Your Shadow, by Gillian Ozawa '18
I am an obedient child.
I follow you without question.
People walk all over me.
I don’t complain.
I am a naïve child.
You wave, and I wave back.
I think you are my friend.
But you don’t notice when I’m gone.
I am a greedy child.
I love the warmth of the sun,
But I don’t share it with anyone.
I want to play by myself.
I am a scared child.
When it gets dark, I run.
You can’t find me when I hide.
And I won’t come out until morning.
I am a spiteful child.
The happier you are, the darker I am.
But when you are down,
I leave you alone.
But when you grow up, I am still a child.
I am like an unchanging photograph,
A broken watch stuck at 8 o’clock.
I grow for a while but I always forget.
I shrink back to my old ways.
I run in endless circles,
I follow the sun across the sky
And back around again.
I can never learn.
I follow you without question.
People walk all over me.
I don’t complain.
I am a naïve child.
You wave, and I wave back.
I think you are my friend.
But you don’t notice when I’m gone.
I am a greedy child.
I love the warmth of the sun,
But I don’t share it with anyone.
I want to play by myself.
I am a scared child.
When it gets dark, I run.
You can’t find me when I hide.
And I won’t come out until morning.
I am a spiteful child.
The happier you are, the darker I am.
But when you are down,
I leave you alone.
But when you grow up, I am still a child.
I am like an unchanging photograph,
A broken watch stuck at 8 o’clock.
I grow for a while but I always forget.
I shrink back to my old ways.
I run in endless circles,
I follow the sun across the sky
And back around again.
I can never learn.
What Madness (with Purpose) Looks Like, by Cassie Tran '16
Black static split ends frizz up like wires at the tip of my forehead.
My mother always nags me to “brush them away, put water on them,
Gel them, or even wear a hoodie so they don’t stick out.”
My sister nags me too.
Half of the time people see me, they probably
Notice a stray white hair or two on my head.
Too bad I worry too often, drink too much green tea,
Eat no cheese and drink no milk. Lactose in my stomach
Is the equivalent to oil in the sea.
I have freckles which speckle above my eyes.
Both my freckles and eyes are
Reckless, disarrayed, distracted.
My eyes cut away here, cut away there, not a single
Sight at a time. They tear and swell
When no one can see them.
Above my left side of my upper lip is a small, brown mole;
A beauty department store worker told me it was the equivalent to
Cindy Crawford’s, but from what I recall, Cindy Crawford’s mole
Was on the left end of her lip and not at the top.
I wanted to surgically remove it when I was younger, but
Not anymore.
If you look closely when I open my mouth, you can see that
I am missing taste-buds on my tongue. It’s a habit of mine to
Bite into sweet potatoes baked right out of the oven without
Cooling them for half an hour. It’s worth it every time;
The three seconds of fire are stimulating—I have no desire to
Endure thirty minutes of impatient hunger.
Both of my elbows are dry and patchy from
Pressing them on my bed as I type my blog posts,
Watch movies, attempt to write essays and scroll through
The brains of other bloggers—it’s like reading, but no symbolism or metaphors,
Plus authors rarely have the time to contact their readers.
Once in a while, I browse through conspiracy theories
Even though my dad cautions me to be wary of them.
Is it wrong to question the world around me?
A piece of paper cut the back of my thumb while I tried drawing
The portrait of the most popular girl in eighth grade.
Now that the portrait is in the trash, I have this scar.
I do not draw much anymore.
I also cut my ring finger, but that was from trying to
Reach into my blender before making a smoothie;
It didn’t bleed a lot, but it’s a reminder to not
Make rash decisions when I will be late for school.
There’s a freckle on the left side of my torso that stretches
When I pinch at my side in front of the mirror.
It’s a lot harder to stretch now than it was four years ago,
Even though I always find a way to stretch it somehow.
Like my elbows, my knees are also dry, but they bruise more easily.
My knees are the ugliest part of me but also the most important, because
They support my whole body, including my legs
That can run, run, run, and stop for nothing.
Hidden above my right ankle is my special “beauty mark”;
I despised it for my entire life, but I will never remove it
Because in case if I disappear while wandering the streets,
Someone will be able to come and find me.
I worry about that a lot.
My mother always nags me to “brush them away, put water on them,
Gel them, or even wear a hoodie so they don’t stick out.”
My sister nags me too.
Half of the time people see me, they probably
Notice a stray white hair or two on my head.
Too bad I worry too often, drink too much green tea,
Eat no cheese and drink no milk. Lactose in my stomach
Is the equivalent to oil in the sea.
I have freckles which speckle above my eyes.
Both my freckles and eyes are
Reckless, disarrayed, distracted.
My eyes cut away here, cut away there, not a single
Sight at a time. They tear and swell
When no one can see them.
Above my left side of my upper lip is a small, brown mole;
A beauty department store worker told me it was the equivalent to
Cindy Crawford’s, but from what I recall, Cindy Crawford’s mole
Was on the left end of her lip and not at the top.
I wanted to surgically remove it when I was younger, but
Not anymore.
If you look closely when I open my mouth, you can see that
I am missing taste-buds on my tongue. It’s a habit of mine to
Bite into sweet potatoes baked right out of the oven without
Cooling them for half an hour. It’s worth it every time;
The three seconds of fire are stimulating—I have no desire to
Endure thirty minutes of impatient hunger.
Both of my elbows are dry and patchy from
Pressing them on my bed as I type my blog posts,
Watch movies, attempt to write essays and scroll through
The brains of other bloggers—it’s like reading, but no symbolism or metaphors,
Plus authors rarely have the time to contact their readers.
Once in a while, I browse through conspiracy theories
Even though my dad cautions me to be wary of them.
Is it wrong to question the world around me?
A piece of paper cut the back of my thumb while I tried drawing
The portrait of the most popular girl in eighth grade.
Now that the portrait is in the trash, I have this scar.
I do not draw much anymore.
I also cut my ring finger, but that was from trying to
Reach into my blender before making a smoothie;
It didn’t bleed a lot, but it’s a reminder to not
Make rash decisions when I will be late for school.
There’s a freckle on the left side of my torso that stretches
When I pinch at my side in front of the mirror.
It’s a lot harder to stretch now than it was four years ago,
Even though I always find a way to stretch it somehow.
Like my elbows, my knees are also dry, but they bruise more easily.
My knees are the ugliest part of me but also the most important, because
They support my whole body, including my legs
That can run, run, run, and stop for nothing.
Hidden above my right ankle is my special “beauty mark”;
I despised it for my entire life, but I will never remove it
Because in case if I disappear while wandering the streets,
Someone will be able to come and find me.
I worry about that a lot.
Our Hearts, by Melanie Ramirez '17
*****Dedicated to my grandfather Lalo. He died from Alzheimer’s disease slowly and painfully, but his loved ones were by his side until the end.********
Beginnings are always the best
They mark the creation of a quest
But many times we forget
That they can be threats
So caught up in the moment
But sometimes it gets stolen
Our happiness is gone and lost
Thinking of all that it has cost
Stuck in our own sorrow
That we don’t want to see tomorrow
Others surround us with words of understanding
But all that is left is the ending
Continually knowing that they are gone
And so we must keep our heads up and carry on
The memories in our hearts are what will keep us going
As long as we keep our love flowing
We can forever be together in heart and soul
So that we can feel whole
And we must remember that beginnings are the best
And endings may cause us distress
But we cannot have a beginning without an end
This is something we must comprehend
When one chapter is over another starts
And so we will start anew just like our hearts
Beginnings are always the best
They mark the creation of a quest
But many times we forget
That they can be threats
So caught up in the moment
But sometimes it gets stolen
Our happiness is gone and lost
Thinking of all that it has cost
Stuck in our own sorrow
That we don’t want to see tomorrow
Others surround us with words of understanding
But all that is left is the ending
Continually knowing that they are gone
And so we must keep our heads up and carry on
The memories in our hearts are what will keep us going
As long as we keep our love flowing
We can forever be together in heart and soul
So that we can feel whole
And we must remember that beginnings are the best
And endings may cause us distress
But we cannot have a beginning without an end
This is something we must comprehend
When one chapter is over another starts
And so we will start anew just like our hearts
Unknown Origins, by Brett Streitfeld '18
its to late to be crying
im not done with this life
i cant be dying
too much pain in my heart
its not satisfying
i want to say so much
i swear im trying
but i dont know what to do
theres no denying
i love her
but she doesnt feel the same
i can hear her now
shes calling my name
the joy in my heart
i just have to proclaim
that im different
theres not one to blame
so i keep it inside
its really a shame
sincerely,
any given name
im not done with this life
i cant be dying
too much pain in my heart
its not satisfying
i want to say so much
i swear im trying
but i dont know what to do
theres no denying
i love her
but she doesnt feel the same
i can hear her now
shes calling my name
the joy in my heart
i just have to proclaim
that im different
theres not one to blame
so i keep it inside
its really a shame
sincerely,
any given name
On the Dotted Line, by Hannah Sellfors '18
The sudden ice froze me
Then started to melt out my eyes
As their words sprinted slow laps
Around my mind.
Every step
Stepping too hard
Breaking memories
Cracking promises.
Leaving each shard
To slowly drift away.
We sat on the new couch.
It was much darker.
As the silence was broken
By the song of suffering
Coming from the little one’s throat.
She burnt her hands.
Held on too long, too tight.
But me, feeling caged in their embraces.
But them, holding the sad scissors.
But us, why us.
After
When the broken light
In the little yearnings of our hearts
Sought to calm the storms
Under dad’s eyes
Like a windless summer nipping at the ribs
Heads up
Always looking down
Tunnels like mom said to.
Aching for the Elmer’s
And loathing broken zippers
But hands turn and hearts change
To remember and to reminisce
Moments placed in respective compartments.
Yet my eyes and the floor became friends
Meeting often as we shared many hardships
When questions brought isolation and
Wonder about the ingredients of solace.
Hide the red!
Finding a pleasure
As pain became purpose
Hurting as a twisted high
Now
Casts of music have healed
And golden light along
With the warmth of pity.
Lots of white teeth again
Trying to bite the ignorance
Relatives winding the coils
Too much tension in the net of side glances.
No growth only unions
And crayons had lost color
But paper was scarce.
Gifts of happy faced scars
And worthless shells of tradition
Loosening and tightening grips
On both hands as I walk
Tripping in bliss as I itch
To explode for the sun.
Then started to melt out my eyes
As their words sprinted slow laps
Around my mind.
Every step
Stepping too hard
Breaking memories
Cracking promises.
Leaving each shard
To slowly drift away.
We sat on the new couch.
It was much darker.
As the silence was broken
By the song of suffering
Coming from the little one’s throat.
She burnt her hands.
Held on too long, too tight.
But me, feeling caged in their embraces.
But them, holding the sad scissors.
But us, why us.
After
When the broken light
In the little yearnings of our hearts
Sought to calm the storms
Under dad’s eyes
Like a windless summer nipping at the ribs
Heads up
Always looking down
Tunnels like mom said to.
Aching for the Elmer’s
And loathing broken zippers
But hands turn and hearts change
To remember and to reminisce
Moments placed in respective compartments.
Yet my eyes and the floor became friends
Meeting often as we shared many hardships
When questions brought isolation and
Wonder about the ingredients of solace.
Hide the red!
Finding a pleasure
As pain became purpose
Hurting as a twisted high
Now
Casts of music have healed
And golden light along
With the warmth of pity.
Lots of white teeth again
Trying to bite the ignorance
Relatives winding the coils
Too much tension in the net of side glances.
No growth only unions
And crayons had lost color
But paper was scarce.
Gifts of happy faced scars
And worthless shells of tradition
Loosening and tightening grips
On both hands as I walk
Tripping in bliss as I itch
To explode for the sun.
Four by Conor Fairtlough '17
“Autumn”
Leaves brown
Leaves red
Everything
Just seems dead
However beneath
This rusty glow
A new spring emerges
Ready to grow
“Fire”
Can’t stand to near
Can’t stand to far
Fire is the ultimate
Can’t be with it
Can’t be without it
Fire is dangerous
Fire is hope
Fire is what I always despise but need
“Grass”
Softly blowing
Always growing
Mowed down
To the ground
Shaved thin
Never gives in
“Flower”
Flower buds
Flower Blooms
Flower picked
Flower doomed
Flower put
In a vase
Flower given
Happy face
Leaves brown
Leaves red
Everything
Just seems dead
However beneath
This rusty glow
A new spring emerges
Ready to grow
“Fire”
Can’t stand to near
Can’t stand to far
Fire is the ultimate
Can’t be with it
Can’t be without it
Fire is dangerous
Fire is hope
Fire is what I always despise but need
“Grass”
Softly blowing
Always growing
Mowed down
To the ground
Shaved thin
Never gives in
“Flower”
Flower buds
Flower Blooms
Flower picked
Flower doomed
Flower put
In a vase
Flower given
Happy face
The Cashmere Sweater, by Maya Angulo, '17
The cashmere sweater smelled of cinnamon,
And stung her congested nose with intensity.
It lay idly in her hands seemingly soaked,
Soaked, with salty tasting tears
That threatened to bleed through the soft material.
The girl was overwhelmed
The dark taking over her sight
But what was this,
Compared to what was going on outside
She’d rather be submersed
For the deep closet was better
Far better,
Than seeing the two she loved so dearly
Proclaim their hate.
This was normal though,
Yet she admitted that she’d never,
Never get used to it,
Because they just kept going,
Throwing back and forth words after words,
And even with her will power,
There was nothing she could do to stop them,
Nothing.
At first she stood in the corner trying to rebuild the walls they kept ferociously ripping down,
But she didn’t know how to mend them,
They weren’t hers,
But her sheer empathy forced her,
Pulled her to want to fix,
Even though her logic told her she couldn’t.
Quiet tears formed on her face,
The back of her mind supposedly thinking that this
Had the some sort of the same effect as any mending material,
But in fact it made it all worse.
Worse more even,
When the two noticed the salty water dripping down her face,
And there was a moment of silence,
Interrupted hastily by,
“Look you made your sister cry.”
Immediately she ran to her closet,
her new home,
her fort,
her safe haven.
She left only the clothing hanging in the small room
and scrunched her small self into a ball inside of a closed door.
She pulled from in front of her the closest garment she had,
A cashmere sweater
And stung her congested nose with intensity.
It lay idly in her hands seemingly soaked,
Soaked, with salty tasting tears
That threatened to bleed through the soft material.
The girl was overwhelmed
The dark taking over her sight
But what was this,
Compared to what was going on outside
She’d rather be submersed
For the deep closet was better
Far better,
Than seeing the two she loved so dearly
Proclaim their hate.
This was normal though,
Yet she admitted that she’d never,
Never get used to it,
Because they just kept going,
Throwing back and forth words after words,
And even with her will power,
There was nothing she could do to stop them,
Nothing.
At first she stood in the corner trying to rebuild the walls they kept ferociously ripping down,
But she didn’t know how to mend them,
They weren’t hers,
But her sheer empathy forced her,
Pulled her to want to fix,
Even though her logic told her she couldn’t.
Quiet tears formed on her face,
The back of her mind supposedly thinking that this
Had the some sort of the same effect as any mending material,
But in fact it made it all worse.
Worse more even,
When the two noticed the salty water dripping down her face,
And there was a moment of silence,
Interrupted hastily by,
“Look you made your sister cry.”
Immediately she ran to her closet,
her new home,
her fort,
her safe haven.
She left only the clothing hanging in the small room
and scrunched her small self into a ball inside of a closed door.
She pulled from in front of her the closest garment she had,
A cashmere sweater
To My First Love, by Hannah Sellfors '18
Golden moments
You set my ribs on fire
Drowning in the color of your eyes
Building, building breaking down.
And the play goes on for you
Couldn’t see the curtains
Opening them wide for your smiles
No applause.
A rationed heart
Taking back all the pieces to give you
A little broken
Puzzle piece contentment
Words shone light
An illusory fit
Love to you
Love to me
No map
Ambiguity.
Swimming in new waters
That washed out all the sense
Stranded in your absence
Hearing echoes from inside…
You took all but not enough
Laughter toxic to my laughter
Fell of the cliff when I looked over-
Thinking.
Still loving you dearly with all of my heart.
You set my ribs on fire
Drowning in the color of your eyes
Building, building breaking down.
And the play goes on for you
Couldn’t see the curtains
Opening them wide for your smiles
No applause.
A rationed heart
Taking back all the pieces to give you
A little broken
Puzzle piece contentment
Words shone light
An illusory fit
Love to you
Love to me
No map
Ambiguity.
Swimming in new waters
That washed out all the sense
Stranded in your absence
Hearing echoes from inside…
You took all but not enough
Laughter toxic to my laughter
Fell of the cliff when I looked over-
Thinking.
Still loving you dearly with all of my heart.
Why Do I Try? by Nathaniel Raft '18
I had a plan
To ask this girl, If
She’d be mine
In this world
But I later learned
That she was taken
By a guy
And then it sank in
Why do I try if it only ends?
With a crushed hear that I can’t mend
Left with no one to say that I’m in love
Then I found one
I liked the most
And we became
Really close
But then she said
“We’re no good like this”
These kinds of things
They’re hit and miss
Why do I try if it only ends?
With a crushed hear that I can’t mend
Left with no one to say that I’m in love
But once again
I found one I cared
For even more
And I just stared
She seemed to me
To be perfect
But problems came
(That) only she could detect
Why do I try if it only ends?
With a crushed hear that I can’t mend
Left with no one to say that I’m in love
(Break)
Soon I had found
One I could be with
Known her for years why hadn’t I seen it
But she tore me down
Just like all the others
And that what really bothers
Me
Yet I still try knowing it still ends
With my crushed hear impossible-to mend
Looking for someone to say that I’m in Love
To ask this girl, If
She’d be mine
In this world
But I later learned
That she was taken
By a guy
And then it sank in
Why do I try if it only ends?
With a crushed hear that I can’t mend
Left with no one to say that I’m in love
Then I found one
I liked the most
And we became
Really close
But then she said
“We’re no good like this”
These kinds of things
They’re hit and miss
Why do I try if it only ends?
With a crushed hear that I can’t mend
Left with no one to say that I’m in love
But once again
I found one I cared
For even more
And I just stared
She seemed to me
To be perfect
But problems came
(That) only she could detect
Why do I try if it only ends?
With a crushed hear that I can’t mend
Left with no one to say that I’m in love
(Break)
Soon I had found
One I could be with
Known her for years why hadn’t I seen it
But she tore me down
Just like all the others
And that what really bothers
Me
Yet I still try knowing it still ends
With my crushed hear impossible-to mend
Looking for someone to say that I’m in Love
Unlock, by Hannah Sellfors '18
Why don’t they see
Why don’t they care
Why are they blind
No awareness they share
Somehow accepting
Never with question
Living with calm
Thinking they’re an exception
No one likes how we knock
On little sealed skulls
Only wanting to help
As it must be quite dull
To live in a life
The length of a distance
Measured by clocks
A money making existence.
Never accepting
That there lies so much more
To this life and to living
Than working and chores
The happiness they crave
Lies right under their nose
And the path to awaken
Right under their toes
So I’m asking you here
Please open your mind
And the peace you’ve been wanting
You’ll finally find.
Why don’t they care
Why are they blind
No awareness they share
Somehow accepting
Never with question
Living with calm
Thinking they’re an exception
No one likes how we knock
On little sealed skulls
Only wanting to help
As it must be quite dull
To live in a life
The length of a distance
Measured by clocks
A money making existence.
Never accepting
That there lies so much more
To this life and to living
Than working and chores
The happiness they crave
Lies right under their nose
And the path to awaken
Right under their toes
So I’m asking you here
Please open your mind
And the peace you’ve been wanting
You’ll finally find.