Johnson County Library will close at 5 pm on Wednesday, Nov. 25 and will be closed on Thursday Nov. 26 and Friday, Nov 27.
overland park kansas usa earth milky way am i supposed to call this home? i live here but it isn’t home. my home is delved deep within the pages of my books my home is made in the beats of my favorite songs my home is captured pictures at a time, then run together to make magical movies. my ho
constantly muttering to yourself a constant hum in the back of your head. carrying conversations with the walls around you this is normal mom, leave me alone mom, I want to eat in my room tonight mom, I can’t talk right now mom. buzz-buzz, buzz-buzz your phone vibrates, mimicking a heartbeat his
Born into the place I despise. Growing in the green, not seeing what could be. Suffocating siblings, pets galore, always wanting more. Colorado was my safe place, one mountain to the next. Creaky ski lifts, glistening snow, hot chocolate burning my tongue. My problems disappeared, skiing from on
A little spot in the heartland, A little spot in your heart. Where families are created, And legacies carry on. Where meals are around a table, And the front of a fridge is your trophy case. Where names are recycled, And recipes stay secret. Where talking over one another is normal, And arguing a
Warm evenings - a slight breeze with the scent of smoked ham and cornbread for dinner. BROWN BODIES come out when the streetlights do FOR FEAR OF BEING SEEN, dancing and singing to Motown. Turning bodies into wine too sweet to taste. Hearing John Coltrane and his saxophone telling stories of BLUE
Sometimes when I sit in my room I think of home I think of all the things I miss and how I’m alone In all the loneliness I get consumed in sadness and fear Then I feel the pain as I shed a tear Sometimes when I’m in my room and I’m entrapped in silence I bring back the past, all the hurt and viol
Is it the one place you can go? the one place you can trust those who are there no matter where you are or where you are going?
Is a home where you are always found and lost to lose yourself in old memories?
New to be made to replace to overtell tales of childhood.
I hastily picked my feet up out of the snow to uncover a pair of warm brown boots that had been hidden under layers of white fluff just moments ago. The cold wind pierces my bare cheeks as I charge forward, breathing heavily to reveal a cloud of warm carbon dioxide.
Police tape lines the yard I walk past Baby blue house in cookie-cutter neighborhood I look down and it says welcome I quickly step in and close the door so the camera flashes don’t glimpse inside A table set for seven with pink orchids in the middle Hand-colored drawings with markers on the frid
This here is real. There are no stories about happy homes and whole hearts where we come from. No fancy cars. We got no big houses but big dreams. This is crack fiends at midnight, babies crying, sleeping on wooden floors. This is the corner of Troost. On a pitch black Friday night a queen sells
What do you do when the place you call home Is one that you no longer recognize; when you Forget that place is no mere function of space, But also a function of time; and the Crystalline memories you can still see, With every step forward, move farther from reach? Looks can deceive; where you are
Chicago, my beauty; Chicago, my heart. Chicago, the deep breath of Every morning I start.
Chicago, my summer; Chicago, my light. Chicago, the way her buildings Shine in the night.
Chicago, my tour guide; Chicago, my maze. Chicago, with her river, Lake, and sandy beach days.
Hair up Tarp down Pop My mother uses her strength to cradle Our liquid gold Douses the pan with potential energy And snaps the blade to its wand The brush crackles and crinkles Screams She slaps more gold on the canvas Drowns out the cries and begs Until we are met with silence The new vibe of ou
7 am Giant star rises in the east to greet the girl buried underneath the heavy duvet. Her arm is draped across the stomach of her onetime lover, rising and falling slowly. Golden light dances on the ceiling above her, refracted beams from the curtain swaying to the beat of the ceiling fan.
I am from the nail polish in my room, From holographic glitter and high heels. I am from the toys on the ground (rainbow, soft, Sasha never picks them up.) I am from cacti pricking my fingers, From shopping and thanksgiving, From Sasha to Caleb. I’m from fighting in the car and playing video game