February Messy Gallery

❤︎ welcome ❤︎ to a compilation gallery of all sorts, images, text, poetry, video.

submit something for the next one, messysubmissions@gmail.com

by michela pitman

by michela pitman

 
By Samantha Rysko

By Samantha Rysko

and now… some poems by Leez Alkhoury

In the car

green light

drives in the nighttime 

no sunshine

all as a pastime

stars in the dark sky

thats how i try to feel inside

i cry 

i try

red light

dust and wind

a dust in the corner

sitting and staring

gloom

an empty room

entering

a gust of wind

vanishes dust

breathing new air 

wishes with the wind 

endings and beginnings

to remember 

the birds flying

the blue sky

the sunsets

orange

blue 

and pink 

cotton candy

on the fariswheel

heights so far 

im shrinking and growing

then wondering 

if it all falls down


by Oceana Lee

by Oceana Lee

yo soy yo, pero ¿soy yo?

by Kaya Trefz

Pale skin frames piercing blue eyes, differentiating you and I. If in the morning I were to wake up with unruly black hair instead of my scrappy brown would I be enough? If my luminescent skin was tanned to perfection and slowly my eyes glazed over with a coffee brown would you see the similarity, or is it the contrary? If I looked in the mirror and my eyes became a beady red, my skin sickly white and my hair a mousy white, would you see? But my hair is not bleach white, it is a light brown, not charcoal black. My eyes are not red, no, they capture the seas instead of the cocoa bean. I am not a sickly pale, but not a caramel tan either. I am here, not quite sure where I belong.


 
by Morgan-Lee Snell

by Morgan-Lee Snell

 

The Girls in Uniforms 
by Edgie Amisial 

They put us in neck-high button up tops and knee-length plaid skirts and they teach us what it means to be good. Being good is closing your legs, and saying thank you and please and good morning, and tucking away lustful dreams and terrible memories. Being good is closing your eyes and shutting out the world, and saying “thank you God for all you have done”, and saying other things we aren’t sure we believe, and saying “please forgive me for all my sins”, knowing we will sin again. 

How many of our sins will be forgiven? They haven’t told us if there are limits. They haven’t told us how far we can push, how far we can go, before the God we pray to realizes we are too broken, too lost to be good. They have told us, though, about the beauties of heaven, but many of us aren’t sure we will make it there, and many of us probably never will. Because the angels and the uniforms haven’t kept our demons from haunting us. They haven’t kept away the nightmares, or the storms, or the pain. Perhaps there are no angels here. 

They have told us about the sinful souls burning eternally, but they don’t know that our own have already begun to burn up long ago. And they haven’t taught us how to put out the fires in our living, breathing bodies.

 
by Maria Katrechko

by Maria Katrechko

 
by Aryana Nicholas

by Aryana Nicholas

 

By Taylor Stahl

by Adyana Covelli

by Adyana Covelli

 
by adyana covelli

by adyana covelli

 
 
Screen Shot 2019-02-19 at 10.32.57 PM.png
Screen Shot 2019-02-19 at 10.36.16 PM.png
 

by Dylan Sichel

This piece comments on the bizarreness of the gym: the repetition if intense movement, the goal-driven nature of these movements, and the disconnect we might feel from our body as we carry out exercises.