Issuu

Essence

2 019-2020

Dedication. This edition of Essence is dedicated to the creative minds that contributed to the making of this magazine. We thank our talented poets, Mrs. Grene, Mrs. Raba, and Mrs. Martone for giving us the tools necessary to make our visions a reality. Thank you for letting our voices be heard. Photography by Penelope Pando, Emily Rodgers, and Angelina Sapienza Cover picture by Penelope Pando Editorial Staff Editors Angelina Sapienza Gaurav Ajmera Emily Rodgers Assistant Editor Thomas Schreckinger

I Want to Be on an Island The most remote islands are comfortably isolated It's almost scary how isolated they are Yet how calm it is In spite of the immeasurable ocean surrounding them And how small the island is The island still stands upon the water On the island All you can see is dark blue That you can fall into And become a part of This is where I want to go Seeing nothing but the hypnotizing water, I remember how small that island and I are And I can forget myself My mind can stop racing And can swim in the water Where it detaches from me And I become another small island Remote, but not insignificant Maybe I’m already there Temerlyn Boyle

When the Sun Rises Have you ever woke with the sun? It’s like a hug from the one you love the most. For a split second, your fear is out of sight. I long for everyone to experience this. From the second you wake, to the moment it’s gone. It’s a melancholy glee, aware of its’ cessation. Down, down, down It’s the opposite of me! But one day the sadness will come, One day there will be nobody. Eventually, There will be none to remember our names. Essentially, We don’t need that fear in our lives. It’s time to focus on happiness, The hugs, The sunlight, The cheers, The laughter the happiness comes with! Enough with the fears, The anxieties, The chills, The pains, The butterflies the fear comes with! Focus on the butterflies in the wind. As the sun rises, And you hug the one you love most. Sophia Luciano

The Night While people live beneath the sun’s daylight Another world exists, and it’s called night. It’s darkness grabs ahold and causes fear, Affecting what you see and what you hear. While many stay inside and are afraid, There’s so much life at night that’s not in day. For animals that call the night their home The dusk is when they wake and start to roam The cricket, Hedgehog, and the firefly And even cats prefer the moonlit sky The many things that come to life at night, Could not survive without a shining light. Illuminating light comes not from one, The moon receives its brightness from the sun. Though night and day are different, think of this, The two are opposite but coexist. John Llano

Emily Rodgers

The Never-Ending Storm Suddenly this feeling out of nowhere, Everything stopping all at once, Pounding throughout me, Crippling me millisecond by millisecond, What could it possibly be? A running panic without any end in sight, All seems calm like a motionless lake, But deep inside are raging waters, It's like I'm in the middle of a hurricane, The ship is being torn and battered to pieces, People screaming and jumping trying to save their lives, Thunder aggressively crashing and rumbling, Why will this nightmare never end? What did I do to deserve this, What if it never ends, What if I'm stuck in this forever, What if, what if… It seems like no big deal, But why? why is this happening, Why does this hurricane have to be bestowed upon me, Why, why, Why won’t it end, Will it ever end? Dani Davia

for those who dare not speak They hid their physical pain in discreet places- and we did the same. They suffered and screamed silently and repetitively- and we did the same. Until we didn’t. Something changed, and our silent anger became rage. The physical pain had left, And to that we were so grateful. But what was left were scars, Internal scars. Scars that you and me couldn’t see, But felt at every waking moment. Awaken in the night by piercing screams, beaten to the ground by an elephant on your chest. I couldn’t breathe. He said he couldn’t breathe. We all could not breathe. It was inescapable. Blood leaked out of the lashes on our backs from the whips, And Seeped from the cuts on our wrists from the chains. ‘You’re hurting me’, He never said. Those wounds turned into scars, External scars that would heal and fade, and wouldn’t be transferred to our children. But those internal scars stayed Generation after generation. For decades we pretended they weren’t there. We straightened our hair and whitened our skin, We conformed to their Eurocentric standards of beauty and religion. For years we played The token black character, With some stereotypical, not at all demeaning, 8

catchphrase. We escaped the metal chains Just to be trapped by these mental games, Games that we couldn’t win. Games that resulted in loss of pride, Loss of individuality, Loss of humanity. You couldn’t touch them. You could not feel these scars, Scars that paralyzed your mind and your body. Scars that turned An individual with dreams into a mere morsel of a man. But we did not need to touch them to see. We knew that they were there And that they are still here. They linger in the dark. We see them in bleaching, perms, The disappearance of black love- Sweet, sweet, black love- And any other invention that works so hard To hide our true identity, And further perpetuates the internalization Of this wretched pain. It is there. And it has been there. Our pain. Our felt but not seen pain. Our discreet but disabling pain, Our heard but not acknowledged pain, Our ‘Sandra Bland’ pain Our ‘Rodney King’ pain Our ‘Trayvon Martin’ pain Our ‘be a man’ pain, Our ‘black girls have too much attitude’ pain, Our ‘can i touch your hair’ pain Our ‘but he was a thug’ pain Our ‘you’re cute for a black girl’ pain Our ‘Obama is proof that racism no longer exists’ pain. A pain that lurks in the shadows 9

yet persistently finds its way into almost every occasion. A pain that Will one day not be there. A pain that we overcome day in and day out. A pain that can’t squander your black boy joy or dim your black girl magic. A pain that breaks us to make us, A pain that we carry on our back As we thrive in a world that hates us. A pain that Will one day not be there. And will one day be a thing of memories, And not a thing of realities. I feel you. I hear you. And believe me when I tell you, I will be there for those who dare not speak. Grace Henderson 10

Stuck It feels like I’ve been stuck in this place forever. It was warm at first but it seems to be getting a little colder. It’s weird, you’d think that as winter left, it would get warmer. But you’d be wrong. You see, this place does not follow the rules of the weather. It is not always inviting or welcoming or friendly. You can have a great time here of course, but recently it’s been hard. It’s hard when you’re stuck here alone. Walls confine you, screens divide you, and loneliness begins to creep up. The air tastes different, with a mask. The lack of physical touch - a simple hug - hurts your core. You begin to realize your mortality. How fragile, simple, human - you are. It’s a scary thing to be faced with reality. When there’s nowhere to escape, you are trapped here. A cold, dark place. You remember all of the good times. A time machine teleportation device - you are back in that moment. But soon you are brought back to the present. And it’s getting colder once again. You realize that it was all just temporary. You are just temporary. All of the love, all of the goodness. All of the smiles, the laughter, the beauty. Temporary. And so is the cold. It will get warm again. It will get loud again. It will get good again. But in this place, it is hard to remember that. It’s hard to stay warm when you can’t stop shivering. They call it the mind. And it’s a creature with power like no other. Thomas Schreckinger

Healed Wounds I used to cripple at the world’s feet Thrashes and blows to my head I was shocked when the doctor told me That I wasn’t pronounced dead They stitched me up Sent me off Told me I’d be fine But how can you stitch up my skin When the injury is in my mind? On the outside, I look fine. Seemingly, nothing wrong with me. But jump in my mind and try to swim around You’d be drowning in a raging sea Thrown into the storm Chaos and fear whirl around You try to grab unto something But you’re not on solid ground You jump out of my mind Gasping for breath Now you know what I’ve been through Before you thought that I experienced nothing That I hadn’t got a clue But little did you know I’ve experienced more than you From events that have shaped me Fears I’ve overcome The life I’ve lived and pain I’ve felt Crafted who I’ve become From those wounds, 13

I gained scars And from those scars, I had stories to tell About the girl who used to fear the world Until she was sent through hell Angelina Sapienza

Chaos What surrounds her is chaos But she has learned to live with the madness She puts up walls but opens them to the wrong people and keeps them trapped there poisoning her mind When they have forgotten about her long-ago But as much as she wants to stay in control, she wants the unattainable She lives for the risks Because you can live inside your walls, but who is there to protect her from herself But she is scared and can not handle to leave from outside her walls, so they come crashing in on her Like a flower disconnecting from its stem Retreating from the harsh winter air Only to try to peek out again to face the same experience So the flower learns better So it slowly disconnects itself from the stem and the steam buries itself deeper and deeper away till it is sure that it will be okay But there is no way to know, so it hides away forever Bridgette Howard

Penelope Pando

Politics: A Canterbury Tale In the Caribbean, Little Saint James, An island of young girls, forced to play games. They’re touched, taintéd, abused, reduced to slaves By a once-honored, pedophilic knave. Now, Jeffrey Epstein did not act alone - Presidents and leaders are also known To frequent his island activities, But they escape guilty charges with ease. “We know him not,” They said, “That foul man.” (Yet pictures show them as a rapist clan) Epstein, however, was not so lucky, But this is the tale of those that are free. “I may have committed sexual harm, Using power and presidential charm To please myself with interns (and cigars), But these accusations just reach too far. I tell you, Epstein was merely a friend, I did not participate in the end. I’ll paint you a picture, and you tell me, If this man is innocent or guilty. A man vacations with a close colleague, They drink, they smoke until they feel fatigued. Inebriated, their minds were impaired, Their actions were not priorly prepared. The friend accidentally committed A murder, he should not be acquitted! But the man was not directly involved, He hadn’t seen how the night had resolved. So should the man himself be wrongly charged, To make the situation more enlarged? The man did not touch the murder weapon, And never the victim did he threaten. Just because he watched the slaughter occur, Does not mean that he morally concurred. 17

He was not the one who had done the crime, So why should he ever be given jail time? He may not have stopped the friend from killing, But the man never found murder thrilling. Why are we punishing witnesses now? He is nothing but innocent, he vows. It’s a witch hunt I tell you, these trials, None of these accusations are worth-while. I may have attended Epstein’s parties, But, like the man, I should be walking free. You can see (this time) I did nothing wrong, And yet, I’ve been on the stand for so long. Why can’t you see that I’m innocent, I swear! I’m done with extramarital affairs.” Emily Rodgers

Penelope Pando

Your Flame My temperature changes whenever you're near A sudden rush of warmth just from your touch But when I find that you are not here I feel as though I am in winter’s clutch Your presence alone can ignite a room My face glows red from the heat Your fiery blaze melts away my gloom No one’s light could have you beat Other people offer just a flame Promising to keep me warm But you, my dear, bring them to shame When you reveal your radiant form You offer me a world of passion that leaves me ablaze Without you, I’d have a glacial heart and my world would be a haze Angelina Sapienza

a happy one! for once? people always tell me that i’m scary - i’m honest, i’m blunt, and i’m aggressive. yet, around you, i become more wary. your sweet demeanor makes me obsessive. around you, do i behave like myself? i feel different, sweeter, sappier; i feel home, like a book on its bookshelf. is this fake? or am i just happier? i try to be unfeeling, cold, even. i’m not anymore. is that good or bad? you are someone i want to believe in. two years with you, and i’ve never been mad. i haven’t changed, i’m still myself, i think. i’m happy, though, that i don't want to jinx. Emily Rodgers

A High School Story I like to think of myself as a lone ranger A guy who never likes to be more than a stranger I never thought I’d see the day Where I would change my way And put myself in danger Now don’t worry I was in no physical harm But my heart would soon be in great alarm I met a girl - a pure heart thief A girl who stole my heart you must have belief, By virtue of her charm Now who was this girl you might care She was a girl beyond compare Her eyes deep like the bottom of the ocean I really hope you get the notion Obviously, she caught me in a snare Her smile was brighter than the sun Her laugh could not be outdone Her hair smelled of an ocean breeze Her soul was pure enough to cause anyone to freeze But here the story had only begun We had the best of times together A time so perfect like a peacock’s feather However, all good things must come to an end As now I have it finally penned Let’s say goodbye to our dear Heather Gaurav Ajmera 22

Credit: Penelope Pando

The Father: A Canterbury Tale The Father’s Tale: Prologue There was a father going with his son; He dressed from head to toe in Nike run. He was a man of great success for sure. The son was lost beneath the shadow, more. Today the son will break right through for good, He takes the SAT, as juniors should. The father sees a look of fright and scare; He tells his son, “relax, don’t pull your hair.” His son responds, “you cannot understand.” He chose to tell the son a tale offhand. So as they rode to test for future galore, The father started with a big, grand roar. The Father’s Tale There was a Tim born 1951. Tim’s story never will become outdone. It serves a cautionary tale for all. It makes our purpose seem so very small. And as we bring attention back to Tim, It's crucial that we know the chance is slim. It’s still a possibility for sure, So don’t be thinking that you are secure. One could become another Tim, oh dear. It is a thing that we should all have fear. He proved he was a very bright young boy. His teachers often shocked by all his joy. He loved to learn more than kids even could. In truth, he proved that he was really good. He won the spelling bee in young pre-k. For spelling quite simply the word x-ray. In sports, he was quite plainly proven best. Moreover, everybody could attest. As Tim continued on to middle school, He noticed that he could prob one day rule. His eyes turned right to student government. Of course, he was the best no argument. 24

So when he shortly finished middle school, Success became the only golden rule. In every choice, decision that he made, His thoughts, they never ever really strayed. He stayed on track by keeping to his mind, He rarely ever even looked behind. But now, our Tim would be in disarray. His parents had untimely passed away. However, Tim’s plan was prepared for years. He was to pass the previous frontiers. Effect? There was no change, fallout on Tim. He frankly moved ahead like on a swim. Attend he would a university. It was so much of great diversity. Of course, excel he did with great success, He graduated lacking much distress. Our friend quite soon became a businessman. He made so much more money than his plan, He gave to many charities and trusts, They thanked him for the money with much lust. For once they were completely done with him, Away they tossed our great friend on a whim. Our Tim, of course, he was a solo act. He never ever thought to make a pact. Remain he did unmarried all his life, In other words, he failed to find a wife. We know his parents died so long before, Henceforth, he had not one who did adore. So when he laid still fighting counter death, He thought one thing until his final breath. Despite the great success, he was alone. Success he sadly learned, so overblown. Gaurav Ajmera 25

Penelope Pando

Streams of Consciousness i close my eyes and breathe in - what do i hear? is it the beautiful birdsong of the morning? is it the waves crashing against the sea wall? is it the wind blowing through the trees? no. i hear the jackhammers of a landscaper breaking asphalt, almost like a woodpecker on its tree. i hear the buzz of a weedwacker, and the roar of a motorcycle. drowning out the sounds of nature. a truck just drove by, vomiting out a disgusting, black smog. if i focus, though, i can hear the faint chirp of a bird, rising through the industrial screams around me. i open my eyes, and see my garden, my vegetables and herbs are starting to grow. there is a rabbit on my lawn, a bird’s nest on my roof, and a blue sky ahead of me. as a blade of grass grows through a crack in concrete, nature cannot be held down. i must ask, though, why are we pouring so much concrete? Emily Rodgers 27

Dear Wanderer Shadows grow long in the sun’s final breaths. Chasing to catch with the wanderer’s steps; Too long and longer Too fast and faster. Taking hissing breaths, The cold biting their nose. Their heels are chased; Not only by shadows tonight. Thoughts and shadows: Chase in harmony, Growing bolder with the setting sun. Stop running dear wanderer, Face what chases your heels And bid farewell to The sun’s sinking rays; kiss The red cheeks of a winter wanderer Alone without loneliness Kept company by their own Foggy breath; bidding the sun Goodbye Regan Lutz 28

Penelope Pando 29

Their Blizzard Their blizzard grew stronger and stronger, As the light grew dimmer. Colder the world became, The hotter the flame ignited within his heart. The flame consumed every inch inside his body, Leaving nothing unmarked by the inferno, Letting the river of memories flow, All giving a sense of pleasure to him. He saw himself sitting on the top of a hill, Over the vast ocean that stretched the world, The Sun above him with eminent prominence, As he stood there, Eyes closed as he raised his head to meet the Sun, Their blizzard grew stronger and stronger, Every inch of his temple froze, Ice crept up the walls, Down through all the halls, Their blizzard proclaiming victory over the silence. Even though the blizzard’s reign will one day plague us all, He forever closed his eyes with pleasure on his face. Tyler Etienne 30

To be Black in America To be Black in America The land of the free But for my community It’s not the land of justice and liberty it claims to be We were brought here to work in this “land of liberty” In the plantations by day The white man profited off of us While we slaved away 100 years of slavery But we are told to get over it 60 years of segregation And we are told to get over it As a little black girl I was often confused how it could be That this “land of the free” Was a country built off of slavery 1863 was the year we were declared “freed” But the struggles of the black community had only begun Legal discrimination, lynching, and segregation Yet, we should get over that For those atrocities We can't blame the people of this day But the oppression of black people Continues on today In the news We know you hear the stories As an African American today it's not safe for me to Run Walk Speak Breathe 31

Have an opinion Have my car break down Be in my own house Buy something from a store, Without a gun being pulled on me Something a parent should never h ave to do Is teach their child how to “properly” deal with the police A mother should never be scared to raise a son A child should never have to lose a father because he was a “suspicious character” “Don't be too loud” “Don't be so aggressive” I shouldn’t have to bite my tongue, withhold my opinion To avoid a stereotype It's hard to see white women get praised For stealing our style and our culture But when a black woman does the same We are bashed, labeled as ghetto It’s hard to see armed white protesters Throw riots for a haircut But when we peacefully protest the oppression of our people We are met with tear gas and rubber bullets It's hard to walk around And see people stare at my beautiful hair “Can I touch it?” they ask As if my hair is a petting zoo It's hard to grow up And see nobody who looked like me being praised for their natural beauty Having to straighten my hair just to feel normal Because my natural kinks and coils make me look “unkempt” They listen to our music They wear our style They steal our culture 32

But when it’s time to stand with us and speak up They back down, telling us to relax And we’re supposed to get over it It’s hard to wake up every day Knowing that I will get punished for the color of my skin I am now seen as a threat Simply because I have melanin We say “Black Lives Matter” “That’s racist,” they say, All L ives Matter But all lives didn’t seem to matter When we see innocent men and women get killed Because the color of their skin was “threatening” Honestly as a black woman in America It’s hard to stand for a country That doesn’t stand for me Justice and liberty for who? Because it doesn’t feel like it’s for me I don’t feel safe I feel judged I feel scrutinized And that’s hard to just get over Though I am proud of my black skin Which shines bright for everyone to see To be Black in America Is to be left wondering “Will the next injustice be me?” Isabelle Cayemitte 33

Machination Infinite finality Encroaches upon my mind In the dead of night Dissolving into Entropy Unfathomable Emptiness Comfort of another kind Thoughts of spite A state of unpleasantness Descent from omnipotence Led by the blind Away from the Light To Eternal Silence The ultimate Purifier That Fate designed Another Acolyte Leads us toward the fire Ryan Becht 34

Penelope Pando

Bang Bang. Gunshots echo throughout the busy store Innocent shoppers grab their children as they drop to the floor Frozen in fear, their hearts beat in and out of their chests Who would care for their children, if the gunman put them to death Bang. Gunshots ring out at this festival of garlic How could someone ever be so cold-blooded and heartless Lying next to someone with blood pooling out their chest You want to go and help instead of pretending to be dead Silence. Is it sad that we don’t bat an eye, reading all the news? Another shooting, another dead, what else is new? Is this the way that we should be living, under this constant fear? We’ve had more shootings than days so far in this very year. Vanessa Osse

Sunday is Gloomy As mothers drag their sons by the lapel Of the garments they wear once a week The odor of sadness is all I can smell They smell it too, yet no one speaks The sun will never shut out the darkness That comes with the Lord’s day Families arrive with a sense of obligation. This is why Sunday is Gloomy The children long to play in the sun For Monday skulks not far behind. The adults sip their wine and eat their bread; Though they see the stained glass, still they are blind Is it guilt that drives them every time? Or the fear of what happens when time runs out? Do they think perfect attendance is what sends one to heaven? They must! For they never practice what is preached That is why Sunday is Gloomy Mary Jane’s do not hide bloodstains, The most painful smile is the one you fake; So take the pastor words and don’t take them in vain Or when the timer dings, you will face a fiery fate. Please don’t make Sunday Gloomy Olivia Neeson 37

Emily Rodgers

The Adventures of the Mind She set off east Leaving her mind and worries behind The most beautiful sight to see A flower floating free Bathes in crisp salty water She is cleansed of sin and born anew The sunshine blazing through her skin Lighting up her soul But as she returns home The sparkle in her soul vanishes Her head unscrewed and her brain placed back in And the flesh-eating monster settles back in Like it was never gone in the first place Bridgette Howard

Frustration Poem I stare at the page In a state of rage Frustrated at what to write I search through my head Of poems unsaid Hunting for one that sounds right Overthinking every word Every space Every line Striving to create a poem I’d be proud to call mine Crossed out, Scribbled in Mumbling rhymes Put in, Take out I’m wasting time Questioning Doubting My frustration builds Confused Impatient I’m getting chills I get up from my desk Pace around a few times Picking my brain For new verse and rhymes Pulling hairs out my head In search of poems unsaid I try to start anew 40

I sit back down at my desk Face the paper again Now in a state of deja vu Re-read what I’ve written Crossed it all out Re-write what I wrote Filling up with more doubt But then an idea comes upon me Something entirely new A poem about frustration and doubting Something I frequently go through I stare at the page No longer full of rage Now full of delight Because for the first time all-day I can finally say I have something meaningful to write. Angelina Sapienza 41

Emily Rodgers 42

The Boy: A Canterbury Tale The Boy’s Tale Prologue Children in the world, waking up for school. Stand straight and tall, follow all of the rules. Fake a smile, fake a laugh here and there. It doesn’t matter if you do not care. This is gonna be your life for these years. So act like you’re happy, hide your tears. Spend your time doing work that you don’t love, You’ll never get any help from above. Look around at these people that you know. They laugh and mock you the second you go. You’re tired, caving in, collapsing, right? Try, with all your might, to put up a fight. If you just can make it out of this place, You’re in the elite of the human race. As we walk along this great winding road, I’ll tell a tale of a warm boy turn’d cold. Today’s focus will be this certain boy, Who went to school and lost all of his joy. His smiles, once beaming, taken away. His laughter, once piercing, had gone astray. “He’s a good kid,” they always used to tell. Replaced by anger that you couldn’t quell. Looking at his light pale face, you saw dark. You notice blue eyes that no longer spark. They took all his being, his only soul. The light inside, so very bright, they stole. The Boy’s Tale He grew up the way all boys always do. Eat meat, play sports, act tough and just look cool. But he was happy, oh happy he was. Playing in the sun and smi’ling, just cause. His life was pure and sweet, joyful and grand. He was a young boy then, not yet a man. As he grew older things still remained great. 43

Middle school was swell, never any hate. The kids were nice, innocent just like him. They had fun, made decisions on a whim. One day he and his mom went for a walk. She then explained that they needed to talk. “Middle school’s just about over,” she said. “Time for high school!” He could see’t in his head. But then the time came, and it slowly changed. Long gone were all of the fun little games. Faces weren’t so friendly, work piled high. No more smi’ling, he now began to cry. Kids were mean, class was hard, no teachers cared. The boy felt that no one was truly there. Until he found a great crowd to talk to, People who would understand, remain true. His new friends were great, but there was a catch. They constantly told him, “try this, try that.” New experiences are awesome right? Losing who he was, running out of sight. A happy young boy, heavy heart of pain. Lying to the world, nothing more to gain. Calls unanswered, texts unread, all alone. Was it that hard to just pick up the phone? He wanted to run away, disappear. But there was nowhere to go, much to fear. All he wanted was to feel joy, to play. At the same time, he wished he could go ‘way. He decided to try to keep going. Trying to find peace in the world’s showings. So he went back to that infamous place. The one that always gave him a sad face. He walked into English one day, with hope. He began to feel less stressed, much less choked. He smil’d at his teacher, lovely Ms. Blue. Hope gone - she gave back his work... 42. Thomas Schreckinger

Are you the ocean? Are you the ocean? You make me feel some sort of emotion You’re a person, I know that And when I see you you make me feel trapped When I saw the first wave, I was confused With your temptation, I couldn’t refuse I didn’t understand what was going on I didn’t even know it was wrong As I got on the shore I felt a wave of nerves galore The riptide engulfed me And I prayed to be set free Finally, I ran to the palm tree I looked down and saw the cuts on my knees I looked up and saw the sky still hasn’t cleared Then suddenly the sun disappeared Oh, where did it go? It looked like nobody knows I shouted “please don’t leave” But then I cried out of grief I ran back to the beach house Where I’m told to stay as quiet as a mouse Nobody can know that I went to the ocean It would cause too much of a commotion The sun isn’t coming back, I know that And to this day I still get flashbacks I envy those who still have their sun Thanks to you I can’t trust anyone Now things are different

But for you it's magnificent May I please make one notion? Are you the ocean? Kristen Castro

Emily Rodgers 47

The Dragon Within The trees sway gently in the Breeze, Green dotting the vast valley, As flowers filter by with ease, Beauty too grand to tally You stand right now, hand and hand With friends determined to fight. You are here to defend this land And live to see another night. As you watch the sea above you change, From vast blue to putrid red, Clouds disperse within range, As you experience burning dread Life has an odd way of doing things You finally realize, With tidal waves the challenge brings In the fight to stay alive I stare at you with eyes wide, A smirk upon my lips, My words burdened with pride, Falling from my lips “Roll Initiative.” Jada Daniels

The Young Prince The room was filled with her contagious laugh The entry of this girl was always bold Her heart was worth a poet’s paragraph Her looks so treasured like a pot of gold Our hero loved this dame with all his heart She made his joy forever lasting yet The girl became the perfect counterpart A fairytale he never could forget Alas, our grand romance has slipped away The boy and girl could not both have their wish Our heroine so sadly did betray She served him heartbreak on a golden dish Our sweet young prince did not dream of success Until he found true love with his princess Gaurav Ajmera

Angelina Sapienza 50

Summer Rain Coming back from her night with friends A smell I know from years ago ascends A normal night in my coral room My mother’s home with her trail of perfume The family weddings, birthdays, communions A scent brings the scattered memories to union The days I thought that I’d never recall Things that made me happy were so small Only ones who were there would know how Summer Rain really glows Old happy times A little kid that knew nothing of crimes When I smell Summer Rain It releases all the pain I’m back to my childhood when big words were misunderstood When Summer Rain falls It fills the halls I’m young, sweet, and naive Like mom’s Summer Rain on Christmas Eve Emma Von Essen 51

We hope you enjoyed this year’s edition of Essence. These pieces reflect students’ experiences throughout this year. Writing is a tool necessary for any movement - without our voices, we are powerless. Continue to write, continue to dream, continue to feel, and continue to fight for the change that you want for our future. “Don’t let anybody, anybody convince you this is the way the world is and therefore must be. It must be the way it ought to be.” “A writer’s life and work are not a gift to mankind; they are its necessity.” Toni Morrison

Penelope Pando