Scorned by Lexi Morgan and Skylar Prichard

When the outside world is filled with light,
the moment I hear the air-raid siren,
its needle sound,
the fire has come.

Undying hate rings out.
The smell of silence is so old,
the reflection of his decay.
This was your exile
in the brief country, nearby,
so lonely that two could not stand it.

Sometimes I still have a sense of being followed.
A hand wind brushed past me.
A laughter, black and streaming,
footsteps in the shadow of memory
move in dreamy motion.
You can’t escape your life record.

Dear… By Lexi Morgan

Mother,
I wasn’t enough,
I can’t be now,
I’m sorry.
Words on my mind I never could say.
Please stay?
Wave goodbye to a taxi.
I’m sorry.

Father,
I’m not the useless one
When it comes to us.
Have a great life.

Grandmother,
I’m almost enough,
Trying every day,
I’m sorry.
Forgetful, lazy, stupid.
I’m trying.
I’ll do better
Tomorrow.
I’m sorry.

Boyfriend,
I’m supposed to be enough,
I’ll get there,
I’m sorry.
Always, all I can say,
I’m sorry.
Hold on for me,
To me.
I’m sorry.

Untitled by Lexi Morgan

I miss you again.
Laying here,
Surrounded by sadness.
Please stop thinking.
I need you again.
Please stop thinking.
The music is killing me,
But I can’t turn it off.
I have to face this
Before it eats me alive.
Please stop thinking.
Please come back.
I miss you again.
I need you again.
Please stop thinking.

A Black Locust’s Lullaby by Lexi Morgan

My lifespan is not long, but neither was theirs, so I suppose I’m a good fit. I was planted to remind the people of Salem that the “sin” they fought is not the only sin to fight. I was planted for the witches. Their remains tell me stories when no one else cares to listen; they live again through me. They tell me their sorrows by night as my leaves curl and droop. It’s a gruesome bedtime story.

They tell me how the wind made them dance, how the creaking of the gallows lulled their spirits to sleep. They tell me that the flowing river sings the sweetest songs. And they also tell me how they prayed vain prayers as they donned their mock halos, and how the tug of the rope punctuated their last amen.

Why? by Lexi Morgan

Dancing in the breeze from the corpses of fellow trees,
They ask me
“Why?”
Crying beneath my roots in cold, stone tombs,
They ask me
“Why?”
I’m fertilized by their misery,
Their long-forgotten prayers,
Their mournful cries of
“Why?”
I weep for them,
My leaves shy away from their ghosts in the night.
Dawn is breaking,
Here comes the axe.
I stand as they stood:
Condemned.

Again by Lexi Morgan

Sigh
Again.
You’re leaving
Again.
They’re screaming
Again,
At me,
Each other.
Tears as heavy as a heart thrum against my pillow
Again.
Sigh,
Pull it together
Again.
It will be okay
Again.
I’ll see you
Again.
Breathe.
Again.
Just breathe.

Things a Mirror Knows by Lexi Morgan

What does a mirror know?
“I look bad today.”
Liar.
Tears,
Frustration,
Longing
For beauty,
For love.
It knows dust,
Grime,
And blinding sun.
Morning sun.
What does a mirror know?
“I look pretty today.”
Every day.
Bright eyes,
Laughter,
Funny faces and lipstick kisses,
And favorite ways to fix hair.
What does a mirror know?
What we sometimes forget:
We’re all beautiful.

Cut Down by Lexi Morgan

I never dreamed you’d be cut down.
Your leaves taught me to sing,
Whispered songs in my ear.
Perched on your shoulders,
Autumn-red leaves all around me,
I was a bird.
I could fly.
I never dreamed you’d be cut down.
I was uprooted as you were,
An empty hole in my memory
Where you used to be;
Just a hole in the ground.
Autumn-red no longer paints my world.
I don’t fly anymore.
I never dreamed you’d be cut down.

When We’re Little by Lexi Morgan

When we’re little, we run for fun.
We run so we can fly.
We run through the sweltering heat,
and hear the sound of cloth swishing together as our little legs pump
And make us take off.
We see the world whizzing by in colors like melted Neapolitan
Ice cream.
When we stop, our legs are jelly.
We fall,
But we laugh on the way down.
When we get older,
We run to get away.
Away from the dark,
A fear we thought we lost when we grew up,
But we were wrong.
This is a different kind of dark.
One that, despite all the good,
Makes us run from the time when we were children,
The time we ran for fun.

With You by Lexi Morgan

With you,
I found my place.
Anything we do,
As long as I’m with you,
I’m home.
With you,
I feel happy.
Driving with you,
Sights I’ve seen a hundred times fell new,
And I feel happy.
With you,
Nothing hurts.
I can fall all day,
But when I hit the ground,
A smile on my face, I say,
“I love you.”

Hymn for an Optimist by Lexi Morgan

 

 

How do you tell a heart to hold on
When all that holds it together

Breaks?

How do you say
“It’s alright”
When the one thing you need is

Unattainable?

A life like that can’t be worth it, all that

Hold on.
It gets better.
Your glass-half-full gets fuller with every tear that

So smile,
Fake it until the joy deludes the

Fake it until your soul trickles down the sides of the glass like a

Just smile.
Smile until you’re strong enough to knock it

Down,

Water pooling on the constantly dirty kitchen floor,
Washing away all the

Screaming,
Sadness,
Hate.

Just smile.
Live in the walls around your heart a little while longer,
Then rejoice when you

Kick them down.

Relish in the dust and debris until you think you’ve built a small condo in your lungs,
Complete with a pool out back and a welcome mat that reads,

“Leave your glass-half-full at the door.”

Not because you’re tired of it,
Not because your hope is gone,
But because you’ve outgrown your glass like you outgrew your sippy cup.
Drink straight from the carton of life,
Get drunk on your happiness,

And always

Remember the puddle on your kitchen floor,
And the reflection of your fake smile in the dirty water.

Childhood is… by Lexi Morgan

Childhood is messy faces.
Childhood is piles of stuffed animals in the living room.
Childhood is picking dandelions like roses.
Childhood is watching a mother leave in a yellow-checkered car through tear-misted eyes.
Childhood is little plastic cars speeding down a hill.
And Childhood is being strong for the ones who can’t anymore.

Yellow and Gray by Lexi Morgan

I guess I’d say I’m gray-
Is that really that bad?
I’m soft and thoughtful,
And I’d like to think I’m comforting,
But who am I to say?
I guess I’m also yellow, though.
All nervous, self-aware, and shy.
Some people see yellow as positive,
But why, I wonder, can’t I?
It makes me antsy,
That outlandishly bright color.
That might be because I’m gray.
But in my personal opinion,
I’d take gray any day.

When I Was Young on the Mountain by Lexi Morgan

When I was young on the mountain, I wandered through the grass with my brother. We picked dandelions like roses, and our grandma treated them like roses when we gave our bouquets to her.

When I was young on the mountain, my grandma said, “Wink at me!” My brother and I closed both our eyes.

When I was young on the mountain, I sang happy birthday to everyone all at once from a high chair stained orange from spaghetti sauce.

When I was young on the mountain, I didn’t worry so much. I just picked flowers and sang with my mother.