by Jasmine Gutierrez

Before all this I used to look at your wrist 
because they had slits on them
that I was so tempted to know the story behind.
I would contemplate whether to compliment your green eyes because let’s face it,
I’m not the most approachable person. 
I make bad jokes and zone out in public 
because I’m too busy trying to think of a poem that will perfectly amount or suffice for the beauty of your appearance...
but I sometimes get stuck.
In all honesty I’m new to this. 
And I’m lost half of the time on how to come up to you to start a conversation.
I was afraid that if I placed my hand on yours,
mine would tremble so much that you'll move away.
I was afraid that if I fucked up on even one syllable while speaking to someone so complex, 
you would leave. 
I feared so many things before even getting the chance to come close to you. 
Or at least I thought I was doing well enough to make things last. I don’t want anyone’s pity, 
half of this is my fault.
I just thought that maybe you could allow me to show someone other than myself what I have to offer.
You made me blush and confused…
but I loved that. 
Sometimes my tongue wouldn’t be able to form
words correctly 
because I was too busy looking at the outline of your cheek bone. 
Sometimes I would hulk my lunch down
so I could sneak up on you just in time to hug you from behind and maybe see contentness peaking over your mouth
instead of the misery you've held ownership of in the past.
I guess I’m sorry for trying to get you to open up so I can love every thorn you had stuck in your rose petals.
I guess I apologize for not being exactly what you are searching for.
And I guess I’m sorry for not kissing you when I had the chance cause I was too fracking nervous it wouldn’t be perfect 
and you'd stop looking my way. 
I am apologetic until the end of my days 
and all I wanted was to hold your hand long enough for you to notice someone notices your flaws but adores them more than humanly possible. 
I was time wasn’t such a burden 
and I wish I could stop wishing and start doing before it’s too late... It IS too late.... maybe this is fate's way of saying friendship is the winning position in us,
maybe there’s not meant to be an "us" because we need to rebuild ourselves from all the damage we've implanted. 
But even before all this, 
I still knew you completely..
I saw everything you tried to shy away or bring to the light. 
I was an expert from head to toe, soul inside out. 
What I missed was that the mere thought of you was enough to make even a poet speechless.
I tried so hard to make you love yourself for what you already were but 
I must have plucked the wrong thorn and interrupted your blooming, 
everything spilled out,
heaven has blessed me with such a godly sight 
but I didn’t know what to do with it other than touch that was never mine....
The day you smiled and skipped to the other side of the room to collapse on your chair,
the day you held my hand and it was the best feeling I ever came across... The day.. the day you looked at me while the night and crossroads passed by us in the car backseat…
Is the day I knew you were much more than priority, 
much more than what your past lovers have labeled you as, much more than the slits on your wrist that I have yet to learn about.. that’s when I had completely placed myself in the palm of your hands and curve of your neck
I still struggle approach you even though I know everything I once questioned
My fingertips still turn into little stage frights. 
My spine still restricts itself from thrusting forward to place you closer to me so our pulses meet
I still contemplate all of this
but you didn’t hesitate to tell me you didn’t feel any of these things.

by Edwin Ramos Jr.

Love is beyond the ear
Love is beyond the eye
Beyond the voice and beyond the sight
Beyond the light and beyond the night
One can not be told how to love
One can not be told who to love
Has it ever come to mind that a person’s definition of love just may be the things
they weren’t taught and the person who represents what they weren’t taught
Without a solid definition how does one know what is love
It's not something you have been taught but what you convey naturally
Do you think love is when you are said to i love you
No but it is the feeling indescribable by the heart not your words
Its not what you look for but what finds you
The thing that once its there and settled can not go away
Do not be mind­tricked when you feel like you love someone
That may just make you a fool
What you feel has been provided by someone is your false representation of love
Love is what is deemed worthy by the inner you that you yourself do not control
Love will keep you and have you guessing
Love will show the way without leaving you to ask a question
It's what happens when you aren’t using your senses
It will touch, tease, move you and confuse you
It will blind, push, pull and consume you
Yes it can play games that much is true but once tired seeks nothing but to rest on
the bed that represents your soul
Once its done so you can’t help but feel like your whole
That's when you know love has taken hold of you...

by Ambeka Lutchman

Sometimes I wonder why people bother falling in love.  

Most people end up lone wolves anyway, but they spend so much time searching to find someone to help repair their hearts.  


Everyone lies to you when they tell you that they’ll always be there for you.

Warmth Gets Colder
12.5.14
This fluffiness had kept you warm,
but after me, it became all worn.
You took it off and pushed it aside,
‘cause warm is all too fine.
The shirts we wore the day we told,
we wore again right after “none,”
for memories are too fine to hold.
I used to love the cold; open windows, snow and hail,
but I liked the warm; it’s not too frail.
And so, as the weather changes from rain to snow,
we stand in frost, missing warmth,
but freezing cold.

by Ambeka Lutchman


Why did it all end up like this?
So blue, and pale, and cold, and cruel?
Screams, running, lies, hiding?
Pacing hallways shadows crawl;
Scared of corners; turning fools.
Back-track two weeks back,
two weeks back, I’m on the track;
This week I fell off those tracks,
from the train some couldn’t catch.
A fear of confinement haunted me,
the who know, the more who see,
all you wanted was for me to break free.
Free from where this dying flame starts,
all from but a tiny spark.
This spark ignited you and I,
“You and I,” I thought, “would fly.”
Your hands warm against mine, frozen,
“How,” I ask, “was I chosen?”