Cross: You okay, Lux?
Lux: *laying down face first on the carpet*
Lux: I’m depressed, dad.
Cross: Oh, same.
Cross: Wait. I mean-
Cross: Hi depressed, I’m dad- nO-
Cross: I, just-
Cross: What’s wrong???
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Poetry
And how exactly am I supposed
to blend in
when my entire life
all I’ve done is loved in strategically poured increments;
How I’ve never let my
glass-brittle heart feel
even the tender touch of
my mother’s hands;
How I’ve forever worn my skin
like a slouching apology;
How the room feels emptier
with the ever-gathering crowds in it;
How I choke on every word I utter
And they,
they call it poetry.
— Sarthak Baluni
0Autumn,
Is the season that seems like the one I’ve loved for lifetimes,
As if it has always been full of new love,
Romantic dates,
And maybe even standing at deaths gate,
Which is alright,
Because I need it for my poetry anyways
- autumn, my love by Amrit Kaur
0“You cannot change what you are, only what you do.”
- Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass52
