Compilation Poem for March 12, 2015 by the Writers of Speak For Yourself

Compiled from the writers who shared work on March 12, 2015

How can I not collect you with all my other mistakes?

Like dust on furniture.

Pain concealed.

A piece of damp, dark cloth with a slightly sour smell.

The possibility of a forest within.

In black ink.

As I get older I realize that whatever is killing me makes me feel alive.

We stretch, we lengthen, we change.

Torture, torment,

Torture, torment,

Oh my heart, let thy will be done.

I'm thinking about you like

Harsh realities of the real world.

Just enough to make you sigh and not mind.

I had no problem with being protected.

Truth, slanted, was there,

dragging us all into its pit.

I know.

I crushed his little head.

Full of fire, though compelled by fear.

Can you picture not existing?

They always give you the one answer.

Breathing in shallow breaths of the opaque air,

Slipping into the inferno.

And then the warmth of solid ground.

It came so easy since birth.

They say it's called love.

Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in,

True madness at last.

Pretending to be sickening, pretending to be lonely.

Existing in two realities is not healthy.

Listen. Give it a chance.

All the fun people are going to hell,

With no reason or warning to leave.

The sun rises and sets on your shoulder,

and on the inside.

Collect all the little details.

Compiled by Jessica Dixon

Know Your Server Spotlight: Blair

This week's server in our spotlight is.... Blair!

Blair is a recent UVU grad and his favorite menu item is the lemon butter salmon (in case you are counting, that's two servers who love the salmon.  Note to self: order the salmon)

Compilation Poem for March 5, 2015 by the writers of Speak For Yourself

He was certain he'd staved off his wife's ill demeanor.
But in the name of art he'd created a persona that would
cut and splice random photos in effort to create the perfect woman;
an avatar or flesh he could no longer discern.
I am after all, a virgin, you know, love & such.
Will you miss the truth of life, the truth in me, or the moments in between?
Hurry down sunshine, I have the sense of being in a rare force of nature,
for such is my mental illness.
Don't tell me a broken heart hurts less than a broken bone.
I am not a lost cause, I am a balancing act, it's less about life and more about beauty and in silence I must continue.
I praise Jesus over the Victory of leavened bread and a broken jar of dried sea horses.
But if you let me hold your hand, at a Jazz game or minivan.
Thunder on the mountain.
I don't want to take my changes on somebody new.
Blue funk, it was totally blue.  They were mocking my pain.
I need to sleep.
Somewhere where I won't grow silent, silent, silent.
It was a luxury to breathe,
like Tectonic plates shifting, nothing can unburden my tongue, rapid breath returns, ashamed.
I'm only going to bear my soul for one half minute.
Love leaves quietly, it slips out unnoticed.
I felt the ghosts groan and gasp, as lives fade so does god's servant to the Human condition.
He brought me to this Juniper desert,
we should have been safe,
the vertigo wins, the downward winding of an evergreen pine grand staircase.
People stand in diamond shaped shadows, like angels with Milky Way wings,
warming my desire like a flame to my soul.
Justin...just in case,
I was dragged into a dark hallway, we kissed and he dumped me.
I forced a laugh to hold back a scream, knocking the sweet nectar of air out of my lungs.
Plastered smiles, there are monsters in my closet. There are monsters in my world.
My throat turns into brick when I'm asked how I'm doing.
I'm trying to figure things out, figure things out.
With invisible ink I would write "stay open" on your eyelids.
Love always knocks when you're not home,
It picks its victims from a hat.
My heart is like the moon, full of craters and phases but reflects the light instead of making its own.
My voice cracked but I made the sound.
I hoist my weight beyond the watery confines; lullaby-ed into viscinity.
My voice cracked but I made the sound. Do I want to be sober?
When I'm high, it's all clear, my criticisms drain, but my balloon is broken.
My balloon is broken. 
My eyes are a window to my soul but can you see me?
Get to know me and you will see, rolling round in thoughts of you, green yellow orange & blue

Of grander thought there none can be of pure likeness, a reflection of me.

Compiled by Nathan Hansen

Know Your Server Spotlight on Doug!

This friendly face is familiar to most of us as we see him just about every week: clearing our tables, refilling our water glasses, and keeping everything looking great.  Doug hired on at Enliten/Guru's just before we started our open mic.  He and his wife live in Provo and his favorite menu item is the pork nachos. Yum!  Thanks for taking such good care of us, Doug!!!