Dynamic Vol. 2: "Prismatic"

The Little Things

Photography by Mary Kate Brewer, ‘26

Dynamic

Publishing Policy

The Dynamic, Bryant Junior High School literary magazine, serves as a display for student expression. The purposes of Dynamic are: to provide publication opportunities for student writers, artists, and photographers; to support the creation and appreciation of arts; and to encourage aspiring creators.

Submissions are open to Bryant Junior High School students and staff. Teams and editors on the Dynamic staff make selections based on objective criteria. Staff judge submissions anonymously, then editors decide whether to accept them. Staff considers the quality of the pieces and how it relates to Dynamic’s theme. Students are encouraged to submit their best, most meaningful works for consideration.

The Dynamic editorial staff reserves the right: to edit all submissions before publication and have the final say in what is published; to not accept any nudity, anonymous submissions, a significant amount of gore, or active violence; or to use accepted submissions in the magazine and for promotion. Writers, artists, and photographers retain the copyright of submissions.

Volume 2, Spring 2023

Front Cover Art

Tehya Hinkson, “Uwoduhi Adanvto:

Beautiful Spirt”

Natalie Allen, “We Are Like Clouds”

Kaylee Anderson, “something new”

Matthew Neslon, “House on the Hill”

Art & Photography Team

Angela Ocampo

Caroline Sanders

Elijah Ransdell

Hannah Heston

Ivana Wang

Jenna James

Kegan Evans Roe

Literary Team

Addison Warford

Andrew Schlesier

Aubrey Ellis

Daziyah Fogle

Donovan Covington

Evelyn Bennett

Publicity Team

Alanna Hill

Annabel Odom

Eriel Carter

Isai Perez

Karrington Samuel

Katlyn Ridgell

Mya Bailey

Myra Hall

Editor’s Note...

When developing a theme, we wanted it to be something broad, something where people could share a wide variety of poems, stories, art, photography, etc. We did not want to put a limitation on students’ creative freedom by setting a specific theme, so we went with Prismatic.

We started by asking what the purpose and goal of this issue would be, and we decided we wanted to display everyone’s individuality. We thought having a colorful literary magazine would complement it well. We were searching for different words relating to color, such as vibrant, saturated, vivid, hued, distinctive, and mesmerizing when we came across Prismatic. I had no clue what it meant, so we looked up the definition and our hearts were immediately set on it. Even after discussing other ideas, we knew we had to do Prismatic, as it had great potential and possibilities.

When we first shared the theme with our staff members, they were all asking, “What does that mean?” Honestly, I think they

didn’t have much faith in it at first. Eventually, though, everyone got a more solid idea of Prismatic. Here is the definition we came up with:

Though we may come into situations and experiences similarly, we all react to them differently. The choices we make cause us all to be distinctive and our own individuals. So, what makes you you?

We have many original works created by students and would love for you to look through them. With that being said,

Enjoy,

Katie Wright coEditor-in-Chief

Editoral Team

Katie Wright & Blessing Colter coEdtiors-in-Chief

Kaylee Anderson Art & Photography Editor

Khloe King Publicity Editor

Teagan Willyard Literary Editor

Lindsey

Peyton “Rocky”

Andrew Bradford

Matthew Nelson

John Goff

Tehya Hinkson

Tehya Hinkson

Aubrey Ellis

Kaylee Anderson

Teagan Willyard

Natalie Allen

Rylee Gaines

Amerlia Lbbotson

Sierra Gibbs

Roe

Hannah Heston

Khloe King

Caroline Sanders

Katherine Domingo

A Bite of The Pomegrante

Art by Lindsey Klopack, ‘26

Us

When the sun shines bright, you shield your eyes

But I close mine and feel the warmth

When the thunderstorm starts, you go and shut it out

But I sit with it and let the sound envelope me.

When it turns to night and the cloak of darkness spreads, you go into the comfort of your bed

But I go outside and stare into the sky with no one but the stars to keep me company

When the sun sets and sinks behind the horizon

We sit in awe, as the clouds are painted in magnificent colors.

We are not the same

We may look the same, be made up of the same things

But we are very different, this is not a bad thing

Differences are what make us.

Writing by Peyton “Rocky” Deen, ’26

Where I’m From

I am from rough terrain

A place of unjust and cruel work

A time when all that we had was each other

A domain where hope and prayers was mandatory

A place that impacted my blood with untamed fire

I come from strong bonds and family supported from ones who cared crafted from ones who despise

A father who loves me unconditionally

A mother who would sacrifice for my needs

The Sister that tells what i need to hear not want

I come from neglect, and perseverance

Strengthen form motivation and pressure

From boldness and a gladiator mindset

Effort, trial, and error

Acceptance, and coping

I come from the almighty himself

The one who made it possible for me

The hands of a warm embrace

The worship of God

House On The Hill

Matthew Nelson, ‘26

First Love

Killing Time

And the wind cried “Murderer!” In a long, slow steady hiss. I said “Yes, yes. I confess!” And the wind howled in anger.

“Fool!” it bellowed and raged, “You are little, like the dust That I have blown for ages Puny rock that once was stone. Grains of sand in my hands, And you, my friend, are But the slightest handful to me.”

“Yes,” I said “that I can see. I know the wind could shatter me. And all I write will never be Anything more than atoms and dust When the whole world swallows us. Leaving absolutely nothing behind For absolutely no one to find To show that here existed a mind That dreamed something dear and fair. But, as long as the dream is mine I have not the care for time And you, my friend, are nothing but air!”

Writing by John Goff, staff

Uwodu hiAdanvto:

Beau tif ul Spirit

self-portrait

TW: suicidal thoughts

i look at her and all i see are flaws. shes ugly.

her eyebrows are different lengths. her eyes are different sizes. shes fat.

her thighs are too big.

shes pigeon toed.

her hairs frizzy, and greasy. her arms have bumps. her nose, her mouth, her teeth.

everything is something wrong. she has no good attributes, even in her personality. shes loud and obnoxious.

shes always complaining.

her depression and anxiety make her hard to be around. she thinks shes funny.

she always jokes about having a traumatic family.

my cousin always told me to look at someone i hate, and pick out three of their worst traits. well ive done this.

ive looked at her through the years and took note. now ive got a list.

it expanded from physical traits to emotional and personality.

as i stand here today looking at her,

i try to think past her flaws.

i try to think past how her attitude makes her seem rude.

i try to think past how her whole closet is just those stupid jackets.

i try to think past the fact that this is just my reflection.

i try to think about the fact that all of these flaws are what make me, me.

ive never held a deeper hatred than the one i hold for myself. mirrors are my enemy, but not more than my mind. dressing rooms scare me, but not more than my personality.

“Self-Portrait” by Aubrey Ellis, ‘26

school makes me anxious, but not more than knowing that if i get behind the wheel of a car, i wont come out.

i know that if i never work past these thoughts, that ill end up condemned to my own personal hell for the rest of eternity.

i dont believe ill ever love her, but i vow to eventually not hate her. i might hate her, but i know she doesnt hate me.

she needs the love she shows to me.

something new

Art by Kaylee Anderson, ‘26

One Would Think

(But It Isn’t)

TW: mentions of manipulation, suggestions of abuse, and trust issues

One would think being gaslit would hurt, burn even, but there is something almost pleasurable about being manipulated. The backhanded compliments and familiarity buzz pleasantly in your skull. You shrink away from the unknown.

And one would think a healthy friendship would share the relief of a cool rag on feverish skin, but there is something wretched about being loved at surface value. Without any further questioning. Without having to explain yourself the way you desperately want to. They don’t laugh when you beat yourself into the ground; their brows furrow with concern. The allusions to affection shudder in your skull and make your teeth chatter.

And after wading through the rippling tides of a relationship, you would expect it to hurt. You would expect your skin to prickle, and numb, and sting with cold, blistering heat, but it doesn’t. Hypothermia never sets in. No blows land. No bruises bloom from an unthoughtful syllable. Your mind buzzes with thoughts of how this can twist to end horribly.

One would think the waves would be scorching, a sick manifestation of ‘being in hot water,’ but it isn’t. It’s lukewarm, like the brush of knuckles over a knee or the brief flush when hands knock together carelessly.

Writing by Teagan Willyard, ‘26

One would think it would be roiling and starving, licking high and higher and higher until the bitterness of reality floods over your tongue, but it isn’t. It’s soft, and warm, and safe, lapping gently at your bloody knees. It stings but just for a moment, like a bandage being ripped off, and fades into something not unlike sunlight pooling in your lap on a lazy afternoon.

One would think they would grow tired of you. Because everyone does.

They don’t.

One would think it’s the honeymoon phase, and it’ll churn into something tortuous and inescapable. It doesn’t. It wraps gentle arms around your waist and rests its chin on your shoulder, murmuring in a voice like a steaming shower in the winter or borrowed clothes when it’s cold of little things they know about you: your favorite kind of tea, the shuddering fear of blood tucked deep inside, the scars the others left on you. They remember. They remember. They remember. The vibrations behind your eyes are a strange one. No one’s bothered before.

And one would think it would hurt. That the arms would tighten like a noose, and the voice would grow mocking and become as tolerable as fork tines on a glass plate, but. But it never comes.

The throbbing inevitability you were so sure of fades to a dull, buzzing confusion that rattles in your skull. It feels like a warning sign. The shake of a snake’s tail when you step too close, telling you to run away, run away, run away.

But you don’t.

One would think you would grow tired of the clinging thing that is affection.

One would think you would flinch away from having your skin peeled back to reveal the vulnerable parts of you. The soft, squishy bits that could be—should be—subject to scrutiny.

But you don’t.

Instead the sight of them, like a Pavlov response, hums pleasantly in your head. You’ve never been able to choose a favorite song, but you know this is it. You submit to the caressing tides, allow them to cradle you, and run intangible fingers through your hair. You are safe. You are warm.

You are home.

And one would think you would have let them love you sooner.

Writing by Teagan Willyard, ‘26

Art by Natalie Allen, ‘27

We are like Clouds

Where I’m From

I am from the TV

The blinding light in the darkness of my room

I am from the characters

The fictional world

The people who raised me from the screen

I am from the carpeted floors

Staring into the eyes of people

People who I’ll never meet

While my family’s downstairs

Laughing away

Making jokes

Talking to one another

I'm from the polluted earth

Wishing I could leave

Forced to go downstairs

To smile

To laugh

I'm from faking every move

Then rushing back to my room

Going back to where I truly came from

Sitting down on the carpeted floors

Staring into the eyes of my family

The family who truly raised me

I'm from smelling the flowers through the screen

Imaging the taste of meals

Sitting on the table waiting for me

I’m also from the family

The family who I don’t deserve

Who tries their hardest

Maybe one day I will truly see them

See the people who physically raised me

But for now,

For now I’m from the screen

From the animated characters who care

Who trust me to be alone

Writing by Rylee Gaines, ‘26

Untitled

Awake, I get ready. Breakfast and family around me. He’s missing and I feel unsteady. Time to go to elementary.

The day was fun. Now it was time to leave. Stepping out into the sun. I feel a breeze.

We get in the car. The drive felt far. Mom couldn’t quite form the words to say it.

The flowers, painted with color, next to his grave. The sadness washes over me like a cold wave.

Writing by Jules Ibbotson, ‘27

The Storm is Coming

It growls to tepid waters, Stroking pale fingers across the land. Though mouths cry, Mercy, It has none to give. Ravenous, Like a lion. Swift, Like an eel. Swelling within, Like a person. There are warnings We ignore.

Signs

We remain ignorant to. But no longer can anyone run, Because hiding spots are found, Because you can’t contain it anymore, Because it runs feral despite what walls you build. Boxes, you attempt to shove it into. People, you briefly burst upon. What relentlessly remains is not benignity, But danger. The storm is coming, Emerging from you, And when it erupts, You will leave nothing, No one, To surround you once more.

Writing by Sierra Gibbs, ‘26

Rejoice

Art by Roe, ‘26

I’m Not Qualified

TW: Sensitive topics, including mental topics health. Talk to someone to make it right

Get a professional

Im unqualified to deal with all your problems

Rip off the band aid

To the path of reality

Talk to a therapist to fix your mentality

We’re just kids, why are you carrying so much?

Stop walking the hallways

Passing with delusion

Shield yourself, with the right solutions

Seek out help

For your well-being

Because I can’t deal with your bullshit

Never let anybody give you rainbows and butterflies

Find a way to do with it inside

We are too young to be so in love

Find your own way to be successful

We have places to be and things to do

Never regret your decision of peace, you did it for you

Stop gaslighting yourself And quit with the manipulation

Erase the apologies and Shield your thoughts with the rights solution

Writing by Khloe King, ‘26

Don’t be in denial and get trapped

Calibrate

Boss up, Get Real

See a therapist and see how good you feel

Steps of Being a Woman

TW: Sexual Assault

Staring, Waiting, Listening, Steps of life for a woman.

Stay quiet, And don’t shout.

Be polite, And don’t pout.

Let people walk all over you, Without a complaint. Have polite conversations, And most of all have restraint.

Keep secrets, Don’t cry. Mind your business, And don’t pry.

When you still feel their hands, crawling up your back and arms, Shake it off And keep your charm.

They didn’t know you were so sensitive, Or did they?

Steps one through nineteen, Repeat.

Writing by Hannah Heston, ‘26

Peace

Art by Caroline Sanders, ‘26

Where I’m From

I’m from the breeze that dances around the sky from feeling free to feeling alone from being known as fun, and pure joy not knowing I am more than that from feeling my heart sink as a walk through unfamiliar faces I am from figuring things out on my own from living in my own world

I’m from dresses and makeup from “always be confident” from Andrea and Alex and being a perfect kid I’m from having straight A’s from “your cousin to this so you need to do better” from striking for the best

I’m from going to church every day from singing in front of people I’m from guitars and notes from highs and lows

I am from Guatemala from riding the bus to school from speaking Spanish at home and being the older but I’m also from a loving family.

Writing by Katherine Domingo, ‘26

Colophon

The 2023 Spring Prismatic issue of Dynamic is the second volume at Bryant Junior High School, Arkansas.

Part of the cover page was designed in Procreate, and all pages were designed in InDesign. Staff was assigned to work on pages in teams of two to three, then revised by the full journalism staff of 8th and 9th graders.

Two fonts, Yeseva and Helvetica, were used. Titles and page numbers used Yeseva One. Copy, captions, etc. used Helvetica.

Colors were picked based on art pieces on a page. If there was no art on a page, then colors from the previous page’s art would be used.

Dynamic is an award-winning staff, winning several awards and Best of ASPA at the 2023 Arkansas Scholastic Press Association convention.

Thank you for reading this issue of Dynamic.

-The Dynamic Staff