Daffodil

by Anonymous 

1st place long poetry

 

Daffodil,

Perhaps, you thought,

Having sex with a stranger would end this

Restless need for adventure 

Impersonal as it is, the intimacy is beautiful

In its own raw fashion.

Foreign hands feel up beating bodies

Sweat glistens and smells almost sickly sweet

Of honey and strawberry wine. 

Skin glows warm hues 

Like the burning of alcohol, 

Puke coloured carpet 

And horny 9 o’clock skies.

You secretly listen in 

On the pitter patter of their heart

In the smallest hope 

Of hearing a kind of soft melody 

Only to find the mechanic echo 

Of a freight train going 

Nowhere very fast. 

You wake up alone 

To the desperate skies of dawn

And a sad love that lingers. 

 


I poured a bowl of cereal this morning

we’re out of milk. 

much love, lily
 

Lily my Love,

Yes, maybe I’m addicted

To the smell of Polo or Versace

Holding me close

To the beating of hearts

Humming a melody that sounds like

real human connection

Heroin or marijuana or tobacco or ecstasy soaked

lovers who will be gone in the morning

Never to be heard from again

My addiction is false intimacy

Because there’s nothing like coming home at midnight

smelling like a future ex

But for that moment in time

I’m not alone

And my restless need for adventure is over

Until the next 9 o’clock sky

I don’t even take milk with my cereal, love. 

       Love Always, Daffodil     

 

 

Yellow Room

By: McKenzie Pineda

1st place short poetry 

 

Your ceiling is white—

Typical. 

Who paints their ceiling? 

I started to count the tiny divots. 

I always lose track. 

I think there’s about sixty. 

 

Maybe I should start paying attention 

To your bookcase next. 

Half of your collection is about love. 

This isn’t love. 

 

After you finish, I stare at your face. 

Your expression never changes. 

You always slur the same words I ignore. 

 

Why do I keep coming back? 

When I leave, I feel the same. 

 

. . . 

 

I now know you have seventy-eight books—

All about love

And one hundred and forty-two divots 

On your white ceiling.