The Patriot: Inspired Minds Volume 1 - Fall 2018

Inspired

The Patriot:

Minds Vol. 1

Literary Feature

Mission Statement The Patriot: Inspired Minds Literary Feature staff will release the first issue in November of 2018. Through this publication, we hope to enlighten the community to the endless capabilities of the minds roaming the UT Tyler campus of today and of tomorrow. This magazine connects each individual voice to that of its brothers and sisters in the arts. It boldly states, “We Are Here and no longer will we hide in the shadows”. Join us as we cast the light on writers, artists, playwrights and many more.

Here to illuminate your work.

Dear Readers, The Patriot: Inspired Minds Literary Feature is a student-run literary magazine created as an outlet for students’ original works. An issue of collective works will be published once each semester. As a team, we poured our heart and soul into this first issue to make it successful. We thank all of our contributers with our utmost gratitude. This magazine could not have been created without your courage and willingness to display your works. We hope that you will enjoy reading this issue as much as we enjoyed creating it, and look forward to seeing your own “inspired” creations.

Sincerely,

Megan Byrd Chief Editor

Table of Contents Music “The Beauty in the End” by Tanner Vanhorn (24) Photography “Jewel” by Veronica Wheat (1) “Monkey” by Aaron Cortinas (14) “Windows” by Benjamin Fenton (28) “Bent Pipe” by Aaron Cortinas (41) “The Beauty in Destruction” by Veronica Wheat (51) “Rusted Pipe” by Aaron Cortinas (67) “Fair Weather” by Veronica Wheat (84) Art “The Solo Ballet Part Duex” by Sarah Weikel (5)

“Harrison’s Koi” by Erick Rodriguez (7) “We Can Do It, Cordelia!” by Tyler Schlebach (20) “Los Tesoros de la Vida” by Erick Rodriguez (34) “Gabby Hunter: World” by Tyler Schlebach (47) “Nebulae” by Sarah Weikel (53)

“Outside my Window” by Alli Quarles (61) “Untitled” by Maggie Pierce (73) “Red Sonja” by Sarah Weikel (79) “Silly Thing” by Jay Huyhn (90)

Short Stories “I love you” by Donald Penner (2) “Baby Shoes” by Kaylin Sheppard (10) “Starlight” By Taylor Palacios (16) “Impressions” by Anonymous (22) “Dear Graves Disease” by Shae Harris (30) “Katy Doma” by Jade Martin (36) “A Mother’s Dream” by Shannon Chilton (42) “Something Like That” by Megan Byrd (48) “Back to Bed” by Marcus White (56) “Don’t Feed Your Gremlin” by Bria Morris (65) “Blessed Assurance” by Ashley Johnson (70) “Sidewalk” by Donald Penner (74) “Cliche To Death” by Darby Mayfield (82) Poetry “Sunburn” by Destiny Osteen (4) “Headlight”by Autumn VanBuskirk (6) “Roses for Display Only” by Destiny Osteen (8) “Reality” by Ben Fenton (9) “Whitespace” by Mark Howard (13) “En el Mañana” by Jennifer Melton (15) “Midnight Zone” by Anonymous (18) “There was a Time” by Irene Campos (19) “The Fawn” by Caitlyn Cox (21) “Symphony” by Joshua Bennett (26)

“Forest Boys” by Cole Beckham (29) “Bought” by David Young (32) “Oof” by Mickey Meyer (33) “No Mistake” by Max Patton (35) “Faggot” by Mickey Meyer (39) “The Pigs” by Mark Howard (40) “Torchbearer” by Erick Rodriguez (44) “The Word Disease” by Adriana Mendoza (50) “Halo” by Anonymous (52) “Death’s Property” by Adriana Mendoza (54) “#14” by Donald Penner (55) “Distance” by Irene Campos (59) “3-Fold” by Braylynn Seely (60) “Running Through Fields of Flowers” by Destiny Osteen (62) “A Summer Story” by Ashley Johnson (63) “Sweets” by Cole Beckham (66) “Him” by Irene Campos (68) “Apokalypsis” by Ryan Archer (69) “Blessed Assurance” by Ashley Johnson (70) “Different” by Max Patton (72) “This is Just to Say” by Adriana Mendoza (76) “Captivated/Captive” by Cameron Long (77) “Dreamworld” by Ryan Archer (78) “Friends and Happiness” by Max Patton (80) “Friends and Sorrow” by Max Patton (81) “Student Athlete” by Danielle Lacasse (85) “Narrow Hardship” by David Young (86) “A House Divided” by Autumn VanBuskirk (87) “The Turtle” by Mark Howard (88) “Spices” by David Young (89)

1

Jewel

Veronica Wheat

My great-grandmother, Jewel, collected lighthouse figurines.

Now that she has passed away, I see her in every lighthouse.

I Love You Donald Penner

I’m going to tell you what love is. I’m the master of love; the slave. Love is the great soaring gravity that flies wild and tumbles through beautiful days and hellish nights and careens out of control even during the calm times; even during the sunrises and the quiet moments when you two are alone just looking at each other, trying to find that soul inside.

It is a parent’s burden; the working and being away, and the dead weight that circles forever ethereal and haunts your memories like a ghost in a house packed with pictures.

Love is a pile of stones you can’t let go of. But you don’t build a wall with all those big hard hearts, those rocks meant for a foundation; you eat them and trace ‘what ifs’ in your head with the chalk until you burst. Love is all the seas and the lighthouses beaming. It’s as simple as drowning, and she is your air. He is your air, and you could sink to the bottom without really trying to swim. Love is holding that wilted little hand next to the hospital bed and the real, documented diagnosis is that you’re both dead. See, there aren’t any happy endings, just happy moments; little slivers between bubble baths and dinner. Love will eat you every time. You’ll look at the pursed lips, the lip biting lip and you will grin. They look so full and that smile, wicked or sweet is all thanks to you.

That is what love is: A death sentence you would die without.

3

I’m the master of love, but I’m wrong about it every day. And every day it changes just enough to keep me curious. Love isn’t so sad. It isn’t the pine box or the urn filled with a bag of ash above your grandfather’s fireplace. It was holding hands in the park in the spring and the other seasons, until one day she was gone. But she never walked away. She stayed through children and grandchildren; through his hard heart and overtime; the lonely nights.

Love can be gay or straight. Love can be between two brothers fighting two other brothers who love a different god. But make no mistake. It will kill you. It should kill you.

It will kill you if you stay. It will kill you if you walk away.

Love owns more souls in heaven and hell than hate. Love walks down the aisle with his daughter, and it cries on the pew when the son says “I do.” It gives people away but is never sells. Love doesn’t keep slaves.

Love is inside you, for you. Taking the insecurity and the hate and tucking it away and not faking…to just look in the mirror and smile; that is love. To tell them they’re wrong, to make them hate you, to save them. Hold him when he told you he lied, and make her feel pretty when her clothes are getting too tight and sacrifice. Just sacrifice; love. Dogs are love. They are.

Yes, I am the master of love, the illusive prize. I’ve found it but never held it, felt it and exuded it. It’s driven me to the depths and pulled me from the pits – the ancient gold we all search the earth for. I’ve never given up, just like they never gave up on me. Don’t give up.

Sleep and wake up to a new day where maybe, just maybe, you’ll have the chance to give someone the gift of love.

4

Sunburn Destiny Osteen

My psychiatrist said I need some fresh air, so I guess I’ll go outside Breathe in. Breathe out. Who am I kidding? The sun beats down consuming all of my energy. I long for the feeling of completion. I’m broken. I am nothing but a fragment of unspoken potential. I watch the trees dance in the hushed whispers of the wind, as the birds soar into the mist of the inevitable. Mother Nature runs her fingers through my hair, as if to comfort the broken heart that’s barely beating.

Time is lost in the void of reality. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, so I’ll keep mine shut from unworthy viewers. For one day, they will never open again.

My skin starts to turn pink as if it’s angry with thoughts of neglect.

The clouds roll in like a massive fleet threatening to wash me away, but I refuse to waver, so I stand my ground.

The rain falls softly and caresses my cheek all the way down towards my lips, as if to linger a while, but I don’t wipe it away; I just let it taunt and tease me. The rain perplexed by this notion decides to scream with dignity, and then the sky, following in pursuit, cracks open and releases the oceans of Heaven to drown me out.

All the while I just laid there begging to be washed away…there’s no signs of struggle. Just a sunburn. My psychiatrist says I’m no longer allowed outside by myself.

The Solo Ballet Part Duex

Sarah Weikel

6

Headlight Autumn VanBuskirk Onward the adventurers went, Trekking towards a place Holding memories for some And experiences for others.

A single beam of light Burst forth from the tall, white tower, Guiding ships and visitors alike.

It was a constant in the midst of calm and chaos.

Down a wandering path, Leading away from the light, The ocean called.

Seafoam sprayed, Rocks skidded, Gulls cooed.

The waves ran towards the rocks Then back out.

Pulling. Beckoning. Luring.

One step forward.

The taste of the ocean was sharp and delightful.

The smell of he ocean was pungent and blissful.

Waves crashed against the cliffs, The touch of the ocean Mimicking the sound of the siren. Was cold and exciting.

The call of the ocean The call of the ocean Echoed over the rocks.

Was loud and powerful.

The moments once only pictured The sight of the ocean Breathed wayfaring thoughts Was beyond compare.

Into young and old.

Harrison’s Koi

Erick Rodriguez

Roses for Display Only Destiny Osteen

Constellations of colors combust through your gaze piercing the soul that blooms beautifully beneath the surface of unorthodox views conspiring to burn out your grace.

Troubled promiscuous promises neglected by lack of love— defining

beauty as a term achievable by silence and compliance.

The echoes of my ancestors, trapped in tribulations crafted by men that desire to touch, taste, and taunt as they please.

Defining What it’s like to be a woman: A single rose, plucked.

9

Last night I took a journey to A place where I was free; I soared beyond the sinking sun In search of reverie.

Night is a world, lost in time-She takes me by the hand, And soon after I’m lulled to sleep I’m led into her land.

But blinded by my inner peace, I’m duped, and so it seems That Night becomes my own captor-I, captive in my dreams.

Kidnapped in her hypnotic clutch, Forever will I be, ‘Til Morning shows his shining face And wakes Reality.

Reality Ben Fenton

10

Baby Shoes Kaylin Sheppard

I was carefully made. A young mother knit me, every stitch filled with love and compassion. All my colors stood out from the normal black and brown pairs. When I was finished, my maker smiled and placed me on a dresser where I waited to be worn.

Months passed and a child was born. I was there for all his cries and the feedings that took place in the very rocking chair I was made. I had never touched his skin, but I already felt like I was a part of him. Once his feet were big enough to fit me, I kept them warm through the winter and played with him on the living room floor. I experienced his first crawl! The top of me drug along as he made his way around. I loved it when he sat up and wiggled his toes, when his hands met my yarn.

After a year, I was somewhat worn and he grew out of me.

My maker picked me up one day and placed me inside his dresser. I spent years in the dark, but heard every laugh, every cry, and every conversation. I always knew that I would be abandoned, but whenever he left for school or went out with friends, I missed his voice. I collected dust in the drawer of that dresser along with forgotten buttons and disregarded objects.

Was I being forgotten forever? Would he ever come looking for me to revive our memories?

One day, he was looking for something, and to my surprise he opened my drawer. After seventeen years of wondering, I saw his face for the first time. He rambled around the drawer and noticed me. Picking me up with his calloused hands from hard work, he grinned. “I remember these.” His hair was sandy brown, his jawline well defined, and his letterman hung over his broad shoulders. This boy, now a man, had changed so much. He grabbed his birth certificate and laid me down where it used to sit. I didn’t know that was going to be the last time I saw him. His replacement shoes carried him out of the house. Out of bravery and love for his country, that very day of reunion he signed up to fight in WWII.

Three years after his departure, on the day before his birthday, my maker entered his room, looking for answers and a way to fill her emptiness. She opened my drawer; her face was not as I remembered. Her hair was thin and graying, her cheeks wrinkled and sunken. All she wanted was her son to come back, she had said.

At the war’s end in 1945, a note arrived at the door with a package.

I never knew what the note contained, but my maker’s posture said it all. Her back hunched over and tears ran down her cheeks like bombs from a plane. They pounded and splashed with virtue against the floorboards. When she gazed at me, she knelt and buried her face in her hands. She gently picked me up and observed all my sides, rubbing her fingers along the top of me. One of her tears met my yarn. She laid me down and opened the package that had arrived. She kissed her index finger and placed it on whatever the small box contained. She then laid the box next to me still open. It read his name and the phrase “Medal of Honor.” The shape of the gold star and a blue ribbon would have hung around his neck if he were here.

The doorbell rang for the second time today, so she forced herself to answer it. A woman’s voice was heard, shaky and sweet, with a small whine from a baby. My maker, still confused, invited her in. The stranger held the baby close to her chest and stuttered at first, then stated that through the war she had met him! The woman described the details of their wedding and their love. He told her to go to this address if he didn’t come back, and she had followed his request. They exchanged tears and embraced, no longer strangers.

The baby between them smiled and the woman held out the child.

“This is your grandson, Henry.” Tears formed around my maker’s eyes, different than the ones I had seen in the attic, now tears of joy and happiness. With the innocent child in her arms, she made her way to me and the Medal of Honor. Handing the woman the Medal of Honor, she explained his bravery and courage. My maker’s gentle hands left the sole of my yarn while my new owner adopted me.

The woman grasped the words from my maker, describing that I was made by hand and that he, Ryan Henry, wore me as a child.

With a strong grip around me, she stared at me with such joy. They exchanged memories of Ryan all night. My maker learned about Ryan’s adventures during the war, whereas the mother obtained knowledge of his past.

The mother and the child didn’t leave that evening.

They stayed, the child now two years old. I had gotten my hope back to see Ryan and so had my maker. Every move and gesture from the child was his. I got to play with Henry every day just as I used to with Ryan. I had a new owner but at the same time I was still Ryan’s. I knew my maker wanted to hold him just once more and to run her fingers through his hair, but she had the memories of him that would never go away in her heart. I, just his baby shoes, was the first pair of shoes he ever had. I was the first pair that carried him to getting his final pair that lead him to the battlefield of his death. I think back to 1945 and remember I wasn’t the only shoes left behind that year.

13

White Space Mark Howard

To fill the page,

Just for the sake,

Of vomiting out,

Some words,

Is abuse

Of artistic

merit.

Even though, I too should be ashamed.

I’m no better than the rest.

Sometimes, it just feels good,

To waste the time,

Mimicking all the rest.

Monkey

Aaron Cortinas

I took this photo while on the beach in Jaco, Costa Rica.

Monkeys flock to the beach because tourists enjoy feeding them. This monkey tried to reach for my camera soon after the photo was taken.

15

En el Mañana In The Morning Jennifer Melton He walks by on the North side of the crosswalk Stops to watch the slate Desert Willow A broken-pawn looking for the Yellow-Dock He cannot find his heart here in New Mexico Only until he sees María will his lungs expand, en el Mañana.

Starlight

Taylor Palacios

His word of the day calendar read: “Apricity: the warmth of the sun in winter.” Fitting, as the day was cold as midJanuary days are wont to be. Perhaps he was a bit hasty in his decision to embrace this newfound word by leaving his home without a coat.

Right now he’d say he was downright idiotic.

The sun had been no friend to him, hiding as it was behind the clouds. So enamored he had been with his calendar that he had neglected his weather app, which called for cloudy skies. So his morning walk through campus to his class was not the immersive learning experience he imagined it would be, but a trek made in spite of his shivering body.

Despite the frigid air of winter, he pondered at the goose bumps raised on his skin, wondering at the name. Why geese?

He would have stopped to give this his full attention, but a gushing wind leaned him back with the reminder that his preoccupation with semantics had already cost him enough today.

The relief of a heated building felt almost painful after his time outdoors. His fingertips pulsing with renewed blood flow, he made his way to his classroom. He flexed his hands, watching the other students passing by in jackets and gloves with a mix of envy and disappointment of their situation. He may not have gotten to enjoy apricity, but by the looks of them, they didn’t even want to try.

17

Coming into his classroom, he took his seat and tried to remember ever feeling that apricity in previous winters. But it’s hard to remember something from a time before you knew of its existence, so he came up blank. All he could think of now was the warmth filtering in from the building’s furnace. After that walk, he wasn’t going to turn his nose up at that warmth, but he couldn’t help the thought that this warmth felt blurred and blanket-like in comparison to the brilliance of the sun.

Class passed by quickly, as it tends to on days with more daunting matters to face afterward. The hike home would be brutal, he was sure, and so he lingered at the doorway of the building, trying to imprint the memory of that blurry, oppressive balminess in his mind before he stepped out into a wind that stole all recollection of heat.

He wished the wind would also take from him the memory of that walk as he neared his door. His bed was calling, as was a hot bowl of whatever he would be able to find in his pantry, and he hoped it would be enough to wipe the day away.

The weather had different plans for him.

As his turned his key in his lock, he felt against his skin a breath of warmth that left him shivering. Turning more fully into the sight of the parting clouds, he let the heat of the sunlight creep across his skin, seeping down and warming him, it felt, to the bone. He shut his eyes, the intensity of the light almost painful against his delicate eyelids, the glow and the prickle of heat reaching his brain and leaving him lightheaded. His palms opened into the sun, because how could they do anything else? Though he couldn’t feel the chill of the air against his skin anymore, he could remember it still, like a vast, starless sky. But now he knew this warmth, blinding and radiant, enough to fill a night sky with the light of day.

Midnight Zone

Anonymous

A babe rears its voice in protest of its heating cage.

The parents trolling the web stay glued.

In the end, Both fall prey to the spider.

The dark holds an allure, a sheen of mysticism Over the eyes of the tourist, veiled blinds hiding The cerberoid lioness in the meadow grass.

To each their own, a path appears, Down, down, down, to the dark and heat.

19

There was a time You and I were first.

A time we were always first.

No matter what we do, We can’t seem to come close to second.

I wasn’t okay at first.

There was a

More hurt than sad.

Were we not first material anymore?

Time

Were we bound to trudge up last?

Irene Campos

Than anything.

I’m still not okay, but The hurt is lessened.

Somehow that hurt worse So desperately, I wanted us To go back.

Not for the sake of us, but For the sake of want, and Somehow that hurt worse.

Maybe together we’re always going to Come in last.

A race we’ll never win.

Maybe I’m okay with that now.

The blossoms and warm summer breeze Turned frigid and fallen long ago.

I’m okay now, but There was a time I wasn’t.

We Can Do It, Cordelia!

Tyler Schlebach

This piece acts as a progression test of mine to show how far I’ve progressed in the last year. Last year I attempted to recreate the classic “We Can Do It!” Rosie poster using my favorite character from the game I was playing at the time since I’ve always used fan art as a means of improving. Upon looking at the piece this year, I decided to test what I had learned over the year to recreate it and utilize that information to improve on the original piece.

Fire Emblem Awakening. Intelligent Systems. Nintendo. 2013. Video game

21

The Fawn Caitlyn Cox

The little fawn froze Headlights in its eyes Its nose quivered Yet it did not cry The spots had not yet faded From its velvet fur Yet danger it had met It was so young and unsure It did not blink It only stared Back at me Not knowing I cared A rustle of leaves Then it was gone That is all that was seen Of the little spotted fawn.

Impressions Anonymous

It’s your freshman year in college. Scary but exciting. You’re attending a great school on a scholarship. Yeah, it may be a couple of hours away from home, but you’re surrounded by cozy nature that reminds you of home. You’ve met people that you could connect with, being that they’re far away from home as well. And you may have met people that would rather act like freshmen in high school rather than in college. It’s okay—they’ll make it.

Due to you being a couple of hours away from home,you can’t help but remember your significant other you left back.

Questions swarm your brain like wasps. It drives you crazy, but deep down you knew a conversation needed to happen, and it did—over the phone, because it wasn’t quite time for you to return home. After hanging up the phone, you were relieved because both minds were cleared, all questions were answered, and you both continued to stay in the relationship together.

Fast forward to the end of the semester. You’re finally taking that long and peaceful back road home to see your family, friends, and significant other. You’re also excited to reclaim your bedroom that your sibling decided to take over while you were away.

On your first day back home, you had a ticket to see your significant other’s play. They called and asked for a favor you just couldn’t refuse, causing you to leave earlier than expected.

As you’re getting ready to leave, a cold chill rushed down your spine, and you start to get an unexpected feeling that maybe you should’ve refused the favor after all. But you didn’t. You ignored it. And the feeling just continued, and you continued to your destination.

23

Ten miles from your home in an open road, you start to lose control of your car. You’re trying to gain control of the wheel, but you can’t. Your car goes off the road and starts to flip. One. Two. Three. Four. And just as it stops on five, your car ended upside-down.

You couldn’t believe that you just had an accident, so you cry out for help, but no one was around to hear you.

You’re still in the seat connected by the belt, and as soon as you unbuckled it, you collapse on your shoulder. The doors were jammed, so the only way out was by kicking out the front windshield. After one hard kick, there was just enough space for you to crawl through.

Soon, a good Samaritan, the ambulance, and sheriff arrived. And after being taken to the hospital, the doctor stated that you only had two minor scratches. You’re a lucky one, and the sheriff commented, “you survived by wearing your seatbelt. You’re blessed.”

So, what about your significant other? They were M.I.A. at the hospital and M.I.A. post release. So, where were they?

Well, they were with another person living happily ever after.

The Beauty InThe End Tanner Vanhorn

It goes on forever Off into forever I know that we can take it If we try, we can make it

An open field Blue sky above We fly away a wingless dove The innocent sound of your laughter It’ll always be here Now and thereafter So trust in me I could never pretend Or try and run from The beauty in the end So take a good look Cause my heart’s an open book With every page We’ll be coming of age Now breathe me in Try seeing past my skin We can find a way Just promise me that you’ll stay

A beautiful scene There’s more to what I’m seeing I don’t take the pain Breathe me in For what it is Try seeing past my skin It helps me find the meaning We can find a way Just promise me that you’ll stay No, I can’t believe I think I must be dreaming We are a part of forever You lie next to me One in another together Thinking only of leaving The whispers of your graces In the shape of empty spaces

25 A beautiful scene There’s more to what I’m seeing I say your name It sounds the same But my voice has lost the meaning No, I can’t believe I think I must be dreaming I let out a scream Never escaping my demons My soul, it bleeds I can’t control Been at the top of the world And the depths below In between the fall I hear your laughter It’ll always be here Now and thereafter So trust in me I could never pretend Or try and run from The beauty in the end So take a good look Cause my heart’s an open book With every page We’ll be coming of age Now breathe me in Try seeing past my skin We can find a way Just promise me that you’ll stay Breathe me in Try seeing past my skin We can find a way Just promise me that you’ll stay

Symphony Joshua Bennett

Ushered into a dark room Air thick with the energy that only hope can provide Looking at that tiny screen That steady thump, thump, thump offers tranquility The image as powerful as any painting The pull more intoxicating than any religion A boy, that screen shows, if only it would show his laugh That steady thump, thump, thump offers euphoria Smiles, hugs, tears, creators we’ve become One not smiling, one bearing a message, one taking.

That screen, from which my soul takes shape, betrays me That steady thump, thump, thump offers mockery

Smiles gone before they blossom Hugs serving no purpose, emptiness cannot be held Tears flowing freer than composure allows A steady thump, thump, thump invades every pore of my being Left with nothing but a choice Demolish us now Destroy us later Either way an end. End which produces no beginning.

A steady thump, thump, thump.

This darkness an eternity A tomb. A crypt. A sanctuary.

Prayer brings pain. Nothing left to sacrifice, we turn to sin.

A steady thump, thump, thump our only connection In they go Out I remain Separated by walls. Separated by grief. Together we lived. Divided we die.

Out she comes A steady thump, thump, thump.

The only words you ever spoke.

27

To smile is to create, not needed To see is to remember, not wanted Creating memories which never were Remembering that time that shouldn’t be That steady thump, thump, thump all that remains for us to hold Dark liquid my relief, Bachus my god Anchorite her new profession only drinking enough to remember, never enough to forget the god of solitude all she prays too, yet her thoughts never leave destroyers we’ve become an empty womb serves as our temple That dark room becomes my solace.

No sweeter symphony has been heard More beautiful notes never composed That which keeps me breathing.

That steady thump. Thump. Thump.

Continually we attend our temple Continually we beg Fulfillment is all we want Forgetting is all we need Memories is what we request The organ plays our song Thump. Thump. Thump.

Windows

Ben Fenton

A foggy morning in Dallas greets the viewer from the 23rd story of the Magnolia Hotel.

29

Forest Boys Cole Beckham Sleepy red forest boys, scaly and warm, Curl up under ferns in the night-forest noise.

Ladyflies flit over low-growing canopies.

Aimless, they climb with symmetrical vanity.

watertight nest.

Over hellfire winds across slithering glades, They cleave into seashells on cinnamon plains.

Marigold backlight is quickly consumed By the sky of an army of chaos and fumes.

Blankets of hate flying forward and down Make the planet react with a sizzling sound.

Sparkling, pirates abandon their ships, Screaming with heat and a light on their lips They arc to the ground as Tubular trees waving feathery they phase and they bend— flags Electrical shapes of the Siphon the sludge from the shadows of men. gravelly sand.

Lullabies echo from mystery Seashell enamel erodes in the birds, rain till And tunnel-fish tumble The lightning is shining through through pores in the earth. calcium panes.

The skeletons give, and the But vessels of darkness on forest boys writhe, thundercloud waves, As the rain on their backs Have come over the skies, begins chewing inside. bearing horrible rains.

Two-story turtles with tears in The bodies dissolve with the their eyes, sound of their cries.

Climb into the rivers to grieve, Tender, their fingers are or to hide. cleaned as they die.

A womb of a mother is cold Layers of acid invade from and appeased, the west, A tomb for a death that was And forest boys look for a choiced into being.

Dear Graves Disease Shae Harris

You have changed me. Before I knew you, I lived a driven life. I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted to accomplish. I knew my place in academia and on the softball field. I worked hard to improve in both areas, and I excelled because of that. So, when we were first introduced to each other, I thought I could overcome you with no problem. I thought I could defeat you with some faith, a positive attitude, and some strong medicine. I had no reason to doubt that.

These things had worked with every other obstacle in my life, minus the medicine of course. I was a little anxious, but I wasn’t worried. So, my family and I put on a brave face and went to battle against you with full intentions to destroy all of you inside me.

You ended up being tougher than I planned. I didn’t know all the tricks you had up your sleeve. You broke me down. I didn’t know how quickly you would strip away my strength that I had worked so hard for. I felt nervous and out of place because of your presence. You made me feel shaky and antsy. You made my arms, legs, and voice tremor. You made my heart race every moment of every day. You tired me out completely by the end of the day, and then kept me up at night just because you could. You knew my strengths and turned them into weaknesses. You understood how hard I was on myself and how eager I was to improve, and used that as your in.

You saw how sad I got when I didn’t perform to the level I wanted to and made me feel even worse. It didn’t matter that you were the cause, I didn’t see you. I blamed myself for my failures when you were the culprit all along. You took away what I was good at…competing and performing. I had to restrain myself physically to protect my well-being.

I had to compromise the effort that I was used to giving to accommodate you. I felt helpless and useless. You made me doubt my abilities. You made me question my place in college athletics. You made me cry…a lot. I felt like you were too much at times.

31

After a few different types of medicines didn’t conquer you, I realized your strength and persistence. You used every trick in the book to keep me from being the positive person I had always been, and it worked. Maybe I wasn’t as strong as I had originally thought. Maybe I couldn’t keep hiding how I was feeling from everyone. Maybe I couldn’t always put on a brave face just so no one would worry about me. Maybe I couldn’t do it all on my own. Maybe I didn’t have to.

I do not want your pity, nor do I think you feel any.

But, I want you to know this journey was not all tears and sadness. Over the course of time, I learned more about you.

I figured out how you operated and the tactics you used to frustrate me. I realized, you don’t get to decide how I live.

My emotions and decisions are not based on you. You are not worthy of that, and I do not deserve that. You aren’t who I am, you are simply something that has happened to me.

After I realized this, I began to fight back again. I gained a confidence, that no matter the outcome, I was going to be alright. This didn’t make you go away by any means, but it gave me hope.

I’m still dealing with you and everything that accompanies you, but I am no longer scared or insecure about who I am, what I’m going through, or where I’m at in life. You took some of me, and to my surprise, you created a new part of me. A part that realizes that there will be difficult and trying times, but that those times do not define who I am.

So, take that Graves’ Disease! Yes, you did change me, but not in the way that you thought or hoped…in the best way.

Sincerely,

Me

Bought

Mindless zombies to a stack of money, what humans cower to is bankroll David Young because money, power and influence break us away from what keeps us whole.

Goals are entirely for the It’s the new ideas, the new mind and our souls, but soul, and our minds are the through the trudging toll. battle we find ourselves Cowering our intelligence buried forever stuck in this to the corner of our mind metaphorical foxhole. to find that we seal away Are goals truly optional, imagination and kill it off or are we stuck enrolled, and bury it whole. hoping one day we can This hole filled with dreams gain control? and emotions, the only Besides, in the end of wormhole to imagination adolescence is the urging, and creation so tainted it yearning feeling of desire becomes indole to be on a payroll Heed the warnings it doesn’t matter if dreams because in the end all and goals are completed of our eyes might be if the system already has closed, trapped in an your mind deleted. entertainment whirlpool.

33

Oof Mickey Meyer

Oof that oral fixation that makes your mind drain from its station, as you trip down erudite flights of stairs, like a boss fight that you lose by pulling your sister’s hair, pettiness disguised as helpful advice, can you please remove your head from the collegiate vice, oh the thought that this life would be nice, oh the thought that this life would be nice,

‘oof’ acts as a idiomatic interlude, for us students crushed between spruce and the buzz of fluorescent tubes, conversations take place in cars so we don’t have to look at one another’s face, because it’s in those microexpressions that we miscalculate the other’s emotional pace, and in the end we just want someone with us when we leave this place

Los Tesoros de la Vida Erick Rodriguez

35

No Mistake Max Patton

Your curriculum is Constantly prepared.

Tailored for my training, Purposed wind within my sails.

A luxury of trust, You craft me into majesty, So lavishly looked after that Your grace is like our gravity.

Growing slow, but glowing from the glimpses of Your soul, I watch where we’re going, but You already know!

Creative, brave, my frame inlaid and Animated name by name, I may fail, but You Make no mistake.

36

Katy Doma Jade Martin

The now class of twenty-five sat fixated on seat twenty-six.

The empty chair would stay empty, haunting the twenty-five for the rest of the year and the rest of their lives. Swirled emotions of melancholy, confusion, and regret hung over the room, weighing down the twenty-five as if they had been shackled to their seats. While their gazes stood attached to the abandoned desk, it was much too late to pay attention to seat twenty-six.

Why? It was a question Mason continued to churn in his mind. Why did this happen? Why would she do this? Why didn’t I know? He was trapped in his thoughts. He turned on his phone and looked at the notification of her missed call. If only he would have answered that call, maybe… he should have known something was amiss. He should have skipped practice. There was so no way he could have known, but his mind would not accept that. She was everything, and now everything changed.

His mother had told him that it would be okay for him to miss school. He had heard her crying all night in the room adjacent to his, periodically peeking into his room while he pretended to be asleep. Mason had to go to school, otherwise he’d drown in his sorrows at home. He turned on his phone and looked at the missed call again. He silently tapped the “call back” button and listened to the dull repetitive ring. Then the air brightened for a fleeting moment as her beautiful voice said to leave a message at the beep. And for those few seconds a sad smile drew onto Mason’s face. BEEP. “I will forever love you, Katy Doma.” CLICK. ***

Casey sat at the lunch room table, motionless. She could still see her best friend sitting across from her, eating the exact same meal she used to eat every day. A crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, a bag of apples, vanilla yogurt, and a bottle of water. Tears started to fill Casey’s eyes as the image she had created in her head slowly faded away into the harsh reality. The table was silent without Katy’s laugh, or her rants about how her art teacher expected ten pieces by the next week. Casey and Katy were as different as two people could be—Casey was organized and introverted, while Katy was creative and outgoing. But they had met in kindergarten and sandbox love never dies. An ugly thought popped into Casey’s mind that she dismissed quickly but could not ignore. Katy was the sweetest person alive, but how could she be so selfish? ***

Mrs. Doma grabbed the empty box from her car, hands shaking as she tried to hold it up. Her husband gently placed his hand on the back of her shoulder, and with the other hand took the box. She started moving slowly towards the school, her eyes focused on her black shoes. Each breath she took was heavy, and her heart broke more with each exhale. As Mrs. Doma and her husband ascended the steps towards the school, the floodgates in her tear ducts broke and she collapsed onto the sidewalk. “My baby” she wailed, shoving her face into her hands.

Mr. Doma squatted down next to her, dropping the box and embracing his wife. “Honey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He comforted her as she sobbed on her knees, inconsolable. “Why don’t you go wait in the car, I’ll empty her locker alone.” ***

Grant heard the news through a friend. He took a sharp breath in, surprised at how deeply it had affected him. He hadn’t been close enough to Katy to call her a friend, but he respected her more than anyone in the school. The only real interaction he had with her was when he was first transitioning from Gabby to Grant. Most of his fellow classmates were shocked and extremely unaccepting of his decision.

Fearing for his safety, he was still using the girl’s restroom despite feeling he didn’t belong there. Katy had been fixing her hair in the mirror when he walked in and gave him a look, news spread quickly in this town. “Why are you in here?”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, ready to exit.

“No, don’t be sorry. You deserve to be in the bathroom you belong in.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him outside towards the boy’s bathroom. “Is anyone in here?” she yelled from the entrance.

“It’s empty. Go do what you need to do, and I’ll guard the door from anyone who might cause you distress.” He was so in awe that Katy would go out of her way for him that he couldn’t speak. Katy had a pure heart, and Grant silently wished that he still had the chance to thank her. ***

Katy Doma’s eyes were puffy from crying. She stood at the edge of the Highland bridge, peering over the side. Her heart was beating fast as she saw the rocks that sat below her. Her head and muscles ached, and she couldn’t stop the darkness that was overcoming her soul. All the thoughts that flashed through her mind were clouded and confusing. Her sobs were sharp, and she began to hyperventilate as her body screamed for air. The cool breeze brought a shiver down her spine as she leaned forward once again, examining the fall before her. She took a sharp inhale in, her face going flat as if she hadn’t just been having a panic attack. She knew what she was going to do. She took a small step forward with one last thought in her brain. “No one will even notice when I’m gone.”

39

Faggot Mickey Meyer Too many people use the word faggot, blood boils and I’m tempted to let them have it, surmise in my mind that I won’t speak my thoughts, but know when I speak it will leave them with stomach knots, ‘cause it’s left me with the veracity of a dead crane, I left you on the stoop with a spilt brain, I train the cogs to look out for wistfulness, but overthinking leaves me with more helplessness

40

He who points a finger, pulls a trigger with his words, because he with higher knowledge, Is obviously disturbed.

So, medicate and propagate, some stigma we all know— a network spin, a biased win— another mind deposed,

The Pigs Mark Howard

when we all just stood for freedom, equality and truth, when hearts and minds transcend the stars, falling down across the roof, as our oceans turn to blood, with no Moses left to part, when the irony of it all, was when God hardened our heart, and gave back to us, intolerance, and insolence in tow, a bloodied lip, another slip— Can bullets feel the blow?

Can bullets feel the blow?

Can bullets feel the blow?

Only time will tell, our tour in hell, that no one cared to know.

Bent Pipe

Aaron Cortinas

This photo was taken in the Oak Cliff neighborhood of Dallas. I liked the way this pipe was bent. Like, how did that happen?

A Mother’s Dream Shannon Chilton

Ever since I was my child’s age, I dreamt of being a mother. I dreamt of how many children I would have.

I dreamt about their names, their smiles, the way they would look at me. I dreamt about the sports they would play, the pictures they would draw, and the music that would make them dance. I dreamt about who they would become, what they would love, and who they would love. I dreamt about cherishing the good times and the hard times, because being a mother was everything I had ever wanted.

I was 35, when I finally became a mother. A little girl who I named Gia. She was everything my life led up to.

When I became a mother, watching Gia grow up was my greatest joy. Trying at times, but always worth it. When I became a mother, I would watch her little eyelashes finally flutter closed, and I would wonder what she was dreaming about.

As a mother, I am also a chef, a housekeeper, a driver, and a nurse. I am proficient in Barney Band Aids and Children’s Motrin, but that is about it. So, when my little Gia woke me up for the 14th night in a row crying of a tummy ache, I took her to the doctor. Nothing was wrong, just a virus. After the 21st night, I took her to a different doctor. Lactose intolerant. No more ice cream, yogurt, or cheese…Gia’s favorite food groups. On the 30th night, when I woke up to a blood curdling scream from my little Gia, I knew something was very, very wrong. I rushed her to the ER and refused to leave until I found out exactly what was going on. When the doctor left with her, to take her to get a CAT scan, he was smiling and laughing in attempts to relax Gia. When he brought her back to me, his flushed face and wide eyes told me everything I had never dreamed of.

43

When I was dreaming of becoming a mother, no one told me this could happen. No one told me that your child could get a disease that was only supposed to affect adults. No one told me cancer didn’t discriminate based on age. My six-year-old daughter’s body lit up like a fire in that scan. Tumors that started in her brain, made their way into her belly and down her legs. I wasn’t ready for this, she sure wasn’t ready for this, but I was going to take my daughter to the ends of the earth if I had to.

“Whatever it takes,” I told every doctor at St. Jude’s. I had officially declared war on those tumors.

Her treatments were frequent. They were worse than the cancer itself. Stage 4 aggressive brain cancer meant daily radiation, chemotherapy, and medication after medication. My tiny daughter was on drugs used to sedate wild animals. Everyday I watched her shrink a little more. Shoulders caved, bones more prominent, eyes a little more sunken. Every day she looked less alive.

She constantly asked when she could go back to school, because sweet 6 year old little Gia had no idea what cancer was or why she had it, and she just missed her friends. It was six months into treatment, when the sparkle in her eyes began to dim. One night, I woke up to the sound of her choking back sobs. She asked, “Mommy, what did I do to deserve this? Why did God pick me?”

I was enraged with God for choosing her, with modern medicine for not being able to fix it, with myself for not being the one who got it. I just held her, and told her I loved her.

When I was my child’s age, I dreamt of being a mother. It was everything I ever wanted. I dreamt of the laughs, the tears, and the fights that were sure to come.

I never dreamt of the day I would bury my own child.

Now, sitting in front of my child’s coffin, all my dreams have turned to nightmares.

Torchbearer Erick Rodriguez

I’m awakened by incandescent light rays that slip one day I’ll no longer resist through broken blinds What’s so obvious to others but I turn to the side rather than is a message I missed adjust my eyes But that someday never came Until alarms coincide with the until that one day became day waking hour’s rise one, Submerge myself in the tide of So that one way or another, the working man’s blues days are conquered and the That collides with a crime show plays on wave’s crimson salute No sick days and off-time’s just And the spectrum of life another grind, even off-days between these extremes can’t blockade the purpose I sustain Turns rain clouds iridescent in spectacles rarely seen And that keeps me afloat, grinds don’t stop because I’m just one of many with orbits and thoughts don’t a handful of talents and workloads to manage But that constant friction erodes the will and burns out So many past dreams desire abandoned but nightmares are candid And it’s the case that we’re tired but second place isn’t Challenging me to exit this planet and join the ranks of the something to aspire to brave But if it means trading who I am Counting my age rings by laps for a place on your plan, I’d rather lose giving chase of tales that I crave Prefer the clarity of choice granted from an abundance Because one day I’ll be rich; of persistence one day I’ll set my own limits One day I’ll deserve to exist;

45

And belief in my vision, prerequisites to becoming someone I can live with

decompose and reconstitute evergreens

Now they’re overbooked by close proximity to brave hearts

amounts to sails given wind

That forecast, an eternal lapse At times, the peace I’m between lifetimes and lifetimes bestowed makes me feel entwined in ways unimagined years wiser although I’ve aged but inscribed none In every face that I see and Other times the chaos that I’ve in stares that disclose an sown keeps me mired, feeling I unending battle with remorse haven’t grown up Rising oaks that hollowed But it’s this ebb and flow that themselves out but only keeps me inspired to find carved open doors inadequacies to confront Only pending entry for when And watch the thought they turn to voyager from patterns that entangled me sentry to explore dimensions into a straight jacket undone unending Memories used to look like Never too late to start or early ghost cities and graveyards to begin, and every step

Keeping beacons alight through night shifts and day jobs

It’s troubled waters that make skilled sailors, so never disown failures

Because the stories we Where I’m deemed a flight risk, disseminate are worth prone to stray thoughts telling because of what we overcame But it’s that temporary sacrifice that affords the future permanence Of passions in pursuit of action nearing truth, that only an early death Can impede, but even then I’ve planted seeds beneath wilted dreams that

My only true fear is the regret of no attempt, not the miles, the climb, or the descent Taking time to make a life worth the breath, breaking tides and making waves through every step

46

It’s patience that makes stories ageless, efforts worthwhile and works timeless The reason snow fields lay thin, embers burn wild, and storms become silent And I trek through the ice, ancient flame by my side, lighting the way for the blind,

questions often come from strangers But you can’t do for others what they won’t do for themselves So, don’t dwell on the lost, deal with the cards you were dealt And through that, you might one day be in a position to help

Working to become exemplary and be the example they carry Or at least show that we never To the tributary of their shame suffer alone and source of their envy And you, surpassing doubts To unknown depths they contain, wielding torches passed by those buried In the annals of history, within vast halls that were sentried that are now catacombs with no ending Unmarked graves for thought tunnels only descending into madness Where I used to shield myself from the light, until I learned of the darkness some hide and I couldn’t turn a blind eye We can’t do a thing about the past, but we can revise the ways that it changed us The answers we need are within, although the right

and lost hope Become the antidote to the toxic fear they can’t let go.

I’m not a sage, just a man unburdened From the pain of believing I’m worthless The only thing I can say that I’ve learned is: Fear is contagious but so is courage.

Gabby Hunter:World

Tyler Schlebach

The original intention behind this was a gift to a friend of mine who’s an avid fan of the Monster Hunter series. I used this as an opportunity to not only better grasp certain elements of clothing that I had difficulty with, but also to portray more natural looking poses.

Monster Hunter: World. Capcom. Capcom. 2018. Video game

Something Like That Megan Byrd

“They can happen!” she yelled, exasperated.

“But they don’t. Now can you please be quiet?”

What part of ‘I’m trying to study for my exam’ didn’t she understand?

Her lip jutted out in a pout as our feet crunched through the snow, puffs of warm air from our mouths floating and fading in an otherwise time-stopped world. Sleep eluded me these past few days and coffee became my lifeline, this quiet world a blessing.

“Look around you.”

My eye twitched as the silence was broken. Again.

Her tiny hands gestured to the snow. “This is proof.

We haven’t gotten snow since Great Granny Lola passed away. And it happened on my birthday too!”

“Sure Sydney. Whatever.”

I buried my nose further in my book. Okay, so the nerves in the spine were—

“You’re just saying that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you listening?”

“That’s fascinating.”

“Erriikk!” she called, drawing out my name in her squeaky voice. I sighed and put my hand on her head.

“Sydney, you know why I’m trying to become a doctor right? Don’t you want to get better?”

She ducked her chin, her cheeks puffed out in yet another pout. “Yes.” she mumbled.

“Good. Then I need to study, so can you please be quiet for a bit?”

She hesitated, then her head bobbed in a nod and we continued walking. And it was quiet...for the next five seconds.

49

“Hey Erik?”

I gave up and groaned. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you believe in them?”

I glanced at her, so small and frail and full of life, her big blue eyes shining and soft curly hair bouncing with every step. But I’d seen times when she wasn’t so healthy and energetic. Times when her tiny self lay in a hospital bed with tubes and machines, with her eyes closed and her skin pale, so close to—

I shook my head. Better not to think of that.

“Hey, why?” she asked again.

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up on something like that. Something so unreliable.”

I wanted to study in peace, that was all. Instead she chattered the whole way to the station, asking me questions and throwing snowballs at me. Finally, I saw the big grey bus waiting there, its engine rumbling softly.

“Okay, up we go.” I helped her climb the stairs and nodded to the driver as he smiled and greeted us.

Warm air instantly washed over us and I shed my coat. Only an old woman and a hipster rode this morning, so there were plenty of empty seats. Sydney rushed to one of the plush chairs and hopped on one near the window, bouncing up and down excitedly. I smiled. She always loved riding the bus for some reason.

After I settled next to her, I opened my book once more as the bus began to move and she ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the passing scenery. We had a long ride to Grandpa’s house for her birthday party, so at least she was entertained for now. A little while passed and I pulled a thermos out of my backpack.

“Hey Sydney, do you want something to drink?

Sydney?” Silence.

My heart clenched and I whipped my attention to her. Soft snores escaped her peaceful face as she lay curled against the armrest. I breathed out in relief and laughed, laying my coat over her. Maybe she was right.

“Miracles do happen after all.”

50

The Word Disease Adriana Mendoza

I’m infected by this strange disease I’m dying from this virus slowly It has to do with my genetics inside my skin All I can do is take my medicine I’m infected, that’s what the doctor says I’m loved and protected, that’s what my parents claim I know I’m dying and cannot be fixed Satan, can you hear me? Thanks for the disease!

Satan hears me and yells: “Watch your tongue!

I’m not responsible for your blood disease That’s your creator’s jurisdiction, so go ask him I deal only with the guilty and their sins” I find God and confront his almighty ass “I’m infected by your damn disease You claim Satan is the bad guy, but you created this You think you’re so perfect, but you’re nothing but a prick “You cannot fix me You never will If you’re so holy, then tell me, tell me Why are my genetics such a bitch?”

The Beauty in Destruction

Veronica Wheat This photo is a close-up of the Bradford Pear Tree. It is a species of pear tree that is known for its unpleasant odor, but that is the least of this beautiful tree’s curses. It has weak branches, causing them to break often and it has long thorns, making them impossible to mow over. It is also unable to pollinate with other Bradford Pear Trees and instead cross-pollinates other types of pear trees, ultimately taking over their environment.

52

Halo Anonymous The Gatekeeper spoke of madness, in a time of Hominid disdain, for what he saw Over the rise of the channel.

There is something coming, some strange Horror of a sine-Deo Bestiary of our own sculpture.

Reaching up and out, we grasp at the Forefinger of the Father, our Apostate apotheosis close to Babalen.

Nebulae Sarah Weikel

Death’s Property Adriana Mendoza

The house is so quiet now Hello? Is anyone there?

I can hear Death sing He’s coming for me If only I could slow things down Before you know it, the gift of life has drowned Death awaits for me and howls The demons cry out loud with the dancing clowns Death approaches me and says: “Don’t worry my love, I’m about to tuck you in bed.”

He doesn’t want me to leave his side He wants to taste my lips and bite my thighs He wants to drink the juices of my Willow Tree He is lusting after me And thus, the seduction begins With Death undressing me Death, scold me, hold me Protect me from life and its gift I’m yours to keep eternally I’m tired, I want to go to sleep The only thing I beg of you is to never abandon me Seduce me to my own destruction and corruption Let me share my bed with you It’s time for my dream to begin It’s time for me to be free This house no longer exists.

55

#14 Donald Penner

If I could give you a gift It would be someone To look out the window with On those dark nights When the heart drifts Past the stars And melancholy Sits on the sill

56

Back To Bed Marcus White

The bomb ticked 3...2...1. An explosion of thunder ripped open the sky. I jolted up, my muscles tense. Breathing uneven and fast, I looked at the clock. It was only six a.m. That was disappointing. I started to lay back down, but then noticed light from the living room shining through the bedroom door.

I turned over searching across the empty bed. Further out, through the window, the black sky was violent with flashes of light. The sound of the pattering rain was already putting me back to sleep. How was it that the bomb in my dream perfectly coincided with the thunder in the sky? How would I know the storm was coming?

The front door opened followed by a thud. Reluctantly, I got up to investigate. I stumbled into the living room, rubbing my eyes as they adjusted. There, in the middle of the living room, was Sam staring at me with a trash bag full of clothes.

Her eyes were as wide as the day she got caught sneaking out of her parents house. ***

I pulled in across the street with my lights off. In a second story window, Sam balanced herself on the seal and jumped onto a nearby tree. I watched in awe as she climbed down then ran across the yard. We were a couple of ninjas in the night. In the middle of the night on a weekday, there was nothing to do, so I drove us to the park. Hours had passed as she played on the playground by herself while I laughed at her.

That was until another car pulled up. Sam instantly recognized the car. Her mom stormed out of the car screaming before it even came to a complete stop. ***

They were always fighting back then. I still remember how wide Sam’s eyes were that night. How cold her pale skin was.

How soft her lips were. My senses jolted awake, and I took in my surroundings. Suitcases and bags lay by the door where they had been stealthily assembled while I slept. In the air was the smell of fresh coffee. My gaze then went to Sam. I looked at her shoes that were still wet from the rain, to her black leather jacket as worn down as ever, and then to her big beautiful brown eyes, still as wide as the night she snuck out of her parents’ house. I finally broke the silence.

“Sam. What are you doing?” I asked because I was so hopeful that I was wrong.

“I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to wake you,” her eyes started to water and I began to drown.

“Sam.” I choked, walking towards her as she kept apologizing, going out the door. With a thud, the room fell into silence. I fell onto the couch, staring at the bags she would have to come back for. My mind raced. I tried to calm down. I focused on the pattering rain, and then the smell of coffee filling up the room. Should I go after her? I stared at the door as thunder exploded in the distance. No. She still had to come back for her stuff.

The door opened and, without thinking, I immediately sprang up from the couch.

“Sam. Let’s talk about this. Please, sit down.”

She stopped. “I’m sorry Jack, I really am. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

What a ridiculous thing to say. “Ha, I think it’s a little late for that!”

“I loved you. I really did.” She looked away. “But those feelings just aren’t here anymore.”

My mouth opened but nothing came out. I just stood there shell shocked, watching as she grabbed more bags and then went out the door. Thud.

I walked into the kitchen and poured some coffee. Why would she say that? As I put down the coffee pot, I noticed our picture from our Colorado trip was missing. The picture was taken almost two years ago atop a mountain she made me climb. We were so happy then. I hated camping, but I would never forget that trip. That was the first time she said “ I love you.”

The door opened.

“Sam,” I called, hugging her. And for a moment she just hugged me back. I held her tight even though she was wet and cold.

“I’m sorry.” She paused. “I just remember being happier you know? And now, now I feel like we’re just together because it’s easy. Maybe it’s a really early midlife crisis. It’s just you used to be so much more alive. We used to always go out and do things.

I just need some space to figure things out. It could be good for us.” She pulled away.

“Where are you going?”

“To my mom’s.”

“Ha! How fitting. You were just going to leave in the middle of the night to go to your mom’s. You have always been so shitty at confrontation Sam. You just always run away.” Her mouth dropped and eyes narrowed. Then, before I knew it, her hand flew across my face.

“Bye,” she said, turning towards the door. I realized there were no more bags.

“Hold on, wait. Not like this.”

“This is for the best. I know it seems sudden for you, but it’s not. I have been thinking about this for awhile now. I just didn’t want to hurt you. Finish your coffee and go back to bed.” She opened the door and left.

I walked towards the door, grasping the handle, and as I started to turn it - I just stopped. I turned and looked through the window and saw Sam, through the rain, get into the car.

I wanted to yell at her, to start unpacking her bags, to grab her and make her talk to me. But I felt defeated. Instead I just grabbed my coffee and went back to bed.

59

Distance Irene Campos Distance separates us, but Doesn’t separate us.

You ask how things are, and I want to answer: things are distant without you.

What I answer: things are great!

A small lie to ease your distant heart.

Your voice sounds familiar, but Unfamiliar through the crackle of the breaking line.

It always sounded best in my ear or against my chest.

Even though this distance seems expansive, Let’s not distance truth.

60

3-Fold Braelynn Seely

An old man sat on a park bench lost in thought, reminiscing about his youth.

A lady dressed in sapphire walked by, applying her lipstick for the seventh time that day.

A surgeon who just finished her shift, searches for her keys in her purse.

A teenage boy on his way home after a football game finds himself a victim of a gang war right around the corner.

Nobody noticed.

A fiery red headed woman attends her first frat party.

A group of women take their clothes off and jump in the pool, designer swimsuits.

A young boy, barely two, wondered out onto the street, cars passing over him. A husky man in a ratted ball-cap slips something in Nobody noticed. a lonely blonde’s drink and ushers her into the next room.

A homeless man slept in the parking garage, dimly lit, Nobody noticed. on the corner of Pine and Sycamore Street.

That’s just how it goes sometimes.

Outside My Window Alli Quarles

Running Through Fields of

Flowers Destiny Osteen

A botched fantasy plays in my head of what a family should be.

A cold room, a bed full of nightmares-shatter my innocence.

Screams etched on my skin.

Bruises hidden by sweaters too hot to wear in the middle of August.

Shoes two sizes too small, just like my voice you chose to ignore.

I was created from love, destroyed by neglect, tainted by abuse.

I burned every memory of you from my existence And rose from the ashes.

A flower.

63

When the sun shines bright, we go to Ashley Johnson the zoo.

You’re my favorite; I always view you with love anew.

Tall and regal, walking slowly, Reaching towards the sky.

Your expressive chocolate eyes Gaze at me, inquisitive, from under bushy brows My eyes meet yours.

You extend your tongue.

I giggle.

You snuffle.

The sun stands high like you, and kisses our upturned faces like I wish I could kiss you.

When the sun shines bright, we go to the zoo.

A Summer Story

Don’t Feed Your Gremlin Bria Morris

“Nobody likes you.”

“You’re ugly.”

“You’re not fit enough.”

“You’re not worthy.”

“Why am I even here?”

“No one even notices you.”

Any of this sound familiar?

Trust me, you’re not alone. At one point, I battled with the struggles of not being accepted in our society and I lost track of who I was and what I had to offer as an individual. That was until one day, I met someone who showed me that I had what it takes to make a difference in the way I viewed the world from a student’s perspective, and let’s face it, we’ll always be students whether we liked it or not. Having that person pick me up to show me my worth lit a fire in my bones, and I’ve never looked back. The multitude of growth and leadership opportunities I’ve been faced with made the struggle worth going through.

So, I bet you’d like to know who that person was, right?

Well, that person was me.

I would compare myself to another person’s goals and success, which left me feeling negative self-actualization. For example, after working out, I would look at myself in the mirror and instantly start to criticize every little thing from the shape of my stomach to my dreaded “bat wings” that will always be the last to go on a woman’s body.

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Those negative self-thoughts are what I’d like to call “Gremlins.” For many, Gremlins are most prevalent at night when your mind is calm and starts to wander. For others, it’s during the busy day hours. Gremlins can come in many forms, like our hierarchical needs. That may be relationships, financial situations, stress, anxiety, self-esteem, etc.

With all the surrounding influences and influencers, it can be easy to lose yourself and “get lost in the sauce,” but your goals are yours and it doesn’t matter how long it takes for you to achieve them as long as you don’t give up. I’m not saying once you get over one gremlin another one won’t come along. Life’s a constant battle, but once you know how to destroy the first gremlin, you’ll know how to protect yourself from the next.

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Sweets

Cole Beckham

The sweets of the world came calling with Spring,

But The Living Water called out in a dream,

So I let my skin out on a leash and

So my skin let me out on a leash and

It gorged itself,

I gorged myself,

And now the leash

And now the leash

Is wrapped around me,

Is back in my hands,

And the feeded beast is still starving,

And the defeated beast is weeping,

Bleeding at the teeth from desperate eating.

Shrinking in the light of my solar Redeemer.

I do not remember the minute

Greasy blisters leaking with guilt

I decided not to ask For help,

Clothe me under my Sunday best,

But I have eaten nothing but the vomit of this monster my captor

But my disguise is grossly compromised.

For weeks, and

I reek like the dead, and I know it.

I am sick.

Like a city without walls, The smell of any savory thing is Breathed right in With no checks and no sneezing, Just the craze And the eating.

Going low, I resign, And finally I find, That You, You revive, And You find my faults dissolved.

Rusted Pipe

Aaron Cortinas This photo was taken in the Oak Cliff neighborhood of Dallas. I liked the way that the pipe corroded.

Him Irene Campos Isn’t in the looks and appearances I show.

Isn’t in the way you want to like me undressed.

Isn’t in the lies and betrayals your pitch black mouth spews.

Isn’t in the I’m sorry’s or It won’t happen again’s.

Isn’t in the lashes and green and blue flesh I’m forced to hide.

Love….

Is in the way he can stand my morning breath.

Is in the way he holds my hands, not certain parts.

Is in the words he whispers that can’t seem to roll off without stutters.

Is in the way he traces my scars and marks, unfazed and appreciative.

Is in the late night calls just asking me how was your day and are you okay.

Love is unabashedly him.

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The Flower of Life, to discover and wonder of Itself, I AM.

Apokálypsis Ryan Archer

Of what can bloom, I hold no bounds; for what can be, I constrict.

Through the veil, I peep the immaculate for the art of perception to unfold its facets As patience gestates dreams, the heart reveals serenity.

Yet the angst not befell my conscience to deny the truth for pleasure’s sake; ‘til desire for duality depletes, my life not full by aether wake.

The moment draws near to be vanquished of death, for all to come as One; verily, the wait is nigh.

Whoever seeks to without the vain in time not late it shall pass and die.

Blessed Assurance Ashley Johnson

“It’s okay to not be okay.” The words hit my ears like calming rain. I think about my reading from that morning: Hosea 6. About how the Lord would come like the spring showers that bring new life. Then I thank God for friends who are real.

I tell her about my last few days. How every time I sit down to attempt any kind of work, anxiety seizes me like the beginnings of the flu. This week—this month, actually—has overwhelmed me. I have too many decisions. I can’t even read without my mind drifting to my ever-present, overbearing future. I tell her about the near panic attacks I have when I sit on the too-big comforter that swallows my bed. The comforter is like my life—consuming me. Fear of complacency and lack of purpose settle over me like a heavy fog, hiding the sunlight of joy and concealing where I’m meant to go in a dense veil of uncertainty.

What is my purpose?

But it’s fine. Because it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to question. That’s how we learn to trust—by being afraid. By not knowing what lies ahead. It’s how I will learn once again to trust the Creator’s plan, because I’m apparently having a hard time with it now: hence the panic attacks.

I think back to my eight-year-old self and the fear of abandonment.

I remember the tension rising in my stomach. I remember the panic overtaking me. I don’t know what it is or why I feel this way—I am definitely too old for it—I just know I do. And it frightens me. In five minutes the bell will ring, signaling the end of another school day and I fear being left alone. Fighting to hold back hot tears, I lay my head on my desk. It doesn’t work. Tears trickle down my warm cheeks anyway. My ears grow scarlet as I feel thirty-two eyes staring. “What’s wrong?” I hear my best friend murmur. She’s worried. And embarrassed. I can hear it in her voice. I don’t know what’s wrong. That’s the problem. I can’t articulate it. I’m remembering.

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“Ashley, Nana is gone.” I don’t understand the gravity of the statement. I continue spinning in the office chair. My mom hands me a brightly colored plastic headband—it looks like it’s from the 70s. “She wanted you to have this,” she whispers. I’m beginning to feel nauseous, yet I’m still spinning. My feet are working like the oars my dad and I use to propel our little flat-bottom.

Gone. The word denotes finality. I didn’t understand such conclusiveness at eight years old. I had never experienced death before. No one was gone. They always came back. Always.

Even with my fear of the final bell and being left alone, I knew when that last bell rang, my mom would be waiting for me in the squeaky blue pick-up, just as she had for the last two years. Actually, she was almost always the first in that long line of cars. I had no reason not to trust her. But in the very depths of me there was still that coldness—still that feeling that somehow I would be left utterly alone— abandoned—by everyone I loved.

That discomforting uncertainty has me stressed now.

It’s painful to feel unsure of the guiding hand that is meant to bring peace. But, it’s through this pain and fear that I learn to wholly trust in God. Learning to trust is a tricky business. It’s when I can say, “I don’t know what to do, so I’m just gonna lean into you.”

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We may be different, you and I We may not always see eye to eye You may not wish to shake my hand But can I ask that you understand You may not wish to know our name But we deserve respect all the same Are we different in the end?

I understand you’re not my friend But take a look around you I see the differences too But we are similar as well Though it might be hard to tell We may not always see eye to eye We may be different, you and I But can I ask that you understand There are differences across the land

Different Max Patton

Untitled Maggie Pierce

Sidewalk Donald Penner

Two people moved the same direction on a sidewalk. It was a fresh sidewalk, newly poured by an immigrant.

“Excuse me.” Casey mumbled to the form blocking the only path to the place. “Excuse me. You’re walking too slow.”

“Too slow for who? You?” Bailey turned and peered over the top of some sunglasses, appraising Casey.

“Yes. Too slow for me.” Casey said, trying to be firm about it.

“Go around then.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Bailey asked.

“I don’t walk on the streets here. Bad drivers.”

“Bad drivers?”

Casey pointed to some people in their vehicles. “I don’t want to get hit.”

“I get you.” Bailey nodded in agreement.

“So…are you going move? I don’t have all day.”

The sun warmed their skin.

“I’ll move. On one condition.”

“Name it,” Casey begged. “I really need to get to the place.”

Bailey stood, arms folded, in the middle of the freshly poured sidewalk. “Kiss me. Kiss me and tell me you love me.”

Casey pondered the demand, and Bailey’s face. “Hmm. You’re serious. But there’s one problem.”

Bailey sighed. “What’s the problem? You have two lips. I have two lips.”

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Casey shrugged. “It’s not the lips. It’s just that I don’t love you. I don’t love you because I don’t even know you.”

“You will if you try. Or you won’t. I’ll show you how to dance.”

Casey’s ears perked up. “How do you know I can’t dance already?”

“I know. I mean, look at you. Anyways…kiss me?

Last chance.” Bailey turned to leave.

“And you’ll move?”

Bailey stopped and nodded. “I’ll share the sidewalk if you kiss me and say you love me.”

“Well, I’m nervous.” Casey scuffed the sidewalk with a nice shoe.

“Me too. It’s scary to love someone.”

“I walk fast. I might leave you behind. That’s not love.”

Bailey’s eyes rolled. “I’m scared I’ll love you even if you can’t dance.”

“But you could show me.”

“I could show you.”

They leaned towards each other until their shadows met, a gray bridge over the new sidewalk.

They closed their eyes. The four lips met and slid across each other like all wet lips do.

“I love you.” Casey told Bailey as they parted mouths.

“Walk with me? I’m going to the place too.”

They clasped hands and walked side by side, not too slow and not too fast, on the sidewalk just poured by an immigrant.

This is Just to Say Adriana Mendoza

Maybe if I hadn’t lost my heart I could find the love I once had Maybe if I hadn’t turned into this sociopath I could grieve for you, at last

There’s so many things I want to say to you, Father But mostly, I just want you to know how sorry I am Every parent deserves to be respected and loved unconditionally

Maybe if I hadn’t been devoured by so much hate I could let go of all this pain Perhaps, I could forgive you Or maybe I could just leave you

I thought that was the kind of love that I had for you

The wounds are still open

Maybe If I had it, things would’ve been different

I let the devil choke me

Maybe I would miss you Maybe I could forgive you Or maybe I would have killed you So I wouldn’t need you

I let the pain control me My demons adore me I invite the darkness to join me You can no longer hurt me Forgiveness is not part of this story

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Captivated/Captive Cameron Long He told me he would build us a home.

He started with the unearthing of a lonely plot Ripping each living thing from the ground, Trading pollen-happy plants for heavy, uninhabited slabs of cement.

He took long stakes and forced them into the cold and barren foundation,

Stakes stolen from the forest,

Their rings of growth butchered, Branches of character stripped away.

He then built the walls,

Bricks upon bricks upon bricks

Sealed in place with glue;

No cracks, no gaps,

No breeze to come visit He finished with a roof,

Placed and posed on the tops of the towering walls

Concluding the construction

Enclosing the cell

Excluding all raindrops

And eliminating the rich sunlight When I ask him about a window He tells me He is the light of my life, or rather, He is the only light of my life.

I don’t dare ask for a door.

Truly, The only thing I wanted

Was a garden.

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Dreamworld Ryan Archer How enamored are those who sleep by delicate curves and subtle fiends with no difference from themselves-save for the structure of their genes.

Tricked by satisfaction, one’s demons stay stealthy, though it is addicting and considered “healthy.”

What is to be done?

From the inner Self they run...

They dig a dry well, or lock themselves in a cell then bury their own key calling outward: “Help me.”

Pitted against one another, governed by a need to compete, held separate, but not Seduced by vain conceit.

Swayed by impulses.

Brothers and sisters we are of Reliant on false elates. fire, Slave to the void turned external through desire. from which illusion promulgates.

Material thought leads to misery, The importance of looks? feeling empty without synergy. Primal.

The importance of image?

The focus of the masses Minimal. continues to be The importance of presence? physical pleasures Carnal. and egoistic personality.

The importance of being?

Eternal.

Red Sonja

Sarah Weikel

A Red Sonja comic cover contest finalist.

Red Sonja. Marvel Comics 1973-75. Dynamite Entertainment 2005-present. Comic.

Friends

When I’m all alone I can feel the glee Thinking of how I’m finally free To come out and play And what I want to say Is that cheese and chocolate pie Don’t matter as much as why Why was I so lonely when family was there?

Because it’s so hard for me to be clear Max But now I can say that Patton I have a friend who gets that I have friends who share a love of theatre But we don’t like to explain why we share Beyond the fact we all love the atmosphere And hope to continue to be there Sometimes friends don’t have to be just like you And I’m learning that is okay too I may not have a friend who eats cheese as much as chocolate pie But I do have a friend who reads as much as I It may not be what I expected to happen But I’m learning they rarely come together in a package Right now my loneliness seems gone But with my luck it won’t be gone long Either way I am free to come out and play Because it seems so far away

and

Happiness

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Friends and

Sorrow Max Patton

When I’m all alone I can feel the sorrow Of thinking I’ll be lonely again tomorrow People are always forgetting that I’m there Even when we’re out and about somewhere ‘Cause no one’s wanting to talk to me They’re all such busy bees Once I get rid of all my nightmares And face the problems in my life Come to terms with who I am Amidst the chaos that is rife And maybe once my sorrows go away I’ll feel free to come out and play Maybe make some friends again Before life becomes a tail spin Someone who reads as much as I Who loves cheese as much as chocolate pie A friend who knows the books behind the movies And all the details in their stories But I’m beginning to wonder if that’ll ever happen ‘Cause together it doesn’t come in a package Maybe it’ll happen someday But right now it seems so far away

Chliche To Death Darby Mayfield

Ken often got clichés mixed up. “If you can’t stand the heat you’d better break some eggs,” and “If you’re going to bake a cake it better be hot in the kitchen” are a couple mutilated examples. When I first heard these, I thought he was trying to be funny, but he wasn’t. He was a smart enough guy, engineer and all, but the world had beaten the kindness out of Ken. A combination of unsophisticated parents, being bullied at a young age, and losing his first love in a cruel way made him a coward.

In his late twenties, Ken lived with a woman named Susan who was a few years younger than he. Susan loved Ken and wanted to marry him. Ken knew they wouldn’t marry, but he didn’t tell Susan, stringing her along for his purposes of companionship and commitment-free sex. Susan did not and would not measure up to Ken’s first lost love, a young woman who was courageous, uninhibited, worldly, and ambitions. She was the complete opposite of Ken who was fearful, inhibited, ignorant, and without ambition. Susan and Ken were together five years when Ken did something despicable that ended the relationship.

They were at a party and Ken left with another woman without telling Susan or anyone else. When Ken and the woman returned, maybe an hour later, the only people left at the party were Susan, the host and hostess, and the woman’s husband. Everyone was cordial at the brief reunion, but Susan left Ken soon after. It didn’t occur to him, until years later, that the incident had initiated Susan’s leaving.

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A few years later Ken had married and, due to lingering immaturity, was in an often tumultuous relationship with his wife. They did not communicate well, and there was usually an undercurrent of disagreement or misunderstanding. He often assigned clichés, mutilated or not, to things in the relationship or in his life that irritated and bothered him. “Water under the bridge, time will tell, all’s fair in love and war, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” There were dozens of ‘em he could adapt to any situation.

Around the same time, Susan had married and lived in the same city as Ken and his wife. Susan, a loving and forgiving person, and her husband gradually became friends with Ken and his wife. They socialized frequently.

Susan’s husband was a musician and the music scene seemed to contribute to their excessive drinking. Over several years, as the drinking became problematic, the friendship with Ken and his wife declined. Within a decade, drinking killed Susan and her husband.

Ken visited Susan in the hospital before she died. Her mother, a sweet, gentle woman, was there. She told Ken she wished that he and Susan had married.

There was no cliché for that.

Fair Weather

Veronica Wheat

I took this picture the first time I visited the State Fair of Texas.

I didn’t get to ride the famous Texas Star, but at least I got a picture of it.

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Be smart they said, Make all A’s.

You won’t be successful, Without a pay raise.

Student

Athlete Danielle Lacasse

Be an athlete, You must be the best.

Battling both, With so little rest.

Sleep is essential, Unless you’re me.

Trying to promote it, Yet how ironic is thee, No time for fun, Unless you want to fail.

So I became an outsider, This place became jail.

Smile and trust, No time for complaining.

But how can one live, When it is constantly raining.

I cry and cry, No one ever notices.

But who cares, As long as I’m focused.

Then I was honest, And finally got seen.

Suddenly what was dark, Soon became green.

My furry friend brought smiles, Through my toughest of days.

No longer will I sorrow, For I’m out of that phase.

Here comes new tomorrows, With good grades and success.

Always ask for help, And you will be blessed.

Narrow

Hardship David Young Life is a deadly existence that pains us with persistence We walk further than our feet take us, but it takes more than us.

It feeds on the negligence and ignorance of people who claim resistance It takes the pure feelings of love and lust.

To destroy and let things run amuck, stuck in a past tense Without end, we never make a true mark without making a fuss.

It’s a true creature without mercy or love, it’s a true wench But it always beats a person and withering with every punch.

Life is like a park without a field or trees or bench It’s a disappointment with no touch.

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A House Divided Autumn VanBuskirk

A worn-out couch sat in a lonely house.

“There is no way I’m going with him,” it said.

“She had me long before he came along.”

An old, antique coffee table lingered in the living room.

“I want to go with him, but I don’t want to leave her grandma’s teacup collection.”

The fairly new house stood on its corner of the street.

“It’ll be nice having just her in the house, Especially now that I’ll have one less car in the garage.”

A little girl sat in her room.

“Come on, sweetie, it’s time to go to your father’s house,” her mother said.

“Okay, Mommy, but why doesn’t Daddy live here anymore?”

The Turtle tucks into His shell, when dangerous sound drifts near.

No matter His age or experience, His first reaction is fear.

As sparrows and lions, and badgers and rats, all just ask for the way, to food and water and shelter,

The Turtle Mark Howard

The Turtle has nothing to say.

For Turtles are slow and parsimonious things, and carry Their burdens like Christ— Except Christ never turned down a challenge, He even stared death in the face, thankfully He wasn’t a Turtle, no shell to cover His face, when tough times grew tougher, and the party got rougher, no longer so old and grand, at least He smiled and blessed the dissent when they hammered first nail in His hand.

But, Turtles don’t smile, nor do They change, They just puff up in poor taste, when the animal kingdom cheers in joy, when Hares start winning the race.

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Spices

David Young

Paradise, paradoxes with evergreens so precise if only life were so simple, so divine and nice.

We can only hope for something that fits us without a terrible price But to love and listen is an easy sacrifice.

That is what it means to play the game of life and throw these dice a violent game we never seem to get to play twice in search of a sweet and bubble sensation that fills us with spice But something that can start so small like a grain of rice Love is never precise.

Silly Thing

Jay Huynh

The Patriot:

Inspired Minds Volume 1 Fall 2018

Editors Megan Byrd - Chief Editor Irene Campos - Assistant Editor

Board Selection Committee Comprised of students from the Patriot Student Media Production team. The board/committee approves and selects all works being published.

Megan Byrd Irene Campos Jade Martin Ben Michael Veronica Wheat Ashley Ray

Office Manager Ashley Ray

Main Layout and Page Designer Irene Campos Megan Byrd

Logo Designer Ben Michael

Social Media Marketer

Cover Page Designer Irene campos

Veronica Wheat

Contributing Page Designers Jade Martin Ben Michael Ashley Ray Veronica Wheat Contact: tpimsubmissions@gmail.com or Room 3114 3rd Floor University Center Follow us on Twitter @UTT_PIM

“If you can hear a voice within you say, ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.”

-Vincent Van Gogh “Where words leave off, music begins.”

-Heinrich Heine “The true alchemists do not “You may think I’m small, change lead into gold; they but I have a universe inside my head.” change the world into words.”

-Yoko Ono -William H. Gass “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

-Pablo Picasso “Creativity is not contagious, “Where words leave pass it on.” off, music begins.”

-Albert Einstein -Heinrich Heine “Music is a world within “A true artist is not one itself with a language we who is inspired, but who inspires others.” all understand.”

-Salvador Dali -Stevie Wonder “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”

-Anais Nin “The poet is a liar who “Creativity takes courage.” always speaks the truth.”

-Henri Matisse -Jean Cocteau “The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.”

-Jean Cocteau