Between the Rainbow by williamsto

Between the Rainbow

The only choice I ever made was to accept myself.

for those who need to find themselves, like I did before

“I’m not a genre of porn, I’m not an abomination, I’m not god’s test sent to my parents, I am not an apostate, I am not a character in gods cosmic play. I am a human. I’m a daughter, a sister, a partner, a friend. I’m tired of being everyone’s character arc.” ~ McKenna Tetrick ~

Between the Rainbow

Bio

Olivia Williams is an undergraduate student at the University of Indianapolis. They were a born and raised Hoosier from Indiana. Olivia is majoring in English with a focus on Creative Writing and a minor in Literary Studies. Olivia plans on being an educator and a writer. Olivia thoroughly enjoys art, music, reading, writing, and loves nature and animals. Olivia enjoys road trips and going to the gas station for Coke Slushies. Despite Olivia being lactose intolerant they love ice cream. Olivia has been published in the University of Indianapolisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; literary magazine Etchings Press vol. 32.2. Olivia writes because it is their passion but they also write for people who need self-acceptance and self-discovery.

Between the Rainbow Poems

Olivia Williams

Table of Contents

Nostalgia and Love: la petite boulangerie jaune

Clean Off Your Own Doorstep Shirley Temple

The First Day of April

I chose this font because I know the rest of them annoy you

Shattered: Response “to all the people I have lied to” -THE INCOGNITO LOUNGE by Denis Johnson Deadline Decay

26 27

Dreams

Kama Sutra a Barnes & Noble

Angels:

The Cathedral of Otranto Souls

The Gates

Cold that Burns The Saints 12

Faith

Ensnared:

Roots

Waning Crescent

Of a White Swan

Calendar Image March 2020 I. & II. The Wind

I. Nostalgia & Love

la petite boulangerie jaune to get to the yellow, aging house you must first cross a bridge over a narrow stream i cross the bridge. my brother chooses to leap over the water, he has always been more adventurous than myself. the tiles on the roof aged by the sun, torn by the wind the white, wooden screen door squeals as it is opened and slams quickly behind once let go the inside is dark but welcoming standing in the small bakery with home decorative lights the faux candles / waxy flames / held together by window frames iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m hit with a mixture of smells, smells that bring me memories an elderly man missing his wife a young man with the dream of being an artist a middle-aged man divorces his abuser a little girl dreams of having her own farm a small shoe belonging to a baby floats in the stream below the bridge an apple falls from a tree none of these memories

are mine

straight ahead the bakery, the first thing you see after entering to the right a small hallway to the left a whole other room the smells make me feel this sense of longing for a time and these memories that arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even my own, just something this shop, this town, wants to tell it wants me to know; to hold in my heart. scents of cinnamon and maple dance through the room, the vanilla joining in and adding sweetness, gooey lemon cakes and powdered sugar glistens inside 15

the bakery case dome. brownies, cookies, cakes, and soft breads all smile up at me and this sweetness mirrors my own reflection hazy back at me. then a pleasant smell of candy and banana extract pulls me in towards a small wooden case, adorned and flourishing with home-stretched taffy, each intricately wrapped in the thin wax paper that separates all the bright yellows from the pinks, greens, oranges, reds, and blues. just looking at them i could feel my braces getting stuck together and tangled with the sticky, sweet, flavored goo the wooden floors creak beneath my weight as i shift from wicker basket to basket peering in to see the different hard and chewy candies coffee beans being ground in a blender as a woman behind the counter with a white apron and a hair net gives an elderly man his hot drink i traverse through the halls into the different rooms of the house, gaze at the knick knacks and homemade dĂŠcor, the smell of wood, pine, and cinnamon hit my nostrils an after scent of cherries it was like the smells were being released from the floors this building this bakery this home presents a time iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve never known but in my heart, i do know this place, these memories arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t mine but [are] mine to tell

I. Nostalgia & Love

Clean Off Your Own Doorstep they tell you that you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t love another, you love yourself but you my dear, the house that is you is clean, except your porch

that is until

everywhere

the steps leading up to your door wears a welcome mat that no longer spells the mat is hard and bristled from dirt, the wear and tear, W

welcome

now only spells out

I see the spiderwebs entangling the doorframe the beetles scattering into the crumbling concrete openings in the steps the mud and dog shit scraped off on the sides of you, your porch it is abused just like your heart they leave the house but not before they make sure to drop cigarette butts, wrappers, beer bottles, and styrofoam cups to collect through the gray and freezing misty days but the trash cannot compare to the trauma they left you but my love, I still care Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll clean off your doorstep 17

but please, when I need you Will You Help Me Clean Off Mine?

I. Nostalgia & Love

Shirley Temple Auntie and Uncle are coming to meet us for dinner. Go get your shoes on! Wow, I can’t believe it! They are meeting us for dinner all the way from California! They sure travel fast! I race to grab my huge white, pink, and black Heely’s the ones with the skull wearing a pink bow on its head, it show’s I’m hardcore but I still like pink and sparkly things. I tie the black laces and pop in the pink wheels, it’s like wearing heels but cooler. I walk out and Mom glares at my feet. How about we try your black flats? Immediately I crinkle my nose and frown, my mouth twists into a cringe. I hate those shoes: they are too girly, too dressy, and they always dig into the back of my heels and my pinky toes…I’d rather die. I shake my head no. Okay…how about the light up Sketchers! Those are really cool! Hmm…they were my favorite before these, but I just bought these with my own money. I wanted Auntie and Uncle to see them. I shake my head again. She gives up. It’s an Italian restaurant I spot my Great Grandmother, Great Grandfather, Auntie, Uncle, Auntie’s best friend and her husband. I lock eyes with them, brace my legs and knees, and take off. I wheel, making a line to the table. A waiter knocks me over, I fall, then cry.

Auntie and Mom run over to save me, I hear Nana ask if I am okay. They calm me at the table, and Auntie says, It’s okay special girl, I will get you a grown up drink to make it better. I look around the table at Great Grandma’s beer glass, Auntie’s wine, Uncle’s martini, and I will have my own soon. I nod my head yes and sniff while also drying my tears. Auntie waves over a waitress and orders my drink. A few minutes later I see the waitress come back, in the middle of my tic tac toe match with Mom. She is carrying a black tray with one drink in the middle, a black straw, and a napkin. She takes it off the tray and sets it in front of me and says, Here you are, one Shirley Temple. Enjoy! And walks away. I barely hear the name the waitress calls my grown-up drink, I am so distracted by its beauty. My first grown up drink and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen: the clear carbonated bubbles are slowly rising and turning a pinky red— there is a black plastic sword with three cherries on it!!! My eyes wide I look up at Auntie and she laughs as my smile widens. Well go on, try it! She says, and so I do. // It tastes like Sprite but even better. I got the sweet cherries and a free sword! This night is looking up! Now that I can have grown up drinks, I guess that makes me a grown up, maybe now my baby brother will actually listen to me when I tell him to do stuff. I will have one Shirley Temple every day just so he knows that I am a grown up and he has to do what I say. Maybe I’ll even have a Shirley Temple while watching Shirley Temple, maybe then I will know all the secrets about being a grown up.

I. Nostalgia &Love The First Day of April 2020 it’s funny that what they say is true not that i would never find a friend like you but, that actions almost always, speak louder than words you had no idea but i was planning on starving today again you brought me a bowl of soup, a grilled cheese, and some potato chips you didn’t know what my brain ways saying to me, you didn’t know what i was thinking about my body you didn’t know what i was dealing with what my own brain puts me through but somehow you knew what i needed i don’t know how … maybe because you are my father / / the soup was chicken and noddle, i think Campbells, the noodles were the shapes of the Paw Patrol characters, i smiled 21

the grilled cheese a perfect golden brown, after all these years you still know how i like them for some reason the chips, just classic Lays, were the most delicious, you know i like sweet way more than salty i don’t think it tasted so good because i hadn’t eaten in

a day or was it two ?

it was because you made it for me, you knew what i needed when my brain wouldn’t allow my body to eat a week later you lost your job you sat in your chair in the living room watching TV, laptop in hand (filing for unemployment), i made you Brownies frosted it with fudge icing, put it on a plate

this is our love language

I. Nostalgia & Love i chose this font because i know the rest of them annoy you my love for you is ever flowing it will never end you tell me almost every day, if you aren’t dating your best friend then you’re a coward!, i nod my head because i completely agree. i know you mean everyone that isn’t us it’s like when i was in kindergarten and i found so many friends that wanted me to play with them at recess, they fought over me because they wanted me all to themselves, no sharing it’s this feeling of finally being wanted again that you bring back to me after all those years from then to now i feel needed and wanted and that’s how i hope i make you feel too we don’t have much self-confidence when we are apart but together, we think we are ethereal beings who will outlive god the future is bright and for once in my life i hope it is long i want to share with you, everything i will work hard to give you anything, you want one day my life will be yours (it already is) my love yours (it already is) my family yours (it already is) you will be my goddess (you are) you are my new religion my gospel you will be the new smell that i replace the stuffy room filled with pews the low lighting and the preacher telling me my sins when i knew what they were and i was trying to hide you will be my new, physical pride at the young age of seventeen i felt more and more shame each time i entered that building but now i am no longer one and you are not a you together our sins form a we when i look into space and see the stars i no longer dream because 23

when i look at the moon i donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t feel this unbearable sense of longing or dread being sent to a hell when i see the snow on the branches of the trees i no longer see them as being weighed down, kept in place, stagnant because â&#x20AC;&#x201C; i only see you i see your passion in the stars i see your eyes in the moon i see your gentle grasp in the snow on the branches i see your love i see us

II. Shattered

II. Shattered 25

Response “to all the people I have lied to” – THE INCOGNITO LOUNGE by Denis Johnson to saving hearts from being broken to keeping feelings from flying free to not exposing the truth let us raise our chalices, i toast this to be our truth our truth may not be true but surely it will be to us gospel of our minds spare these people leave the elephant in the room but try to push it under a table make sure all eyes avoid it this is for you for me lying is wrong but for the benefit of all lying is good it is wrong, so it isn’t right but if it isn’t right does it make it bad? can it still be good? lying is good for us, just bad for morality it keeps us safe hidden just where I want to be im sorry just not sorry enough to not do it

again II. Shattered 26

Deadline nothing much heavier, \ death / It is

besides

the

word

itself

bold

almost it is

magical

italicized

underlined

Creator of the constant

because of the way it elicits fear

anxiety

corrosion and

the sleepless nights

bold stress

gnawing

at the

brain

laboring away into the early hours of the morning light Dark

and bruised bags settle themselves under

sitting by the window, the cold of the night seeping through and muscles in the arms & legs

make the bones

ache and shriek

the brain fanatically whispers a tone so loud it cannot be

that is the

fear

created

by the word

Deadline

II. Shattered 27

[ ignored ]

eyes

Decay The floors creak beneath me The dark, more than I can take But nothing is worse than the thoughts inside my head I can’t seem to form words or a sentence, let alone a coherent idea to describe what I am feeling I can’t think, yet my head screams It shrieks and yells, trying to beat me, push me off that final edge The dark is shifting, my body still, I can’t move or speak I still hear the screaming inside my head I have to move, I have to think, if I can’t sleep then… I should do something, anything But that’s the joke Why it always gets the last laugh in the end In my head I reach into my mouth my teeth, rotting, and painful stick out, sharp and pointy I grab a molar on the right side and

pull

The tooth I feel is no longer real It unravels into a thin black string that lengthens the more I pull I keep pulling the thread until there is nothing left Nothing remains Except for the screaming inside my h E a D II. Shattered 28

Dreams each has a meaning, is it just the imagination? perhaps the brain working through all one's worries scientists say one cannot see color in their dreams black white no gray in between no color on the wheel ever seen here is a list of dreams I’ve had:   

I shot a man Jesus was a lobster An apple fell from a tree

all were most definitely in red

II. Shattered 29

Kama Sutra at Barnes & Noble in the cafĂŠ an elderly couple sit in the pea green velvet arm chairs. their legs crossed, facing toward one another. they read magazines. the woman looks at an issue of Southern Style, her face relaxed, and the man, at The Modern Kama Sutra. the woman looks over to the man, her white wavy hair landing on her silver, astronaut-like winter jacket, and smiles, her cheeks rising with it. the man wears a black beanie, glasses to match. his white hair peeks through the ends and down his back. her eyes widen and mouth shifts, Is that real?! It seems like it would slip out when it gets really intense. the man continues to show her the page, opening the magazine wider for the woman to see. she shifts softly in the seat and shoves the Southern Style over his pages, eyes back to normal but still red in the face. Look at this one! It would look great in the living room, what do you think? the man nods and twists the corners of his mouth, then gazes back to the Kama Sutra, he turns the page. the woman is taken aback, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like that one at all. her eyebrows go from shock to a frown,

he tries to explain to her, I think we should try that…it looks interesting. the woman looks at the page, she doesn’t like it and shakes her head no. her mouth small, fists clenched around the Southern Style the man then turns to the next page. they both stare at the scene in the magazine No, there’s no way… the man strokes his white face whiskers, obviously disgruntled, and shifts his body back into the seat and looks around. he pulls the magazine towards him until it is closed. his left hand bears no ring, the woman wears a ring but, on her right hand her left is empty… I don’t like that table by the way, it would be too big in the living room. And those curtains… absolutely hideous.

III. Angels

III. Angels 32

The Cathedral of Otranto the altar this chapel has another side it holds the skulls of men with faith bones 813 martyrs the candles stand tall remain unlit flowers align red tapestry spread gold chalices, two wine and bread blood and body marble counters carved designs Mary sits centered upon the throne bathed in liquid gold her hands pressed together in faith baby Jesus balanced on her knees ceiling tall looms above the heads of the people mosaics on the floor caricatures of men ancient writings inscribed these 813 men survived the bloodbath this crypt this tomb gave them no exceptions executed decapitated beheaded

the skulls bones but now there are only the chalices of gold

III. Angels

Souls My stomach rots and gurgles Twisting and spiraling like my Mind My brain swells to the size of My head, seeping through my skull My limbs and fingers no longer mine My stomach seems to grow in more than double Its real size Alarms are ringing in my head but I can’t form A single coherent thought I can’t feel my feet hitting the ground when I walk All I can feel is myself filling up with air Like a balloon And one of these days the child is either going to let go And I will float into the sky towards heaven OR I’ll pop and my soul will shoot straight to hell

III. Angels 35

The Gates open wide spread & squeak made of black iron & something even more melancholy screams & moans of death release My momma told me that the gates would move for me, that heavenly light would appear that I am the goodest girl she ever had seen surely I would be witness to the baby blue sky I would see the angels their beautiful wings I would hear the most glorious singing & be clothed in white with a ring of light, I would be given my own pair of wings & I’d learn to fly with the prophets my family the pets I’d lost along the way I shouldn’t blame my momma for what she didn’t know how would she have known? I never told her so she just assumed I still loved god and he me see I didn’t tell her and that was the real death of me I didn’t tell her about how when she wasn’t looking, my skin would shimmer in the rays of the sun I didn’t tell her that the color of the rainbow stained my heart & the feelings I have for My Love made it all worth it all of the secrets & silent suffering I endured she made it all worth it momma I am still in love & I always will be Im sorry momma you didn’t know I wouldn’t be joinin you & daddy in that big blue sky you didn’t know that you were all damning me my whole life & that really isn’t your fault I didn’t tell ya what ya shoulda seen & shoulda known. the signs were there maybe, you just chose not to see when you look

at a person

like me.

III. Angels

Cold that Burns cataclysmic nature of the world hands in the night bodies so tight so rightfully together making a mold of one God doesn’t want them together in such a way it’s revealed so Jude 1:7 they serve as an example of those who suffer the punishment of eternal fire. God doesn’t want us to be together? I don’t care I will be damned I will resent whatever God that tries to push us apart I will love you in every timeline every life and every existence for without you there is no me because we will always be an “us”

III. Angels 38

The Saints Bow down in the Glory of the Light, candles glow and the choir voices sing I feel their eyes burn through me the organ sends chords reverberating through the stuffy air I sit in the hideous green, velvety pew, it creaks with every intake of breath the Cathedral lights dim, no more eyes this is worse they can still see

III. Angels

Faith they say the best people have faith. the ones we find in the sanctuary the good. they have the morality the world is missing those who stray away from the Lord are those who don’t attend service. they have the word in their hands. hatred in their hearts love the sinner hate the sin they speak loaded words. backhanded speech in intentions of support the one true religion the best…or so they say if what they say is true why has this entire generation “strayed”? they have become themselves. they have changed, grown. they have everything they didn’t when they followed the Lord. they have true acceptance and finally they have love. love, passion, purpose they found purpose by killing who the Lord claimed them to be this is the truth, this our word, our new gospel… our freedom

IV. Ensnared V.

IV. Ensnared

Roots borrow life from the earthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s core stretch wider longer deeper expand

spread through

limbs

living now

on borrowed time attempt to stretch

so far

to get lost along the way

spread time and yourself so thin

in the end it wouldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been better

fathomless

endless

but is it even real?

attainable? within in our grasp? through those roots the branches the buds of the newly forming flowered leaves fallen left behind a new generation giving an extension of time true immortality in fact, the only real way to live forever is 42

to live

to realize you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t recognize that and you win the race against time those who will carry out your legacy teach them to damn those who oppose you

IV. Ensnared

The shape the size is ever changing seizing the stars and one by one covering the black sky the night, building a shred of light within the immense and vast void this nothingness turned into something by these spheres filled with gas, having the ability to travel the galaxy, stand by the moon, stand behind shine so bright back up the phases waxing and waning flipping and dancing backwards and forwards spotlight so luminous it draws all the eyes out in the night the craters deep and shallow alike different shades of dark and white Man landed on July 20, 1969 Apollo 11 said good bye to its native land returned to earth the first samples from another planetary body now all in NASAâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hands. great beginnings, all for mankind

IV. Ensnared

Of a White Swan i was taken from a swan spending my days in the sky the waters… the swan traveled by the swan was shot dead, some hopeful hunter i became what i am now still reflecting a soft white shade i spread black ink from a charcoal jar across the yellowed parchment page Master of me, Creator of all i print, jots down notes lines figures all of it resembling chicken scratch Master grips me tight as a whip the notes and symbols splatter, He is sloppy now He hears the notes in his head perhaps he heard the tune hummed by workers in the fields gripping tight, pushing down hard i connect the notes between the bars, much like chains, with one sudden movement the ink jar is spilled the spaces of the bars notes times all seeped up into the tar black liquid and master… Master is so upset He stands, kicks at the table, and swiftly, breaks me in half… with no more use for me, for He can get no more work out of me 45

i am thrown to the side eventually brushed away no more ink no free labor no more master should this hurt?

it does

But now, I am free

IV. Ensnared

I. Calendar Image 2020 March 1st the forest is green it lays a path, a journey, breathe, will you take it?

II. Calendar Image 2020 March 31st the forest is green a path just for you; what a shame, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re quarantined

IV. Ensnared

The Wind rises and falls sways the tall grass in the field like an ocean the greenery swiftly shifts with the breeze gentle and sweet then suddenly, such power, hair is thrown into faces no longer just a free flowing push the sun is fading now night comes with the moon swelling overhead the stars twinkle and wink back at the earth the crickets chirp and sing this is all it is all it should be

Author’s Note I used to think that poetry was just a shorter version of a story but you had to make it rhyme, have even and blocky stanzas, and you had to talk about the moon and true love. Working on my writing and doing this project have really shown me how writing every day and trying new things really does improve your writing skills. Reading work from poets I have never heard of before has expanded my idea and understanding of poetry. This project and the preparation for it has shown me my passion and love for poetry. I want to read it but I want to write and share my own. Looking back at when I was really first attempting poetry I cringe, I laugh, but I also see how far I have come. I know that I still have far to go to get where I want to be, and I need to continue writing and reading poetry every day to get better instead of waiting for inspiration, but I’m so proud of how far I have come. I owe a lot of that to this project. Between the Rainbow was really an emotional journey that I wasn’t expecting to share, especially not at my first rodeo. Through writing this I was able to creatively express myself and discover my love for style and format. This collection is very personal and important to me but my real goal was to show how many conflicting feelings and complications LGBTQ+ people experience. I love to write about nature and I do, but this collection has a focus on LGBTQ+ issues, religion, and mental health. I like to write about nature and other topics such as slaver, like in my poem “Of a White Swan”, but these topics weren’t as prominent when I made this collection. Approaching the creation of this collection seemed like it was so many different pieces that I could never make into one collective thing. I was worried about not being able to group the poems I created together but, the closer I looked, the more revisions I made, and the more I read my work I saw this collection in pieces. Thankfully I finally found how the pieces connected together into one big picture. When looking at all my poems I decided that I wanted to create sections in the eChapbook to start splitting the poems into groups. I did this based on what themes or similar imagery or emotions I felt were a part of each poem. I think that creating these sections was the first big step to seeing how these poems would come together as a collection. Many of my poems are longer so I tried to keep in mind how the poem looks aesthetically to the poems ahead and behind it but I mainly looked at how the poems fit in each section I created and how they looked on the page. I am a very visual person so I valued this aspect when it came to the style, format, creation, and layout of my poems. Revision was really hard for me, especially in the beginning. When I started this project I just knew that I wanted to write and I had an interest in poetry. I was excited but as I shared before I still believed that in order to create and write I had to have inspiration. Now, it is awesome when inspiration hits but I’ve learned that it won’t happen every single time and I definitely can’t wait for it to come to me. Even if you hate what you wrote, at least you wrote 50

something. Even if your goal is just to work on writing and reading more you will find yourself acquiring new ideas and new skills. I had to force myself to look at my previous work, I was the type of writer that just writes the piece changes it a few times, in a very minor way, and moves on. I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to look at it again. I felt like it was boring and I could be using my time to create new things, but this project taught me the true value of revision. Digging into your previous work can make you feel weird but until you truly revise and work with your work you wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be able to have something great that you can take pride in. This collection is my first and it is very personal and I am really proud of myself because I had many things to work on within myself and to work on things like revision and writing every day. I have discovered that my everyday life is put into my writing, this sounds normal but I was surprised. In the past Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve always pictured myself writing fiction or fantasy, something entirely made up, but in poetry I bring in issues and themes that I am passionate about or that have personally been in my life. I like the idea of creating narrators for poems and writing from their view, but I found almost every poem in this collection has a part of me in it. I really hope people read this collection and see not only a part of me but a part of themselves, their loved ones, their neighbors, and the world within each poem I share. Thank you for reading.