Jayryn Lopez


The blue sunshine lays still in the morn of winter.

The cool breeze swings like children on a playground.

The walk, the momentum, the sway of my hips and hands that follow my

screeching feet on the sidewalk.

I pummel my face into my hands- tears fill in the cracks and wrinkles that

surround my fingers.

I must continue to walk.

The sidewalk swayed into grassland and became fluttered with bundles of

flowers and dead leaves aloft.

The trees scattered among this walk, and flew by my every step, swaying and

shivering in the hollow breeze.

I gather these flowers in my wet and cold hands- shaking and shivering in the icy


I stopped walking.

I made it to my stop.

Placing the flowers down on the tree-stoned hedge.

I’m making my finally amends, and I’m laying down ready for the end.

Sulking in my sweaters, the future of the flowers end.

Scratching on the stone, I wish this wasn’t the end.

The impression

We try to impress the people who slither in our lives.

Trying to dig their way deeper into our dark hearts,

making us forever grateful for their presence.

Not only this, but the ones that have that danger we crave shall be the ones that lead us closer to the grave.

And the next time you betray the jolly for someone folly, understand your heart.

Jungle Line

The tribal knock that shook across the lands,

and the plain fields that grounded up with the chalice of blood.

The sacrifice of the plant has begun,

and the first shall crouch beneath the spoke of plant,

oh how tall and mighty this beautiful tree!

We must see it ablaze and see what is in the core.

The core shall guide our colony!

Prophecies shall guide our future on forth!

The tree shall be fruitful of grand! Let it be shined upon our land!

The tree was snapped and the bees fluttered near.

Howa! Howa!

The tree bears the sweetness of said honeybees! And the future of our colony is saved once more!


In our hearts, and in our homes,

we carry the weight of the ones we love the most.

And we hold them to a standard so might and so high,

when they do something evil it passes our eyes.

While I love you with the cold breath of the summer moons,

and I live with you like the sun lives with the planets,

we live together in a home,

but I don’t love you like a home attached on people.

I don’t love you like the energy you enter in a room with.

You don’t deserve love for the way you acted.

Now my hearts are filled with acid vines,

Tangled and poisoned with influence and love,

that love for a home, will never be for you.

Melting Snow

The snow on top of my husband’s grave grows.

The nights of cold, bring the distant bitterness of my family.

My daughter, willingly slept through days,

My son, stood poised in boredom.

My grandmother had told me,

Of the melting snow.

And that by the time the snow is melted,

The widow is secured in life and death.

Oh how the weather is warming,

And my grandmother moans in sanctity,

The snow is melting,

and I’m afraid to let it.

The Dark Moon

The dark moon is gleaming over my nights once again.

I think the deathly sharp owls that pierce my skin are coming along too,

The sun may never shine against the blink of dark skies.

The sea as deep as it goes, shall never be darker than this night.

No stars, No planes, No cell towers blinking in red.

No substance to drown in,

No escape for one.

The hold it has on me is suffocating.

The hail of pills thunder away.

The hotline seems so dark and empty,

The silent tone of the phone, and the music playing.

The dark moon has shown once again,

and the next time it shines, I shall not breathe again

The beauty in the gone

The gone lay sorrows for futures to come.

They swing in the cherishes of death,

and bathe with the riches of immortality.

But they also pave the way for the future’s best.

The sway away into the dust that has left.

There is beauty in the gone,

and the way they are remembered.

Like an old teddy bear, or a young butterfly ripped by the wind from its wings.

There is beauty in the gone,

It’s amongst us, like many other things.

The world is full of beauty, so it’s helpful to see,

There is beauty in what we know,

Even what we cannot see.


Halls filled to the brim with white cardigan tops,

and the simple sorority has invited its fresh new crop.

The mean Beverly peered through Millicent’s heavy heart with her bulgingly sharp eyes.

The kind enough Herb who treats Millicent as a young get sister.

Oh how she wishes for community, how she wishes for love.

If she chooses to group, she will be stuck in the bird cage.

But how she sombers and screams for the freedom of a heather bird, how she yells for its rescue.

The sorority is oh so comforting, but so sharp in personal significance.

Lady Aurora

Lady Aurora-

Fast as sea and wind

The brave wind

Touch and sing-

The powlest that rings

And rigs the gent in

Lady Aurora

Spill like oil in the sea,

and poisons the animals,

the humans that repeat

Bird in the cage

A bird has not always lived in the cage.

The bird remembers the breeze in the sulky air as they flew around wispily and gently.

The bird chirping passively in a warm embrace.

When the bird is left in the cage, it sings because it needs to.

The forgetfulness of the few shall forget the bird’s voice.

Even though it sings for the joys of its freedom-filled youth.

The youth of a life shall be spent freely for that when age comes, the cage surrounds the body  and eventually the soul.

Rotten Apple

The tree grows as the crows break the leaves

They know what throws the blows creates eves and moments of time.

These small red dimes that sit blossomed on the tree, the small flowers; oh how they breathe.

The sun that burnt right through the core, just like when you explore a new found life.

The deviance, oh the drive of the orb! The souls that ties around those seeds like anchors suck on the ocean floor.

So when you sink and you float, just know that your heavy, the only way you aren’t, is when your rotten, and wreathe with ousting.

I Will Stay Calm in the Cemetery

The cemetery night was filled with no fright,

but the silent noise of the ghastly voice,

The silence was loud, and the crickets festered

The intensity gave the dead a feast, and the air was smooth and smoky like a cigar, poisoning the wind.

I can’t escape the heat in the sky, and soon I will find That the same place that I usually rest and lay, I will find myself circulating back to the same place.

The dead was gone, and the men went followed,

The surgery belt— was too hard to follow.

He swayed in motion in a gurney for hours,

His heart felt through, eternally devoured.

Even though my face is different than before, I will stay calm in the cemetery.

Even though my mind is gone forever, I will stay calm in the cemetery.

Even though I’ve  should’ve been here years ago, riddled in the ground, I will stay calm in the cemetery.

Even though the cuts that circulate and pound my body ache in pain, I will stay calm in the cemetery.

And even when the dawn breaks to a day a new, I will stay calm in the cemetery.

And when the mark of your tomb is gone due to the erosion of tears, I will stay calm in the cemetery.

Good life

Now we could have had a good life.

Nothing left spoiled,

No dreams left uncoiled,

And we would just be divine

But what we have now,

is nothing but dead grass

memories filled like spit from brass.

And the leaves brown and hollow,

The waves of the wind filled like a barrel

Oh the leaves! They fill the wind, with sudden drops and spins.

But I’m all empty in this gated memory,

lost, trapped, solemnly scared and lonely.

We could had a good life, before the thoughts came around,

Like a bad breath, or an early rain, ruining our ground.

We could’ve had a good life, but that was then and now is now.

Bad Girl

I’ve been a bad girl.

I used the game for same reason that you did.

And I used the same old girl,

to play with tricks with him and him.

No, I don’t wanna watch you break down.

I just want to see you cry like I did,

and see you suffering like I did,

So you can see what you meant to me.

I’ve been a bad girl,

But I don’t care no more,

the river you cry leads to dry and I won’t bore no more.

You can use my skin to puncture and pickle,

but I wont let you get back onto the pucker.

I’ve been a bad girl,

but you’ve been oh so bad of a man.

I won’t tense up around you no more,

I’m just ready to demand,

my chocolates and my roses since I’m your  only thing.

The only thing that gets you closest to a woman for a lifetime, since you don’t know what to remand in life.

You’ve been a bad, bad man, and that’ll stay that way until death will be the next best thing.