HIP2HIP EDITION SIX: SCRIBBLE

poetry

Honey-Stained Memories by: Osher Rain, Age 17 honey-stained skin fresh tangerines dripping down our fingertips feet planted in the raw, grainy sand hues of amber and mauve paint the setting sun uncontrolled laughter fading into background noise it was a symphony i wanted to hear forever but could not grasp, could not hold onto daisies perched up on your forehead— one day i will forget that today you are wearing a striped yellow shirt, that right now my nails are chipped with lavender polish this moment, too, shall one day become a distant fog one mellow memory among thousands of others coming near is a wave of bittersweetness it gently brushes my warm body take me back to these summer nights when the world stopped spinning and remained glued together by the stick of citrusy liquids on the palms of our hands

Spring Break by: danica zepeda, Age 17 What is there not to love in life?

I see beauty in everything the flowers blooming outside Hollywood houses, my best friend back in town for spring break, the way sunlight glimmers on the streets as we run together, our hair catching the warm breeze.

Birds chirp, fluttering across the endless blue sky, and suddenly, I feel like myself again.

Day or night, my two best friends are here with me, and that is all that matters.

Everything becomes sharper, brighter, so luminous I never noticed it before the sun a little warmer, her eyes a little browner, life itself somehow more alive.

Spring isn’t just weather, or nature, or the beach.

It’s the people I share it with, the laughter echoing from room to room, my little brother’s joy spilling into every corner, my dog barking as if the world just came home.

Even the baby birds in the shed hatch, learning to step into the world, and I watch, reminded of growth, of change.

I used to tell myself things would get better but I am not my own motivator.

Maybe I don’t have to be.

Maybe it’s enough to be surrounded by the people who make life feel worth noticing.

cont. pg. 5

Spring break is not about travel, or jobs, or studying alone in my room.

It is about being present, hearing life in its smallest, brightest forms.

Spring cleans and heals in ways I can’t force and I am grateful for it, grateful for this pause, this bloom, this light.

Thank you, spring break.

When I found out I could do anything by: Melanie, Age 14 When I found out I could do anything I was really happy I realized I could have anything I wanted I realized I could finally feel everything I ever dreamed of I realized everything was in my hands But even now I find myself drowning knowing beyond well I’m in a shallow pool Why do I do it?

The only one hurting me is me Why do I do that?

I feel great What am I doing?

I’m questioning it to convince myself I don’t know I find myself cold in the rain when I know I have an umbrella I find myself withering away in perfect circumstances It seems like the one thing I’ve wanted to feel so badly has always been in front of me And I’d hate to feel anything else I love the same water that takes my air The same water that stole the light right out of my eyes The water that pierced my heart so deeply but so gently The water I’m addicted to and the water I need to live

memoir

Blonde or Brunette? Black hair? by: danica zepeda, Age 17

Blonde or brunette? —if you’re like me, you’re naturally black. But is that the prettiest color?

Who knows.

All I know is it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, even if it’s a guy you like. Because if a guy is focused on your hair color, maybe that’s all he’s really noticing. And if he likes your natural hair, then maybe he just sees you for you. There’s good and bad in every color, but in the end, you have to accept yourself.

When I dyed my hair—blonde, maybe honey brown, maybe ginger, or whatever it turned out to be—I felt a little prettier. Not because I became prettier, but because it was lighter, more noticeable than my black hair. It made me stand out in a way I hadn’t before.

But when my roots started growing in, dark meeting light, it felt messy. Like I looked unclean or not put together, even though it had nothing to do with that. It was just an illusion in my head.

cont. pg. 9

I think a lot of that comes from the way I grew up— hearing that lighter features are more praised or welcomed. Like that’s what makes someone “better looking.” But that’s not true, and it’s honestly kind of toxic. Both light and dark features can stand out in their own way.

Maybe I’m a bad example because I fell for it. But I’ve seen myself with both now, and I can say I pulled off both. I like my hair now, and I’ll always love my black hair, and I know I’ll go back to it.

The whole debate between blonde, brunette, or ginger doesn’t really matter. I used to say I was brunette, but honestly, my hair is black at the roots, brown in the sunlight, and sometimes has reddish undertones—and even if no one really notices it, that doesn’t change what it is.

It’s still me.