Solace

I seek solace within nature,

In moment of utter despair.

No presence is there greater;

For loneliness I cannot bare.

First, 

I hear the gossiping trees,

Whose whispers fill the air.

Curses travel with the breeze;

To the woodpeckers they swear.

Second,

The restless stream passing by,

We've little time to chat.

To each other we never lie;

A simple tit-for-tat.

Next,

Always one to voice an opinion,

The cardinal's never shy.

Loudly claiming his dominion;

Must he constantly pry?

Last,

The sound of a howling tune,

From where else but the wind.

As a wolf to the full moon;

Confessing of all his sin.

The sounds occupy my tired soul,

Quieting my destructive mind.

Slowly filling the hollowed hole;

Dissipated are thoughts unkind.

-b.m.

Hushed

Style 1:

Autumn will soon take its reign,

The shift rooted within my bones. 

The wind whispers its sweet name,

Filled with craving, it aptly moans.

Cool air caresses my face,

Sneaking through the window.

Filling every inch of space,

It rests beside my pillow.

Crickets' chirping fills the air,

Their chorus ever-ceaseless.

To the world they boldly share,

Their deepest darkest secrets. 

Above, the sky softly weeps,

Her tears descend with poise.

Falling on the Sycamore leaves,

They produce a sultry noise. 

It's early morn', the world's asleep,

Dark has yet to turn to light.

Soon the sun will start to creep,

To this moment I hold tight.

Here exists neither future nor past,

No yesterday or 'morrow.

A place to attain some peace at last,

No anxiety or sorrow.

              

-b.m.

Style 2:

It's the end of summer. There's a chill in the air as the weather starts to shift. The window is wide open, allowing a cool breeze to dance around the room. It's early morning, before the sun wakes and stretches her light across the earth. Rain lightly taps on the rooftop and bounces off the leaves of the trees standing outside. The world feels soft, hushed, as though time itself has paused for a moment to savor the peace of it. Sleep could not keep me from the sensation. The aroma of serenity. Nothing else exists outside of this space, for the moment. There is no past, no future. Only present. All of the noise in my mind is quieted so that the only noise to grace my ears are the chirping crickets and soothing raindrops. 

Drip. 

Chirp.

Drop.

Chirp.

 My eyelids begin to fall. Eased into rest, I allow myself to let go. 

Let go. 

Let go. 

-b.m.

Playground Behavior

Tired of the game these boys always play.

Say they want your heart,

But their actions don't say the same.

Texting at two a.m.,

Acting like boys and not men.

Tell you they'll give you the world, 

When their parents are still paying rent. 

Ask you to show some skin, 

But don't care what's within. 

Asking them questions about their life

(Because you genuinely care)

But they dodge anything personal and say,

"Baby I love your hair."

Why should I show you what's under my shirt,

Or beneath my skirt?

Because you're a flirt?

I've seen this movie before.

I know I'll get hurt.

Like I said, I'm tired of these games.

No more late night texts 

Or app with the flames.

Maybe one day you'll grow up 

And act like a man,

But until then,

It's just you and your hand.

-b.m.

Meaning of Life

Welcome to September, Moths!

It has been one long heck of a summer. I wish I could say it was filled with memorable nights and drinking until the sun came up, but unfortunately the real world had me tied down to work and school. Which I'm not necessarily complaining about because I saved up money to live comfortably while I'm away at college for the next couple of months, so there are trade-offs.

Now I know you're all thinking, are you going to tell us which school you go to, or what?? Since you begged, I'll share! I will be a senior this year at Rutgers University in New Brunswick! I transferred here last year and have been so grateful for the house I was accepted into. This house, called Helyar House, is unlike any other living arrangement out there. It is a co-op/coed, fifty year establishment filled with long-lasting traditions and amazing influential people. It really is a humbling experience to work alongside 39 other people to keep a house running effectively and-for the most part-smoothly.

Part of the uniqueness of this house is that the students who live within it basically have full control with a strong sense of independence. We have an E-board consisting of a president, vice president, food coordinators, historians (one of them being me), etc. The members of this "E-board" moved in a couple of days early to acclimate to the house for the upcoming semester, consisting of some training sessions discussing things like diversity, constructive personality exercises, stress/time management, etc. At the end of one of these sessions, our residence counselor, Neha, left us this food-for-thought before heading to bed:

What are three or four things you want to be remembered for when you die?
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That escalated quickly, huh?

The context behind this is that we were discussing things about each other, such as things we feel we are oppressed by, memories we had about issues with gender/race/confrontation in the past, and things alike. The goal of all of this was to feel a deeper connection with the other members of our E-board, as well as feeling comfortable enough to share these things that may be crouching in the back of our minds. It really hit me, and as I laid in bed that night, I couldn't get my mind off of the thought. Sometimes we are sidetracked by all of the clutter in our lives. Clutter can be stress at work, worrying about if you look "too fat" in this outfit or whether or not we're having a bad hair day or worrying about posting this picture rather than the other, etc. We hang on so closely to these minuscule issues that when we are asked to take a step back from it all, it seems so utterly ridiculous that we wasted any time worrying about such things in the first place.

And by we I mean I, naturally.

So what are my three or four things? I'm going to share them with all of you lovely people:

• I want to be remembered for my smile and the way it lights up the darkest of rooms (as I have been so graciously told)
• I want to be remembered for having a kind and compassionate nature towards others
• I want to be remembered for my unwavering passion for wildlife, and things alike 
• I want to be remembered for my infectious, side-hurts-so-bad, only-stopping-to-gasp-for-air, kind of laugh
• And above all, I want to be remembered for all of the happiness I've brought into other people's lives

Let me be clear: I'm planning on my death being a veeeeeeeeeeeeery long time from now, and this is just an exercise to gain a perspective on life. 

Neha also said that if there ever comes a time in our lives where we are at a crossroads, or are going through a difficult situation in which life seems impossibly overwhelming, that we ought to utilize and retouch on these in order to reorientate our souls with our meaning of life. In other words, to take a step back from the magnifying glass we look through every day. No one is going to remember that huge pimple you had during the tenth grade that you ogled over all day, or that one time your belly rolls showed when your crop top was a little too cropped. None of these things will matter once we've departed from this physical world. It's how you chose to live your life, and how you treated people along the way, that matters.

I urge anyone reading this to take a few minutes to yourself in a quiet and secluded place to think about, and write down, what it is you wish to be remembered by when you die. Don't treat this as a morbid exercise, but rather your own guide from which to touch base with your core/soul. Write them down and store them somewhere you can access, somewhere it can remembered when you need it the most. These are for you and no one else, so really dig deep. 

What are you living for, moths? xoxo 

Aware

Life is but a reflection of,
The Earth, the Sea,
And the Stars above--

The Earth teaches many a thing,
What wisdom its soils do bring.
From it, sprouts plants and trees,
Whose leaves dance in the breeze.
On it supports buildings and homes,
In it conceals diamonds and bones.
It is never judging of those it meets,
To everyone it graciously greets.
Within its lips, truth there lies,
Of the day light, and night skies.
Secrets it holds for those who tell,
For above it heaven,
And beneath it hell.
Always to it does life return,
From Earth, there is much to learn.

As a balance to Earth's benevolence,
There lives the Sea's bold arrogance.
Thrashing and swaying with gust all day,
To the Earth, it has much to say.
Never does it withhold a confession,
But done so with utmost discretion.
Although the surface looks of steel,
Beneath it flourishes a great deal.
In the shallows communities thrive,
Stimulating the waters to feel alive.
The dark abyss is a different being,
Hiding demons, within it screaming.
Many are there secrets untold,
In the Sea a mystery does hold.

Keeping watch over the sullen Sea,
Are creatures unlike you and me.
They fill the sky with sultry lights,
And take away the lonely nights.
But the Stars are not what they seem,
Despite their envied lustrous gleam.
Behind the light is a shadow of death,
A projection of beauty is all that's left.
This reality is their burden to bear,
For your sadness they wish to spare.
It's no wonder they are looked upon,
And their shooting light wished on.
From the Stars I've come to learn,
Even in death does passion burn.

So you see, that all around,
Are inspirations,
To be found.


 -b.m.

Blurred Lines

Andrew Salgado

National Poem Day: Favorite

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost 

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these things will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident,
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.


-Elizabeth Bishop

Constrained

Emilio Villalba

Bitter

at some point in your life,

somebody will come and

promise you such 

pretty things 

and whisper sweet words

in your ear,

so sweet you'll salivate at 

the sound of it.

you'll crave it. 

your hunger will drive you

towards it, and you'll be 

mesmerized beyond reason.

little do you know,

the aftertaste is

bitter. 

he was bitter. 

he promised me a love he never

had to give.

a future he never intended on

having

with me.

spoke empty words with selfish

intentions.

he wanted my body and not my

heart,

i was blinded by his compliments

and attention.

i soaked it in like sunlight to a flower

after a long, cold winter.

one day, though, i woke up from my

filtered reality.

i saw how he only texted me after

midnight.

how he never asked me how 

my day was.

how he called me sexy, but not

beautiful. 

the realization that he would never 

leave his girlfriend

for me.

how silly of me.

i was made the side piece.

the project he would revisit

time and again.

the toy he could play with 

without fear of 

causing damage.

how had i let it come to this.

how had i let this boy,

not a man,

play me like one of his 

video games.

take advantage of my eagerness

for love

or the softness of 

my heart.

i am a work of art. a masterpiece.

not something to be handled 

by someone with greasy fingers

and inexperience.

i am a fucking jewel,

among the rarest of stones

encased in dirt but my god

do i shine on the inside.

i am not a puzzle that can be

solved in a day.

i am full of clues that first need 

to be uncovered and then

pieced together 

in order to see the 

complete picture.

and he only cared for the surface.

-b.m.