Where does this flower bloom? Must it rely on water, or When unattended will it face doom? Nana always said, “Don’t pick the pretty flowers.” “Leave them alone, they’ll be dead.” But, Leaves, branches, weeds: How come they were destined to be thrown? Roses, sunflowers and lilies were protected, Since the gardener wanted every flower to be a clone. He and his whole community wanted the perfect lawn, But each of them planted different seeds, And each seed grew differently from dusk till dawn. Each seed just required the sun as their shield. If everyone knocked down their white picket fences, We would end up with a vibrant field.
So where could this flower possibly bloom? Anywhere where the gardener has no power.
Anjali D. // BLOOM
Gladys Lee // MOVING AHEAD
Walking around my house Never knowing what to do I feel minuscule like a mouse And although many years have past, and I grew
I still feel very lost Yet the years go by way too fast Still questioning everything, I feel kind of tossed I know I need to stop dwelling on my past And move ahead.
Gianna Watson // NEVER KNOW
I sat down on freezing cold bench The snowflakes as thick as ever I listened to the whispers of the wind pass me by Oh how it reminded me of the day we met The cold breeze surrounding us as we sat and talked Talked about how we just wanted to get out of this boring neighborhood
How we wanted to travel the world See all the places we imagined The Bahamas to enjoy the warm weather New Orleans for the Mardi Gras festival Fiji for the beautiful sunsets And Paris to see the Eiffel tower.
I guess I just never got the chance to But you did…You left too soon We were so young, but that didn’t stop you. I wonder if you’re okay, What would life be if you hadn’t left so soon? I guess I’ll never know.
Manaswini Pujar // THE STRUGGLE OF MY TWO SELVES
Sometimes I feel like there are two people inside me
Leaving me in a constant state of struggle.
The first one won’t stay silent
Constantly going on
About her judgemental,
Belittling opinions.
The ones that cripple you inside,
And make you question everything.
But the other one listens.
Too scared to share her own thoughts,
She censors everything.
And conforms to the other.
Maybe if she were to speak up
And contribute
We would be completely content.
Confident and courageous,
Cruising through every obstacle.
But if she were to do so, the other one might laugh.
Mock her, undermine her,
Or ridicule her.
So she stays quiet.
Anmianyao // CATS
I like cats
Regardless of their fur color
I listen out for the cautious footsteps
Or try to capture the unpredictable figures hiding in the dark
They peek into world in the gap of times
and draw footprints under the roof of cement
They stand by the gesture of independence
Without abandoning the ambitions of world
Cats are like me
Or I am like a cat
My heart deep inside yearns to escape the earth
But lack of courage to forgive and forget the world
Balance towards the world
People live with the absolute independence
Only see the endless sparks in the mirror
Secular people see the objects themselves only
And the others observe both
Cat and me
We enjoy the morning warm light
and cross through the charming night breeze
Nothing really matters in this world
As long as cat and me continue
Daydreaming by the groovy stove
Ana Burwell // WHERE MY MEMORIES GO
Every day unchanging, Every fragment of a memory hoisted upon a pedestal. My petrification suggests those fragments may become forgettable.
What if those few conspicuous memories abandon me? Do I preserve the shards if the cuts are their only guarantee?
I tell myself to forget the past, I won’t remember the present, though. I’d like to take it all in, without wondering Where my memories will go.
Peter Miniutti // MIRROR MIRROR
I stay put, unwavering, without fault
What does Webster say about reflection? Can’t keep up a conversation People pass by but never look Me, me, me
No one wants to talk I only see the selfish I see everything I am there in the dark
There is only one way to stop But no one wants to smash a mirror
Or do they?
Johnathan Dagan // ONLY A PEN?
Can you tell me, dear pen, as I hold you in my hand.
Are you capable of taking me to a long forgotten land?
A cylindrical piece of plastic protecting a tube of ink,
or are you something greater, free to feel and think?
Should I do more with your unrelenting marks?
Tell the tales of warriors or monsters in the dark?
Some believe that you are mightier than a sword,
but I still mindlessly fiddle with you in the times that I am bored.
What are the possibilities? Are there infinite or none?
Should I treat you as what you seem or as a loaded gun?
My internal conversations have gone on for longer than I’d planned, My moral dilemma continues, as I hold you in my hand.
Aylin Bruce // SEVEN-YEAR OLD
Surrounding me are the monsters
The ones that pinch my cheeks
That dig their nails in
Leaving stained crimson on my face
Oblivious to the hot flush of my embarrassment Masked with obnoxious grins
They pose the grim question:
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
After an unsettling pause
My tongue pierces the toxic air
“Everything.”
Discordant cackles suffocate me
Roaring louder and louder
Escalating like a symphony
Soon they resume their cryptic conversations
While I sit lonely and stare at my feet
Dangling above the floor
Wondering where Mommy is
Why do they think of me as a fool for my absence of grey hair When we can simply all dance together?
Your scorns
Will dwindle into ashes
For the future belongs to me
Max DiCerbo // EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED
In order to expect the unexpected
Unexpected becomes expected
Therefore leaving the expected for unexpected
But to prepare for both,
What should you be expecting?
Both expected and unexpected
Equally unexpected or expected
For all we know there is more than just
Expected and unexpected
And no matter how prepared you think you are
The expected will always be unexpected