My thoughts, though so silent, might flow so violent;

no more peaks, means no more climbing.

Higher than this is space; not personal;

it’s publicly caged and

Imma take it back now

it’s theft to my name.

By: Chris Sherts

The Walls

they are

the love that

wraps you in

the smile on your face.

they give you

the feeling of

knowing you’re in

your place

the definite knowing

the details are showing

you know you’re safe.

you’re you

shines through

the place knows who you are

no matter who comes in

or who comes out

it pays no mind

to your drunken nights

your late wishes

the anger that smashes your dishes

your weak-heart-cries

your hobbies that stay

and don’t stay

it doesn’t judge you

for that spur of the moment

new paint

or those free sidewalk couches.

it sees you without your makeup

your fancy clothes

your calculated choices

or your anything fake.

it only sees your




first layer.

and it loves you all

the same.

it loves your

bare feet

your morning breath

your knotty hair

your tears.

your tee shirts

your holey sweats

your plastic plates

your fears.

your late night wines

your dear john movies

your shower singing

your coffee-induced grooves.

your baby blankets

your best friends

your fitted sheet “folding”

your obsession with online buying of shoes.

it even loves your conversations

with yourself

because really

its like conversations

with them.

they listen

they smell

they feel

they observe

they know

and not only you.

but don’t worry.

the walls don’t talk.

By: Elise Klingaman