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
Jonah Stang-Osborne // THE PICK
The Black Fist
clenched in defiance,
Rebellion.
In contrast to the object’s purpose:
To neaten, to clean up appearances
To conform to what society,
Wants
Wants to see
Wants to observe
Wants to believe
But no, it does not conform
The object has a mind of its own.
Becoming a symbol of
Race
Culture
Defiance
Like the fist it shows.
Linda Chen // GAME
I started playing this game, And it’s quite addicting really, But there’s no option to save, No checkpoints, and no restarts. I have one chance, and one chance only, So I have to make this chance work.
I am playing this game, Where I keep running and running, Only choosing the safe options But at least I’m still surviving. Until the day, my dreams still unfulfilled, And the game inevitably ending.
I finished playing this game, But I’m plagued by if only’s and what if’s. If I had chosen a different option: Slain the monster rather than flee, Accepted the quest rather than pass. Maybe then I would have won the game.
Natalie Chen // LIBRARY BOOK
I lie in the back Of a dusty shelf Lonely and unread, Waiting For someone To notice me.
No one ever does. I am left Alone And forgotten
The saying goes “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Clearly No one listens
For I sit unnoticed A plain brown cover, Holding a story vivid And unread.
Emily Narouz // BROKEN
Faith is like a thin, crystal piece of glass
But so is love
and hope
and trust.
One little mistake,
and it shatters into a thousand pieces.
Broken forever.
It will never go back to perfect.
The shards will remain scattered in their heart,
piercing them with every heartbeat.
Isabelle Lim // A REQUIEM FOR UNREQUITED MIDDLE SCHOOL LOVE
It’s okay that the only looks you give me
are glares of contempt.
‘Cause your eyes are like
the deepest pools of melted chocolate
from which I drink
to vanquish my perpetual thirst.
And of course I don’t mind that
the only thing you’ve ever said to me
besides
Can I borrow your homework?
was that my sneakers were lame.
‘Cause
even though you’re laughing
(at me)
I’m blinded by your smile
the kind that you see in those Colgate ads.
And it’s totally fine that
you never bothered to thank me the day
that I gave you the answers
to that test
or the test after that.
‘Cause when you say my name
(it’s Miguel, by the way
not Michael)
it flickers from your lips
a song as saccharine sweet as
the final bell on a Friday.
And my heart pummels my ribcage
threatening to sprout wings
and spring from my chest.
And since
none of those things vex me
in the slightest
I was
uh
wondering
if
maybe
you wanna-
What?
Oh.
No, the quiz is tomorrow.
Gauri G. // THE TURTLE
In a storm of sounds and siblings,
Underneath a silver moon,
She crawled over glistening grains
Towards the broth that would swallow her.
In a whirlwind symphony of color, she thrived.
Blades stroking in cycles towards home,
Where to hundreds of souls, she would give life;
Their mother forever unknown.
In her old age and wisdom,
She was draped by wrinkles and items obscure.
An abode that was no longer hers,
Yet still on her shoulders she bore its weight.
And at her final resting place,
She lay strewn at last;
To where she had crawled for eternity –
A landscape littered with trash.
Sophia M. // TWO LIVES
A world of color floods leaking eyes
Glossed over by salty tears
That cut canals in his rosy cheeks
Crying due to his now flowering lungs in use for the first
time
Hands clenched together
Mother’s fostering hands tremor above the unseen halo
Tender care given to every movement
Worshipping her new found child of god
A world of war floods leaking eyes
Glossed over with dusty air
Premature due to malnourishment
Above deteriorating beams echoing an infant’s
shrieks
Family gathered in a covering
As a graduating hum of a Gloster SS.37
engine overhead gives them bumps across
their skeletal arms
Mother’s hands push it away
She does not want to know the gender
In her stolid eyes, it is not hers
Unprepared, unwanted, unloved
Family leaves, same size as when entered
Mother slumped over, exhausted, her pain is
also in the heart
Cold wind gusts, broken wings, impeding hums
Broken cries that will remain unattended
Till its death
One birth, contrasts the other
One out of love, one left behind
One baby will be loved and nurtured as it should be
The other will die within days, abandoned
Claire Johnson // CHANGE IS NOTHING
Change is nothing,
Unless
you bring it before you.
Shape it into a beautiful sculpture,
and fill
all
ats cracks and hollows
Change is an
intangible
wonder
When brought inside us all,
It is pumped
through our heart,
Brushed
through our hair,
Felt
in our bones.
And all the way
at the tips of our fingers
Change is
Nothing
Unless we all work together
Fighting the fight
With the sweet, sweat on our brow
to bring out the best in each
Mother,
Father, and
Brother.
Megan L. // IN THE GAME
In the game,
it is all about applying your knowledge
on par with in math or history class,
except this time
on a court, a field, a track.
It’s about the focus, the concentration,
your determination to reach into and remain
in the zone.
It’s about enduring the never-ending pain,
squeezing out every ounce of energy that you possess,
pushing yourself to the absolute limit.
It’s about the struggle that you face,
point by point, game by game, round by round.
Your positive attitude (or lack of it)
determines every passing second.
The main ambition is to come out triumphant.
But at the end of the day
it’s not the outcome that matters.
You may have lost,
you may have won,
but putting all of that aside,
you’ve gained something more valuable:
you’ve learned.
You accept the result,
knowing that you’ve done your utmost.
And you pat yourself on the back
because you never play
at the expense of others.
Even though perhaps your opponent has.
Nevertheless, the fact still stands that
to play with sportsmanship
and lose
gives you more medals, trophies, and awards
than to play without sportsmanship
and win.
Only a true athlete may understand.