noisemakermag:

hello everyone, faithful followers, sorry for being MIA; jobs, school, and everything in between were taking over our lives. but we’re back continuing on our mission to share written word with everyone on the interwebs. so, we’re coming back for the summertime! no theme or anything, just shoot us your best poetry, short fiction under 1500 words, reviews, photography, art, video shorts, and music @ noisemakermag@gmail.com (check out our submissions page for other guidelines). deadline is july 17th! share, submit, blog and repost so that we can accomplish our mission. please & thank you. (: happy creating! from: the noisemakers <3

the world is too big, i think. too large to even fathom different timezones, different people, different struggles. i see people with no food, no money, mouths propped open searching for a roast beef sandwich to stop their grumbling stomachs, looking for a beer to forget their ongoing troubles.

and then you have to realize that there are other people experiencing the same thing around the world - it’s heart shattersmashing. and people around me just disconnect themselves from the problems, unplug their thoughts from what they can see through their eyes. they think about their “first world problems,” their lack of twitter followers, expanding waistlines from excess food and excess money. “oh shit i’m going to miss the latest episode of vampire diaries.” 

we have too much free time on our hands as time ticks by and slides through our fingers as we have too many meaningless distractions at our disposal.

we’re barely human beings,
just the extended hand of technology
spreading & sprinkling mind-numbing
pixie dust over our eyes.

our mind is a canvas
where the pen bleeds
& the ink dries
and we consider it permanent
but it’s really just life
being permeable preventing
us from propelling our lives
in a positive direction

it’s really just 
a place where we can change the past
rewrite tales into fictional facts
just to make coping easier
just to make our lives simpler

we ache when the memories
spin & never end
but we ache to hold on
to the memories

manipulation is our best friend
               we’ve just yet to realize it

sometimes i think you’re a 
pet and not a person
slipping in through the back door
after ruining my rose garden
tip-toeing up the stairs
dragging the dirt in behind you
careful, careful not to make a sound 
with your heavy feet
you said you’d be here as the sunset
and it’s summer so you had a few hours
extra time because it’s still light at 8

but it’s night now 
and i’m just shrouded in darkness
not even the twinkle of the stars 
can distract me from
wondering where you were 
and who you were with

you’re too late now though
i’ve found someone else
to occupy me
keep me lingering 
on their every words
at night 

i wasn’t the best daughter 
i could be in adolescence
but who really is?
struggling with 
body changes
hormonal spikes of craziness and 
wanting independence
i was sometimes down right snarky
plucky little girl with a comeback 
for everything

& somedays i wish i could spin
back the hands on a clock
go back rewrite this story
erase all my wrongs

but you still showered me in love
even after all of my mistakes
& that’s how i stand strong 
hold my ground even in your absence

we’re all just stardust anyways
i’m sure we’ll meet again
our souls will rejoice
& dance around each other

you’ve pulled
too hard on the
strings of my heart
& now you’re sitting
on the floor with unraveled
threads wondering
how to revive something long gone

there’s that person our proud mothers
urged us to be by holding our
perfect little hands throughout the
                                  Tick
                                          Tick
                                                 Tick

                                                                   Of time—
perfect,
poise,
proper
never daring to utter words that cut like machetes through silence (frack, fudge, fuck, oh fuck the crown jewel of them of that shaved a year off mother’s time here every time you said it- far more worse than stepping on a crack)

but of course behind my mother’s back
I stepped on cracks
and openly defiled her name by ending all of my sentences with shit
and all of my nights with fuck

she expected too much of me

And I couldn’t call myself a slut
just a girl searching

for Oversexualized Comfort
because every screen I’ve peered to in my years told me that’s who I should be
and little girls became too in love with live with lust, sex, painting their lips with wine colored sticks, bridging the gap between being too sex driven while walking down the road of Matrimony and Motherhood,

I’ve come to realize my body isn’t a wonderland, a palace, the royal throne,

it’s a playground that’s been trampled over too many times to count

& as the sun stares her down she weeps for joy. he’s gone, he’s finally gone; just merely a memory deep in her mind like all those useless facts she crammed in there in high school. she didn’t know where to go, where to roam to, wondering if the animals in the backyard farm would just lead her back home or help her plot her escape from fences & beartraps.

life is becoming too gray and drab
concrete slabs
too structural
i’m feeling confined
trapped between
the walls of society closing in on me

institutionalized euthanasia
shooting morphine into our veins
to cover-up what really goes on around American soil

life is over before it begins
we’re getting rid of pain and suffering
by cutting it off completely
we don’t know our true history
because it gets hacked, chopped, torn down
by the government
pages ripped out of textbooks
a sharpie marker to an unsettling sentence
or two or whole paragraphs
banned books
white out what we know in our minds
we’re soon-to-be-victims
in a continuously victimizing world

and we never hear the unbiased multi-faceted version of the story
just the one that Americans feel their children need to know

and even with censorship 
there’s arbitrary placement
honors classes, cliques,
making the divide of the social class system larger, bigger
more reliant on big savings accounts

even though i can’t picture
happiness here in this world
it feels warm like a late Spring night
where we’re on the cusp of summer
and heat swirls around 
cloaks me in the night like a
newborn child nuzzled against her mother’s breath
and i miss the days where
life was just that simple

where life didn’t mean
drinking the grape kool-aid of
entertainment stations and false advertisement
and material items

c’est la vie (foreign phrase): definition!
it’s just life
fingerprints leave red marks
against the cheek
the thrill of this life still stings
when it’s slapped you
clear across the face

we’re born we cry we laugh
don’t remember anything
from those precious first years
besides irrational fears
of being captured by a camera
falling off a bike
scraping elbows on graveled roads
getting older and blowing birthday candles out

fast forward a few years
elementary school promotion,
middle school,
graduation, graduation, (graduation)
debut into the world
as an “adult”
take your bow because
you know how to write
college level papers
spit college level game

thrown out on the
concrete jungle
while your half-assery
and the mt fuji of debt
break your fall

a rocky tumble into entry level,
stumbled into an office affair

promotion, promotion, stand-still,
the ferris wheel stops turning
you’re stuck at the top
screaming at the top of your lungs
“come save me!”

[some may need a game-changer]
retirement, buried six feet under
with the worms and the scavengers
knocking on your new mahogany home
but you can’t hear them anymore

c’est la vie;
we come to the end of many roads
that are never strung together
just to have it end

why did the french have
to make “shit happens (and then you die)”
such a pretty poetic phrase?

i ache to have you near
my heart bursts with too
many beats per second 
thinking about how i can’t
put my hand in yours
no longer
memories become shrouded
in the dust of my mistakes

and all i want is for you to forget
wipe them away
with the promise of growing old
& never looking back

romanticisms fall
from your lips
like blood from
an open wound
i don’t know whether to
believe you or dismiss you