{"id":3695,"date":"2023-02-22T02:41:12","date_gmt":"2023-02-22T02:41:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/?page_id=3695"},"modified":"2023-12-05T18:58:53","modified_gmt":"2023-12-05T18:58:53","slug":"unkown","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/vol-4-winter-2023-2024\/unkown\/","title":{"rendered":"Untitled"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Fin Rozentuler<\/em><\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

I come from Sheepshead<\/del><\/span>\u00a0Bay, in Brooklyn NY. It is where I was born. I come from<\/del> the empty sea and from the screaming of birds.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I am going wherever the wind takes me in hopes of finding a place to belong. <\/span>I am going to strange lands to meet stranger people.<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

My life is shaped by abandonment and betrayal with a few good moments sprinkled in so I can feel safe momentarily.<\/span><\/del> My life is an ugly black worm coated in various gems.<\/span><\/p>\n

I love my friends, my boyfriend and my family.<\/span><\/del> I love the broken windows of the world, that I hope to never have to hate.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The danger of loving someone is the understanding that one day those that love you will stop loving you for various reasons, and when that time comes, they will hurt you worse than anyone has hurt you ever before. The dangers are the first embers of newly sparked flames.<\/span><\/p>\n

The image of refuge to me is a safe place with those I hold dear.<\/span> Refuge is an empty house filled with warmth.<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

The sound of my name starts off sounding like a child babbling being cut off by a sneeze, and ends with an adult German speaking. My name sounds ugly, but it is mine.<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

I speak the language of those left behind. <\/span>\u00a0I speak Russian, English and French. I speak the language of empty rooms and quiet crowds.<\/del><\/span><\/p>\n

An origin is simply a beginning. <\/span><\/del>A brilliant sun rising above the horizon, bathing the world in its glow.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I cannot describe what I was not there for.<\/span><\/del> The emergence of a newfound enemy.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have lived only one life and it is the one I am living right now.<\/span><\/del> I have lived the life <\/span>of a hyena, and that<\/del><\/span> of a bird caught in a trap.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I have no sides, all my edges are smooth and I am black in color.<\/span><\/del> I serve no other purpose beyond decoration <\/span>and potential protective qualities. I am the promise of protection for the innocent in the form of an orb.\u00a0<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

The wound is caused by betrayal and depression. It was created hand in hand with those I once called friends, family and lovers. <\/span><\/del>The wound is a fire I struggle to put out as it consumes everything in its path.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0The wound can only heal with time.<\/span> It can only be put out once people stop lighting matches in its general vicinity.<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

If I hid I would hide somewhere in the woods, off the grid to avoid capture<\/span><\/del>. I hide in wooded isolation, and comforting silence.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

To feel free is to feel as if the weight of the world is no longer tying you down. I long to feel it someday.<\/span><\/del> To feel free is so soar above the <\/span>empty<\/span><\/del> sea to greater tomorrows.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The wound and the world around me prevent me from being free.<\/span><\/del> Can you blame me for not feeling free when the world around me is falling apart at the seams? The fire still has fuel and continues to scorch my wings, though I am no phoenix.<\/span><\/p>\n

What holds me back is work and mental illness. What holds me back is the tyranny of the common day<\/span> and the horrors of waking up in the morning<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

Those who have harmed me hold me back <\/span>because they chip away at my progress.<\/span><\/del> I am held back by a nameless army of faceless mannequins from which I cannot escape.<\/span><\/p>\n

My voice is the origin of the sounds I use to communicate.<\/span><\/del> My voice is the sound of running water in a near desert.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

My voice can sing by vibrating my vocal chords at certain pitches\/ sound frequencies.<\/span><\/del> My voice sings when rivers flow and when the waves come crashing to the shore.<\/span><\/p>\n

My dream is<\/del> <\/span>to feel accepted by those around me<\/span>, at this rate I’m not sure I’ll ever achieve it.<\/span><\/del> It’s been 21 years and I’ve only felt that way once.<\/span> My dream is for unity, nothing more, nothing less.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

I fear the very betrayal that has wounded me so deeply.<\/span><\/del> I fear the all consuming flame will come to consume me too.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I would like to let go of the connection I have with those who have wronged me.<\/span><\/del> I would like to let go of the chains that bind me.<\/span><\/p>\n

I would like to embrace the fact that I am broken but people can still like me.<\/span><\/del> I would like to embrace the shattered mirror’s jagged edges for the beauty they carry with them.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I hope for the chance to make the world a better place. <\/span><\/del>I hope for the sun tomorrow to shine a million times brighter than it does today.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

My idea of utopia is<\/span><\/del> a place free of the tyranny of bias. A world that sacrifices color in the name of healing nature’s wounds.<\/span><\/p>\n

My Community is made up of folks like me who struggle with functionality for one reason or another.<\/span><\/del> The world of broken mirrors is made of jagged edges and shining beauty.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have grown out of the will to fight all that stands in my way. I have grown out of the violence of nature into the peace of the rising sun.\u00a0<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

I grew up by the sea in a small house in NY with my family.<\/span><\/del> I grew up in a sea of rats and birdsong.<\/span><\/p>\n

I am typing up a list of sorts.<\/span><\/del> I am creating a strange place in the name of my own personal growth.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Every choice I’ve made has dragged me here, same as everyone else. <\/span><\/del>I have been brought here by the wind and the sea of life itself.<\/span><\/p>\n

Moving forward we can try our best to do better than we have in the past. <\/span>\u00a0All we can do is choose which turns to take in the path we walk, and hope we reach somewhere<\/del><\/span>.\u00a0<\/span><\/del><\/p>\n

What is ego? Ego is one’s positive perception of themselves taken to the next level.<\/span><\/del> Ego is a ram whose horns have grown so big that they’ve pierced his eyes.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

What is home? Home is a safe place filled with people you love.<\/span><\/del> Home is the warmth of the rising sun and the smell of salty sea air.<\/span><\/p>\n

Who do you rely on? My therapist mostly. The only person willing to lend an ear.<\/span><\/del> I rely on the kindness of strangers in lieu of the silence of the crowd.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Fin Rozentuler<\/strong> is a communications major who expects to graduate in 2025. He was born in Sheep’s Head Bay in Brooklyn NY, though he now lives in East Brunswick NJ.<\/p>\n

Alex wrote this piece in a creative writing course taught by Professor Kearney. Kearney selected the poem for inclusion in WHR<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fin Rozentuler   I come from Sheepshead\u00a0Bay, in Brooklyn NY. It is where I was born. 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