A lavender air freshener incites sour memories of a church bathroom
I disregard the absence of produced waste, as there is nothing to flush away

Fractal-lives live half-lives

Skin is a warm strip of tape
Opaque, stubborn once applied
Ripped off with the force of a thousand song
When the stinging subsides, a new chamber appears
Cells singing

SOUND MINIATURES

Here is where it all began
My first memory entails of abandonment
A single light bulb, unlit, hovering over my soft skull
Dust particles, spider webs, dirt caked from months of neglect
Unable to see what I know is there
I want to go home
I learn from a young age that things you cannot see can still exist
Yet I am crazy for seeing things that aren’t there
The invisible possess far more power than anything tangible

My mother won me from a claw machine
I caught her blindsided,
Surprise!
Quarter of an investment
Flee with the money, just as her mother instructed her to do
Find a city to live in

An object providing short-term happiness
Born out of a desire for experience
Plenty of time for games but no time for play
Why am I here?

Though she was standing right on the other side
I was the one taking up space in a room meant to do just that
I beckon towards loneliness
Shoved in a closet with just enough room to bend backwards
To become familiar with discomfort is to become comfortable with unfamiliarity
This is perhaps why I stand so awkwardly

As if I am not an extension of herself
My mother never wanted to hold me
It is strange how I never developed a close relationship with the giant bear gifted to me
From my grandfather, who was the one person to encourage me through it all
I could do no harm

Directions are meaningless
A visual representation of “up” and “down”
I am small inside the frame of a window at night
Dirt, tinged blue, under my fingernail
Limbs contorted by my real mother, playing the role of a fake mother, by a child
I am her child but she is not my mother

Forcibly turned flexible
Back against the wall, a brief moment
To breath and break away from the nightmare of a first memory

TEXTUAL DOLLHOUSE

BIG ME & LITTLE ME

sitting quietly -- the way i was taught --
in the car -- with a friend and enemy --
i am right where i belong
in the middle, tucked
between hate and empty space
behind love and in front of empty space
always on the brink of one extreme and nothing

the scene is set -- everything in place --
characters carefully propped up --
or in my case -- dropped in the bullseye of sequence
we are miniature collectibles -- unmoving
unless forced into a new position
by a pair of clammy hands

the hands are my own but my body is broken
rats fight over my arm
leg thrown in a pond
torso repurposed as plate
head inflated -- looms above --
casting a shadow to and from one end of the world

the car must be a mcdonalds toy
where the moving parts are frozen in time

ava steers the wheel and conversation
she is the ringleader -- the weight that keeps us all balanced
charm is less than charming -- there is not much else to say about that girl

soon
we lose control of the automobile

We? You mean SHE!
I mean You, because YOU’RE the mastermind!

we drive through a shopping mall from one end to the other
as if buildings are not large enough by default
swallowed up by the weird structures
decorative trees dancing like flames
fabulous pet stores mimicking the monsters that live under the bed

in the blink of an eye -- the moment stabilizes inside -- outside
now the parking lot is merely a floor meant to be stepped on
the moment blurs and speeds up -- ava attempts to outspeed the police and the concrete lot decides at this moment to swallow us whole

“what the hell are you doing?!”
“it’s quiet simple, really, just trying not to get caught”

what can i do at 145 mph besides scream for help?
what can charm do besides sing with me?

slow down slow down slow down slow down slow down the police are right behind us slow down slow down “you’re going to kill us all!” slow down slow down slow down slow down slow down the police are right behind us slow down slow down

car veers off the road
beings to tip over, teasing us
testing out limits, teetering, tottering

some of us embrace death
some don’t care
some start praying

though instinct tells me to jump out of the car
this is the moment i put on my seatbelt, sealing my fate
our hopes in survival shrinks with us -- no sound effect
the split second we crash -- ava screams
it is so loud

but we are done crashing
we have finished crashing
that is the way bad things end
just like that

i crawl out of the sculpture and look over to the artist and spectator
the audience seems bored but i am bigger than them
outside the car, everything is small -- doesn’t matter
inside, things blow up in my face and scare me

surely i must have more power out here
controlling the narrative
becoming a better person through bad experiences

i feel so dizzy but i know that i won’t wake up if i fall asleep
charm is unconscious
she looks pretty that way

a tiny drone above me flies away

they’ve disappeared--
call the police

CUTE OBJECTS

Mini Bottlecap Collection:
Imprinted ridges on the leather of my thigh. A metal bed, enchanted, welcoming. An army of pennies waging war inside a water fountain. Battle scars specially designed as indentations. Spot orange amongst the foliage, bleeding and blending and blurring together like a pre-planned hypnosis.

Japanese Figurines:
The laminated label plastered with Hiragana protects its body (sans tip) from deteriorating in an otherwise grimy setting littered with broken lead, splotches of ink, and chewed up rulers. Its dense gum-like texture shares similar qualities to that of a stress ball. It bounces like one too, flying a few centimeters off the ground before eliciting an anticlimactic thud. While it struggles to entertain in the pass-time activity department, bouncing isn’t its intended job in the first place. What more, its nifty size and stylish color scheme should earn brownie points with fans of portable miscellaneous goods everywhere.

Strawberry Earrings:
Entering negative space, a thin needle makes itself comfortable between warm skin. Cool to touch. Upon closer inspection, the seeds have been artificially placed. There’s plenty of time to poke around and emerge from the opposite side. Gift-giving becomes a habitual pattern from generation to generation. Perhaps the material is older than life itself.

Contact Case:
Slimy green jelly lives inside a pristine swamp. The sky is bright, pink, and opaque. A hurricane looms-- just another day. Salt keeps the economy alive. Cleanliness is a must. Doomsday is an expiration date printed on a shiny surface.

Black Eraser:
Erasers the color of charcoal− a rare sighting considering its pristine condition. Molded into the shape of a pat of butter, it’s no bigger than my pinky finger and weighs just over half an ounce. A perfect blend of vinyl and plastic ensures the highest degree of eraser technology, promising to do its job without trace of evidence. Unwanted graphite distribution and notebook tears are unheard of. Its biggest asset: unblemished crevices that resemble a feature display straight out of a stationery magazine. A unique barcode located smartly beside the Muji logo is the only thing that sets this eraser apart from the others on the store shelves.

POEMS BY VIVIAN

SIX WORD POEMS BY OUR SMALL WORLDS CLASS

You have your apology face on.
— Abby Romine

Awaken, cry, write poetry, sleep, repeat.
— Amy Osella

Once upon a time there was.
— Catalina Delapena

A friendship begins. True love alchemizes.
— Claire Donato

Everyone is attempting to forget something.
— Jake Pittore

The dessert sleeps, the egg levitates.
— Juliette Demoor Maslach

Sour thoughts make dreams less sweet.
— Krissy Williams

Sun disappeared. Plants died. No air.
— Ollie Wade

We're gonna blow up the moon
— Patrick Hill

Pick up when the heart calls.
— Vivian Lee