Online Art Gallery, Volume 6

Submissions for the Spring issue are now officially CLOSED! Thank you so much to everyone who submitted! Our team is in the works of putting together the magazine, as well as planning surprise projects to share with you all! Have you picked up the Winter issue yet? The Spring issue will be hitting the stands in a few weeks! It’s starting to feel more and more like summer… Here’s some poetry for your weekend.



by Rachel Woods

She writes down the story of her life,

On a piece of paper.

Like lyrics of a song,

She composes the words.

To let out her emotions,

Feelings that she holds so much in.

Without the words she puts down,

She often gets stressed.

She feels miserable,

Not writing for so long.

Now she picks up the pen,

And begins to writes again.

To heal herself,

Through writing.


No longer will I lose,

To the demons that I have inside.

I will fight back,

Step up to live on.

No longer will I live,

In the past.

My focus will be,

Mainly the future of my life.

For the key of the future,

Lies inside of me.

For I will survive this,

Like many battles before.

Through meditation,


I will get through this trial,

And be stronger I am now.

And be one true,



Behind each tear is a person,

That isn’t giving up hope.

That one day there will be peace,

No longer war.

For war separates,

Divides us in half.

Tears us apart,

Shreds us like pieces of paper.

For we may not be born in this world,

To hate.

But to show love,

Compassionate feelings toward each other.

For the path of peace,

Has not lead us to the dark.

But to be children,

Of the light.



by N.A.

There once were two fellows

named Gru and Blay


one astute, the other gay

one loved school, the other play

and though they differed

in their usual ways


they became unlikely friends



by Simone Toimil

soft, exposed, flesh, ripped open,

bleeding, dripping like tears

streaming down cheeks from not one but

all emotions,

feelings, experiences.


neurons firing


that first shock of being born

into this world,

when we never asked to be.

rooted in mortality

and the question of

to love

to live

to die

to sing

to weep


the misunderstood gift


the shadow that creates light.

the Truth.

the creature that soars,

and flaps, and claws

through the dark skies of dreams

into our most unreachable

un-seeable places


unleashing its contents

its secrets

across our unprepared souls.


look up, and you will see him,

screeching through the stars,

raining down hot drops of blood

onto your curious, outstretched, tongue.

fresh, from his breached underbelly.

Online Art Gallery, Volume 5

Have you submitted your latest and greatest poems, prose, paintings, and photos to Pathos yet? Submissions close May 6th! A fresh new mag will be on the stands by the end of the term! We are so grateful to be able to support our student artists and share the talent of our community!



by Bryna Cortes


My Beach Towel

by Bryna Cortes

The first one was from SeaWorld

A trip my family took

before we knew that

their whales and dolphins swam in tears


The next was for the beach

as colorful as a sunset

Reminding me of peaches, strawberries

of summertime


Never a white towel

no light colors

The red is too vibrant

leaving stains even after the wash


I lost my beach towel

Not the one for the sand

for a different kind of

wet on my skin


Wet that is warm and thick

No one knows its feeling but me

me and my towel

we’ve been through it all


I lost my beach towel

Only now do I know how much it means to me

In my sleep, I will worry

wishing it would lie beneath me


Teach the “Boys”

by Christian Orellana Bauer

Teach the “boys” well

Before its too late

Teach them to love

Don’t teach them to hate

Teach them to dance

To sing not to fight

Teach them that hitting

Is wrong and not right

Teach them to ask

To listen and think

Tell them

“It’s alright to like something pink”

Give them a hug

If they wear a dress

Put one on yourself

Say “You look the best”

And make sure they know

It’s ok to cry

Or to be scared of heights

Or to be scared to die

And don’t make a fuss

If they like the “girl” toys

And never

Don’t ever


“Boys will be boys”

Just teach them to help

To hold and to care

To not give a damn

If they lose all their hair

Teach them it’s alright to be like a “girl”

And maybe we’ll have

A much better world

Online Art Gallery, Volume 4

Woah – more art. Thank you students of PSU, for being so artistically talented. Have you seen our bright blue submission call posters around the halls of PSU? Submit your poems, your short stories, your paintings, your drawings, your photos, your graphic designs – any and all art is welcome – at by May 6th. The weather is perfect for a photo-shoot amongst the blooming flowers or a work session under the sun in the grass of the Park Blocks! Stay gold, PSU.


Two Suns

by Zaji Cox

The city is rain-dampened, its sun sodden. The amber light, when it peers between the clouds, is rare, but welcome and yearned for. We worship it when it arrives, as we would a god. The concrete receives its heat and steam rises, tangy chemical evaporation permeating clothes, skin, and hair; this sun tastes like mist and evergreens.

When its rays touch my skin, I can imagine I’m in the southwest. There, I am closer to it: elevation is higher and the star’s rays press on scalp and skin, a brazen presence even in winter. It smells of wild sage and mountain dust, of warmed adobe and coyote pelts. After it sets, it finds a way to linger: violets and magentas, deep azures and bright oranges remain until the very last minute when overtaken by the blue-black wing of night. This sun tastes of clear winds and rich southwestern spices.


Falling in Love in Coffee Shops

by Zach Messinger

The first time I fell in love was at a Starbucks.

2:58pm, February twenty-eight, two-thousand-sixteen.

The sun illuminated her through a stained glass window

“You okay?” she asked seeing that I had hardly touched my mocha.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll tell you later,” was all I could muster to say

I wrote it in my phone and returned to my homework waiting for later to come.


Since then I keep falling in love in coffee shops

Ambient music softly playing in the background

The smell of espresso

The look on your face as you laugh at all my bad jokes.


Maybe its the caffeine kickstarting my heart

Maybe it’s the hipster aesthetic of some indie-movie future I’ve been dying to live,

Maybe it’s the pathos of every poem ever composed-

In every coffee shop in the history of the world-

Hanging in the air like ghosts.

Whatever it is, I can’t get a cup of joe without taking the risk of having my heart broken.


Revolutionary Love

by Caitlin Strickland

Be the Perón to my Evita.

You make the clouds

Shake when you speak.

Be my Revolutionary love

May the ground quake beneath our feet.


Be the Hades to my Persephone.

My great warrior, my King,

Kiss my lips and fulfill this longing in me

Make sense of me,

make love to me

Build a new life, a new world with me.


Be the Antony to my Cleopatra.

Fight with me,

Die with me. For the love of God,

Stay close to me.

Fall asleep holding me.