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Green eyes
I fell in And I loved it I didn’t want out But you did I couldn’t ask for anything better You were perfect Sparkling emeralds in the sun Just the prettiest shade I get lost in the Greenest, grassiest maze Those eyes are like Green diamonds Pretty and enchanting But that doesn’t serve them justice Those eyes get me lost
The room is silent. Nothing moving about, except the stale air grasping my falling head as I rush off to perfection. The perfection consumes me until I open my eyes and realize it was just a dream. My skin quivering because I’m uncomfortable but can’t pin the reason. I feel watched but it’s just an empty room. The room is so cold even warmth isn’t known. I’m rattled and unsettled by all the emotions coming to me, I’m holding onto my seat as I’m boarding this rollercoaster named ‘uneasiness’.
Johnathon Grgurich
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uneasy
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For hope is not lost yet, Hold out, But also dream quietly Do not let others taint your dream Do not let others influence your dream Keep it close and do not let it go, For a lack of confidence Will not only make a stranger to yourself But to your aspirations Make it quietly Assemble the pieces in dead silence At the dusk of morning When the only heart bleeding out is yours Let them know That it’s your dream You made it It’s yours and yours alone No one can change it Don’t let them pressure you Hide Hide and never let your dream be changed Because if it is You’ll never find yourself again Your dream carries so much promise It’d be a shame for it to go to waste On education ill-suited for you Your destination is determined by you alone But you must find the right people to help you reach it From ink to marker Drafts to signings Let your hopes and sorrows soar In the pages you write or don’t write Let the doubt and tribulation go Like leaves in the wind Let your ever so fleeing hope guide you From fact to fiction and back again From paper to pen to everyday life Let it guide you Never let it go Make your dream quietly And soar through the trials life as given you As the end is near And your dream will be achieved But on the backs of your former selves So as you change Change for your own sake Not for anyone else’s Hope is fleeing So catch it with your metaphors as fast as you can Intertwine it into your essays Practice it quietly And when the time comes Be ready To let it fly, dreamer Be ready to let it be free Unhinged by expectations And disappointments alike The endgame becomes nearer After every day’s passing But you’ll be ready You’ve been preparing for years Quietly, gently, but ferociously You are ready. So begin. 11/25/17 [ for a friend ]
the dreamer Poem and Photo by: Faith Carter
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Faith Carter
Colors
I am always left alone I am void of any color I am a mess and nothing at the same time I am a puddle and a sinkhole I turned into someone I didn’t want to be I used to be a color But then time went on and colors changed I am unsure of who I want to be Because all I see is a clouded and diluted future A future that someone has intentionally scratched out I was a smudge that was supposed to be erased, But someone gave up on because it wasn’t worth the time I was rejected over and over again I wasn’t colorful enough for them I wanted to be special I wanted to be appreciated I liked being alone until I met Red They pulled me over to join the group I had fun for once I no longer like being alone
I couldn’t say I particularly liked myself It wasn’t until I met Orange that my horizons were broadened My nighttime sky became a morning sky without a sun The color felt weird, but natural at the same time My horizon was missing one thing, a sun A bright Yellow came over and they started to change me Making me a bit more bearable Giving me a new perspective What a shame it is, never finding ways to help myself Green took me by surprise and drew me a blueprint Helped me build myself up Draw myself in a more creative perspective I find myself crying less and less nowadays I still feel broken, but now I have Aqua They gave me a tissue to wipe my pain away They understood what it felt like to be mixed up I never was very smart and that’s part of myself that I hate dearly Blue chided me and told me that intellect never had anything to do with being smart Intellect had everything to do with understanding myself And nothing to do with hating what I was not
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And here I am Far from who I was I am a blur Undecided and unpredictable A mashup of all the colors I am everything and nothing at the at the same time I am a mess of colors But in the end Those colors make me who I am I am not just a mix-up of random colors I couldn’t even be considered a color I am a side project that was eventually finished out of dedication I was made by hand-me-downs that were handled with care They gave me a part of themselves And I am a quilt of those who care about me Because we are made up of the people we care about
-09HARRY STYLES I chose to draw Harry Styles and Phoebe Bridgers because they are both people I look up to. Honestly, the only explanition for choosing to draw Harry Styles, is the fact that he’s Harry Styles. The process of doing these two pieces was pretty simple because I enjoy drawing and know how to excecute it. I usually start with a rough outline of the person then pencil in details sich as shadows and highlights. Savannah Drnec
Phoebe Bridgers I chose Phoebe Bridgers mostly because she’s kind of the perfect feminist rock star role model. Savannah Drnec
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YOU & I This was a little doodle that turned into somewhat of a metaphor for my relationship. It represents two beings that have found each other within this big mix of soup, hardships, interactions, experiences, and life. The two blobby guys are still surrounded by the world around them and the overwhelming complexity of it, but have found a place for themselves within all of it. Maggie Wilkerson
THE PICKLE MAN This piece was made in an attempt to represent my anxious little brain personified as a tiny guy with a little hat. He’s surrounded by his pickley body in an attempt to represent how seperated from himself he feels, and how he can’t eat, speak, or breathe because of his mouth, but he’s too helpless to do anything about it. Maggie Wilkerson
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WHAT DO I WANT? This piece had the purpose to convey internal conflict someone goes through, and the fear of coming to terms with oneself. It’s used to convey aggravation and confusion through media such as watercolor, printmaking, and newspaper, and represents the feeling of letting one’s feelings build up inside. Janelle Klos
MOVING ON This piece makes use of the impasto method, which is where the artist uses a palette knife, instead of a paintbrush to give a less blended and more impressionistic effect to a piece. The piece reflects how although someone can go through their own struggles, they can eventually break through the glass and move past their struggles. Janelle Klos
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AFTER ALESSIA Cassidy Schlatter
It is 6:15 when I wake up; a Tuesday. The sky is overcast and dark, heavy with clouds full of angry rain and broken promises. I have to stop thinking about it that way. It wasn’t Alessia’s fault that some idiot in a big rig was going 45 miles an hour over the speed limit, during a storm, and with a blood alcohol content level of .18. By the time the police arrived at the scene, the rain had stopped, and the guy who hit her was passed out in a ditch. Empty bottles of booze were strewn about his cab, and there was an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the passenger seat. The police said he was trying to kill himself, but instead, he survived. In the process, he killed my best friend, and the only person I had ever loved. The only reason I knew so much about the case anyways was because an intern approached me, asking if I was the one taking the case. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know about us. It was two hours before my secretary found me huddled behind the firm, holding the case file as tight as I could. She told me to go home, take as much time as I needed, and only come back when I was ready. She assured me that my two law partners could handle the firm for a while. I’ve been gone for three months. I had begged her not to go out that day, in that weather. I knew something was going to happen. I could feel it. But she insisted. She swore up and down that she would be safe and extra careful. That was the last time I saw her. The last time I saw her alive, that is. Besides identifying her cold, lifeless body in a morgue. Besides the funeral that her mother decided should be open casket. Besides the dreams. I spent almost every moment in my bedroom. I rarely spoke, rarely ate. I existed as an empty shell. My friends said I was grieving. My parents said I was moping. Alessia didn’t say anything.
Today, exactly three months and twelve days after her murder accident, I’m returning to work. I am absolutely terrified. As a defense attorney, most of the people I defend were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, every so often, I know my client is a killer, a truly evil person, with whom I can barely stand to share a room with. I know these people are guilty, but it is my job to lie to the world, and pretend they aren’t. It pays well though, and it’s the least I can do for my beautiful daughters. During my funk, I had inadvertently pushed them away. They were always closer to Alessia, and I further cemented that, to the point where I was practically a stranger to them. She had always functioned better under stress. When I told my girls I was returning to work, they barely acknowledged me. I won’t say I wasn’t hurt, but I wasn’t surprised. I had isolated myself, and disappeared, perhaps when they needed me the most. But they didn’t understand what I was feeling. Or, maybe they did. Maybe that’s why they let me have space.
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While I was out of commission, my sister, Alex, and her husband came to live with us; take care of my girls, the house, and me. I hardly even processed their presence until last week, when Alex started convincing me to return to work. So I am. My closet is full of crisp, professional clothes. None of it has been touched in three months and twelve days. I take a deep, steadying breath, and reach my hand out to grab a skirt. I blink and I am in the kitchen, dressed and making a bagel. Coffee is brewing and the scent fills the air. I grab my bag, and coffee cup, and I am on my way. It is 6:53. As I drive, I pull over three times. Twice so I can catch my breath and avoid hyperventilating, once to turn around and go home. I don’t let myself turn back. The caffeine from my coffee was affecting me more than it ever had. My hands were shaking so bad that it was taking all my willpower not to swerve. I hadn’t driven anywhere in a while, and my nerves were shot.
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The law firm was only fifteen minutes away. When I arrive, brightly colored balloons bob in the bright sunlight, flashing a cheerful message for all to see:
“Welcome back!”
They’re vibrant shades of green and pink, which were Alessia’s favorite colors. They reminded her of summer and picnics and sweet things. It is 7:20. As I walk into the building, I am accosted by streamers and people. My two law partners hold a cake that says “We’re happy your back, Jean!” It’s a touching gesture, but all I can focus on is the fact that they used the wrong “your”, which then makes me wonder if the man in the big rig knew the difference between “your” and “you’re”. Then I remember that people spent time and money organizing this for me, and I feel bad and try to remember where I am and I realize it is now 8:10. I am alone, in my office, and in front of me is a case file, that I just remembered I’m supposed to be looking over. A sticky note is stuck to the front of the folder: “Sorry Jean, no one else could fit this in!” I glance at the case summary, and my heart immediately drops. Tears prick my eyes and anxiety blooms in my chest. “A family of four was killed last Monday in a car accident. The other driver was highly intoxicated and survived the crash. He is not available for questioning his release from the hospital for minor injuries.” Family of four … killed … highly intoxicated ... survived the crash … minor injuries …
That family did nothing wrong. Maybe they were going out for ice cream or a movie. There was a baby carseat in the backseat, but the baby was not in the car at the time of an accident. That baby has become an orphan. I read and reread the file, and the words start to blur as my throat constricts and my breathing becomes shallow. I swallow, and try to read the file again. It is 8:30. “Alessia a family of four was killed three months and twelve days ago last Monday in a car accident. The other driver was a murderer with Alessia’s blood on his hands highly intoxicated and unfortunately undeservedly survived the crash. He does not deserve to be alive should be rotting in prison ruined my life is not available for questioning until his release from the hospital for injuries that were too minor for a killer minor injuries.” I close my eyes and take two deep breaths. When I open them again, I am in my car, in an area I don’t recognize. It is 4:30 and when I look in my rearview mirror and blink, it is 5:27, and I’m suddenly outside my car, and looking at a roadside cross with a name on it.
“Alessia Campbell”
It is 6:15; a Tuesday. The sky is overcast and dark, heavy with clouds full of angry rain and broken promises.
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It is 6:15 and I am in my car again. As soon as I realize I am not close to home, not close to anywhere really, I call Alessia Alex. “I need help I drove and I don’t know where I am and it’s dark and I need help please come help me.” She makes me turn on my GPS and tells me she will be there soon. It is 7:12. I wake in a white room, on a white mattress, in a white hospital gown. A small plaque on the wall reads: “Jean Campbell: Severe Depression, Selective Amnesia”. A nurse in white scrubs comes in. I ask if I can see Alessia. She tells me she has been dead gone for five years.
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UNDER THE GUISE OF SNOW Faith Carter
Faith Carter
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A FORGETTABLE THOUGHTLESSNESS
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DRIP
Gracie Kreup
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AURA OF LIGHT
Grant Boehne