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August - the last month of summer vacation (in America at least) calls for last minute vacations, camping, and getting ready for the school year. August is the month of the procrastinators: the bookstores are flooded, Staples gradually sells out of all the good school supplies, and Sparknotes sees an avid amount of users. Along with all of this, August is much about taking in the summer one last time. It’s about laying out in the grass at 4am to look at the stars and the sunrise. It’s about curling in a hammock by a lake to read and write. It’s climbing to the roof of my house and smoking a cigarette as I watch the sun go down. August is about me - relaxing, unwinding, enjoying the end of summer. August is about isolating myself from everything and avoiding stress. This issue visits numerous interpretations of isolation. Hopefully,there’s something relatable to everyone in this issue. There are also new segments such as Ruobing’s first of many pieces in a series entitled ‘The boy who came from the sea,’ a movie / book of the month, more submissions, and (most obviously) this issue is published through issuu! We are all working extremely hard to make Lozenge the best it can be and hope you enjoy this issue! Thank you so much for the support an make sure to follow lozeng eon all other platforms. Without you, Lozenge could not exist!
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my parents do not kno''' ,,,h ere I am hooked on a bicycle filling up fountains \vith dish soap sun1me rs pass blood is e.xchanged by cutting foot bottorns with beer glass he is mastering the art of stick a nd .p oke tattoos tl1e milky limbs of other mothers' children tile windo,vpanes t11e dog barking the knobby knees knee caps the S\velling the S\ve lling the S\velling tl1e S\veltering motller scrubbing grass stains boys picking up tossed the cigarettes lighting stubs I sm ell like all the boys all the boys start \\latching me sometin1es I \Vanna be pretty ....,._ sometimes I \Vanna be held I start looking for my fatller but only find plaque on baby boy teeth S\veat ~-- beading backs of necks dirt under fingernails colors in gasoline puddles
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Good Bight
Awailing morning, they found her Kissing the stars, the stars, the stars Entwined in an enternal embrace, she laid She laid on the chambers of my heart . Asmile turned into a frown Her cheeks, drained of life Her body, a brash vulgarity And her presence, a treasure of my world. The feeling of a tragedy waiting to occur Settles into curious hearts And searching eyes search For welcoming arms. I laid poppies on her skin, On the milky adolescence of her
body,
lt1ssed her good night.
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THIS IS THE COLDWATER RINGS ON WOOD TABLE AND SWALLOWING ICINESS TO STAY AFLOAT EVEN THOUGH ALL YOU WANT IS WARMHANDS TO HOLD YOU DRY ELBOWS AND STICKY FINGERS FROM BROKEN GLASS (RESIDUE WHERE WINE BOTTLES MET WHITEWALLS} ONE WALL FOUR DOORS NO KEY LONELY FINGERS PUSHING THEMSELVES THROUGH CRACKS
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I WILL eB_E'[f.ND AS IF I DON'T SEE YOY.B. E~CE IN_ THE SKY ANQ l WlL~ e.Bf.'Cf.ND AS IF I DON7 FEE~ rQ!lB tMti.DS TOUCHING ME AS lFI WAS A FLOWER YOU WERE TOO AF{MID TO TEAR AND~ rflE /'LL CONVINCE MYSELF U!.~ T YQ!l ARE NO LONGER ~ P~Br QE M.f. BJJ_ T I STTU FEEL THE WQBQ~ rQ!l !lSED TO WHISPER ME IN MY HEART WHEN l'MSLEEPING
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manifestation // ruobing I was 13 at the time. I attended a nice school. My best friend was starting a new school in Boston. My social life was average. The year was looking good in September. I had two friends from school I frequently spoke with. We were a pretty close knit group. The three of us would have a sleepover each week and we would alternate where they’d take place. All we did was sit around on social media like lifeless losers. I thought this was fun. But I started to break eventually. I don’t know what it was that made me crack, but it was starting to consume me slowly. My soul was too breakable, porcelain almost. I convinced myself thoroughly that everything was fine as long as I had friends. It wasn’t. I snapped eventually, at them, I couldn’t take it. Their minds were so small and so unexpandable. It made me sick. I yelled and they still didn’t understand me. The raising of my voice didn’t help them see my point. They didn’t like me so much anymore. I could say that I didn’t care, but I did. During my entire life up to then, I had friends and social security. The word “friend” isn’t something to be take lightly. Weeks passed. My grades lowered and my parents yelled. Weeks passed. I came home, I did my homework, my grades went up, my parents didn’t yell. Perhaps my social withdrawal period would make more sense if you went further back in time. I thrived on attention in 6th grade. I was popular and fun. Everybody loved me. And if you didn’t love me, your opinion didn’t matter. When I didn’t get attention on a daily basis, I created huge blown up situations to call as much attention to myself as possible. I lied and lied, it didn’t matter, all I wanted was everyone’s attention, always. I was a monster. And so you could imagine how different my life began to be. I didn’t speak unless I had to. I despised everyone. Books were my only friends. I got bored of books eventually. I turned to music as catharsis. It was the most effective medication I had ever had. Winter was a blur. I went to school and went home. I rarely ever did anything in between. My teachers grew concerned at my standoffishness. My grades were excellent, my mind was rotting. They expressed their concern in the nicest way possible but I didn’t care; I didn’t care. I slept with the window open every night and the freezing air streaming in. It hurt because it was so cold. I loved it. I ignored everyone and I think this was a coping mechanism of mine: never pay attention to anybody, especially if they’re being nice. It was easy. I had mental breakdowns at school. I left suicidal notes, bits of dark poetry, and short extensions of my soul everywhere. People found them. It was always attributed to me. I was to be shunned and disregarded, I was someone who didn’t belong there anymore. There was one big mental breakdown I had. I screamed and slammed myself against a wall. I gritted my teeth and tried to pull my hair out. Tears flowed down my face like bloodstreams but I wasn’t crying. Everyone saw me; I was so disgusted by the whole situation. This isn’t to say that I had no social interactions at all. I spoke with people online, it was just that nobody dared associate with me in person. I got attached to the people I talked to and they always let me down. I developed crushes on people; I expected nothing in the first place, but was always let down. It was easy to wound me. I was already hurting myself by simply existing.
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PEDESTRIAN: The constant fear of losing you heightened by consistent confusion brought on by the o t ime I lost youA woman just c th inking I was a man . Somewhe re i and s omewhe but th is only about
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the boy who came from the sea (i) // ruobing I. Please don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me. I laid there, on the sand, with my limbs spread out as if I were trying to make snow angels. My skin was sinking into the sand and the hard grains swallowed up my skin. There was a chill in the air, and natural light was beginning to disappear. Shade by shade, the sky turned a different colour every few minutes until there wasn’t anything to see but a sky empty of light. I couldn’t see anything, but hearing the tide steadily rise every few seconds was comforting to me. I was unsure as to how long I had been laying there in the sand. Please don’t look at me. It was a strange feeling, as if I was completely connected to the ground and if I had stood up, I would be torn out of my roots. Like a flower, I would have been uprooted and killed. Flowers are so beautiful that I feel the need to tear them out of the ground violently and call them my own. Tear me out. I still don’t know how long I have been there. It may have been days, weeks, months. Maybe my whole life was spent there. I was an unusual child, a flower of the beach. Nobody bothered me, nobody looked at me. My mind was amorphous, never definite and always wandering. It was almost an idyllic life. Sure, I hadn’t been there forever but I didn’t remember a single thing before the chameleon sky and the tide blanketing me like a comforting mother. The tranquility of the sea was something that was constant. It was always there, and I was always there. Look away from me while I drown. When the sun was out and washed over me like a shower of iridescence, the tumbleweeds would appear. They’d run around, their feet slapping the sand and leaving a print that would wash away when the tide came up. They’d splash around in the water, and they wouldn’t ever look at me. Sometimes I wondered if I even existed. I wanted to join the tumbleweeds occasionally. I would imagine how I would look, floating around with others, laughing and smiling. These feelings were always evanescent. I did eventually leave, after a long time. I left the only place I thought I’d be for the rest of eternity. The sea was undying. The sea was a timeless mirror, sparkling with sapphires. But I managed to eradicate myself.
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What does it mean to Be left to your own device [ Is it ---..--- A beautiful thing -. "'ro.,. Out of the reaches of humanity And pleading outstretched hands And the constant whirr of a working machine Away from the issues and problems That you don't have the power to address And given the power of freedom You can screen out the moths That haunt your dreams Or is independence Fatal A mechanism of destruction Deteriorating what you believed was Paradise To be left alone was Beneficial But now is Painstaking Every thought entrapped like a butterfly In a cagej
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Nelded deep In die woods and fora1I of Waatalnaton State Bel a wat& ran, a damn ,.,.., cap~ culfee, and die Great Northern Hotel. Here, you can lo8e yGUJaelf. Bdweco the ftne h0&pltalfty of the Double R Diner, end tbe iDfunid•tiogly Intriguing presmc:e of Aumey Home, Twin Peab can either be a place bobNng wltk adte•• ot, or a place of great peace and lloladan. Whether you. are at•d•na down roads for ...,n and days oa yoar ••'Otorqcle, ftshing on the Pearl [.aim, camping wltb Spcd•I Apat Cooper GI' pimk:ltlrc with a bottie, your wur1 ia can slip away. The back of. your mfncl may be wrought with worries who Id l led laura palmer? or fears $700? I ormuequ(tedlove "Now I'm going to
get the food and you're going to get dressed"', but the front of your mind will be pl."eOCeu·
pied with the beauty of the birds, the Douglas Firs and slow mullc that you cannot help but dance to. In Twin Pub, you order a slice of pie, a cuppa deep ~leek Jee, breathe it8 ac:ent In deeply, li&h bappi· ly ancl nlle. The whole WOllcl Iii In fiwt of you, hahy. And If JOU IKCd a little apace to know what it is you want to do with It; well, you~ aot a whole lot of that,
too.
the wall on the amorphous wall she sits, a separation of life and death. her eyes fill with geometric reality and she just sits there. why? why? exiting your mother’s womb leaving warmth and comfort wanting to be suspended in your mother, never letting go of the cord. but you’re eventually pushed out you scream and cry when cold hands touch you. taking your last breath, your brain preparing itself for an eternal sleep eternal rest, eternal misery, whatever. you’ll try to hold on, but wind blows and life moves. she’s sitting here now, she hasn’t a clue what to do. and so she leans over the wall and looks for something divine.
Fanny Marie
I ’ v ea l r e a d ys p e n t t h ee n t i r ed a yi nb e d . I t ’ sn o t e x a c t l yt h a t I wa n t e dt o , b u t mo r el i k et h e r ewa sn owa yf o rmet omo v e . I h a v eal o t o fd a y sl i k et h i s ; wh e nb e i n ga l o n ei sb e t t e r t h a nb e i n ga r o u n ds o me o n ee l s e . B u t s o me t i me sI r a t h e rb ew i t haf r i e n d , b u t n oo n ew o u l dr a t h e rb ew i t hme , s oI s i t . A n dI t h i n k . A n dI s t a r e . S o med a y swh e nI ’ ma l o n eI c r e a t emo r et h a n P i c a s s oc o u l do nh i sb e s t d a y . A n do t h e rt i me sI c a n ’ t e v e nmu s t e rt h ee n e r g yt o r a i s emya r ms . R e c e n t l yI ’ v eb e e nt o os a dt ow r i t e . I h a v e n ’ t w r i t t e ni nmo n t h s . Wr i t i n gu s e dt ob emye s c a p e , n o wI f e e l t h a t “ d e c e n t ”i s n ’ t i nt h er e a l mo fp o s s i b i l i t yf o rmyp o e t r y . Myf i n g e r st a pa n dt a pb u t c r e a t en o t h i n g , o n l y av a c a n t s o u n dt of i l l mye a r ss oI k n o wt h a t I a m a l i v e .
I fI ’ ma l o n ef o rt o ol o n g , myw r i s t sb e g i nt oi t c ha n d i s o l a t i o ni sas c a r yt h i n gwh e ni t i sn o t w e l c o me . Myb r e a t h i n gi sl a b o u r e da n dI t e l l my s e l ft h a t t h e r e ’ s n o t h i n gw r o n gw i t hme . I ’ l l b eo k a y . I ’ ma l l o w e dt of e e l t h i swa y . I ’ ma l l o w e dt oi s o l a t ea n dc r yma y b eo n ed a ywh e n I ’ mo k a yI ’ l l w r i t ea g a i na n dc r e a t e . B u t I c a n ’ t e v e nmu s t e rt h ee n e r g yt or a i s emya r ms .