Volume 1, Issue 1

Welcome to the first issue of F.I.

“All great artists have perfected the skill of transformation, for art is but pain and sorrow in disguise. So I guess you must be the greatest artist who ever lived because you make me feel like I’m a masterpiece.”

-Stephanie Olson

 

   She knew the first time the thought had crossed her mind.

    It was the reflection in the mirror right at the beginning of the summer, when she saw her stomach sticking out too far and longed to be thinner. So she stepped on a scale and suddenly four shrimps for dinner were enough and two months later she was twenty pounds lighter.

   Bones were beautiful, weren’t they? They protruded nicely from her collarbone, and her ribs and her hips. Sometimes she would argue that maybe it’s a bit too far- the bones were a bit unhealthy- but the voice in her head said otherwise and as soon as she looked at another angle she saw something else she needed to fix. There was a bit too much there and there and dinner really wasn’t that important anyways.

   She remembers dropping scales and how it’s what she strived for. This certain jacket emphasized her tiny frame and she was approaching what she wanted to be. But her friend was 12 pounds lighter and two pants sizes smaller and that thought went away suddenly.

   There were comments on her weight, she remembers, but keeping it hidden was harder to keep up. “She’s just watching her weight” they say and those words just keep haunting her to this day. Every thought spun around in her head- she discovered what a BMI was and suddenly 18.0 was just another criteria she needed to fit.

   But her eyes were tired and her clothes barely fit. She loved swimming because it burned a lot of calories and hopefully all the fat she had would stay off for just a little bit. But her body refused to keep running and all she heard in her head was that she wasn’t very pretty- her smile was awkward and she looked too tired to love- and staying skinny wasn’t even helping.

But look how far she’s come.

   She thinks she’s beautiful now, not always, no, but enough of the time. She doesn’t check the scale for numbers or watches what she’s eating- she just lives. Sometimes she still looks in the mirror and hates what she sees, but that’s okay because she got over what she used to be.

   She smiles now because she’s so, so happy with herself. She has good grades and friends and family and no longer hates what she sees. She’s brilliant and plays guitar, she sings and does art. She writes beautiful words on a page all because she woke up one day and decided starving isn’t what she wanted to be.

   Looking back it’s hard to believe that boney girl used to be me.

-Naomi Yamanita

 

IMG_5767Photo by Vanessa Manzolillo

I tucked Sam, through chin and shoulder

His hairs merely stretched below my lip

Staring Off

I’d let the sun rain down it’s wave of deep yellow

Seeping down his shook expression

“Whimper, towards my coat”

And so he would, confined within my grasp

The endless shadows of February

Covered both our bodies

And I took my glove up

Pressing to the wool of his scarf

All I knew was sympathy,

So I’d whisper my condolence

How it felt to be a leaf

And touch the icy, frozen pond

Of winter

As seasons came to pass

I stuffed this jacket’s brim

And all would come to feel

And squeeze within their comfort

Inside the bones had rot

And the human ceased to grow

But the cloth held certain warmth

For orphans, in their bruised and broke perspective

When I had finally fell

From October’s rusted touch

A sole branch knew emotions

Which leaves were meant to know

Broken were its twigs

and Empty were its hands

As surely it did sink

And never had looked up

Alone sat Sam, at rest

Sharing torn apparel

As December came and went,

Each orphan touched the ground.

-Zachary Hank

 

 

I do believe that my body is always reminding me to enjoy my time here,

because when I feel my heart slip in and out of its rhythm,

everything feels a little more real.

These four walls are not meant to trap me,

they could collapse at anytime.

I see a whirlwind of colors that I’d like to engulf myself in

so I can be as beautiful as the world outside my window.

I watch it like a movie.

That’s how I stay safe.

I hear the faint sound of birds chirping drowned out by

the cries of industrial monsters.

The world can be scary.

The ground I step on is disappearing,

sometimes I’d like to disappear with it.

The sky is still above me,

And It keeps me here.

But one day,

I imagine that it will be set aflame,

And I will be reminded that I am real.

I am here.

And I will never be here again.

-Elliot Parker

Photo by Vanessa Manzolillo

A teal child grew out the hillside

His feet cold

Daffodils sprung through his head

Asked his father  

Where god’s grace ran of water  

Since he wouldn’t speak to quiet men

The boy searched each crevice for a mother

But found a robin by the brook

Bright, piercing crimson resonated from it’s feathers

Vexed, by the delicate, frail demeanor of this creature

He chased it ‘round the water

But stumbled by an hour

Now he weeps alone, each after

noon

-Zachary Hank

 

i don’t want to jump in with two feet forward.

if i keep carrying this weight on my shoulders,

i’ll surely drown.

-Stephanie Olson

 

home.

my friend once told me home wasn’t always walls and windows and a big happy family.

i had no clue what she was talking about;

until i met a soul with eyes so alluring i didn’t have the audacity to look away.

i don’t ever want to see a world without her, what a gruesome world that would be,

and soon enough i promised to be her voice when she does not have the strength to speak,

i promised to keep her happy before anyone else on this planet, i promised there would not be a day

where she does not feel loved. i will never break these promises.

my heart aches every time i think of her, i love her more than my next breath;

and i know there are oh so many love songs and movies of such devotion,

however i think our story is special.

ten years later i knew what she meant when she called home by a name.

a perfect smile and the warmth of her body, that is where i was home. this is my home.

-Alexa Hureau

 

“Cold As Stone”

Long black hair.

Pretty painted eyes.

Loves death stares.

They’ll have you hypnotized.

It walks on air.

Getting so high.

I’m so scared.

I don’t know why.

It has no heart.

It’s cold as stone.

It breaks me apart.

Right to the bone.

I don’t know… 

How could it go so low?

Up so high.

But it’s so low.

I don’t know why.

It’s cold as stone.   

-Felicity Masone