it's like a movie how you fold your hands

by: shira

when it twisted
it felt like metal
burning against the side of my face
cooling down my bony legs
connected with my hips
i used to hate
and now i use to gain acceptance
in my family of small-chested
wide-hipped
closed-minded
women

and i'm expanding my mind
while they're mettling in wine
they've made with incidents
accidents
they tried to cover up
by stamping their feet on secrets like grapes
turning sweet when bitter will not win
their war with thin skin on the outside
no resiliency on the inside

you're really twisted
when you turn the key like that
when you lock the door like that
and make me stand outside
until i'm volunteering
to lay down in the grass
outside of our house
and sleep to the beat of firefly wind
rather than wake to your yelling
and slamming of doors

With Great Fervor

by steadfast twilight

And the way you take the pennies out of your loafers
because you think they make you look too dignified.
So you walk around town looking down,
ashamed to look anyone in the eyes anymore.
You'd never dare do anything to bring anyone's starving attention
to your starving personality.

And the way you watch the second hand on the clock
until it aligns with the minute hand
Because you like things to be even and orderly
Due to the fact that your mom still lays out your clothes every morning
with such determination
In hopes that her young man will grow up with dreams
And grow up like the second hand kissing the minute hand
But she knows that you'll really be the one doing the kissing.

for certain

By Turtledove

you would come home late at night most times
as you slipped your worn hands over the doorknob
i wondered
where they had been

i didnt mean to be paranoid
but lying in bed alone most times
can do that to you

when you ran the water i tried to forget the hands
you washed meticulously

i rolled over towards the light
and your shadow
we carried on a nice conversation
until you hit the switch and he was gone

you were as quiet as
a man like you could be

a man
like you
should be

i know you dont belong to me
and those nights i knew it

i shared you with the water
and those hands gave you away

Crying

By Line Dry Only

the mind is a maze with high hedges and volatile weather
can you move the world by blinking?
if your lashes cross oxygen gas?
she doesn't know there are
strawberry moons in her eyes

she is the epitome of every image you've ever seen
the world tasted by her hair and flesh
hairs are piles of dead skin cells forming colored strings
skin is made up of cells that pile on your muscles
and your muscles pile on your bones
the bones pile on your heart
your heart is the weight of your soul

wait on your sole
tapping your foot
you hear music
your brain hears math
your fingers hear magic

breathe the correlating amnesties
touching rasberries blooming
explode onto the walking pavement
blank and eggshell, don't you break it

strange the speaker and phone with volume
page the burner, she is on fire
pills in her mouth every night
when her eyes turn from blue to scarlet
and the ink on the page runs away with the paper she invented

bring a torch, and light the books
burning is her only constant
evolving, revolving, estranged
pick out the word that doesn't fit with the rest
like she fits with microphones
like she fits with the stage
like she fits in cars,with seatbelts making sure she doesn't die on the way home

give me two blocks
and a mile of rope
made out of grass and hair
she will become the page
and the colors will run onto her lips
rainbow-light and never-ending ties
links in the hallways of her finger-crossed face

bring on the photos
for the girl who is the glue

Intended

by tinny tulle

As soon as you cut out your plastic smile
And placed it in my hand
I felt your rough edges
That place between your lips that I know holds tender words

Words that you were always too shy to say
So kept your lips sewed shut
Allowing only a whisper to escape

The whisper that told me you were at home
In the palm of my hand

this morning

by Turtledove

Last night I dreamt of my mother
and woke early to
run to her arms,
like I sometimes used to do

"I had a bad dream"

I cried as she held me

She wiped my face
and together we went downstairs

I made her coffee,
she made my bagel
and we laughed as we ate strawberries
with whipped cream

She didn't ask me what I had dreamt of
Because she knew I'd seen her dead

That night we ate steak

by whitehorse

they came today with buckets of paint
to change the sky
the climbed up on high scaffolding
with hammers in thier jeans
and started working

thier sweat dripped down on us like rain
as we stood their
necks craned to get a look at what they were doing

i put my hand in my fathers to let him know
that i didnt know either

my little sister layed in the yard with her stuffed animals
and dreamed that she could fly over the mountains

that distances were really just as far as they are on the globe
that all you had to do was give it a spin.

After dinner they began to come down

one by one they climbed the latters from the sky
and they had paint in thier hair
of a million different colors
and under thier fingernails lurked worlds
of purples, and greens, and yellows

and once again my father and i stood
as the scaffolding broke apart around us
hands interlocked
agreeing that we never liked blue much anyway

SIn tax

by whitehorse

your scent stays on me like ciggarette smoke
the tell tale signs of my addiction to a form
a feminine body that reminds me to be masculine

to take your broken hands in mine and try to make them whole again

and i promised i would do this
between kisses
in a room to brightly lit
for the dark secrets we kept telling in it

i was filling up your ear
with words i meant
but didnt know the consequence
that love would be a dent left in my chest
an absence

like you could walk away from this
and somehow remain in one piece

but the scent you leave on my shirts
will always kling to me

the best people

by shira

They make you mad
Because they’re free
Of fighter jets
And submarines

They’re above us somewhere we can’t see
But never in a war
And walk beneath our footsteps
In another atmosphere
Where lines aren’t blurred
Between life and death
But coexist
Like dead leaves
On trees
Contrasting the younger ones
With dew on them

They’re smiling
Rather brightly
Still holding
What gives that glow
Because they know
It’s in their eyes
Their eyes
Their
Eyes
Are lighter than yours
And darker than mine
Because they’ve made doves touch the sun
Shine, shine
Peaceful illumination
Free of meditation
To take them to a higher level
Since they’ve been there and they’re back
With more natural, steady breathing
And they’ve seen nights so black their bodies overthrow
The shadows
And the wind and night and fireflies
Mix together
To make life

Yes
I want to be one of those
Who touches water
And feels ripples
And one of those
Who sings a song
That infiltrates veins
And makes eyelashes grow
Because you’re overwhelmed, and so shy when you hear it
And can only bat your eyelashes
Now lighter than air
And darker than shadows

Another Shameless LitMag Plug

This is a request of everyone on this site once again for Naperville Central's Literary Magazine.

We are currently looking for photos and drawings [pencil, charcoal, whatever, just drawings] to grace the pages of the Litmag. WE NEED MORE ART! Do not be afraid to turn in your work. If you have some that you would like to hand in bring it to Room 308 and Mr. Hayward will be there to take it, tell him it's for Litmag. And if he's not there you can set it in the back of the room on the table and we will care for it and babysit it. Just make sure you at least have your name and grade somewhere on there or attached to it on a separate piece of paper. OR if you know anyone that draws or photographs, spread the word to them! Thanks

We appreciate your contributions!

-Chrissy