The inspiration for this piece was my own experience of having feelings for my best friend. Instead of embracing the realization that I wasn't straight, I snuffed out my own feelings and, in a way, killed that part of me. The door jingles merrily behind May as she exits the flower shop, a single tulip in hand. Her heeled boots clack against the sidewalk, her wristwatch ticks incessantly. She has a meeting in an hour with an important client, but today is a special day. May hastens through the city, past an old Episcopal church whose curved architecture clashes with the art deco skyscrapers. May finally arrives, stone giving way to grass, where she meets June. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, my love?” May tells June, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “Running a law firm isn’t easy, but you supported me every step of the way.” June doesn’t answer, but May expects that. “Do you remember what today is? It’s our anniversary. Ten years, to this day.” They met in a coffee shop during their senior year of college. May, a political science major, hunched over books in her corner seat she hadn’t left in hours. June, a fiery-haired art major is working part-time as a barista. Their spheres never crossed outside of the intimate atmosphere of the coffee shop. June’s sly smile and the phone number written on May’s latte changed that. “On our first date, you gifted me a bouquet of red spider lilies. To this day, I can’t figure out how you knew they were my favorite.” June escorted May to her dorm, an elaborate flourish of her arm as she opened the door for May. Joy hung in the air, bringing the two closer. There was freedom, a taste of rebellion, in their love. It was perfect for a time, as all temporary moments are. The afternoon sun has melted the dew, and May sits in front of June. “I’m doing well. I have my ups and downs, but I’m happy”—May’s hand absentmindedly comes to rest above her heart. The hollowness persists—“I miss you, still.” Red paint splattered on canvas, a brush in June’s right hand, her left intertwined with May’s. Stolen kisses, soft touches, all-nighters with splotches of paint on June’s brow, May’s muffled laugh as she wiped the color away. There is nothing but the ever-present emptiness lodged in May’s chest, the hole she has survived with for the past 7 years. May has adapted and learned to live with half a heart but not to love. Never to love again. May’s eyes are dry. She only cried once, surrounded by shattered glass and heartache, hot blood seeping into her jeans (how it reminded her of paint—if only it painted) with June’s cold, limp hand grasped in her own. The ticking of her watch drags May to the present. She stands, brushing stray blades of grass off of her slacks. “Time to go. Happy anniversary, my love. Know that I’ve always loved you, even when you couldn’t love yourself.” May leaves, the clacking of her heels blending with the clamor of the city until she is forgotten in its enormity. Far behind her, a fresh tulip adorns a gravestone.

This piece is a retro futurism inspired tryptic based on body image. I used body image and the fears that can come from it and sculpted three faces frozen in a state of the mind versus the body. https://www.instagram.com/parkercraige

Sticks crack, snap, and break apart under pressure. "Jonny" explores the progression of their relationship with a man who held various sticks over them. Man with a scepter, a lone humble man The ruler of life for whom they walk Looked down from his perch and raised his head In designation. Do what you have to do. He asked. What do I have to do? I asked. Throw me a lifesaver, I'm drowning here. Bones won't keep my head above water. I'm still breathing, but I won't float. Man with a stick, yelled fetch and threw it far away I'm man's best friend, I will come back Chasing after someone's tail. This is me trying To make the impossible possible. It's all in a day's work. Granting master's wish, such a good boy The boat is sinking, what a bad place. Man, and his penchant for sticks Got me sentenced, got me walking the plank Leash tight, lost sight, least of all, I'm not alright. Knock, knock, anybody there? I'm only a twig against sticks and stones. One snap away. Don't poke the bear. Knock out, the match is over. Man doesn't win when I lose. Saved by the bell, left in the ring My shattered soul. Picks up the pieces and stabs him to Styx Hit him where it hurts, I hit to my own beat With these drumsticks, I write to Sandman Let me rest, let me dream Heart clenched and fist pumped high The quicksand swallowed me whole. Man with his crutch, alone humbled man The head of the pack could barely walk Looked up from his perch and bowed his head In resignation. What have I become? He asked. What have we become? I asked. Throw me a lifeline, I'm dying here. Hope keeps me from leaving you at sea. I'm still seething, but I won't gloat. Man with his stick, yelled fetch and threw it all away I'm man's lost friend, I won't come back Chasing after my own tale. This is me getting another try To make the possible not impossible. It's all a work in progress. I'm my own master, what a bad dog The boat is leaving, such good riddance.

Fear does appear differently for every individual. Here, it appeared as a naked maestro, sitting in front of her orchestra in an extensive, intricately detailed but colorless theater. The essential meaning of this metaphor is that having the instruments, opportunities, and a stage to perform- life itself - creates all this potential yet it can easily be held back by fear. I kept attention to the pose of the maestro to create an exhausted look, still coloring only her even though the background is vast and detailed. The spiral carries the sign that the individual has the energy itself. The concept and the artwork are dark. However, if there is a splash of color, there is hope. https://www.instagram.com/dilarasyonel/

A visual illustration of grappling with the overwhelming sense of pressured constraint, mental or physical.

Today a heart squirmed with free will- Perhaps another delusion that lies obsessively still to cheat a feeling, or cut the artery short And make the strings painful; Tears follow and come to a heavy press like the rubble of war, rolling down the valley to make a mess When everything is dull, it stares and births a welcome change from the unrest; it revolves around itself to collapse a chest Into a Dunlin's murmuration that carry the sadness with it, the sound of an emotion trapped-cold and in the sea shore lapping the untold. It's a hallmark- dark and miserable in space acre, Dismiss, it shuts the eyes and the heart altogether

The first notion I want to drive home via this poem is that your failure in one aspect is the first step of your success in another one. Secondly, only you can help yourself to eradicate the darkness from your life (one can be helped if only they want to be helped). Others might or might not believe in you but you need to continuously have faith in your abilities! And only then can others put their faith on you! https://instagram.com/burn_t_lootus?igshid=ZDdkNTZiNTM= As the others enjoy the night I cannot but behold the sight Dark as it becomes then I shiver and whimper in fear and so I crouch in the corner. It's all happening again Hands-on ears and closed eyes I battle hard to shun the cries and those flash up of an image I’m hallucinating my failures the dismay, horrors, and terrors When darkness looms large. All of the haunting words of condemn wails of distress and giggles of disdain Echoes loud and never-ending The fallen faces and gazes of ignominy My desperate move to end it all, finally Comes to light in the darkening. “Failures are for losers,” they taught “I cannot but ever fail!” I’d thought I dread failing; being a loser! Whenever I ponder “What if I fail?” The darkness replies; tells the tale. Fails can ne’er be to me ever. O! What fool of me to think so lame! For it did arrive, the day of shame. Can one forever escape failure? Yes, I’d failed! All of those were true All the premonitions came through And how the naïve heart ails! I’d confronted and combatted it steadily, conquering it, bit by bit At last, I defeated it, YES! emerging to be much stronger fathoming the truth of failure. Sowing the seed of success! But those sights still do appear Darkness descends, whenever But scares me no more For along with it also recurs my victory against the fears I’d fought it to the core. Darkness has had its own beauty. It pacifies me with its tranquility Now, in it, I find peace. So! At night I sought no sunlight, relished in the serene moonlight. Fears? I have got this!

"My Favorite Summer Shirt" is a poem about my fears and how I live with them every day- How I cover them up and continue to live with them. They said fear does not make you who you are It’s you who makes up your fears But my fears are creepily crippling me from the inside Slowly, quickly trying to wear me down I hide my fears by wearing it like my favorite summer shirt The hint of black and blue and white and gray My fears hide themselves by acting like it’s something I’ve braved upon Something that I can proudly wear, no matter the occasion My fears are my binding bed while I try to eat courage as my breakfast No one will ever know how hard to battle getting up when your legs are shaking down And no one will ever know how harder it is to sleep peacefully when your mind is shouting back It’s scary, eerily scary But my fears are like my favorite summer shirt, like I said Who cares about the freezing cold of winter when you’re dead cold inside? The fall represents my fears of endings, while my springs are my fears of new beginnings And yet, I still wear them whole year round My favorite summer shirt will turn ragged and dirty in the days to come But the thing about this shirt of mine is that it will always hold a lot of memories Maybe not the best of it but the nightmares in my daydreams This shirt is my fears that scarred me for life, may outgrow, but will never be forgotten