Tomorrowby David M. HarryTomorrow by Beatgoliath
Matthew and August went to the beach on a sunny afternoon. He wore his favorite, blue beach shorts printed with a map of the West Indies and she wore her favorite, sunburst bikini. The weather was very warm, but the sand was cool on their feet as they walked along the shore. A little breeze caused the palm trees to sway in a syncopated rhythm. Seagulls glided on that breeze over the ocean as they searched for fish. In the distance, a sea lion roared like an angry trumpet. As Matthew and August walked in the sand, there were children running away from the cold ocean waves reaching for their little feet. An old man, whose face had many wrinkles and interesting stories, flew a simple kite he probably made himself.
The heavy sun burdened with the weight of warm day began to sink into the endlessness of the ocean’s deep. The light became thick, atmospheric, and heavy with warning that it was time to leave.
For My BrotherBy David M. HarryFor My Brother by Beatgoliath
I remember him waking me up by punching me
I remember we never agreed on anything—not even videogames
I remember he could never beat me in a race around our block
But most of all, I remember he and mom getting into the car on Saturdays
I remember he was the best student in math out of all of us
I remember he took such pride in helping me pass my tests
I remember the teacher said he was the model student
But most of all, I remember the day the ambulance came to our school
I remember reading him stories when he had trouble sleeping at night
I remember holding the tubes when he had to throw up
I remember how cold his skin felt when we shook hands before I had to leave
But most of all, I remember the long beep that wouldn’t stop
I remember everyone saying nice things about my brother
I remember the tears that limped down my face
I remember the casket where his body lay
But most of all, I remember the dirt that filled his grave.
there's something you meant to tell me.my friends warned me about love back when i first started high school because i didn't know anything about anything importantWhyles
all i knew was poetry and art and world war two and they knew that wouldn't get me very far but i guess they knew i wouldn't get me very far either
and last night it was dark when i was driving home so i was just thinking about everything and in the midnight darkness all i could see were girls with pale pink hair and boys with pastel lips and i realized that both were far more dangerous than driving drunk or smoking three packs of cigarettes a day and maybe if i listened to my friends i might still be alive
but i'd rather be killed by the people i fell in love with than just being alive without nothing to paint into the night sky when i drive.
its 8 pm, and i'm just trying to forget."hey, your shoe's untied"Whyles
shouldn't be romantic, and it shouldn't make my heart flutter
as i lie here in my bed and imagine that the lines in my ceiling
are the perfect blue veins
coursing beneath the flawless ivory flesh of your careful hands,
that never shake like mine.
but those four simple words you said one day across the halls,
before we ever really met,
were the nicest thing you ever told me,
because it showed how much you cared,
but i guess that was back then.
"i love you"
should be romantic, and it shouldn't make my heart shatter
when i look at the polaroids taped to my wall,
and think about how much brighter your eyes always seemed at night
when we danced beside the waves.
but you spoke those words as you stood by the door
with a question mark hovering in the air;
the air that choked me when you walked away.
"i'm sorry" still lives deep within my walls,
and reverberates every time i scream your name.
i'm cold, could you pass me a blanket?my kindergarten teacherWhyles
told me there were flowers in my soul.
too bad it's always autumn;
dead inside of me.
the garden is a crumbled heap,
and my heart suffocates
beneath the leaves.
there's no salvation for moths in your world.when i was in middle schoolWhyles
my art teacher told me that in abstract paintings
warm colors are laid over cool, and especially neutral, colors.
so when i sat atop the back table
and splattered my dusk blue tears of flimsy watercolor paints
atop the sickening yellow i despised so much,
she scolded me and put me out of her class
when i told her i didn't want to be kandinsky
and that she didn't know shit about art.
but i couldn't help but think about her
on my way to the hospital.
so tell me, ms. bame, am i killing myself right,
smothering ivory wrists with crimson stains?
would you let me stay in your class now,
hang me up in the art case?