BRIAN STOLL - POEMS

Brian is a recent Towson University graduate with a Bachelor of Science in English and a new aspiring writer. During his time at Towson University he wrote for the Towson University newspaper The Towerlight. He never imaged he would have anything published but still wrote for the sake of writing and was once told by an inspiring professor that he has the heart of a poet, a voice that should be heard not because it has something important to say but because it desperately has to say something. That bit of encouragement, that small fragment of belief in him drove him throughout his creative journey. Writing has always been a part of him, a guiding hand, a reassuring smile to calm him in the darkest of times reminding him that though he may wander in the dark he is not a monster. 

You Have No Power Here
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​In the room with creaking floors
there was laughter
the air felt joyous.
Anticipation churned from my creaking heart flooding my veins,
I’m surprised steam didn’t scream out my ears.
There weren’t many,
but the quality was choice
each one finely bred from different cuts life dealt.
My people.
There was safety here
in this cramped room
on this mediocre couch
watching a modest television
as dusty light peered in through the sheer shades.
The baggage carried was left waiting at the door
the shoes were left on the mat, for the muck from outside didn’t belong.
This is how healing starts
how the prickling on your nape dwindles
and your chest expands exuberantly.
Your ghost no longer clasps my throat
its anesthetizing presence hangs back,
for here it is outnumbered.
It will remain there waiting
a voracious hound, a seeking leech
for me to stuff my feet back into my feculent shoes
and strap my bags of dampened sand back on my shoulders.
I know it, you know it
but for now I’ll remain breathing again.
Relishing the pristine air from these vibrant humbled hearts.
 
 
 

I Wish It Wasn’t Love
​

​ 
Memories come flooding back to me
on lonely drives when the radio is low;
where is Moses so I can see the road?
Is it the smoking cherry bud that causes my eyes to tear or the thought of you?
My windshield is cracked beautifully down the middle
while fantasies of chance meetings flutter hopefully in my head
exactly like a fairytale.
Those don’t exist,
but I dream them anyway.
Can I say I’ve moved on if I still think of you fondly or do I have to hate you?
Your image is salt water
it only quenches my thirst for you at the moment.
 
 
I wish it was only lust,
the carnal desire to be between your thighs again
to caress your silhouette in the dark
with dim lights and heavy breath.
But it’s the in-betweens that I think about most,
laying under the blankets content with your presence.
 
 
I wish it was only fear,
fear of being alone
and dying that way.
But your smile makes me smile even if mines out of loss,
for I am Atlas to your happiness.
 
 
I wish it was only regret,
for the things said and the things not.
Words loaded and fired to hurt for the sake of hurting.
But each word was aimed with passion however misplaced.
 
 
I wish it were the demons in me,
that held my tongue hostage from my heart
never allowing it to speak from it.
If only I reached out sooner.
But my burden was not yours to bear,
I didn’t want to cage you with me.
 
 
I wish it wasn’t love,
for it makes the fairytale real
and all the more tragic.
But the love that you gave me I will hide it away
until my box is ready.
 
 

Breakfast In Bed With My Depression
​

​I don’t want to wake up and wish I didn’t anymore.
I don’t want everyday greeted with despair;
breakfast in bed with my depression.
I disown my fracturing bladder for as long as I can
until it comes back,
a bastard demanding money.
If I could sew my eyes shut I would,
lay in purgatory, void of dreams.
 
 
A frightened greyhound
tail tucked trembling at the gate.
I become a fetus unwilling to breach the womb
curled in a cocoon of fabrics
do not cecect me.
The world will eat me as tribute,
I wouldn’t stand a chance.
A baby turtle scampering frantically towards an evaporated sea,
a carrion walking
target practice for the gulls.
I am all that is small, feeble, replaceable in the world
proof of Darwin’s theory.
Let me lie
let me stay
let the sun never kiss me again
I fear I will melt.