FHS Art and Literary Magazine
@FreedomHighSchool #Freedom High School
Typewriters Don’t Tweet #140characters ‽#volume9#aerie2014
Freedom High School
#25450 Riding Center Drive #South Riding, Virginia 20152
“Red Doors” @ElizabethMiller2014
Typewriters Don’t Tweet @SeoyoungKim2016 “In the end, the only thing left was a tale, a tale that began once upon a time.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS 3 Staff List 4-5 “Our Love Started with a Friend Request” — poet, Bailey Pilgreen; “I’m Just Going to Sit Here and Look Pretty” — artist, Monique Le 6-7 “Dear [insert teacher]” — poet, Kate Jensen; “Distant” — artist, Sari Dahle 8-9 “The Lamentations of a Botanist” — poet, Kennedy M. Jones; “White Flower” — artist, Manavi Singh 10-11 “We are the Words” — poet, YoLani Martin; “Dancing in the Words” — artist, Harshitha Mattapally 12-13 “LOL” — poet, Anusha Khan; “Spiral Cycle” — artist, Jessica Tan 14-15 “The Untitled” — poet, YoLani Martin; “Painted Lady” — artist, Katelyn Demello 16-17 “Garbage” — poet, Sierra Orr; “Untitled” — artist, Kate Jensen 18-19 “That’s So Gay” — poet, Jordan Le; “Untuitled” — artist, Jamie Galpin 20-21 “Small Talk” — poet, Yui Jenkins; “Hope” — artist, Susannah Agi 22-23 “Downside Up” — poet, Tori Whelan; “Telescope” — poet, Kennedy Jones; “Miniscule Me in a Massive World”—artist, Jeanie Lam 24-25 “Don’t Love a Broken Boy” — poet, Kelly Taplin; “1634” — artist, Olivia McCarthy 26-27 “Journey” — poet, Pamela Collazos; “Nostalgia” — artist, Priyanka Bitra 28-29 “A Plea to Dr. Mason” — poet, Asli Athman; “Jamie” — artist, Allison Zigadlo 30-31 “Profile Picture 101” — poet, Soyeol Yoo; “Many Faces” — artist, Corinne Tran 32-33 “//Is the Student Working?” — poet, Vivian Tan; “Pen” — poet, Jennifer Christhilf 34-35 “You are Not Pretty” — poet, Mira Lee; “Snake” — artist, Susannah Agi 36-37 “Fake Humility” — poet, Pamela Collazos; “Masked” — artist, Tori Whelan 38-39 “The Hotel of Old and New” — poet, Sydney Browe; “Not Gone but Forgotten”— artist, Kyle Vanfleet 40-41 “My Moment” — poet, Eric Byrd; “Summer River” — artist, Harshitha Mattapally 42
“Our Love” — poet, Hagar Bouaichi; “Fall Leaves” — artist, Arianna Robinson Cover art “Typewriter’s Block”@MadelineMcCafferty2016 Back cover art @KaitlynMcHenry2014
Our love started with a friend request When our paths first crossed And I knew you were the best That had ever come along And then you liked my status About my favorite love song And I memorized all your classes Ah! My love grew ever strong Then you followed me on Twitter And I knew it was meant to be You made my heart flitter When you double-tapped my selfie We made eye contact in the hallway And I Googled my perfect wedding dress My love, much to my dismay… We haven’t talked yet, but I digress Again! You favorited my tweet! See how much we have in common? My dear, you are so sweet For you I have fallen As I scroll…what is this I see? A woman crush Wednesday who is not me?! #Girlfriend?! #Beautiful?! This JERK has been cheating on me! Unlike! Unfollow! Unfriend! Goodbye! Oh! My heart is shattered! #SoLong #Why?!
OUR LOVE STARTED WITH A FRIEND REQUEST
“I’m Just Going to Sit Here and Look Pretty”@MoniqueLe2016
Dear [insert teacher], @KateJensen2015
The worst part of school is when you don’t let anyone eat. I mean, what if my stomach won’t stop grumbling And my hands won’t stop shaking And my head won’t stop throbbing? And then you expect me to be able to sit perfectly still for 90 whole minutes? I just want a few grapes or half a bagel... But no, we’re not permitted to have food in class. And then – the absolute worst thing – you have the nerve to whip out your lunch. That “crunch, crunch, crunch” of you smacking your juicy red apple That ravenous munching of your crispy potato chips That horrible slurping of your Grande Starbucks Frappuccino Then...that hidden treasure emerges – an enormous, dripping, fatty BLT. The worst part of school is when you don’t let anyone eat. What if my mouth won’t stop watering
And my knees won’t stop trembling And my thoughts won’t stop swirling? And then you expect me to be able to sit perfectly still for 90 whole minutes?
I just want a single cracker or a slice of cheese... But no, we’re not permitted to have food in class. As you inhale your food, I sit there in silent agony, with a single sparse sheet of paper, bemoaning my pain. With food flying everywhere, I gape at every wasted crumb That golden brown core of your apple peeking out of the trash can That half-finished soda slowly bubbling flat While that final belch sounds as you devour your cake. The worst part of school is when you don’t let anyone eat. What if my world starts spinning And my body starts slowing And my bones start showing? And then you expect me to be able to sit perfectly still for 90 whole minutes? I just want a mint or a sip of juice... But no, we’re not permitted to have food in class. God, I’m going to die.
Sincerely, Just Another One of Your Starving Students
The l am en t
@KennedyMJones2014 Sages are for Wisdom, of which you have more than few, And I have my own Liberty, so I will keep my Yew. All the day you give me Strength with your bountiful Oak. Just please take my Willow for so long I’ve been broke. Leave me all your Rosemary so you live in my Remembrance.
You’ve stolen all my Susans for I’ve felt cheated since.
r s hi a H @ s” d r Wo
t ap al l
Somewhere Somehow The details washed away under the storm Burning holes to dig into other fabled tales And rise up into the starry map within the nightâ€™s eye Hidden beneath black wreaths of fire, blown glass We live our lives within stories Inside our secret constellations So long ago forgotten For one, sole purpose: To make the future generations learn What it means To cry, to laugh, to feel anger...to feel lost. We are the words that ride through the storm And forever on begin chapters among this broken world Tearing down and building up Beauty within our invisible monsters That breathe life into our Earth For when there are no words To create and express our fragile souls There are no threads to mend shattered pages We are the words
We Are The Words
“Painted Lady” @KatelynDemello2014
The mask begins to fall Staring off into the raging darkness Silently hissing bit by bit As the colors drown in nothingness “Who are you?” The voice rattles against Corners of empty corners Who am I? How am I? What am I? Beneath this dying night Yet premature bloom of dawn I breathe with the quaking shadows And dance in the ballroom velveteen I am her majesty—the King I am his grace—the Queen A pawn who puppeteers the emperor While the general destroys the knight Crashing puzzles Scolding tongues Shattering mazes They all fall the same Toppling down from ivory mounds Into the sea of forgotten uncertainty Let us shred these pages That bind our paper limbs Let us erase the ink Stained into our graying brains Shroud the glass moon in stars, Set the sky on blood-red fire Then devour it into our roaring bellies Until our tears are long forgotten And we have become The Untitled! As the colors drown in nothingness Silently hissing bit by bit Staring off into the raging darkness The mask begins to fall Back into my hands As the dawn is born once more
en se n 2 01 5
“That’s so gay” — A statement that we hear But never really listen to. “Faggot” has become a word so numb to me That sometimes I respond to it As if it were my own name. These derogatory terms have become nothing more Than a morning routine, Lather rinse repeat. When did the bright colors of our rainbow That we loved so much as children Become a symbol of hate? We walk through the street, The mall, Our schools, And judge everyone we see In the amount of time it takes for us to breathe. Let me take a step back for just a moment. I knew a little girl once. Did you ever think that The ball you threw at that girl in Freshman PE hurt her? Or did you ever think that When you called her a freak, All she wished for was to fit your idea of normality? And did you ever think for just a moment That the words you spat at her through that computer Haunted her for weeks, Weeks that turned to months, And months that have now rolled into years? Well, that little girl…was me. But I’m not so little anymore. See, I grew up in a nice big house. I had my own room with a pink carpet And all the stuffed animals I could fit on my queen-sized bed. Eventually I started to get curious, And I asked my very Catholic mother If boys could love boys And girls could love girls. Let’s just say that conversation didn’t go very well.
As I grew up, things started to change: No more pink carpet, No more stuffed animals, No more queen-sized bed. I drastically began to drift from my family. My mother had always told me to be myself, Never change for anyone. But how can I do that, Be myself, When myself is something she wishes were different? I grew up Catholic, And my father is Vietnamese. It’s a very strict culture, you know. I’m the first and only daughter in my family. My parents expect a positive role model For my younger brother Who doesn’t even know the difference Between drugs and alcohol. My mother hides who I really am From both sides of my family. But it’s not just with her. NO, I am not deaf; I hear you making jokes about me. NO, I am not a dyke, So please stop yelling it at me As I walk through the hallway, And NO, Dad, this not just a phase. Every night I come home to: “Jordan, do you have a boyfriend yet?” “Jordan, why don’t you ever talk to boys?” “Jordan this, Jordan that” Until I can’t even hear myself think. And I tell him, “NO.” “NO, I don’t magically have a boyfriend today.” “NO, I am not a lesbian.” “And NO, for the last time, Dad, this is not a phase.” I don’t believe in God or anything really, But I pray that maybe, Hopefully, Someday they’ll all understand. But for the time being, Why does anyone care If I hold HER hand?
small TALK @YuiJenkins2016 I was never one for small talk, Always jumping right into insightful discussion Rather than mundane little ramblings Designed for uneasiness. But I think I finally understand it. As we grow up, It seems we grow better at discussing the irrelevant questions in our lives; We start out impulsive and obnoxious, Spilling out only what we deem important. Yet when we begin to mature, We find less and less of importance, Saying only what is expected or necessary. We wake up each day along with the same people for years Until we bloom into adulthood; We see the same faces; We hear the same laughs Surrounded by a sea of familiarity, Always having an array of topics for conversation About our daily lives. Perhaps if I had kept this same pattern, Never venturing out into the world of fresh faces, The understanding of this tedious form of conversation Would not be necessary; Unfortunately, I had not. When the same people are not there every day, When you don't see their smiling faces, Or hear their quirky laughs, You find yourself beginning to grow apart From the comforts of consistency. Conversations of the world and what's in it, How and why, They fade to the empty "Do you remember?" Void of any true emotion but a faltering nostalgia. Finally you reach the laborious nothing of small talk: Nodding and smiling, just grit your teeth. The complicated hows and whys of life, Once discussed eagerly with passion Morph into the boring "How are you doing?" and even The "Why are we still speaking?" From daily interactions full of exuberant conversation To accidental meetings of apathy But what is small talk? It is the language of strangers, Seeking the intimate connections Lost at the brink of childhood.
I remember when the moon crept up your back I’d never seen Night’s fingers slip on and envelop someone like that. Covering your eyes, saying guess who it is, I’ve never seen such jewels on anyone’s skin but his. I counted them all; it didn’t take nearly as long As I dreamed it would take when I was young. It wasn’t nearly as magnificent as before, For my true sight has faded and dilapidated, Seeming to drip out of my very eyes Through tears without end or beginning, In lament’s limitlessness. The garlands of stars, The moonlight sewn into Night’s cloak, Were enough to make me stop and crane my neck up To watch as my world heaved in bursting circles, Something that moved with me when everything else deserted me, As Night trickled into daylight, Leaving a trail of emptiness in his wake. Somehow the more it all inverted and distorted, changed, The more it seemed part of the same That was constant in its arbitrariness. So I pressed my back into the sky For balance in this endless head spin and nose dive And rowed on towards the horizon line That eroded before my eyes, as years chafed on it, Giving the sky waves and the sea clouds Until they were somehow the same body, An inhale and an exhale of a sleeping Night. I sailed, the sky drifting with me. Northern light fish swam and flashed far below; The land above my head filled with icing snow, That which shimmered in Night’s ornaments Blinding white, As I rode on a silver lining into the melting of the snow and sea of sky.
“Miniscule Me in a Massive World”@JeanieLam2016
I can see you through my telescope, You and your gravitational pull. A flash like two stars eloped Is hidden beneath your hull. I’m going to throw out my telescope. I don’t need it anymore. I’m going to cast up my rope And climb right up to you.
Don’t Love A Broken Boy @KellyTaplin2015
I once loved a boy with a broken heart And he told me No one ever stayed No one ever let him keep a heart No one truly loved him But I think the saddest of them all Was how he told me love was blind And I didn’t truly understand Until I couldn’t see him anymore
Flowers grow Flowers die I sang a song I did not feel A wind that was exterior An outside force I wished to shake in me But it didn’t The excuses, I knew, were fake The feeling in me, real Not to be revealed The yelling, the screaming Not all perceived by human ears A face that wishes to stay angry must cry And this face alone contorts Under the gravitational pull of my sighs These sighs won’t stay forever I repeat this; I know this But sighs still clog my throat right now I don’t feel the anger I faked I feel the guilt I denied
And as my subconscious talks with my conscious In recurring, contradictory verdicts on my guilt I sit in a shallow room in an enlightened mind And every other undesirable memory My brain throws back up I hardly dare touch anything Yet I walk forward every time I easily will myself to look through the scraps Painfully learning from each one Looking through all the failures All the mess that we made together Whose fault? I look from person A to person B Then to me, and and all the way down the line To Adam and Eve In the end I ask, was this journey worth it? After every long trek I say, It IS! I was aching for the knowledge lying underneath the dumps And it was worth it.
A Plea to Dr. Mason @AsliAthman2014
Most Honorable Dr. Mason,
We have learned oh-so-much from you in our
short time together and are so incredibly grateful for all of the knowledge you have bestowed upon us. That being said, our very small, very strained brains have been unable to retain the insurmountable information and have therefore failed us in many a homework quiz. Although it may be hard for an intellectual of your greatness to understand these struggles, we hope your kind heart will be able to empathize with our inadequacies. Below is a list of signatures in favor of retakes on homework quizzes because we live in the United States of America where democracy not only exists but is encouraged. Please take our opinions into careful consideration. Humbly, Your 7th Block Physics Class
Profile Picture 101 @SoyeolYoo2014 Listen…I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve totally mastered the art of taking a profile picture. I think we can all agree that the perfect picture is undoubtedly a rite of passage in the social media network. If I’m being honest—as everyone is on their college essays—my profile picture is basically the only reason that I’m the social butterfly I am today. Would you like examples of some of my efficacious pictures? Of course you would, and to be honest, I can’t say that I blame you—they’re insanely interesting. Certain poses are sure-fire ways to catch the attention of your online friends. My first was the duck-face. Yeah, I know. It’s pretty exciting. I personally decided to accompany mine with a haphazardly thrown up peace sign—something my girl Miley Cyrus taught me. The duck-face is most often seen among most mature social media users, which is obviously the reason I wanted to utilize it to my advantage. I execute the duck-face with an overwhelming puckering of the lips. Mine are so far into the air that people can actually catch glimpses of my festive, multicolored braces poking out from behind. Then, with great skill and care, I hoist my 3.0 megapixel camera up to a 45-degree angle, and shakily snap the picture. But not to worry; the blurry photo can be edited with our handy-dandy friend, Photoshop. Once that’s completed, you’ll have a duck-face picture that’s sure to be the hot topic at your next party. #Swag. Now let’s move onto how I perfected the very sophisticated, thought-provoking mirror pictures. I prefer to take them with my beloved iPhone 5 or the fabulous Canon my parents bought for my 16th birthday. After some intense research, I’ve discovered that these pictures are never complete without a blinding light, so I opt to turn my flash on. And remember: the brighter the better. Next, I think of my favorite inspirational quote or lyric, and plop that sucker on the bottom right-hand corner, along with a ridiculously adorbs icon from the impressive website, Picnik. Can’t think of a quote? No problem, type in key words like “dreams,” “friendship,” “love,” and “hope” into Google—or Bing, if you’re into that. I’ve found it’s an effortless representation of my brilliance. And if all else fails, never forget that you always have the wisdom of the beautiful Taylor Swift or the swagmaster Justin Bieber to help you. This will surely catch the attention of your comrades, ensuring that your good taste in music is appreciated. So what are you waiting for? Put this valuable information to good use, and go change your profile picture!
//Title: Is the Student working? public class Student (
public boolean working ()
return false; // always
@MiraLee2016 you are not pretty.
because such a shallow, hollow word
your pale skin is marred
does not even begin
by stretchmarks, scars, and
to embody the vast galaxy
discoloration, unmistakably worn out by the struggles of life. your eyes are a mundane brown that have seen every rude and pitying glance
tucked inside of your soul, the boundless constellations twinkling inside your captivating mind that brim with vibrancy. pretty is not a word
thrown your way.
that does you a shard of justice,
your ears stick out
unless itâ€™s to say that
and have heard every stinging jeer
you are pretty amazing
from dumbo the elephant
or pretty darn extraordinary.
to the eighth wonder of the world.
what you are
your lipsÂ have been kissed by toxic
is a warrior,
someone who has fought a battle
who crooned love into your mouth
against a two-syllable word
yet fled in disgust the next morning.
that seems to dictate the female
you are oh so very scarred.
world and mold young girls
into thinking that
you are not pretty.
such a vapid, shallow word
no, you are not
is synonymous with happiness,
a six-letter word
that with outer beauty
that seems to determine
comes inner peace.
every little thing in this age.
no, you have fought this battle, my
you are not just pretty,
dear, and you have won.
you are not pretty
Fake Humility @PamelaCollazos2015
I am a very humble person I always say, “I don’t mean to brag, but” I politely state my opinion as superior And text, “IMHO” I like to correct people who are proud Because everyone hates those who can’t admit they’re wrong I accidentally complain about my A- to those whose grades are lower And leave my A+ test score beside your desk — Forgetting to put it in my binder I answer every question and gladly help my struggling classmates I civilly ask your grade first before I tell you mine I ask you to buy me a soda and open my wallet in front of you I make my grand speech right after your crappy one I buy the hat that you wanted but couldn’t afford And tell you about how awesome it is when we get back to school I warn you that I’m allergic to your fake jewelry Then show you my gold necklace and bracelet and ring I kiss the guy you dreamed of in front of your locker And interrupt every conversation you have with your friends that are closer to me than to you I want you to know it’s all unintentional And that I truly am humble And you don’t need to tell me I am Because I already know it.
The Hotel of Old and New @SydneyBrowe2016 The windows are dirty at the hotel of old and new So I go up to the top to right the askew On the very top floor is the ward of the leaving Clustered around a cold metal bed the people are grieving In the center of all an old man lies And saltwater flows from his blue sunken eyes The room is filled with the scent of white stargazer lilies Because the disease has found his Achilles He opens his mouth to bid them adieu But his words were lost for I already withdrew One floor down and two windows over I found the hurt They lay there bruised and broken and generally inert On this bed sat a boy far too energized Sit still and be quiet his mother advised He had broken his arm in three different spots And his new bright green cast occupied his thoughts All of my friends will sign it he informed the patient nurse And told her how he broke it many times each story quite diverse Now Iâ€™ll never know if he broke it by wrestling a bear
“Not Gone but Forgotten”@KyleVanFleet2015
Or from falling off his mother’s favorite chair ‘Cause the window was clean and I could stay no longer So I left with the hope that his arm would get stronger Skip over five windows and down three more floors for some more sightseeing The stork must have been present since I saw a new human being A new father held a tiny baby her small puckered face was as red as a beet And her little mouth held no little teeth The mother looked so tired but her face held much pride And never had I seen a smile so very wide What will you name her the doctor asked But she said it so quietly I couldn’t hear through the glass So I moved on to finish my task The next time the windows need washing I’ll be your man Not for the money which ain’t very grand Or for the danger in the height Which no longer seems to excite But for the glimpse of others’ memorable moments made from their pass through The hotel of the old and new #ThirtyNine
â€œSummer Riverâ€? @HarshithaMattapally2016 #Forty
My Moment @EricByrd2015
The moment I see I begin to believe The moment I breathe I begin to achieve The moment I work I begin to succeed Pursue all my goals My moment is blessed
Our eyes met in September
We were innocent in November We fought in December I cried in January
You forgot about me in February Now we’re strangers in March