Inside of me Pt. 2 - Sri Nath Kurup

Hey! My name is Sri Nath Kurup, and I am a rising Sophomore from Spring Valley, New York, with a major in Political Science, intended concentration in Criminal Law, and intended minor in Philosophy and Law. I am a huge fan of storytelling, and from poetry to creative writing, to Dungeons & Dragons, you can catch me writing and narrating. On campus, I’m a member of Phenomenal Voices, Mock Trial, and of course ARCH! In my free time, I’m reading where it’s sunny under a pretty little tree, or chatting with friends while watching a show. I am inspired to write by the belief that every story holds a world of experience. By sharing them we move these worlds into reality, reflecting the parallels of our own lives and helping people who need to see themselves through such an auspice, not a mirror.

***

Gay

I want you to turn me inside out

like you do with my mind. 

I want you to touch your tip to my soul 

while brandishing your blade in my body. 

I want every part of me flipped, 

my insides on my outsides, 

so I can wear my heart out on my sleeve; Never vulnerable and never soft. 

But maybe I could be, 

if I had you inside of me. 

Maybe you could take the breath out of my lungs, when you’re pumping them yourself. 

The preliminary movements of my pulmonary system, prioritize your right to my body 

because I breathe to the beat of your drum. 

Though I can’t show it to you if we stand so far apart. I want you closer. 

I need you closer. 

Not in my pants, but in my skin. 

You make knots in my stomach. 

I need you to undo what you’ve done

and churn me whenever you turn to me. 

I want you deeper than you’ve ever been. I want to occupy your space like you occupy my mind. Every time I see you, I get hunger signs; 

stomach pains and hunger pangs, 

mouth salivating over your bitter tang. 

Your salty sweat and sweet release, 

every part of your bone to meat. 

I need to be you, 

and for you to become me. 

I want to never see a day without you. 

Want to feel the world through your hands, running across me. 

I want to walk in your shoes, 

stepping on me. 

I want to see the love the world has, 

looking down at me. 

I write in starvation, 

deprived of a depraved craving. 

But do not mistake me. 

I am not asking for you to take me.

For I will engulf you tonight.

Inside of me Pt. 1 - Cleopatra Sanchez

Sapphic

I want you inside of me. 

Devouring every part of you to fill my body. 

The anguish I feel knowing I have to be so far from you is unmatched. 

I want to know all your wrongs and all your rights. 

Covered in your blood, I want to feel your heartbeat in mine. You remind me of the moon, 

following my every move. 

Seeing every phase that I’ve been through, 

as you scroll through my page. 

You know nothing authentic about me, 

and neither do I. 

But the more I learn, 

the more I want you to take a bite 

into my mind. 

Understand what I say, and why I say it. 

Absorbing all of who I am.

When we’re with each other, I embrace the gushing of our raw emotions, red like my strawberry stained lips. 

The same lips that pressed against yours as you tasted all that you missed. 

I want those on me again. 

I want your body. 

I want your soul. 

I need to be covered by your red roots. 

Every inch of me craves that lingering feeling, 

that I need you to stay for a lifetime. 

If I had you inside of me 

we wouldn’t have to part ways. 

Searching for a time, our schedules align. 

I can’t see you in a month from now. 

The desire to see you every day is 

deafening.

In My Deep Blue - Cleopatra Sanchez

I tend to write at night. 

Searching for the answer in my mind. 

A whirlwind of ideas 

flow like a sailboat 

in an ocean full of apprehensiveness 

built up as I drift away. 

The tides raise an occurrence 

where I told a guy 

that he can’t be a feminist 

because his masculinity 

will always cloud his vision. 

Clouds that build up as the wind pitches. 

The ocean tosses and a new memory seeps in. 

I sat and prayed 

in an auditorium full of people who did not care as a 5-year-old little girl wished for her father back. 

She was apprehensive about the 

large body of blue 

because deep down she knew.

That the water would start to entrap me as the idea of you not coming back to me engulfs the sailboat. 

How I’ll never hear your voice. 

How I’ll always make noise. 

But the only person listening 

is one that is not near. 

Dad, why aren’t you here? 

Here with me in this fucking boat 

cupping your hands, trying to keep us afloat. 

You left that little girl stranded, stuck with 

the intimacy deprived 

self who desires anatomy. 

I want to be independent, but I want you to just be part of me. Part of who I am is lost without you. 

I’m lost at sea. 

Sinking deep 

With no one to 

remember you but me. 

Who will console my brother 

when I can’t remind him of you? 

Who will listen to his tales of advantage when below

is deeper than a tomb? 

I’m sinking. 

I’m sinking deeper and deeper. 

Past all the people. 

I’m tempted by the desire 

of a deep slumber. 

One that will exempt me from a lifetime. 

I do not wish to enact 

such a complex inclination. 

While I sift through the spectacle of my 

imagination.

Pink - Cleopatra Sanchez

Pink is the color of the bows 

I put in my hair. 

That he pulled off of me

when he told me I’m pretty. 

When I’m with him I feel like clouds form in ways that make a beautiful sunset. 

Oranges, purples, and pinks. 

He makes me feel warm, like 

cherry blossoms in the wind 

on spring afternoon. 

Pink is the color that he tells 

me comes to mind when he thinks of me. I know he’ll never tell me how he feels 

because his Mother hurt him and watched him bleed. Just like that same cherry blossom tree 

when its flowers fell off and then it leaves. 

But I know he cares. 

Cares enough to talk about me. 

Tells me to be careful and is 

gentle when I tell him I’m hurt. 

Hurt by all the men that turned my pink into blue. Told me I’m a prude. 

Tore away the silver wrapping 

to my bubble gum body and made me feel empty.

Like I’m some kind of Taffy. They can chew right up and spit right out. Only pondering if pink was the color I would bleed. 

Or if pink would be the color of her pussy. 

After the rough winter, the cherry blossoms grew again. Leaving pink on every person that fled. 

So they could be caught pink handed 

on all the wrongs they committed to learn what pink 

really meant. 

So although my feelings for you are pink. 

It’s way stronger than you’ll ever know. 

Cause pink is what I took with me when all I felt was 

black and blue. 

Pink is girlhood. 

Pink is strength. 

Pink is all I’ve ever wanted to know. 

Letting you into my pink 

won’t be easy, but you seem to have let yourself in. 

Cause you’re also pink, I can feel it. 

So maybe you and I can begin.

Scale the swipe - Clyde Jastram & Amber Jackson

I kinda like you, I kinda don’t. I kinda want you, but We kinda won’t. So tonight, I’m gonna swipe left or right on strangers I’ve never met. Tonight, I’m going to be playing Russian roulette, never knowing what’s next. Placing my gun on strangers who aren’t the best, hitting a mark that reminds me a little of my ex, a little bit of when I knew what was next. 

...But isn’t that just what love is, picking and choosing different options and hoping they connect? Connect you and me, connect us, and maybe just maybe…we were made to be. If we were, you would be mine and I would be yours, working day and night, until we get it right. But then again, I kinda like you but I kinda don’t. I kind of want you, I kind of….fuck

Rainbow Frame - Clyde Jastram

So Ms. Jackson I know you said, life is not all that happy. And trust me I know that, but how and where do you find the light to keep going? 

I feel like I’m in a room not of my own, in complete darkness. I’m in a void. I’m the void. Anything and everything goes in but nothing stands. 

Before I answer know that I have no answers 

There is not a place 

Don’t put your steps anywhere 

But notice 

Pay attention to the wonder of it all 

How the rain splashes on all the surfaces surrounding 

a choir of water’s collisions 

on the glass on metal on rayon jackets made to protect 

the smell of damp dirt 

worms who lost their way on the concrete 

the warm moisture of leaked water in your shoes 

There in your vision is sight 

Whatever color you see 

Dyes your mind like whites washed with reds 

Pink emerges a blanket covering the outside of the window 

Let it fade 

That picture of you 

That picture of others 

That image outside 

Into a bright and radiant emptiness 

A simple is 

Belong to yourself 

Take rest in the unfolding of moment-by-moment 

When it fades and 

Rested the wanting stops 

There is life waiting as a gift 

So instead of Wondering what the future holds, and how the story unfolds 

You're saying the beauty of life is not knowing what comes next 

Instead, appreciating the journey in each step 

But If I’m being honest a part of me is impatient, 

These may be my sacrificial years 

However I feel as if I’m left waiting 

Being present is not something I lack. 

But it may be something I take for granted. 

A fraction of the bigger picture takes up space 

blurred by the impending doom I’m unwilling to face. So I’ll heed your advice and take time to embrace the world around for it's not that simple 

but you have grounded me, so maybe I’ll find my pace… Wondering whether I’ll make it or not, 

I’ll give myself grace

Forbidden Fruit - Clyde Jastram

I took a bite 

once forbidden, 

A bite I do not regret 

A bite very much hidden. 

kiss and tell 

You might as well 

This bite was sweet 

This bite was blue 

I like this bite 

this bite was you 

A true delicacy of something new The juices falling down my cheek As I chew 

Moans erupt with each pluck Making me want more, 

Making you want to fuck 

What was once red 

Is now blue 

Leaving a mark on every part of you 

Colors of red and blues 

Are what's left 

Bruised and battered 

Now what comes next…

Black Widow - Clyde Jastram

scream

Scream

SCREAM

Why the fuck aren’t you screaming?

Why aren’t you seeking help when you need it the most?

You're making me mad!

He just touched you? His cold dead hands have just climbed onto your legs. Yet you are frozen in place like a fly stuck on a web.

His hands may be covered in ink, yet they are sticky. Sticky like the silk on his head, Sticky to things that aren’t his. Sticky like a kleptic off his meds…

He lunged in close trying to seize you and tell you it’s okay!

As you continue to tell him no, you’re en-closed…feeling nothing but pain. Were you hoping to be Seen

Or

praying to be Saved?

Bitch you better SCREAM and put your voice on fucking display

Because I’ll be damn if you ever let a lil nigga gets his way!

So Scream!! Let that hurt out! Because the day that nigga touched you, was the day your adolescent was led astray.

Down to Hades' domain!

Where people yell Save Our Souls, every day.

So find that light, and hold on tight

It’s going to be hard and you will need to fight

but find a way

and I promise you

the next nigga that touches you

won't slip away

tha goal agam ort (i love you) - Mars Pierce

Hello! My name is Mars Pierce, and I am a junior at UAlbany. I'm a Journalism major with a Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies minor, as well as a Creative Writing minor. I'm happy to say that I am also a UAlbany Ambassador and part of Serendipity Acapella! Between music and writing, it's safe to say I love all things creative, and I am so excited to share two of my pieces in this edition of Arch.

***

i am from a country i’ve never known, but one i might’ve called home 

in another lifetime  

where i wasn’t staring at 

two pictures 

with faces that resemble my own: 

a man named peter 

who worked in woolen mills  

and played bagpipes now gone, and a woman named mary 

who baked shortbread and shepherd’s pie in the cape cod house they built together.

i am from stamps dating 

june 25, 1921, 

the date that changed my history from highland rains to new york winters that have frostbitten my fingers and created a longing that lingers

to see the romanticized world i’ve created. 

i long to go past the century-old papers connecting the small pieces i’ve heard of the story so quickly lost that i’m trying to learn 

for which i’ve just grabbed the key. 

dinna fash— 

don’t worry— 

i will discover this piece of me.

a kind blue heron - Mars Pierce

Hello! My name is Mars Pierce, and I am a junior at UAlbany. I'm a Journalism major with a Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies minor, as well as a Creative Writing minor. I'm happy to say that I am also a UAlbany Ambassador and part of Serendipity Acapella! Between music and writing, it's safe to say I love all things creative, and I am so excited to share two of my pieces in this edition of Arch.

***

atop a rock

which never moves

in a creek

that never sleeps,

the stillness of a great blue heron

finds its way to me.

his world is surrounded by

the remnants of a building now gone

but once known,

and chain fences

bordering the town’s energy—

the noise of the backroads.

yet, he remains kind,

a hidden wonder of the world;

i wonder if he notices the way the rest of the world moves

or the way i’m stunned by his

silence,

because the world around him

is loud

and chaotic

but his world is peace.

haiku collection - Caylah Graham

when i was 10 i prayed to God to take away my dreams

lucid dreams belong 

to lenny kravitz and babes

with stolen kisses 

my stuffed animal was long, brown & warm

i don’t recall much:

two infant bodies wrapped in 

fur & repelled lips

your 2018 blue dodger should have warned me 

click!cleick!cliick!clyck! lock.

four door. front-seat. driver. me-him 

lockcar: lockjaw: locked – 

wrists on froze

it’s okay. you’re good.

i don’t know, this doesn’t feel – 

good. girl, it’s fine.                 no

love&loss

tears and vodka lime

stream down my bathtub. i die –

he’s clear: no regrets

no means no unless he has blue balls 

God why me why me

yes yes God yes but why me –

i’ve never said yes

The Ballad of The Hunter - Em Pollicino

The night’s muted 

Hummmmmmm 

Mixing with the drumming of 

Hares pacing hearts 

and timed breathing of 

large caribou lungs the noises I relish. 

The air is still yet potent with the slick scents of the earth, 

Intoxicating, overwhelming scent 

of musty caribou cows and 

their freshly scented young 

It tears through my cranium; I can see the pathways through the cascading landscape, Opportunity leaks at the smells of newly reared calves 

A shrill howl breaks the silence, 

My excitement overflows, 

The tendrils of hunger tearing down my spine, 

It’s time to feast.

my teeth ache in waiting, 

the buildup of saliva dripping down my blackened gums 

An unbreakable balance, 

I hold to never betray, 

as long as my stomach craves 

and my canines clench.

The Bison Grazing - Em Pollicino

The land is changing 

under my cloven hooves 

I throw myself against the ever shrinking land, 

My behemoth flesh feels the weight of the earth shift under my tough hide, My flesh craves the scratch of the grass and dirt, 

Itches I can't quite reach. 

A mechanical beast cries in the background; 

My hot breath clouds around my horned head, causing a shake that ripples my entire spine, 

Large eyelashes bat away the shining sun, allowing me to see 

The screaming creature that makes me feel miniscule against the 

Bleeding landscape I graze, 

as my brother and sisters are disappearing around me, 

Where has my herd gone? 

Questions unanswered unless I find their lifeless forms; 

uneaten, untouched, rotten to the vultures, coyotes and flies, 

The victims of that squealing unknown.

We were honored once, 

every part used of our never ending bodies 

even our thick bones, curved horns, and shedding fur 

our soul was still preserved within the realm of the living; 

I could feel our ancestors breath in the winds of the plains. 

Until the stench came that soiled. 

stench that burns my dripping nostrils, 

the revolting aroma leaking from the intruders on the land. 

Until explosions from the bushes came, 

taking my children with great bursts of fear, 

dropping my herd before we could even run. 

I can only watch in silence, 

as the bodies pile up and the sickly laughter of the pale faces hum 

Soulless eyes and burnt out fire pits, 

Torn tipis made from my welcoming flesh, 

Effigies of myself, clutched by tiny human palms, 

I still sniff their cold skin with my wet nose; slicked with the scent of gunpowder and the machine. 

My flesh

My soul 

Is stolen with the land. 

Our calls are now 

The railroad bells. 

Where have we all gone?

Casual Writer’s Lament - Em Pollicino

I split my chest open 

For you, 

Watch what comes pouring 

Emotions into a tangle of words unspoken by quivering lips 

The red liquid oozing down my torso, twisting together like a knitters prized blanket 

The words entrapped by my tight throat, instead written across my frame I hope you can see the new life it breathes 

Falling and slipping at your feet, waiting to be perceived like an 

eager child 

Language a knife, a tool of flay 

Bends by my will when wielded by me. 

Tearing a mirror into my body, stare into it now 

See how torment transforms into language on a page 

See how it disfigures my form like the rat king, a million thoughts tangled 

The startled prey endlessly trying to escape the killing force of 

themselves, 

Words I could not speak.

Ella Es - Skylar Dannan

I am a rising sophomore from Cazenovia, New York with an intended biochemistry major. I love all things artsy, especially drawing, music, and poetry! I’m in Pitch Please Acapella here on campus, and lift weights almost daily in my free time. I love writing and thinking romantically and taking inspiration from nature. Something that greatly inspires me to write is my belief that finding beauty in everything and romanticizing life is one of the best ways to stay motivated and stable in our complicated and difficult world. 

***

If you were a romantic,

Every day a different flower

From the Earth for you I’d pick

A flower every hour

For you to braid into your hair,

If not, I’d braid it into mine.

And for you I’d keep it there.

For you I’d keep a blade of grass

Wilted by sun,

If you thought it made me prettier,

I’d never let it come undone.

It’d root and rot and grow as you

Have managed to maintain

It’d wrap so tight my skin turned blue

But it would feed into the vain,

The vain the vein the vain idea

That you might soon love me,

But though, I know the day can’t come

You make me the romantic I dream to be.

Hotel #1 - Skylar Dannan

I am a rising sophomore from Cazenovia, New York with an intended biochemistry major. I love all things artsy, especially drawing, music, and poetry! I’m in Pitch Please Acapella here on campus, and lift weights almost daily in my free time. I love writing and thinking romantically and taking inspiration from nature. Something that greatly inspires me to write is my belief that finding beauty in everything and romanticizing life is one of the best ways to stay motivated and stable in our complicated and difficult world. 

***

It's too loud in here,

But a strange sense of comfort ceaseless surprises.

Being alone here is almost scary;

walls inverting,

orange;

to white

But there's comfort in the painted haste,

intentionally secret...

There's comfort in the peeling of the lamp shade,

And ghostly curtains innocently offering goodnight kisses...

But mostly there's comfort in the newness of it all,

A new life perfectly suited to the strange old creamsicle walls,

Inverted walls that can't quite seem to figure out their identity, not quite yet...

But I suppose that's why I'm here

I suppose we'll figure it out together

And now, I suppose, I've learned I'll never paint my walls orange

and white.

AnaMia - Skylar Dannan

I am a rising sophomore from Cazenovia, New York with an intended biochemistry major. I love all things artsy, especially drawing, music, and poetry! I’m in Pitch Please Acapella here on campus, and lift weights almost daily in my free time. I love writing and thinking romantically and taking inspiration from nature. Something that greatly inspires me to write is my belief that finding beauty in everything and romanticizing life is one of the best ways to stay motivated and stable in our complicated and difficult world. 

***

Baby girl, 

You are not an abomination. 

You are crafted, 

Carefully sculpted by the earth 

And all that makes her up. 

By her silver screaming snowstorms 

That gently pour into your eyes, 

Her rolling forest hills 

That artfully shape your hips and thighs 

Baby girl, 

You are perfect. 

Who put upon you all this shame? 

Who put upon you all this rage 

Who made you shudder at your name? Who made you shudder at

that number? 

That worthless number that reduces 

You to a point upon a chart, 

That stupid point that lands atop your skin And sinks into your heart 

That sinks deeper than you planned 

Sweet girl… What have you done? 

Convinced that taking parts away 

Will mean that you have won

Solitaire - Skylar Dannan

I am a rising sophomore from Cazenovia, New York with an intended biochemistry major. I love all things artsy, especially drawing, music, and poetry! I’m in Pitch Please Acapella here on campus, and lift weights almost daily in my free time. I love writing and thinking romantically and taking inspiration from nature. Something that greatly inspires me to write is my belief that finding beauty in everything and romanticizing life is one of the best ways to stay motivated and stable in our complicated and difficult world. 

***

Well here we are...

Among the stars,

Among the streets with racing cars,

This is something

I haven’t had

Before her.

Sitting there.

Sand in her hair;

Moon in her eyes;

Her hands on my thighs,

And she’s mine.

Well, not perfectly so-

-but in our own way,

The way that we know

But how could we know?

If it’s something so new...

Do we trust it will grow

As our hopefulness grew?

The grass breathes where she layed,

And it coughs

Its cheeks grayed

The grass grieves where she layed,

And it dies.

Every blade.

It grieves

Its color green

And her touch.

It grieves its envy

Or it’s soul-

-Or whatever... as much

As it can,

As much as a patch

Of gray grass,

Could latch to abstract,

It does.

For how could something

Be as perfect

As this

REVOLUTIONARY RODENTIA - Shaya Block

Stretched out lean by chance,

You till with your forearm, marking

Your trail through the garden

Straw. Pushing under the pine

As if to sow, with your nose

So near. Divine in the seed

What you cannot find,

What darting eyes leave

Hidden to the mind

LEGROOM - Shaya Block

Somewhere between bus seats, where your ass

(The vulnerable flesh) meets friction

Against a stranger’s. Disdain

Married in your labored restraint,

Between the turn-forced bonding

And with eyes-forward overlook

Them seat-shifting for legroom,

Is some simple social

Relief bound-useless

Amid the air of casual stoicism;

The unspoken etiquette of public transit -

The fringed ignorance of hatred

Pushes even to the edge