Welcome to Poet's Corner! This is a section dedicated to showcasing the work of talented young poets, and occasionally, talented old poets!
THE PEACOCK AND THE PIGEON
By: Maya Mele, IG: @Mykasreads
FOR IF I WERE A HOMELY PIGEON, SIN WOULD NOT HAVE BESTOWED ME.FOR IF I WERE LIKE THE MODEST PIGEON, THE EGOS OF ALL WOULD LEAVE ME REST. MY FEATHERS WOULD BE DENUDED OF ALLURING PATTERNS AND BLANKETED WITH ASH TO PRESENT ME AS GRAY. FOR THE PIGEON ENCOUNTERS SENSATIONS OF SOLELY CONTENT EVERY PASSING DAY.
NIGHT AND MORNING, THE PIGEON TRIES TO SING; I HEAR HER WORDS AND THE DISARRAY. BUT IF I WERE THE PIGEON, I WOULD NOT CARE FOR SONG, FOR IT IS THE LACK OF JOY THAT MY BEAUTY BRINGS UPON. FOR THE FEELINGS SUPPOSED TO RISE WITHIN MY HEART FAIL TO SPAWN WHAT I HAVE LOST FOR SO LONG. BUT THE PIGEON IS CONTENT AND NEVER FAILS TO EXPRESS HER JOY FROM NIGHT TILL DAWN. FOR IF I WERE LIKE THE HIDEOUS PIGEON, I WOULD NO LONGER PERCH UPON LUSH TREES.FOR I WOULD SIT WHERE THE PIGEON LIVES, AMONG THE UNWANTED AND DISPLEASED.
I CARE NO MORE FOR BEAUTY, NOR FOR THE EYES OF ALL FOR ALL I DESIRE IS THE ACTION OF WITHDRAWAL. THUS, IN MY DESOLATE CAVE, I NOW RESIDE, WHERE I NO LONGER BEAR APHRODITE'S HAND. WHOSE ONCE GENTLE TOUCH HAS BECOME A WRETCHED CLUTCH. FOR IF I WERE THE HOMELY PIGEON WOULD NOT FEEL THIS PAIN. FOR NOW, I LAY IN BEAUTY'S OLDEN GRAVE.
All She Is
By Kristina Nikitopoulos
Why wasn't she getting this praise before, when the scale frowned at her?
Why was she not viewed as pretty because the scale was a little higher than 150? And why was her life turned into a beauty pageant where no matter what she did they made her feel imperfect?
Women fight the stereotypes that being skinny equals being pretty,
But why is she only feeling loved when she looks the way they want her to look?
And why is she only feeling human when she gets validation from others?
She thinks back to who she used to be,
because she doesn’t know her anymore.
She looks in the mirror at someone she can't even recognize.
The person she used to be.
The kind, genuine, innocent girl she was last year is replaced by a different person.
A girl who thrives and breathes off of men telling her she's pretty.
A girl who can't go a day without running on the treadmill.
A girl who only likes herself when others like her.
A girl who can no longer live,
Because she is surviving.
A girl who cant forget her past because no matter how hard she tries she still believes,
beauty is all she is.
Plants of Pity
By Helena Nikitopoulos
I forgot to take it.
It was only when I sat down on my bed and let the tears roll down the surface of my skin
And felt the negative thoughts flow out of me like a rainstorm
that I finally remembered.
My house was quiet, so quiet that I couldn’t even hear my parents bickering as it echoed through the house
The gigantic plants in my room seemed to embrace me in their leaves and stems,
Protecting me but clearly, not well enough.
The stain on my white sweater seemed to bother me more than anything else.
There was two – no three stains I noticed now. Had they always been there? Where did I get it from? How did it get here?
I aggressively tugged it off of me and thrusted it inside of my laundry bin.
A number of dirty pants glared at me, wondering when I would clean them.
I answered them in my head: “not soon enough”.
I fell back down on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
I could feel the plants watching me with pity-filled expressions.
Suddenly, I felt bloated, and my clothes felt too small
They suffocated me
And I have all this schoolwork to do but all I do instead is write entries inside my journal which probably don’t make sense to anyone but me.
I forgot to take it.
I let myself cry because for some reason it felt good
It all felt good. It felt good to let it out.
The air was still
The washing machine had been humming for a while, but it stopped a half hour ago
Was my sister asleep?
The emptiness of my brother’s room hung over me like a ghost, weighing me down like a stack of bricks
I just wanted to get out of my house, run on the street
In the rain
Away from expectations
Away from sadness
Life is so short, I kept telling myself. So why don’t I act on it?
I forgot to take it.
I reached for my anxiety pills lying on my desk and with a gulp of water, felt the pill gravitate down my esophagus, hopefully dispersing all of the negative thoughts away.
If only it was that easy.