End of An Era July 2 (12:02 am)

July 2 (12:02 am) 2024

a pattern in my heart ta-ta-tapping “honey, START”

first of all? It’s art, a bitter, smart less tart.

not a gun, not a strife, but directionless fight.

but alas, darling, please, the ground has hit your knees

a people-less plea crying into chemistry

you can do this in your sleep

What’s that? Can’t you seen not yourself? Just me?

Your cheeks can feel it too, through pointed toed shoes.

Tired eyes, clony dreams.

Goodnight, en oh ay, & keep following your dreams.

Running into your Best Friend at the Gym (Revised)

Running into your Best Friend at the Gym (Revision)

W&L Creative Writing

2019

Sweat weeps

between us

in a stirring room.

I meant to do

nothing

but sit with you.

I meant to be mad

or upset or something

at you.

Something should have

at least gone wrong.

Nothing did.

I meant to keep your hair dry

before bed

and call

until your phone’s dead.

But one day I just stopped.

I meant to make that 

day just one day.

But I didn’t.

And the next day I said

tomorrow I’ll dry your hair.

I knew you could never

do it on your own.

But I didn’t.

I meant to tell you 

that my jewelry feels 

cold

and my water is 

dirty

and my art is

unworthy.

Because you’re the 

only one who can 

fix it.

I meant to never go 

to the gym.

But today I went,

even though we swore we never would.

But you went today, too.

Why were you there?

I meant to make 

a joke

about it.

But I just said

how are you!

And your smile

was curved

and too tight.

I meant to smile

like that time 

you called me

when my dog died

and it was okay 

again.

But I didn’t.

And we both jogged.

In this revision, my biggest goal was to make the situation more clear while maintaining some of the confusion and curiosity that the class enjoyed. I added the swecond stanza to clarify that this poem is simply about growing apart; I think the fact that people grow apart for no reason is more compelling and upsetting than when people do because something went wrong in the relationship. The class agreed the poem would be more powerful if it was shorter, so I took out the stanzas that were weakest and seemed to stick out because the structure was different. I debated clarifying the ‘phone dead, hair dry’ stanza and tried out a few different versions, but overall, the class said that they were intrigued by the vagueness so I left it. I took out the last line, “I meant to sit,” because it didn’t have the effect that I had hoped (tying the ending back to the beginning). I also switched some wordings and line breaks to make it flow better.

Sideroad Superstition

Sideroad Superstition

W&L Creative Writing

2019

I drive by the graveyard, 30 seconds without breath

as you gasp in giggles, eyes broad with giddy fear.

My family sat in black six years ago in a small, dark room

holding a ceramic urn. I didn’t feel her there.

Where do spirits go, if not into our breathing bodies?

Go ahead, inhale. Steal them from the wind.

The Trigger of Texas

The Trigger of Texas

W&L Creative Writing, 2019

I learned hot dogs taste better on a win,

that victory trumps injury.

I learned that guns pair well

with cheap liquor and open fields.

I learned that a girl’s purpose

is to bake treats, 

not expecting 

that ‘Southern Pride’

is a thin, tearing veil.

I learned that the Bible

is literal.

But, alas, 

you still get to pick and choose

to use as ammunition.

I learned that ignorance is fine

and settling isn’t settling

if you’ve never known anything

but this.

I learned to bite the brash bullet

and re-map my mind,

feigning agreement

and snickering shallowly

to grasp admiration

from the uninterrupted

town of eight hundred thousand.

I learn quick.

I changed quicker.

a breath of fresh air

march 22 2024

a breath of fresh air

swept in ,

gone from one

deep, all consuming

slow, sharp, sadistic gulp.

-

exhaled, now tainted

with your stale breath,

the air flushed

grasping aimlessly

through your gums

no match for

the moat of deciet and

betrayal

pouring through your teeth

yet

now resting, you inhale

aimlessly

through you nose.

a hot air rises from your settling off-black dust.

coasting effortlessly toward a light

you lost long ago.

Independence Day

Independence Day

Lauren Newton

I took a downer, now I’m awake,

God tossed me lemonade to bake.

I took a fire, now I’m wet,

Burns are easy to forget.

I took a joke, now you laugh,

Toes riddled in staff,

1+5 is basic mafth.

6-1 is 25,

Hummed to the tune of ‘stayin alive.’

You took a risk, now I’m paid

No sewer well to drain

No pockets of disdain,

No clouds, no rain.

You promised gold, now I’m rich:

Dripping in bitch

Condemning a snitch

Scratching your itch.

It’s Independence Day today!

What you gotta say? Pray? Stay -

Bitch, bark. Have a play.

Chase a squirrel, call it “gay,”

Mind ur biznus, bust my clay.

My patriarchal innocence feels

Patriotic: Matriarchal Here-say

How I Stop the Ringing

How I Stop the Ringing

Lauren Newton 

July 30, 2021

Guess you can call me O.C.D,

Cuz these files

EXCITE me.

(,)

Pick a tab, choose a hit

No headphones in my head, now theres a

Mu sic.

(,)

(,)

(,)

World out either way, focus or disintegrate. (,) . (inisingrate)*

.

It’s times like these, when i wish that i could be, alone forever, without company.

Maybe he’s scared of me, but I’m more afraid - my attention span’s low - can he hold me in my place?

Big dreams, big city, the lights are in my eyes, howcome skylights shine brighter than his

(,)

(,)

(,)

Eyes?

.

It’s hard to place the feeling, even when I’m on a roll, which makes me pause n’ wonder,

Am I feeling it at all?

The fan, movin slowly, 

Can entertain me.

What does that bout the

State in he found

Me?

Can I be happy, when someone, loves me more than me?

Maybe they love the idea of Lauren.

Virtual Reality.

I don’t know if I can be alone with anyone but me,

So I just gotta beg, for constant

company. 

“Replaced: 6/30”

Even the filter’s mocking me. 

On the Brink

On the Brink

Lauren Newton

Fall 2018

I stroke upstream

Through thick molasses, past cliffs, 

knowing you’re not here. 

Sugar stings my unhealed scars,

but I keep swimming nowhere. 

Only Fools Are Satisfied

Only Fools Are Satisfied

Lauren Newton

Winter 2019

When the world calls, you must reply

But don’t hold your breath too long

Only fools are satisfied

Look for the hints while walking by

If it makes you smile it can’t be wrong

When the world calls, you must reply

Your talents may take off and fly

But you still feel like you don’t belong

‘Cause only fools are satisfied. 

Your family now needs you, so you try

To help by selling your last song

‘Cause when the world calls, you must reply

The family is okay, thanks to you it survived

But the price you paid will carry lifelong

It’s okay, because only fools are satisfied. 

Your eyes might be cold no tears to cry

You can never stay down, you have to be strong

Because when the world calls, you have to reply

It won’t be fun, but only fools are satisfied. 

a half full well at noon

lauren newton

spring ‘24

it’s a gorgeous day

i can see it from here

sun beating down

not a soul to be near

the water is warm

i wade with such ease

in a moment like this

too drained to please

it’s still half full!

all thanks to the rain

if it rains harder,

could I rise again?

i almost find out

and bear thru your storms

but in heat like this

i fall back into the norm.

green lightning strikes near,

all smoke & no flames

your thunder

a weak, transparent game.

i’ll wade for today,

but next time it rains,

your well will be empty.

your ____ in vain.

Waiting for the Bath to Fill

Waiting for the Bath to Fill

Lauren Newton

July 2021

I looked in the mirror, and who did I see?

The beauty of the world that swallows me.

The mirror’s been smudged, but not by me.

The bright bruises pulse, aching for company.

Waiting patiently for the mirror to feel,

The smudges laugh loudly to prove they’re real.

“I’ll freeze,” said the mirror, in blinding rage.

The heat was so hot, it rippled a wave.

Bubbles burst as the mirror begs to be dried.

The chaos is blinding, a storm’s compromise.

The calmness of color now thumps in pale pink.

The mirror tells me, “your bath is complete.”

What I Learned on a Mission Trip in Nicaragua

What I Learned on a Mission Trip in Nicaragua

Lauren Newton

Fall 2018

I swayed in the unbreathing air. You tell

us blindly God will save our blotted souls.

A tear rolls down, you sneer then stare, eyes null.

If you don’t convert her, she’ll go to hell.

A freckled, gentle friendship found in third

grade gave me something larger to regard

than myself. Her kindness broke down my guard,

so He’s close when she laughs. I know He’s heard.

You say her life’s a solemn sham without

Jesus, that Jews can never live in light.

Too bad she’ll never see the afterlife.

If it’s not about love, what’s it about?

My second home, I break brisket again.

There’s always room for love in religion.

The Last Mile

The Last Mile

Lauren Newton

Winter 2019

The sprint never slows down nowadays.

My growth has closed all around, nowadays.

I sit in dull rooms with a mind that’s hazed.

Not many games on playgrounds, nowadays.

Trees laugh tough until breath turns to cough.

Golden leaves turn brown, nowadays.

Your face is the same, but your voice has changed.

Our verbs rot into nouns, nowadays.

The mirror stretches and folds up and down.

My reflection looks like a clown, nowadays.

Empty churches bleed red with a soundless sound.

God, they beg, are you around nowadays?

The light is now dimmer, but it all looks the same;

children dance in hand-me downs, nowadays.

Eternity’s pulsing while tomorrow lies blank. 

Promise must breathe in new towns, nowadays. 

A Thousand Words

A Thousand Words

Lauren Newton

Fall 2018

The woman smiles with lidded eyes, her child’s

cheeks flushed and fresh from Johnson’s baby soap.

Her tremulous stare pierces through my phone.

My charcoal’s waiting patiently. I start.

I draw her mouth so she can speak to me,

her arms to hold her girl. She whispers soft

and shares her name. Marie, she says, what’s yours?

I share, we laugh, I shade her shadow dark.

Her husband doesn’t pay her attention.

This drawing is a gift for him. Maybe

he’ll see beauty in them, if we are art,

she hopes and looks at me, her tears bubbling. 

Always alone despite my mother’s pleas.

Don’t fret. My subjects keep me company. 

Show Dog

Lauren Newton

Creative Writing in Fiction September 23, 2018

Show Dog

“You know we appreciate all of the work you’ve done with us, Alex. We... it’s just a hard time for us this year, you understand, right? With the, uh, economy, and all.”

Alex swatted away the words of consolation, assuaging his guilt with her beautiful smile.

“Robert, of course I understand. I’ll land on my feet. It was an absolute pleasure working with you... I hope our professional lives reconnect some day.”

She couldn’t have been more graceful. Not that Robert expected otherwise. She was Alex! To the outside world, she was perfect, effortless. Strawberry blonde hair trailed below her structured shoulders, her skin sprinkled with pale freckles that brought out her blue eyes. She seemed quite youthful for a 29 year old. She was shorter than she’d like to be, so she made herself tall with heels on any occasion. She graduated law school with apparent ease, her carefully articulated charm building her career with each new encounter. This is why Robert didn’t feel too horrible. She’d land a new job within a second. She was Alex. If you knew her, you’d probably hate her. Not ​hate ​her, but her perfect life would piss you off. Only Alex could leave a company with elegance after being fired. She must really be put together. It was damningly admirable.

“I’ll come back to the office, say, around six? To gather my things. Again, no hard feelings. I’m grateful for all that I’ve learned working with you.” Alex walked out of the building with a skip. She waved to the old man by the coffee shop, giving him a wink. She entertained her taxi driver to no end with stories of her travels, laughing genuinely at his shitty jokes, tipping him generously as she exited. “You look great today, Brenda!” she exclaimed to the woman at the front desk. “I ​need​ that top! See you soon!”

“WHAT THE FUCK! Are you fucking kidding me?! Go to hell you asshole!” Alex screamed once inside the comfort of her apartment. “Eight fucking years with that firm, are you fucking kidding me?! FUCK THIS!” ​I am Alex. I don’t fail. I don’t fail I don’t fail I don’t fail, she thought, staring at her diplomas. ​Oh my fucking god. What am I going to tell Samuel and my bullshit ‘friends?’ What the fuck am I going to do?

Alex was two people. Alex was her reputation, and then, she was herself. Her clothes were obnoxiously expensive, her job was dreadfully impressive, her body was mockingly perfect. Everyone wanted to be seen with her, nobody wanted to be her friend. Alex liked it this way. She kept people just close enough to envy her, far enough to only understand the surface. The fantasy could never come undone, or Alex would not be Alex. This is why she spent hours tucking in the tags on her clothes just right, lost sleep over a job she despised, and lived in,

ironically, all consuming hunger. She lived in fear of pity, in fear of that ​look.​ She shuddered, remembering its been years since she experienced it. She always left herself a hair away from completely falling apart, knowing that was the risk she had to take to maintain her image. How the fuck did she let the hair snap and break away?

****

“Lexie, sweetie... let’s stay home from school today! You work too hard for a 13 year

old girl. Have some fun with your mama.” Alex went by Lexie at the time. She swung open the thin, yellow door and stared at the forty four year old woman before her. She looked at her cracked, fake nails in disgust. It was so obvious that they were fake, she thought. Alex gritted her teeth in disapproval of her jean skirt matched with old, white tennis shoes. The shoes looked like those ones that nurses wore -- like the nurses in that show ​ER​ must wear, Alex assumed. She didn’t have much time for TV. It made no sense to wear those ​ER​ shoes with a jean skirt. Even if she were wearing appropriate shoes, even if she were wearing the nicest shoes in the world, the body beneath her clothes would draw the most attention. It couldn’t be hidden, not that her mama ever tried. The thick accent couldn’t be covered, either. That accent, oh my God. It sounded like she had a bowl full of off-brand peanut butter caught in her throat, which, to be honest, she did half of the time. Alex’s nostrils flared, her eyes widened and stared off into space every time she heard that gut-wrenching noise.

“No, mother. Why would I skip my classes to sit on the couch with you.” She watched her mama’s eyes sink into her cheeks. Her lips flinched downward for a half of a second, then twitched back up into a somber smile. She started to speak but had to pause, her mouth opening then closing. Alex noted the popping sound of her lipstick, thinking she would never wear that blood red shade. Alex liked pink. “I wish I could see you more. I love you, you know.” Alex didn’t even process the words. Instead, she focused on the fact that ‘more’ sounded like ​mower​, and ‘I’ sounded like ​ahh​, almost like a silent scream. The same perpetual scream drowning Alex’s mind every second she spent in that shit hole. ​Shit,​ she thought, ​wait, shit​. She shouldn’t even know that word. It’s incredibly unladylike, she thought. She corrected her thoughts, changing ​shit hole​ to ​quaint abode​. She smiled, thinking that her vocabulary quizzes were paying off. ​Abode, loquacious, exuberant, radiant...​ her thoughts drowned out her mother’s soft sniffles.

****

That night at 6:00, Alex was greeted and mocked by the bright pink door to her office. She knew it was flashy, obnoxious. She also knew that people strolled by it thinking, ​good for her, doing something different!​ She pulled the door open with a grunt, as she had specifically chosen the office with the heaviest door. She figured that way, maybe less people would come inside. Maybe, they’d get a glimpse just quick enough to admire her, fantasizing about the life of

the girl in the pink door. A fantasy that would end in uncomfortable disappointment had they pushed through and entered. The color of her door didn’t matter anymore, the time spent choosing the perfect office was now pointless. She was fired, she repeated to herself in utter shame.

Alex had two missed calls. She got excited for a moment, hoping to see a different name appear on the screen. ​Dumbass,​ she then thought. ​That’s not even possible.​ She looked at the true name on the screen, the photo of the man on her desk. To others, ​Mr. Perfect​, to Alex, Samuel. They worked so perfectly together because they both operated the same way. They both laughed at the same jokes, both agreed on the same opinions, both leaned in for a kiss each time the other left the room. Perfect.

“Hi beautiful, just checking in on you. I miss you -- let me cook you a meal tonight.”

“Sorry. My coworkers asked me about you so I told them I’d call. Ignore that last message.”

Alex chuckled. Mr. Perfect meant nothing to her, she nothing to him. They had a mutual agreement -- a contract, almost. Their relationship consisted of parties and social gatherings. She’d wear his ‘favorite’ red dress, do a spin for his friends, then giddily run to her acquaintances, spewing “how did I get so lucky?” They always left the party early, claiming they just couldn’t wait to be alone together again. His hand robotically caresses her curved back as her fingers flirt with his scruff. The two dance into a cab, barely able to pull their attention elsewhere to wave goodbye. The second they enter the cab, silence.

Alex rarely dedicated her time to wondering what a real relationship might be like. Today, though, she felt her fingers deleting the second message, replaying the first. ​Hi beautiful. She closed her eyes. It was almost as if someone cared. Nobody had cared in a while.

*****

“Will you be a first generation college student?” the application read. Alex snarled. ​Yes, dumbass. Have you met my mother? S​ he clicked the box, growing angrier by the second.

Once she got to college, nobody would give her that ​look​. That look when she won the middle school spelling bee, that look when her science project won first place. The parents of her competitors would approach her, asking, “You’re Wendy Bussey’s daughter, aren’t you?” ​Yes ma’am​, she’d reply, smiling through gritted teeth. “Well, Lexie, you did great out there. We loved seeing you shine.” Even the kids who found themselves in second place had to congratulate her, patting her on the back, conceding, “you deserved this.” It was as if she were a paraplegic winning a damn marathon. Everyone is shocked and excited, leaving feeling as though ​anything​ must be possible. If Wendy Bussey’s daughter can succeed, anyone can!

Fuck that,​ she thought, as she continued clicking those tedious boxes. She had given up attempting to think ladylike a long time ago, realizing it doesn’t matter what she thinks, just what others ​think​ she thinks. It was around this time she realized she could laugh at jokes she

despised, could consume foods that disgusted her, could flirt with teachers to bump an A to an A+. It was also around this time she started going by Alex.

Knock knock knock.

Alex looked at the door, rolled her eyes, and continued working. Knock knock knock.​

Silent still, Alex’s rage built up.

“Are you in there, sweetie?” a soft, tentative voice called.

No reply.

“I, ur, hope your college stuff is going good.”

Still nothing.

“I just wanted to say that I am proud of you. My little Lexie is making it to college...

And, um I wanted to give you something, just to show you how much I love you and all. Um, may I come in?”

May I?​ Thought Alex. Does she think that that makes her sound fancy or something? She probably scripted that whole speech, as shitty as it was. Although she mocked her, Alex knew why their interactions had to be so formal, so forced. Alex never gave that woman the time of day, so when she did, she had to make it count.

Alex grunted. The thin door swung open with a bit too much force, hitting and knocking down her porcelain pink rabbit, breaking off its ear. Her mom had given her the rabbit for her sixth birthday. Alex wouldn’t admit it, but it was the favorite thing she owned. She would later stay up all night gluing it’s ear back on in confused tears. ​It must have cost three dollars​, she would think, ​so why do I give a shit?

Her mother didn’t notice the broken rabbit, though -- whatever gift was in her hand was clearly consuming her thoughts. She was sweating profusely and visibly shaking, hoping she could make Alex smile.

“What is it.” Alex asked, not looking up.

“Well, I know you’re gonna be pretty far away and not have much time for your mama next year, but you know, I thought maybe you’d wanna give me a call sometime. So, um, I got you this.”

Her mother awkwardly handed her an outdated flip phone, covered in individually glued pink rhinestones. Alex could almost feel her mother’s heartbeat throbbing; she was more nervous than she’d ever seen her.

Alex looked into her mother’s eyes and immediately looked away. She couldn’t bear it. Her mother must have been saving up for months, must have spent hours gluing. She felt a twinge of guilt, a glimmer of regret. She heaved those feelings deep down, telling herself it was pathetic that it took her mother so much effort to present this piece of shit.

“Okay. I’ll probably be too busy to call.” She was right. She never called.

******

“Hello?” bellowed the sexy voice of her ‘second half.’ Alex sat in the darkness of her

office, feeling suffocated. She had nowhere else to go. “Hey, Sam,” she replied, somehow nervous to speak with the man she’s dated for years. “Hello, beautiful! When can I see you next?” Alex sighed in a despair she’d become well acquainted with. Her lungs emptied. “Sam, I’m alone, don’t worry.” Tears swelled in her eyes as the discomfort of the silence grew palpable. “So, haha, why are you calling? Do you need something?”

Emptiness was nothing new to Alex. She often felt hollowed out, like she was a pencil without led. When she was just a girl, Alex was walking through the nice part of town and couldn’t help but stop at the window of Glamour Paws. She saw a gorgeous black show dog being groomed to perfection, the groomer trimming, fluffing, and accessorising a mournful schnauzer. She felt so terrible for it, thinking his owners must be so cruel to put such an innocent puppy through all of that work when all he wanted to do was play. She stood by the window, imagining bursting in and stealing the dog with one swift movement, taking him to a park, and setting him free. Why didn’t anyone want to steal her away from the cruelty, the emptiness of a life lived for show? The tears burned harder as she thought what she has known all along. Nobody could steal her away. She was holding her own leash.

“No, not necessarily. I just wanted someone to talk with, I suppose.”

“I’m pretty busy over here... call a friend, okay? This isn’t part of the arrangement,” he joked. Alex reciprocated the lighthearted laughter, her eyes dead and her cheeks limp. “Of course, see you at Saturday’s brunch.”

She thought she would never move again, but found her legs standing up and her arms sorting frantically. ​What the fuck am I even looking for?​ She kept searching, each second furrowing her brows further into her beautiful forehead, her pores dousing her beautiful clothes in sweat. The office that was once immaculate was now in disarray: boxes flung everywhere, cabinets emptied to the floor, the picture of Sam shattered.

The room was cleaner than it ever had been, she thought. In a room filled with darkness, Alex’s eye caught a pink glimmer. Her rabbit. She delicately gripped it, its cool exterior chilling her soul, warming her heart. She closed her eyes.

She held the rabbit until she was six again. Until mama’s voice sounded like honey instead of peanut butter. Until she loved those white nurse’s shoes, until her door was light enough to open with a breeze. Until she hadn’t yet thought momma was her enemy, until she was still her best friend. Until everyone liked her for her goofy giggle instead of her appearance.

What seemed like years later, Alex opened her eyes, located her boring, undecorated, and expensive iPhone. 592-493-4760. She could never forget that number. It’s been 10 years since she dialed it.

“Mama? It’s me, Lexie.”