Promise. Misentity Winter 2022

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Misentity

divine innocence Clare Cummings angels smoking cigarettes on rooftops shaking the ash from their halos it drifts slow and down to land on the child the child, who feels the ash and then nothing at all angels above— they know what they’ve done

That line Koal Hohman

Untitled, Anonymous

Light’s often seen as good, And dark as cruel and evil, But rarely is that the case, as what makes benevolence or malevolence Is often a matter of view.

From one angle, a legendary hero, vanishing armies, gaining land for his kingdom, a champion of the people they call him.

From another, a cruel conqueror, who slays innocents and burns villages to the ground, A cruel hearted villain they call him.

So is light truly good? Or is that just our viewpoint?

Is it even our viewpoint, or the one we’re forced to see?

The line between good and evil, light and darkness, is so very thin.

And only few realized that it is always blurred.

Cough drop Bella Silvestri Drop, drop, drop Goes the rain No, wait It smells of cherry Was it cough syrup?

No no A cough drop Yes! Now I remember The cherry cough drop chokes me No, was it her?

Oh yes it was definitely her choking Never me But was she choking on the cough drop Or was it my knife?

The event reigns foggy But I do believe it was my trusted Swiss pocketknife It had all the right tools to do whatever I wanted And what I wanted Was her to choke.

And choke she did.

Cough drop Koal Hohman He walked through the brush, toward the injured game with a pocketknife. He ended its suffering. He begun skinning the creature, when he noticed at the edge of his vision, a wrapper, of a cherry cough drop.

He stopped, sniffed it, “intruder,” and moved to hunt them. He was getting close when the drop of rain fell on his nose. “Trail go cold soon...” But he saw.

“Found them.” He dashed out, and his claw dug into their flesh, becoming red with blood. The others fired their weapons, but he grabbed them and crushed their skulls with ease.

Untitled, Anonymous

The hunt was over, as he pulled them away, red dragging behind them.

Impermissible Kimberly Edgar A pass time when the days get colder.

That is what I was.

No strings.

No connection.

Not too close.

But we are, Close.

Millions upon millions of typed letters, Arranged to form simple words with meaning, Sent through platforms to arrive in front of her Striking Blue Eyes.

Miles away but attracted all the same.

Read my words and imagine them coming from my lips, Soft and sweet in your ears.

Do you hear me darling?

400 miles is nothing but a number.

An obstacle.

A punishment.

Time is limited, you can’t hold on.

I’ll say goodbye when our time is up, Until then Feel our closeness, I’ll cherish, So, take my name with you to your grave angel.

Leaving me is inevitable, But forgetting what we had is not.

Inuit Goddess Seda Bella Silvestri Mother of the seas She guides and escorts life With a caress from her fingerless hands Making sure all goes to plan The waves in the endless arctic blue Flutter and flow with ease Because she leads and protects When her family goes hungry She turns them over Providing her tribe with sustenance When her people get greedy She hides her creatures Conserving them from hunters It's all about balance And keeping her community safe Whether it be the smallest seal pup Or the Inuvialuit leader She mothers the sea

remedy Clare Cummings medically flavored cherries on my tongue and in my nose worried for my throat, mother made me take it I resent her more and more and more every cherry shrouded swallow a drop now on my cheek just rain’s knife slice hits my head, my chin, the dirt I open wide to catch them frigid, harsh, and cutting down my throat so cherry blood drips and drips and drips

Little Deer Annika Peterson My fragile fawn, bask in the forest clear Lovely sun soaks skin and warms midday air Wooded whispers stroke soft necks dumb with fear Sore eyes shudder as they return their stare, You’ve darted off in bramble thick and cruel Ancient branches are ignorant to gore Slicing weary arms reaching for the fool Wet bones mince madly on the forest floor Cut and cradled, bitter is the unknown Snuffed is your light from my pitiful eye Haunted having left you ghost, all alone Who to despise, the dreadful wood or I? So tiresome, wondering him stranded there My poor little deer; fate is never fair

Hydrangeas Clare Cummings Breaths are chilled and useless Eyes are tight with hurt Deep in the hydrangeas Pink petals coat the dirt Ma’s begun to shout From her perch beside the door Breaths are pained and restless Hands are cracked and worn White sheets stained much darker That night he went away Stuck forever way out here It’s clear someone must pay A corrupted currency is the air Stolen from the chests These pale and pink hydrangeas Are all that can be left

Mirrored Memories Lauren Smith Yesterday shrinks away and my mind searches for something – no, someone – going back and back and... gone.

I realize I have been crying And my face burns, my shirt mopping at my skin.

I try to remember where I am, what happened, and still... nothing.

Nothing but a feeling of emptiness.

A hole where something remains missing.

And just as suddenly as I feel it, the hole fades too.

“Who am I?” My chest tightens and my throat burns with unspoken questions My name comes back to me but what the hell can I do with that?

What have you become?

Flames lick my insides, rage rises, gorge I swallow I know nothing My mind searches, scrambles to find anything, anything To be that beacon.

The library streetlight shines ahead of me I lift my chin and turn Toward the beam Roads turn to pathways and I’m lured closer to the answers I step, then run, My breath hitches and a shaky exhale frees the pressure in my chest With a gush of breath, I confront my shadow, myself, smaller, Reticent, less open, almost invisible I smile, and I smile back We turn and return to the darkness

Showcased Roses Courtney Warns An avalanche of forbidden water Obligated to be drank from the holy flask, Now seeps to a puddle of red, Like the rain drops that erode the top of my canvas.

Stool still, I admire my art I admire myself My pocketknife lays tiredly stained beside me “It’s okay”, I thought, The red body was discontinued anyway And so, I now hold the legacy of the showman Roses as rich as crows’ feathers surround the piece To be dusted with nature’s palette Creating a new speckled beast raging inside me But after a storm come the sun Clouds override and excuse the sun for Five more minutes They would say So instead, you are met with colors Thus, leading with red Then green Then blue Then black With others in between, of course Because those are prominent to the healing process.

And now the clouds allow the sun to be found But the light is fragile and cannot bend So, the clouds shove a cherry cough drop down the throat of the sun to Keep quiet, no whining They would say But they knew that sickness was in the heart of this sun Tis where I step in To display my art upon the town To finally be found.

Full of blacks And blues And greens And red Just as the clouds did to their son

Untitled, Maggie Sadiq

Untitled Courtney Warns Assigned jury for capital warfare Our love attracts a fellow sinning priest He proclaims confession should tame this beast Before such, father’s heart slain at prayer State clemency still can’t solve our affair Sir, must we end our breath for this wrong tryst?

We mustn’t augment, our fated path ceased Only wedlock can liberate thy heir A mothering miscreant’s kin is born We wait afore our son makes adultness Before compelling him to ease our scorn We cannot be saved, we hope to egress You mustn’t cheer in sorrow, do not mourn My child, you divulge, and he will bless

Split personality Patrick Reed The knife. Shining crimson with blood. But, I did not know the blood on the blade. It fell of the blade creating a cherry cough drop in a puddle on the ground beside the body. The rain drops formed a river. Flowing scarlet red. The blood water flowed around the body. The knife continued to stab into the body. My hand attached to the knife. Stabbing the body continuously. I’m a murderer. Ruthlessly killing my victim. Spreading the scarlet river more and more apart.

Cough drop Annika Peterson Cold cherry cough drop Chemical and clean Gliding along my tired tongue Clicking cool past cracked teeth You’d soothe throats if only you were real At least you’re sweet enough to steal The petty pocketknives rending my throat Clawing like starved dogs I crunch and swallow A pill of bitter rain Cloying cherry spit Seeps into my hollow chest I pluck another

Untitled, Esperanza V.C.

Tide of lies Koal Hohman I cry as my mind thrashes Caught in the tide of these lies And fake truths, Soul breaking false hoods, Never to find The reason why Society is cruel to those Who have an open mind Their mask with a smile, Baiting them in, then stabbing with knives made of lies And then we die And our remains They buy Falling for greed And so I cry

Untitled, Silvia Martinez

From Green to Gold to Gone Lauren Smith

Fading from green to gold to gone

Trees taken down to make room for our lawns

The leaves have withered and decayed

The forest losing its sweet serenade

And still, the morning wakes and yawns

Fading from green to gold to gone

Clumsy and weak is the newborn fawn Now sprawled out and bloody, on display Fading from green to gold to gone

The fauna have become scarce and withdrawn Rushing to safety, lost and afraid And still, the morning wakes and yawns

Nature’s made to be humanity’s pawn Preyed on, robbed, and never repaid Fading from green to gold to gone

Nature’s resources cannot simply respawn Our world trembles as its life starts to fade And still, the morning wakes and yawns Fading from green to gold to gone.

Addictive Desperation Kimberly Edgar Little comments fade into statements of protection, For me.

From you.

You belong to me.

A joke.

Or was it?

I do something goodGood Girl.

I do something badNaughty Girl, I’m going to do bad things to you.

I try but failI’ll give you something if you do this for me.

Playful demands yet my body floods with heat, As my mind wonders what that would sound like, Whispered into my ear by your lips.

Do you think about me when we aren’t together?

Do you hope I’m doing okay as you go through your day?

Is your growing want to be spending time with me?

Mmmmm, do you want me to call you those sweet names you call me?

Or is that desperate?

Reaching, maybe?

But angel, I want to call you by the names you deserve.

Open your heart to me baby, If I am yours, then you are mine.

Prove to me that when you said You can have me You meant it.

“Do you know what that means my son?” My father asked me. My answer was always the same. No. He would explain to me that it meant warriors would Mordex. Fenrir. Names that fight their demons in the head mean nothing to ordinary people and the feelings of not believing. but, to me and my family are Then go to the actual fight with a names of legends. With the calm mind set. names striking fear in the hearts My father not being the of their enemies more than the nicest man he was known for his last. Mordex the protector of the ability to protect without failure. gods themselves. Fenrir a Until he met one man. A man ruthless that all worries bounty feared. The Names that mean nothing hunter Collector. A man to ordinary people… swimming on a ruthless in his journey to collect riches using his soul fire gift to everything that catches his eyes. slay his enemies. Me being the The sword of Armina. The next name to go down as legend. revolver of Tombstone. The My story begins with my father scythe of Ashigaru. The bow of telling me one of his many Ulysses. Are just a couple of stories. Boring yet intriguing. I items The Collector has gone for. would sit and listen to his stories All these items lost in time, waiting for the end yet craving spread throughout the world. for the story to continue.

My grandfather told me “Victorious warriors win where he hid his sword to ensure first and then go to war, while the collector would never find it. defeated warriors go to war first He left it for me wanting for me and then seek to win.” My father to retrieve it and control the always told me telling me it was power of his soul fire. He told me said to him by a man named Sun to travel to the mountains.

Tzu. A warrior my father fought beside many of times.

To be continued…

Feathers of Light Patrick Reed

Sirens Lament Lauren Smith I used to love a girl named Caroline Her form called to nary a good man’s gaze Though her eyes see not, they set hearts ablaze Given the chance I’d force our fates align I crossed my heart I’d make that lady mine The way she walks turns men's minds to a haze She sings, and willingly the men obey And yet no boundaries have been defined In the face of our love, the maiden yawns And no men can earn the right to her bed Some men up and declare they’re withdrawn So carefully I make my move instead Unfortunately, I was but a pawn Her lover came back and tore me to shreds

Untitled, Annika Peterson

Leaves of Lineage Courtney Warns It was then I realized the reason my sister sat on the bank that day The inescapable feeling of expanding and expanding and expanding until the tip of her toes graze the bottom of the sea scraping the lining of her existence Nerves tingle her spine in a gush like fragile fate keeping her in the doorway and finally she sinks I watch her sink She glides down the rock, into open palms Chin up, eyes closed, fingers spread Grasping — nothing in this world Does she need to be lifted?

I think she wants to wander Things speak to her, whisper-shout She can hear But can she?

My voice casts beyond the void I’m a radio host of the station playing on her jukebox She is the amplifier Allowing herself to be lifted and carried through the crowd For the protests of whatever the rabbit is selling in the corner by the porta potties Until she reaches the stage Jolting a beer bellied gray cat Who stands from his chair as an ash drops from his pipe, straight onto my sister’s shoulder “What are you doin’ on ma stage luv” the obese creature calmly questions, His voice speaks in a familiar tone A Tommy Chong attempting a black, southern dialect But then she feels a shiver A burning that’s real And she is sinking drowning Melting Into ash Into sawdust And now she is an oak Standing beside the bank Where I swore, she had just sunk.

Lullaby for a broken boy

Annika Peterson Hiccupping sobs drench Rosy cheeks and tattered pillowcases Crying out to no one in particular Shuddering beneath ghost-thin sheets To him, the earthquake tossed his tiny world But all is quiet downstairs The pitter patter of the somber storm Ushers the boy to sleep And stirs the miniature men Who trickle down to earth on raindrops Marching in through the windowsill Waltzing into open wounds Gifts of salt and honey Take a chisel to the soft pink fibers of his mind Making sense of the mess his parents made Buried in his puffy-eyed slumber His mind becomes a monster And the earth reaches out her tender hand Stroking the stary-eyed boy to sleep Whispering stories to keep the child in him awake Tempered and held close by sweet illusions Delirious with myths and magic He no longer knows what is real

Untitled, Silvia Martinez

With the unprecedented creative freedom that accompanies our new digital format, Misentity is now expanding beyond the literary and visual arts! To reflect the diverse and beautiful creative talents of our student body, we are now open to submissions of music, film, and the dramatic arts. Email all submissions to @misentitymagazine@gmail.com, anonymous submissions are welcome!