Misentity Winter 2021

Amber Gray, ‘21 Love and Water

by Lauren Smith People say that water takes the shape of its container.

In a lot of ways, I think love is the same way.

With one I may be calm and cool, Like the static water in a pool, But with another I may be sweet.

Sometimes the container is large and inviting, willing to accommodate to ones needs.

And sometimes the container is just so small that all it thinks of is me.

The Misentity Staff would like to thank all the writers and artists who contributed to the magazine.

Sponsors: Mr. James, Mrs. Dallam, Mr. Blevins Special thanks to all NHHS English teachers, art teachers, and a volunteer staff of students.

Covers: Amber Gray Managing Editors: Grace Herron, Ella Palmer, and many creative writing collaborators.

Misentity is published semi-annually by North Harford High School. © All Rights revert to the author upon publication with the provision that Misentity received the initial publication credit.

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Sweet Snow Sweet snow gently drifts down to the ground Where it lands softly Not daring to make a sound

I sit here waiting for the snow to slow So that I may see the world clearly And new plants can grow

The crisp air nips at my chilled cheeks As the snow grows heavier Landing on the ground forming soft peaks

I am now lost in the sweet snow That lightly licks at my long lashes Incredibly lost with nowhere to go and am so undoubtedly, incredibly alone

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Water Bead by Sharalyn Gardiner

In the sweet enveloping black there is a new seedling stretching upward, its leaves striped in soft greens and reds. Upon those leaves sits a water bead, a perfect sphere, soaking in the starlight, shining as if it were a new moon and destined to rise into the heavens.

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Raindrop The first text was tiny An inconsequential raindrop That just happened to fall onto my cheek at the right time That raindrop turned into a puddle I splashed in without hesitation A naïve child only knowing joy The euphoria your voice produced made the colors of the sky all the more vibrant Puddles turned to lakes Then before I knew it, I was swimming in an ocean of endless love and comfort I could’ve floated forever on your paragraphs And never felt fear But I started to drown And by the end, that tiny, inconsequential raindrop morphed

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It had turned from a raindrop to a tsunami Full of missed calls and insecurities You left me stranded in the chaos that you created The water that was once home was now filling my lungs Leaving me gasping for the tiniest bit of hope My cheeks wet with all of the broken promises and insincere “I love you’s” Wishing I had never felt that miniscule raindrop on my face I am now waiting for the rainbow The colors have yet to take back their rightful place in the sky After all, the rainbow follows the storm Right?

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Deep Blue A deep blue ocean With sparkling, shimmering water Each drop Like the rarest jewel A deep blue ocean In which I’m drowning Gasping and clawing and thrashing Wordlessly screaming To no avail Diamond droplets caresses my face Shimmering water fill my lungs I close my eyes Lower my fists, cease the fight It stings and it burns But I welcome the pain With open arms The deep blue ocean Swallows me whole And I let it Clare Cummings

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Madeline Danielczyk

I am a speck in the sand Steadily slipping adrift on the land Without an inkling of a plan Staring at a great open ocean full of opportunity My eyes are wide, my future is washed with nothing but My heart in my hand

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Death at Sea by Sharalyn Gardiner Dawn breaks out like a bleeding wound, the distant scudding clouds turn crimson by the sun's rays. The night had been arguably the worst of my life. The sailors had tried to prepare for sudden, violent storms that erupt and cease so quickly, but it is impossible. The worst had happened last night; with no warning, total darkness prevailed as clouds thickened and the sky was stricken, blotting out the starlight. The wind arose to push the still waters to choppy, which morphed into mountains of angry waves. Sailors struggled and slipped on the soaked deck and panic had set it. The wind slammed the rain into our faces as if it were solid matter, my face was raw and the water had filled my eyes.

Somehow, the ship had pressed on, bravely climbing up the waves, and then crashing down in a cascade of wood and water. It was during one of these heart stopping plummets that a surge of water broke onto the deck, we held tightly onto the mast, onto the ropes, onto anything that might save us. The water drained back into the sea, retreating to its master, but the damage had been done, and the weakest of the group had found the pull of the water to be too strong. There was nothing we could have done to save her, she just slipped. We searched for her in the water but when she went under that final wave, she never resurfaced.

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Ode to the Ocean Her soft tide Pulls me from within Her water welcomes me As it laps against my skin But when her ripples turn to thundering waves of fury Surging in the winds wild, ripening wrath Brimming with thousands of white tipped caps In torrents of rain I feel like grain Dust in the wind

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Cora Presley

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The Water Witch by Maggie Sadiq You’ve always heard that water is the most powerful thing But what you should fear is the woman who controls the water The stories of the sea witch The water spirits The woman of the lake The Aloja The water nymph They’re all true.

Her body is in tune with the moon Every word that flows from her lips is a tsunami She rises and falls with the waves of the ocean Falling apart, letting the world surrounding her feel her wrath.

Only the bravest souls venture to explore her When she cries, the world feels her pain Tiny tears falling onto rooftops and wedding hair Her eyes are all consuming-

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The second you look into them you are lost You’d be swept away into the depths Even the sharks approach her carefully, respectfully even She lives in every woman who dares to speak Even when she’s silenced Every woman who stands up for what she believes in Who musters the courage to leave, To love To fight And to scream She lives in the woman in Congress The woman raising her children alone The woman who was burned for being different The woman who laughs in the face of those who dare question her She lives and breathes in every woman Who dares to live in a world that restrains them And when these women realize the power they hold, That is what you should fear.

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Raindrops and Rubble

By Madeline Danielczyk I have wandered into a forest of deep brown trees And golden leaves And have somehow stumbled into a puddle Where my thoughts have lapsed And my mind is muddled And raindrops slink down tree trunks To land in bits of rubble I have sucked on the sweet syrup of sticky sap And listened to pine needles whisper in my ears And drank dainty dew drops from honeysuckle All the while Watching raindrops slink down the slippery slopes Of tattered tree trunks And land in the rubble Where they tumble down Splat splat splat Right into my puddle

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Your Voice by Maggie Sadiq Your voice reminds me of the soft sound of rain on the attic roof,” he whispered quietly.

“And you? Yours is the persistent drip-drop of the leaky faucet.” She retaliated.

“But why?” He murmured.

“Because my love, hearing your voice is torture, and I cannot seem to escape it if I tried.”

I have been swept out to sea Am so incredibly alone Isolated in the unknown Amidst the wavering water And cannot find my way home Maddie Danielczyk

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Glimpses by Sharalyn Gardiner

I don’t remember much of my mother. But… every now and then, when I’m standing at the bus stop, I’ll catch glimpses of her tangled hair the color of rust out of the corner of my eye; just when I’m about to turn to her, pull on her sleeve, and tell her that I see the school bus rounding the corner, she vanishes. And when I’m sitting in the diner, the same one I would sit in every night to do my homework, I’ll look up to see her with her back turned to me, her pale and freckled hands fumbling behind her back to tie the apron; I catch myself right before I call her name to ask for help with a math question, and the lady who turns to face me has blonde hair. And her smile is a little less crooked than I remember yours to be.

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Summer Morning Ella Palmer

A web of shimmering dew Sends flickers of golden light Dancing in the warm breeze

River Rivulets of rushing streams Send fallen leaves spinning Plunging down a shimmering waterfall

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Icarus I am on my back looking up at the stars And the more I watch I can see Each star is a mirror from afar Letting me see my dreams I let them consume me I swim in imagination I taste emotion and delight I become sensation This ocean in my head is made of light But I went too far and swam past the stars An Icarus too close to the sun And past the stars I found emptiness And I began to become undone Tidal waves of guilt crash on my head Hurricanes of fear fill me with dread The slow current of sadness drags me down And in the great ocean my mind holds, I drown.

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Shower

Reality is loud, I hear my mother say The child version of me begs for another way “There’s always peace to calm it down” “You just have to learn to slow yourself down” Reality is loud, I sigh today The grown version of me knows how to keep it at bay I strip down to my skin and feel water under my hand And step into the shower, soft rain landing where I stand I let the scorching hot water soak into my skin Tilting my head back I let myself grin The rhythm of the droplets drowns out the white noise And finally I find perfect poise My mother was right, reality is loud But every night I wrap up it in a shroud This simple peace Lets me slow myself down

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Ninety Five Percent by Cora Presley Ninety five percent So much ocean left to discover You know so little, nothing cement And yet I don’t want you to uncover My ninety five percent I slink along the bottom Watching you pollute I choke on the rotten I rage at your abuse Still you carry on ignoring Mining, fishing, drilling, and killing Probably finding my destruction too boring So please, for the love of god Stay out of my ninety five percent I can’t take any more of your killing I’d rather your neglect

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I have become familiar with the warm embrace the Ocean breeze gives me, But I am unacquainted with who last gave that same embrace to the Ocean, No memories can go back far enough to see the love the Ocean had once been given.

The only memories of the Ocean that have been exposed is the pain it endured as it roles it’s tears onto our shores, forever weeping, So now my mind wanders into a certain depth that I have never reached before, I wonder, Who hurt the Ocean?

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I cannot fear the water seeping into my lungs, For the water has welcomed me more kindly than the cold harsh air above, has ever done But I can not turn a blind eye to the darkness beneath me Its darker than the midnight sky, yet so much calmer than a mother’s warm embrace, I want to welcome it but I know the warnings, The more I sink someone appears saying “don’t go deeper.”

I take in more water ignoring the worried whispers, Why would I fear the water?

Why would I want to feel anything but this?

I feel so light.

The deep blue around me is all the same, I find it odd that not a living thing has passed me, Nor a dead floating being.

The water has been getting colder as I notice this ocean has made me alone, Stuck in this depressed color, 21

Forgetting which direction is north or west.

Maybe I should find that person, The one that gave me those warnings, The ocean is quiet All I hear is the salt gliding past my ears.

And a faint heartbeat that sounds as if it’s running out of gas, I ball up, Sinking, As my body fears the water that has now filled my lungs.

Maggie Sadiq

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A Study in Annie Clare Cummings I twist the ring around my finger once, twice, three times, before I can gather the courage to step off of the platform. The organized chaos of the train station is familiar, and it fades away, until the cries of a baby, the yells of a gentleman in a suit, the joyful screeches of a little girl, are all but white noise. I allow myself two deep breaths, before I am off, heading towards the exit with what I hope looks like practiced determination. I try to keep my head straight, chin up, eyes set. Still, the hand that holds my purse is shaking, and my eyes, traitorously, search the platforms for his brown hair and easy smile.

He isn’t here, he wouldn’t be. Ryan had always hated trains. And busses, and planes, and well, any sort of public transportation, really. He doesn’t like crowded spaces. The cries of a baby and screeches of a child do not fade away for him. So, we always The house that we drove. Just the two of used to share sits us, windows down, wind in front of me, just whipping our hair, sun as I left it. in our eyes.

But that was a long time ago. And he isn’t here, because why would he be? My eyes snap forward and my chin raises just slightly. I push open the door and step out into the sunlight.

The house that we used to share sits in front of me, just as I left it. I almost feel as if it’s taunting me, before I remind myself that that is insane. I twist the ring around my finger once, twice, three times. The air is crisp and cold, but the sky is bright and cloudless.

Almost identical to the day that I left. I remember it so clearly that is may as well have been yesterday.

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Screaming so loud that I felt my throat would tear. Hot tears burning their way down my cheeks. The quiet finality that hung in the air as I packed my bags, and left.

I never came back. Until now.

“Annie?” A voice calls. My stomach is in my throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he shouldn’t see me– “Annie!” Closer now, more demanding. I decide that I have no choice. Better to face the beast head on, than to run, and die a cowardly death. I rise. There he is, unchanged, just like the train station, just like the house.

His dark hair is tousled, his eyes sharp. I almost sink to the ground, my knees wobble, but somehow, I stay standing.

“Ryan,” I say, but it comes out as a shaky whisper.

“Annie. What in the ever-loving hell” His voice is shaking too, except, with rage, “Are you doing here.”

“I came to return this,” I say, because it’s the truth. I turn the ring around my finger once, twice, three times, before slipping it off, holding it in my open palm.

He looks at the ring. Then back up at me. In one fluid motion, he closes the gap of land between us, slaps the ring out of my hand, and rips the binoculars off of my neck. My eyes water at the sting of the strap as it breaks.

But I do not flinch.

“I’ve told you! I’ve told you a million times, Annie, you can keep the ring! You can sell it, pawn it, throw it in the goddamned ocean for all I care! Just stop showing up here, for god sake!”

“Ryan, calm down, I–” “No. No, you don’t get to do this to me. Not anymore. I mean, binoculars? Really? You were literally hiding in the bushes. There’s leaves in your hair.”

I open my mouth to speak again, but I’m not quite sure what to say.

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“You’re crazy, Annie. You’re crazy.” He grasps my shoulders with his hands. I can feel their warmth through my shirt. “You need help. Let me get you help.”

“Help?” Suddenly, I am confused. My neck burns more acutely, my vision is fuzzy, my head, full.

“Annie,” He says my name again, says it like it’s like a plea. “We were going to get married. Do you remember? That’s why I gave you the ring, we were going to get married. And you, you had this medication.

That you had to take. Except one day, you stopped. And then, we weren’t going to get married anymore. You had to go away to get help. Don’t you remember?”

“I–” “Now, you live with your mother. She takes good care of you. But sometimes accidents happen. And you come here, and I remind you, of it all.” And at that moment, it felt as if I had lived this life a million times before, heard this story a million times before. Ryan’s eyes are not so sharp anymore. They look sad, and a little bit empty. His hands fall from my shoulders.

“Oh,” I say. It is all that I can manage.

“Let’s get you home,” He sighs.

As Ryan leads me towards his car, I twist the skin around my finger once, twice, three times. I make a note to hide somewhere much less visible, next time.

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Girl of the Sea

by Grace Herron

There once was a girl who lived by the sea Her presence would sing a sea-foam melody Nobody knew her home or her name, But the town seemed to lover her All the same At night she disappeared into the rolling waves For the salty air and thee pressing sea was something that she craved On a steep rock she stood, majestic and alone She winked at me and then disappeared Into the sea foam Oh, girl on the rock, oh girl in the sea To me you are such a mystery The wind seems to scream for you, the ocean sings your name Please be mine and mine alone The one that I claim

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Maggie Sadiq

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Anatomy. A cruel act against one’s blood.

Murder, if you will.

Anatomy. The knowing of what our bodies hold.

A diagram of life.

The pop of an elbow, or crack of a finger, would ensure instant death.

Tip toeing doesn’t work children, you should have already known.

Anatomy. Mothers slaughter their beloved boys and girls.

Anatomy. Fathers kill their wives and brothers.

For the quick financial relief.

A moment of calm with the piling bills of grocery lists, and gas.

Anatomy. Children cry and beg for mother and father to stop.

Anatomy. The dog and cats yowling as they smell fresh blood.

The dogs are fed, the kids are dead.

The bills are paid, the bed is made.

I knew only that Anatomy made people kill their children.

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Maggie Sadiq

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Narcissus

By Grace Herron The moon cried one night.

Its tears fell down to earth, creating a firework as it descended.

Its eternal sadness seeped into our unworthy ground, the mark of an angel being lost to the depths.

And I caught one.

I caught one in the palm of my hand.

It writhed as it touched my skin and it fell through my fingers, escaping into the absorbent earth.

Its residue was warm, leaving my hand to pulse in its absence.

I began to catch more as the moon cried harder.

I yearned for the tears on my skin, I yearned for its holy essence.

And each time I caught one, it escaped.

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As if I was undeserving to capture such a unique gift.

I then opened my mouth.

I created a place where they could not escape, where they could not run.

Inside, they were mine. I had the moons divine soul to myself.

I felt the warmth grow as I swallowed.

It touched all ends of my body.

I consumed more and more in a jealous frenzy, and in response, the moon cried even harder.

Suddenly, I began to cry as well.

The silver glow flowed from my eyes, blinding my desire.

The earth absorbed me, and, in my absence, the world quieted.

The moon stopped crying.

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Dry, untouched. The desert, she is.

She is a calm, barren tomb of a horrid old mess No moisture, no wet, no horror, no fret.

Coral turned cactus; seahorse turned scorpion Sun bleached relics of a once-drenched seascape Dreading the tsunami’s return

by Bella Silvestri

----Splash, a crash. A wave dissipates on the shore.

To loll back and forth endlessly. Such a chore that must be.

All eternity long, forward and back. A bore.

How lame it must be, a salty insane typhoon.

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A Frog in Moonlight by Ella Palmer I am lost in a hazy mist that cloaks my soul The suns light leaving me stale and hollow Like the crumbling bark of a tree Facing the stony edge Of life’s piercing winds Until the river of golden sunset Streams into the dark crevices of the trees Coating the sky in a sea of the deepest scarlet Soon becoming saturated in darkness The shimmering glow of the moon reflects onto the water’s glassy surface I breath in its light, letting it seep into my soul and fill me with every fragment of my existence It flows through me Swaying with the waters ruffle My heart dives into its gleam Swimming in its wispy beam With every tremble of the Lilypad I sit on In the icy wind In a silent world I start to sing I need to sing I love to sing Sing Sing Sing

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Lauren Smith

Human emotions have depth like the ocean, but sometimes all I can do is wade.

I don’t dive too deep or swim in my thoughts because I am afraid.

It’s overwhelming.

Much like when I’m at the beach getting pummeled, wave after wave.

We’re told to let our thoughts sink in, But not to let them drown us, But when sinking turns to choking, I start to question the people who I trust.

So I’ll cling to my life ring, Where it’s nice and dry, And when you hear the sirens sing, Just know that I’m their cry.

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The Sailor’s Sweetheart My love, she has captivating eyes The color of the clearest sky Flowing hair dark as night Yet she shines like starlight My love, she has quite a temper But I beg, do not resent her As her laughter is the ebbing tide Let it reel you in, be your guide She is powerful, she is strong Her smile, the most wonderful song What a fatally alluring mystery Is my lovely love, the sea Clare Cummings

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Courtney Warns it was soft like my hand was galloping through jello or maybe honey my hand enveloped in a sweet but chilling hug i was safe i encouraged the curtains of my eyes to open and there it stood it was too perfect to splendid for this world a harsh thing I might say but the bitter is man-made natures honey

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natures gift is sweet for it is humans that take away it’s sweetness

i proved myself correct it was sweet it was soft it was familiar it’s grasp began to heavy around my neck like daddy’s hands when i was a child it was accepting like momma it welcomed my end

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Lady Rain Shut your eyes now Listen, listen to how she sounds The rain, she pounds It’s been a bit, but now she’s back Brings with her the calm that you lack Taps, taps and taps Against the foggy, cracked, and broken glass She whispers to you from the wind The nightmare seems to rescind She’s trying to get your attention finally, you loosen your grip on the tension The strain in your soul, your heart, your lips Drips, drips, and drips Out of your body, pulled tight Just like the water, as she falls from her height She surrounds you in a liquid embrace Wipes away those tears on your face Everything is clean, everything is new Washed away by the blue You’re clean now too Clare Cummings

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Ben and Aaron and Me

By Maggie Layman I got two new roommates last year. Thank goodness too, it's getting hard to keep the place in good shape, with all the peeling paint and creaking floorboards. I’m not exactly the best at home decor either. They don't seem to notice me too much, so I leave them little notes, little signs of my existence, sometimes on sticky notes, other times I leave them on loose leaf paper.

My two roommates are Benjamin Presley and Aaron Goodman. They go to school at the local community college. Because they go to school 5 days a week, I spend a lot of time by myself. I’m used to it though; I'd lived by myself for a while before they moved in.

Last Halloween, they threw a huge party. They pulled out all the stops. Half the school was there, one of their friends even brought over a Ouija board (they couldn't tell I was pushing it, so they really freaked-out.

It was so much fun). We watched two horror movies and then they told scary stories.

A girl named Adaline or Madeline, something like that, told a story about a werewolf. About 10 other people talked about Bloody Mary. In my opinion Aaron told the best one. He told a story about how the house (our house, the one they were throwing the party in) was haunted. When he got towards the end of it, I quietly moved to the light switch and flicked the lights.

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Everyone screamed so loud! I personally can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.

The one thing I have against the parties that they throw so frequently is that they don’t clean up after it. They just go to their rooms and sleep, so I clean it up, I don’t have much to do anyway so I figured I might as well.

Every Saturday night is movie night. We start with one series and then move to the next. We each have our own designated spots where we sit. Aaron sits on the couch, Benjamin in the big armchair and I sit on the hassock right in front of the tv, but I’m always careful not to block the screen. One night I got hungry, so I made some popcorn. I guess they were super into the movie because when the popcorn starting popping, they jumped.

Last Saturday they went to the theater to watch a new movie that just came out. I don’t like to go out much though, so I just stayed here and watched movies by myself. The next day, all they talked about was the movie. I wished I had gone with them, it sounded like a lot of fun.

Last Tuesday, Benjamin’s alarm clock broke so I have started waking him up. Over a series of trial and error I have learned that he is in the best mood when woken up with the smell of bacon, the sound of a teakettle boiling or music. Here’s the thing though, he only likes certain types of music. Big band music, yes.

Classical music, no. Now for the error part. He does not like being woken up with the sound of banging pots and

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pans or a door being slammed shut. Oh, and a bucket of ice-cold water is a definite no go.

One other thing I found out the other night is that Aaron sleepwalks. I have heard of that happening before, but I had never seen it until then. And surprisingly, there is not that much of a difference between awake Aaron and sleepwalking Aaron. He goes about his morning routine, gets out the milk and makes himself a bowl of cereal and goes back to bed. I have tried to get him to go back to his room, but he won't do anything until he gets his cereal. Just like awake Aaron.

Thanksgiving last week was great. I never really did anything for Thanksgiving when I was by myself, so I was really happy when both Benjamin’s and Aaron’s families were able to come over.

We Whenever they can, they had to start tell people about how our cooking like 6 hours house is haunted. before everyone got here, I helped out by making a few of the side dishes. When everyone finally got here, I realized I had been so busy that I had forgot to bring out another chair for myself.

When we all sat down, I was nervous to see what they thought of the food I had made. It had been a while since I had cooked, but I don’t know what I was worried about, they loved it, especially the mashed potatoes.

After a while, Benjamin and Aaron talked about how they think the house is haunted. Again.

Whenever they can, they tell people about how our house is haunted.

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I don’t know why they keep saying that! I’ve lived here for almost 274 years and haven't noticed anything remotely creepy.

Maggie Layman

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Anatomy Revisited…

The eyes were the most desired part of a human being, and in our part of town, the one that received the highest bid, every time, without fail.

My mother had told me that when I was ten. Of course, the other parts of the body were valuable too, but what they hungered for most were the eyes. Every year there would be an auction, where adults would present the different part of the body to a group of wealthy bidders, ready to buy their newest feast. This year, the screams of the children would fill the cold, crisp, October air, but not a soul would dare to help. I stood on a stage I could not see, in front of a crowd I could only hear, because this year, my mother had auctioned off my eyes.

My mother never explained to me what anatomy meant, nor did I have the courage to ask really. All I knew, was that anatomy made people kill their children.

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• Efforts that transcend the individual and tap into the universal that forms us all.

• A universal existence • Writing and art as a means of connecting the individual and society.

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