The Circus of Words

complicit complicit

Morgan Starnes

my grandmother told me to shave my legs as we ate the grocery store birthday cake by her hospital bed. but after years have passed i still bear that vestige of my twisted womanhood it grows out of my dry white settler’s skin that will always carry my ache that i am complicit in your suffering. how can i act as if i am an activist while i share my stories on slight inconveniences and try every single day not to use your trauma to ease the pain of my own. how do i speak without speaking over you? how do i speak knowing my leg hair is the most radical part of me? it grows out of my dry white settler’s skin while i do everything i can to convince myself that i am working toward a solution and not pressing the problem deeper into the second fridge in the finished basement. i watch my rights debated in third period but cling to the understanding that i will never ever ever EVER know what you endure. i am complicit in your suffering. it grows out of my dry white settler’s skin

The Circus of Words

Ida Guerami

These words are the mastermind of us all

Everything we read, see, and hear

And yet they are tricksters too

Running around the page, no line can possibly stay straight

Words are the unappreciated gymnasts of every page

We too often neglect their talent and hard work

Their flips are so effortless and elegant that one wouldn't be able to tell that the page has been altered

The gold medalists are always the same “n & u” to “m & w”

And those ballerinas from studio “d” & “b” will hoax you with their tricks

Their posture is flawless as the feet switch from left to right

My advice to you: watch out for those mischievous words because they’ll never stay still