Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

The Years Do Not See Equal Growth

These days

I’m realizing that

The people I look up to and admire

Are more often younger than me

Than I used to find

There were always others

Outliers that hit stardom young

And I thought that I would be one

But I’m getting older

And older

It’s hard not to realize

That they’re two years younger

And a hundred and fifty years more successful

But who’s keeping time?

Part of me worries that

This feeling will never go away

Not even at the very end

When I am an old woman

The oldest person left on earth

And all people

And all of their achievements

Continue to make me feel small

I worry that this pain will keep going forever

But I wonder,

Will this pain remain the same

As the years go by?

Or will it get worse

And worse?


Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write. 

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee 

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Poetry - 13th Edition Uncategorized

Arm Wrestling

My clock stopped a long time ago

I wasn’t there when it happened

And I didn’t notice what was wrong

Until I watched the second hand

Thrust itself forward

Only to be pushed back by another invisible hand

They must be arm wrestling

A broken clock is still correct twice a day,

but I never seem to look at it at the right time

Maybe tomorrow, my timing will be better

Maybe the next time

I could reach up and fix it

But I don’t know how

So I won’t even take it off the wall

And time slows to a crawl

The time it stands on means nothing to me

And the frozen moment keeps the hand floating,

Hovering there at the 12,

The precipice of some type of change, I’m sure,

However miniscule that change might be

Insignificant, and I wouldn’t even really mind

If it weren’t for the fact that the clock is still up there

Ticking on my wall and endlessly in the darkness

as I lie there awake, listening

Refusing to tell me the time

But reminding me that it is moving on anyway


Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write. 

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee 

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

The Protagonist

I don’t want to be

Just another maiden

Affixed somewhere

In a man’s story

I, too,

Want the power,

The adventures,

And the glory

Not Persephone,

Eurydice,

Medusa, Helen,

or Demeter

If my choice is between

supporting actress

And love interest,

I choose neither

I know the perils,

The hardships,

And the trials

That may come my way

I will choose the life

Filled with choice

Every single time

And every day

I want to travel far

And solve mysteries

And slay the beast

And save the world

And I’ll do it all

To be the best

Just like all the rest

Not just good for a girl


Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write. 

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee 

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

I Know Why You Left

A cold spot in the room

A light flickering off then on

A little piece of you left in a place

Where it doesn’t belong

It feels like you’re still here

But I know you weren’t here for long

I know that once you were able,

You insisted on pressing on

You headed off into the direction

of that endless unknown

Far from these tethers and chains

Far from this home

With that same gleeful curiosity

You stepped through the gate

With that same reckless ambition

You refused to wait

And if you’d been asked

You’d give your radiant smile

And politely refuse the request

To stay with us for awhile

This room is now empty

I can feel it deep in my bones

Even though I carry you with me

I know that I am alone

I don’t blame you for leaving

I couldn’t ask you to stay

I know why you left

So I hope you’re far away

It feels like you’re still here

But I know you weren’t here for long

You were exploring the edges of the universe

Before we knew you were gone


Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write. 

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee 

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

Mondays

I was still heavy from the Benadryl.

I tolerate the weight of waking up.

Coffee does nothing for me anymore.

Neither does cold water to the face or

screaming the lyrics to America.

All the f***ing creamer is going to

spoil one of these days.

I pour it out at night,

like a lot of things,

when everyone’s asleep and won’t see.

And the moon rose over an open field

I’ve tried tea and it tastes like piss.

Green tea tastes like the stale disappointment of disturbed mothers.

Earl Grey blends remind me of an old friend.

Laughing on the bus Playing games with the faces

We were seventeen, and even then I wanted to end things.


Amanda May is a senior at Lindenwood University. She is majoring in English Literature with an Emphasis in Creative Writing and minoring in Journalism. When she isn’t writing, she can probably be found screaming or crying (or both) about Star Wars, anime, or Florence + The Machine. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram @Amandalorian451

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

The Shadow

Here I come,

but with your permission.

I don’t come alone.

I come with my shadow,

one that doesn’t leave me alone,

since a long time ago.

I don’t like her,

but I can’t take her away from me.

She says that she loves me

but who loves you,

doesn’t hurt you.

I don’t want to

drag you with her.

I don’t want

your world turned dark

because of her.

Maybe,

someday,

with your joy,

I will stop being her toy.

Your light

and attitude,

makes her concern

in a way that I didn´t expect.

You are a skylight

that appeared without request,

but that illuminates

every corner as a bless.


Fernanda Poblete is a junior English Literature- Creative writing student with a minor in History. Her first novel was inspired by the Covid pandemic. One of her pieces was published in 2020 in Lindenwood’s Creepy Campfire Stories. Fernanda is from Chile and came to Lindenwood thanks to a tennis scholarship.

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

The Tree

Written in memory of my late grandfather, Larry F. Dunlap

Tall, strong, independent tree

Bark covering the trunk stretched wide

Sprouting from the head green leaves

Bold branches emerge from side to side

For me, the tree has always been there

When in need, it gave me fresh air

The tree was there when I took my first steps

Its very own trunk held my hammock as I slept

When the sun shined too hot, its leaves covered

The tree prayed for me when uneasy spirits hovered

When I was numb, I could always feel his bark

The tree reminded me of light when I was afraid of the dark

When I came to the tree with rivers in my eyes,

the tree would soak my tears into its soil

When I would play and scrape my knee under the blue skies,

the tree would heal my wounds with its sweet oil

I never carried hunger because the tree would provide fruit

The tree would tell me, “You are of me, blood of my blood, we have the same roots”

Now the tree has aged, broken branches, withered leaves

But I will never forget how the tree fulfilled all my wants and needs

Now it is I who must plant new seeds

For the tree was the greatest provider

But the one above everything, has called him higher


Jasmine Tanui Who is she? Everyone within a grasp of her writings wonders who she might be. Her scripts lift the dullness of the reader, leaving the people who have read it wanting more. She writes to please herself but the words on the paper are never selfish. Reading her poetry is like knowing her. You know her greatest fears and her roots of happiness all from the letters she forms into words. You feel her sadness and celebration. Her writings make her indestructible. She is Jasmine Tanui, sometimes known as Jemutai, her native name. She is a 19-year-old, African American girl with Kenyan roots.

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

The Farewell

Take me in your arms, don’t let go of me.

Hug me until fear and pain leave my mind.

I will be your voice and the strength that you lost.

I will achieve the justice you deserve.

Give me this moment to frame your essence.

I want to retain the warmth of your hands,

and feel how your heart beats, which was wounded,

a damn September night away from home.

I would like to be with you on this trip.

But I´m not yet ready for such approach.

I hope that where you go is beautiful,

where the life of women is valuable,

where you can be yourself without being judged.

Here I will stay, so that you can be heard,

so that your story is remembered,

and no angel open their wings so soon.


Fernanda Poblete is a junior English Literature- Creative writing student with a minor in History. Her first novel was inspired by the Covid pandemic. One of her pieces was published in 2020 in Lindenwood’s Creepy Campfire Stories. Fernanda is from Chile and came to Lindenwood thanks to a tennis scholarship.

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

It’s 2 AM

My hair is wet

My air is frigid

My floor is ice

My floor is lava

My legs are noodles

My bed is spikes

My ears are bells

My breath is hot

My skin is hotter

My light is blinding

My fan is loud

My clock is louder

My project is unfinished

My pen is horizontal

My hand is still

My jaw is clenched

My soup is dry

My bread is stale

My eyelids are heavy

My pillow is lumpy

My blanket is newspaper

My morning is early

My mind is frantic

My sleep is later

My project is unfinished

My paper is clean

My target is far

My room is empty

My door is locked

My door is ajar


Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write. 

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee 

Categories
Poetry - 13th Edition

one more theory about grief

CONTENT WARNING – Death

After Paul Guest

That it will come to me in the most inopportune moments: when I’m thinking of kissing my now ex-boyfriend, when I’m brushing my teeth, when I pass the golf course where we went on our only real date. That  I don’t want to live the rest of my life dealing with it. That I’m tired of seeing your face everytime I close my eyes. That I want to forget you. That learning to cope with you being gone isn’t a linear process; it’s more like a cow spinning around in a tornado, tossed back and forth until its skull is smashed to pieces against a telephone pole and then rewinding the clock, forcing bits of bone to come together and stuffing vital organs back into an empty cavernous carcass. That you told me you didn’t think a queer could make it out of this town alive but somehow despite the Catholic guilt that plagued every caress you gave to me, I never thought you were talking about yourself.


Emerson Gray, a disabled genderqueer creator living in Saint Louis, Missouri, has been previously published in the Eunoia Review and Neon Mariposa Magazine. His piece “Life of an Ophelian Girl”, as seen in Crabfat Magazine, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He can be contacted on Twitter @Emerson_Gray_