30T13:41:00.001-07:00

Standing on the platform, waiting for a train, I stand contemplating the edge. Holding onto a pillar with all my might, white knuckling it until the train pulls up. My heart is racing as I step on and slip my hand into a strap. At the counseling center I meet with a psychiatrist for the first time. My diagnosis is major depression. My prescription is for Lexapro, Trazodone, and Lorazepam. In the two weeks that follow my depression get worse, my anxiety is off the charts, and all I think about is dying; I decide it would be safer to only take buses. My roommate/ex-lover who thinks all I have to do is change my mind and then all will be cured, calls 911 one night. I had drunk a bottle of wine and then slit my wrist. She tells me to go downstairs and wait for the ambulance and cops, as I stand there holding a rag to my wrist. A short time later I am sitting in the ambulance, and a policeman comes in. He says, “Why would you do this. Your room mate says that you just got your MFA two months ago. What have you got to be upset about? I’m stunned. I am caught between crying and shame. At the hospital I am put in an ER room specifically designed for psyche patients; the bare minimum. Blank walls and no equipment. Just a thin sheet for cover in a freezing room in August. One of the many people who come into the room says, “We have to hold you here until we can find you a bed.” Four hours later I am on another ambulance en route to the state hospital for the uninsured and poor. I am there all day in a holding hour wearing paper pants and top and flip flops; sans any undergarments. The only time I leave is when I am doing intake with psychologists, social workers and psychiatrists. “Have you ever committed a crime?” “I don’t know. Am I going to be charged for trying to kill myself?” “Do you hear voices?” “No.” “Do you want to hurt yourself or others?” “Just myself; I am only a danger to myself.” “Car, apple, pen. Remember these words and I will ask you to repeat them back to me in five minutes.” ‘Car, apple, pen, car, apple, pen, car, apple, pen…’ I repeat to myself as a sort of mantra. I’m so scared of getting it wrong. “Who’s the President of the United States?” ‘…apple, pen.’ “George Bush.” “Including him, who are the last five presidents going from present to past?” ‘Car, apple, pen, car, apple, pen…’ “George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George Bush Senior, Ronald Reagan and Jimmy Carter.” “Count backwards in increments of 3 from 100.” ‘…pen, car, apple…’ “100, 97, 94, 91,” ‘…apple, pen, car, apple,’ “88, 85, 82, 70, 76, 73, 70, 67…” Good. Okay. Now, what are those three words? ‘Car, apple, pen, car, apple, pen, car, apple, pen…’ “Uh, car, apple, pen?” “Yes.” And on it goes. The social worker listens as I tell her about my manipulative, verbally abusive, drug dealing, and ex-lover/roommate. Said person shows up with a friend. One, I feel highly anxious cuz I know she is going to be judgmental and cruel. Two, I am feeling intense shame and embarrassment because she brought someone with her. “Everyone is gonna know!’ We all sit in a dingy visiting area furnished way back in the 70’s. My kind roomie says, “Elizabeth, stop crying. You have nuthin to cry about. You are just trying to manipulate me.” I roll my eyes. ‘Look who’s talking,” I think. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me." You weren’t really trying to kill yourself. If you had really meant it you would have been successful.” “You cannot come back to the apartment. I am putting all your belongings into storage. You should be thanking me for my generosity. I am going out of my way here. The next time you see me I will be accepting my Academy Award or Tony.” My eyes roll again. “Stop rolling your eyes at me!” They leave soon after. That’s the last time I saw her; one of many friends I lost after I was diagnosed.

What My Mental Illness Says to Me by Sheri Hillsont

2014-03-21T17:40:00.000-07:00

Don't do that,
You are not good enough.
You're always screwing things up.
You should of stayed in your mother's womb.
"When I see my arm
There is always a blade
A knife blade
A razor blade
Dancing across my flesh."
What do you think you
Deserve. . . happiness, ha?
You let David beat you
You let Carlos rape you
You deserve that
You are no good.
You only deserve
To be alone.
You don't deserve love
You don't deserve happiness.
"Across my arm the
Sunlight draws a line
I must cut."
They are out to get you,
Sabrina and Jared hate you
And are going to kick you
Out of the apartment
To a dark corner of a SRO.
People coming
People coming down the hall
Down the hall to rape you
To beat you up
To kill you and suck your soul dry.
"Yesterday I saw the Psychiatrist.
She said I had an episode."
What episode.
This is me, this is how I am
People do want to hurt me.
They say they want to help
But their help was tied
With restraints,
Their help is in pill form
And when you don't
Obey they grab you by
The neck with your arm twisted
Around your back
Driving, driving you into a wall.
"When I see broken glass Is on the sidewalk I want
To pick it up and cut, When I see an empty beer bottle I want to break it
Jagged edge."
Open my mind Open my flesh
Open my crotch. No! No! Close it! Close it!
They will escape
The demons may escape
And hurt another
A burden I must bear
A burden cast into me
By a line of blood.
Flowing from nana
Flowing from mama
Flowing like a river I drown in.
I float to the top of the mountain
And drop like the single
Needle of a pine tree.
My mental illness speaks.

The Hallway

2014-02-19T17:56:00.000-08:00

The hallway was quiet as I began my walk through. Though long, I could see the door at the other end. That was my destination- my way out. I started walking at a normal pace, looking around at the wall on each side of me, both sides were painted black, which seemed like a weird hallway color. Some area had cracks of different sizes, they looked as if someone had tried to punch their way through the wall. Other areas contained scribbles, most made no sense, some initials as well, were carved in some areas.
The hallway was lit throughout with horribly bright flourescent lighting overhead- like on a hospital ward. My eyes were struggling to adjust. But then, that became rather moot as I hit the halfway point- When suddenly..The lights went out...all of them!
I found myself in complete darkness.
I could no longer see the door at the other end that I was trying to reach ...or the one I had entered through.
I tried to feel my way forward...but was unable to do so. I was standing in complete darkness...
and unable to find my way out.

-Sharon H.

Completion by Sheri Hillson

2014-02-15T17:54:00.000-08:00

The roof of a house
Protected the emptiness
That plagued my soul.
Lost to the land of hopelessness
That was my destiny.
I wandered through valleys,
I walked through tunnels,
I trudged over mountains
With the wind against me.
I saw over the bridge of my nose
The top of the sun melting the sky
And lifting the roof
The roof that kept me stuck
In the hole of despair.
Sunlight flowed in the emptiness
Bringing a life I had never known before.
A hand reached for me.
I hide
Scared to reciprocate.
I vacillate
Until a flashback to my loneliness.
Stretching, reaching, I'm embraced
Full and a sigh of relief
I became complete.

Flying Solo No More by Sheri Hillson

2014-02-15T17:36:00.003-08:00

I fly solo through the clouded dreams
That will vaporize as soon as they touch
The salt of my sweat.
Coated with failure my touch
Curses the light that once led my life.
Dreams of greatness settle for mediocrity.
I fly solo
Alone with my thoughts
Alone with dreams that evaporate as if they are smoke from a cigarette.
I flew solo for most my life
With only a candle to lead the way.
Solo, no wanted to touch this failure,
I believed,
I believed only in the end.
I thought,
I thought I was alone
That I was flying solo
Until you came like the thunder of clouds
To my heart's threshold.
Together we fly as a duo,
Through the cradle of birds
A flock of two
And no one but us capturing greatness.

Touch by Sheri Hillson

2014-02-15T17:19:00.002-08:00

Mama please pull the grey blanket in the sky
Over my eyes,
So I don't see the spiders crawling up my legs.
Mama, mama please turn up the music,
So I don't hear his whispers
The hush tones of his wet breath in my ears.
Mama, mama don't leave me with him.
His touch is clammy
His voice is grating
His look is startling.
Mama don't leave
I need the soft touch of your arms
Encasing me from danger.
Oh mama why weren't you there?
Why couldn't you stop the pain?
The pain from insects nibbling at my bones
Then they fuse into a python
Wrapping me,
Penetrating me,
Forcing me to die under the touch
Of that selfish man.

Lost Voices

2014-02-05T10:22:00.001-08:00

Crumbling under your step
Leaving a morsel of confidence.
I run to the folds in the tree,
The creases in the bark.
Haunting the landscape darkening my head.
I run for protection,
I run to save an ounce of self-worth.
Giving in to the force of the wind.
The breeze erodes a lock of hair
Like twine being cut from a bale of hay.
I watch the corrosion of my shelter
The end to serenity.
I dash like the rabbit,
I scurry like the field mouse,
I scamper like the elk,
To a world that doesn't destroy,
That doesn't ravage
That doesn't incinerate my sanity.
Will you save instead of destroy me?
Will you help instead of ignore me?
Will you love me?

THE TORNADO By Sheri Hillson

2014-01-05T12:37:00.001-08:00

“What are you doing, Liz?” I asked, stretching the sleep from my arms.

“I think it’s going to rain. I feel it in my knees,” Liz spoke, flipping her shoulder-length hair over her head as she shook it to life.

We are in the country, a two-story house on top of a hill overlooking fields of yellow with streams running around it.

“Look at the sky!” I shout, throwing aside the curtains. “A tornado! It’s coming! Grab the animals!”

Before I knew it, I had two guinea pigs in my arms and three dogs on leashes. Liz had three cats and a bunny in hers. We dashed outside barely dressed and barely awake, joining others from the village, running into a small brick-solid building. We elbowed, we bumped, we scratched for space in the hut for protection. The sky was purple and black with clouds twisting, twisting like a boa constrictor strangling its prey.

We brace, we pray, we huddle around embracing the animals, embracing my neighbor, embracing my neighbor, together doomed as the garage door-like front of the hut blew off.

“Look it’s gone,” a neighbor said, looking up from his huddle, looking into the sun and the blackness on the horizon.

“Let’s go, Liz, let’s go to the house,” I blew out my stressed lips.

“Okay.”

Everyone, except Liz and I, stayed in the shelter.

“Don’t go.”

“You’re crazy. They might come back.”

“At least leave the animals.”

We head out together, up the hill, when suddenly the purple blackness rolled in again. Four, five black tornadoes surround us. I start running, Liz follows close behind. I face a river. I jump in.

“Look out!” Liz shouts, looking first at the water, and then at the tornadoes pinning her to the edge of the river.

Snakes, snakes swim closer to me; the river heading for another enclosure. I splash at the snakes, keeping them away from me. Liz jumped in as the wicked twisting cloud forced her into the snake infested river. The current had drawn us into the enclosure. Wack! A meat cleaver cut off the snake’s head that was almost wrapped around my neck. A longshoreman with muscles popping, tattoos covering both arms, a scruffy beard and shoulder-length curly black hair picked up the headless snake, chopping at the twisting snake body with his meat cleaver.

“You know, you shouldn’t swim during tornadoes,” he joked with a deep chuckle.

“Funny.”

Liz and I pulled ourselves out of the water. We checked on the animals in another room; Guinea pigs chasing each other, cats lounging and dogs chewing on rawhides.

“Aw, they are cute,” Liz said, slipping her arms around me.

“Tornadoes! They’re coming! Come on you two! Downstairs!”

a neighbor hollered.

Liz and I ran to the bed and covered each other up.

“What? What? Help! Help!” I yell, leaping out of bed.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Liz spoke with sleep still in her eyes.

“Oh, it was just a dream.”

SAME DAY, DIFFERENT MOODS By Kathy Powers

2014-01-04T16:42:00.000-08:00

When I’m depressed, I awaken in a sweat-soaked, an askew mountain of tossed pillows. Garfield paws at my hair. I smell burnt toast from the hallway and my diaper is wet. I toss and turn, try to evade arising. I push Garfield out of the way.

I run to the bathroom, trip over Garfield and pray that I don’t leak onto the carpet. I clean my piss, put on a fresh diaper, angle my way toward the kitchen to plop a can of Nine Lives into Garfield’s dirty bowl, I grab my pills and run back to bed. I position my C-PAP over my face, stick my head under the covers and fall asleep until Garfield again summons me.

When I’m hypo-manic, I slowly awaken, rested and comfortable. I seek out Garfield to caress him and talk to him. I smell somebody’s fragrant coffee from down the hall. I’m aware of feeling hungry and ask Garfield if he wants some food. He talks to me as we make our way to the bathroom. While I’m on the pot, I check his litter for presents. When I’m finished, I usually scoop it and wash my hands,

We hurry to the kitchen and I get out a clean dish for his breakfast. I make a power smoothie and carry it around, sipping as I dress and get ready for the day. I have to hurry. I check my calendar for the day’s events, gather my paperwork and grab a Sudoku to work on the bus.

When I’m neither depressed nor hypo-manic, I awaken in a fog. I operate as a robot with no feeling or permanent memory. I assume that I feed Garfield, take my meds and go to the bathroom, etc...; but I truly don’t remember doing anything. I feel frozen in a strange land. I can’t emote or think. I am lost. Is this what they call normal? It’s like navigating through a fog or being pumped full of neuroleptics; a blank, colorless forest of nothingness...

Loss

2013-07-01T17:49:00.001-07:00

Loss
it tosses everything upside down
surrounded by pain
the tears pour down
no joy
no peace
no comfort....
can be founf.
My thoughts spin around
and around, as I try
to grab hold...
to plant mt feet
on the ground.
But I spin
am tossed about
out of control...
there is no safety
there is no 'okay'
The rain of sadness and fear
covers all
And I Fall....
Fall.....deep
into
the silent crash of loss.

-Sharon H.

PONZI SCHEME ECSTASY by Jason Townsend

2013-06-09T18:17:00.000-07:00

I just love you and your disheveled hair
You wear it that way cuz you just don't care
You don't live by the rules
And you think society behaves
Without a clue
You think for yourself
You Wiley fox
You play the game,
You know it well
And you live your life outside the box
You refuse to conform
It's totally you
As you rise above the norm
We're 2 of a kind
And we will live our dream
Life is about freedom
We'll bamboozle them like a Ponzi scheme.
-Jason Townsend

A THESIS OF PASSION by Sheri Hillson

2013-06-09T18:04:00.000-07:00

Through my scope I see
A reflection that is me
Through the breeze
The likeness that is thee.
Through the mirror
That is dear
I love the sight
With a might
Of a thousand years.
With my ears
I do hear
The song that is yours
Until we meet in loo
Of never merging as one
I hope to be gone of this sorrow
I find I wallow.
Do help me swallow
The poison in the hallow of the chasm
I do fathom
As I look through my scope
To hope
You will arrive on time
To place the pieces
Of my broken thesis.
In your jar.
Once from afar
I do see
The sight that is thee.
-Sheri Hillson

CONTENT TO BE… by Elizabeth Hipwell

2013-06-09T17:40:00.004-07:00

Content to be at odds

With the straight and narrow lines of expectation

Travelling the rocky path,

Stubbing my toes along the way

Facing a waiting and hail-ridden maelstrom

Turning inside through the narrow

Claustrophobia of my harsh and endless

Self-absorbed pain

Holding tight to the apron strings

Of my fragile psyche

As I whirl like a Dervish

Chanting a prayer to the crazy comfort of the pain

That is so near and dear

It cradles and caresses my wounds with relish

Licking up the flow of hatred that resides in me

The vicious circular of doubt and hate

One day is dissipated

By a calm that settles and separates

Making the meditation of misery

Split into a vapor of consequence

To flow every which way and no more

What is left is pure and stronger for having been worn

Ready for the simplicity of peace

My recovery

Acceptance

Unhindered

Free

by Elizabeth Hipwell

GAZING AT THE CALENDAR by Jason Townsend

2013-06-07T06:43:00.000-07:00

Time is a trauma

Keep your eyes on the clock

And it ticks away

In a way that time mocks

Time is a drama

Spider webs in your mind

Time's never a comma

And it keeps you in line

There's nothing to fear

As time marches on

At the calendar you leer

And in a moment...time's gone.

-Jason Townsend

SILENT VOICES & THE ART COLLECTIVE

2013-05-22T08:54:00.001-07:00

Hey Everyone!

I hope all of you are well.

I just want to let you know that Silent Voices will be meeting on Saturdays from now on

from 11am-12pm starting May 25th.

I know things have been inconsistent lately, but this change should put things back on track.

Please pass it on.

Also, The Art Collective will be meeting again under the umbrella of The Drop-In Center

from 12-2pm; starting on May 25th.

I will be facilitating and the mission will be to explore and self teach ourselves different art mediums with the stress being on embracing imperfection and giving our creative voices a chance to be free.

Individual pieces will be worked on in tandem with group pieces.

NOTE:

Although I will be facilitating, this is a collective so the group will have just as much say in what we do and in what is contributed.

I hope you all can come!

Pass this information on at your discretion.

All of this will take place at:

C4 Broadway

5710 North Broadway

3rd Floor

Silent Voices

Saturdays from 11-12pm

The Art Collective

Saturdays from 12-2pm

Thanks,

Elizabeth Hipwell

RECOMMENDATION By Elizabeth Hipwell

2013-04-25T14:00:00.000-07:00

Concerning Whom,

It may ever or never come to pass.
It's hard to do and say,
But not because it's not true.
Difficult because of the fragility of your emotional life.
Obstructions from the nay saying adults, abusers, peers, and most definitely your inner voice.
You think a recommendation of yourself is egotistical, unheard of.
Well, here it goes anyway,
Into unpaved terrain,
Self-congrats fitting like a shrunken suit.
Wholeheartedly, and without reservation, on shaky ground,
I recommend you, Elizabeth, this woman who has a right to stand up and be counted.
The bravura of the aforesaid statements wobble to and fro.
I can say, though, that she, just existing, has a unique perspective all her own.
As all living beings do.
Being a survivor of gives one the ability to look at trauma full on and with courage.
This enables you to take control away from the nightmares of the past,
To tap into a bottomless well of experience that sparks inspiration.
This plethora of vast and varied happenings
Helped create your innate ability to be emphatically compassionate,
To a fault.
So watch out and take care.
Creativity is an offshoot of this.
You do have your idiosyncrasies,
But that can only add to your personality.
Embrace it.
In short, I believe you to be a prime candidate for the human race.
You voice is an important one.
Don't hesitate to share it with the world.
You must be heard.
Sincerely,
Yourself

-Elizabeth Hipwell

RECOMMENDATION By Sandra C.

2013-04-25T13:44:00.000-07:00

Sandra,
Learn to love yourself.
Learn to forgive yourself.
Learn to take risks.
Learn to accept mistakes.
Learn that it's okay to take care of yourself.
Be good to others.
Learn to be radically positive.
Don't be afraid to be friendly.
Try to be grateful.
Try to live only one day at a time.
Don't be afraid to dream.
Try to be more organized.
Try to think slower.
Don't be afraid to be happy.
Don't be afraid to express yourself.
Live happy, joyous and free.
Try not to judge.
Accept yourself.
Forgive others, constantly.
don't hold resentments.
More than anything, enjoy life.
Have friends.
Listen to music.
Be happy.
Be a good friend.
Pray.
Don't forget to laugh.
Don't forget to learn through listening.
Experience life.
Talk to others.
-Sandra C.

RECOMMENDATION By Jason Townsend

2013-04-25T13:21:00.003-07:00

Take a look at this man
A man named Jason
He has a find mind
Like Grains of Sand
He's compassionate and loving
And loves animals too
It's like spring with plants "buddy"
As for his handwriting, it'll have to do
He'll listen to what you say
And he understands
He can help you with any issue
He will do what he can
He's an artist with life
He can teach you how to be
Do you want more for your money?
There's more to him than you know.
-Jason Townsend

A LIFE LONG PROBLEM BY Larry J. Lewin

2013-04-25T07:57:00.001-07:00

What would I have to do to write a novel?
The easiest thing I know is to think of a set of ideas and pick one.
The next thing I have to do is write an outline.
That same thing also can be done.
The next things I have to do is start writing chapters.
This is much harder.
Then another and another.
Then I have to put together a rough draft.
A rough draft is much harder for me because I am real self-critical.
This often gets m e most because
I keep revising my revisions and I no longer have my sister around to proofread for me.
Then I have to try to get a publisher, which would be more harder.
Because I would have to leave the TV off.
And find Dad's old padlock that he put on the refrigerator.
I once had to start a long journey.
You need a first stop.
Mine is procrastination.
-L.J. Lewin

UNTITILED by Joshua Mellott

2013-03-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

     When Connie and Jerry first foundj out about their son's relationship ending they didn't believe it.
     "We didn't believe that this was true, that such a thing happened. They were so beautiful together and so in love," Connie said to Jerry.
     Jerry thought the same thing. Our son, Justin, came over yesterday and he said, "He is leaving me. I love him so much, but it is ending now. When I felt weak I told him he made me feel small and dispensable. But nobody can make us feel this way; we feel this on our own. Our choices. Our kitchen was a warzone, our bedroom was a fortress and all the beautiful leaves on the trees fell. One day things just got dark and temptational. It's like a storm came and swept us right away. Int he end, when the damage was done and great lust left (beautiful) full from the tree, was the day he left me. After that my world turned to darkness. How can these feeling make you feel so sad? How did this happen?"
     Connie turned to Justin and said, "I see the hurt in your eyes, and sometimes God places peiple in our lives to protect us, be with us, warn us, or to teach us a very painful lesson; a lesson that will soon come, mending the mistakes that happen over and over again in your life. But son, you have to turn the page in your story. There is more to this life than what was happening with him. We know you loved him, but son, love disguises itself into other things that often make it not true, real or genuine love. We learn these things as a part of growing up.
     Justin cried and continued to be sad. He felt like he had failed, like he was at fault. He wished that he could take back the hands of time. It's not possible.
     A year has gone by and Justin has finally mad his life better, has made so much improvement, has learned to love life more and cherish the special moments. He's putting the pieces of his life back togerther and accepts what he can't change, and finally turns to the next page of his wonderful and much more beautiful life.

Open Wound Heals by Sheri Hillson

2013-03-19T12:41:00.003-07:00

The land beneath my feet
Crumble
My footing drop into an abyss.
My pride batter
And my confidence sinks below the surface.
You throw the crumbs into your gut.
Through my life I climb
The rope she left me.
Hand over hand
Callus and broken skin
Wrap around my palms.
Will I heal?
Will I collect the pieces of the shatter self
And glue inch by inch
Reconstructing, recreating a life form resembling me?
She collects the pieces
We glue them working together.
If I'm with her you can't hurt me
And I will heal.

A Winter Wonder Hell by Sheri Hillson

2013-03-19T12:31:00.001-07:00

Across the pavement plain
My breath circles around
My crimson lips and cheeks
Like the flight of pigeons searching for a place to land.
The frozen vomit, the frozen urine
Paint the canvas of concrete
Kissing the soles of passer-bys.
The foot traffic is sparse with homeless
Only accumulating with the dropping of the Dow.
For now they have no sanctuary
To nestle up to the fireplace on wintry nights.
Demon cold nipping at every inch of exposed skin.
They do not choose to struggle,
But I know it would be my choice
To stay outside any longer.
I'm a privilege warrior,
I struggle to stay on top.
The frost bitten lake
Sailing from edge to edge
Never anchoring
Never landing a home.
I contemplate the situation,
I contemplate my status,
I contemplate the roof over my head,
And remember it could be different.

Apathy by Sheri Hillson

2013-03-19T12:16:00.002-07:00

Buried alive with the accumalation of the world.
The more I live the more growth becomes
A growth of boxed materials.
Materials of forgotten knick-knacks.
Is this my life?
Could this be the knitch I crave
Into the platter of society?
Do these knick-knacks describe me?
I hope not.
I want to be more than a birthday card
From 1977 or an airplane I built
While on the ward that locked me away.
I was not allowed to leave without pharmicials
Coursing through my veins as if I
Copied Lance Armstrong soaring
The roads of Europe
Winning but losing.
Not what I want.
Coursing the poison to make me better.
What does it matter if I develop diabetes?
What does it matter if I become obsese?
To be come double of myself yet only half.
I pay for my behavior with every ounce of my life.
Flat line,
No ups, no downs just an apathic and indifferent emotion.
The ideas, theories, creativity given up
I trade my personality,
A personality of curousity,
A personality of desire and ambition
For an ounce of peace.
I say good-bye.