The Bonnet Lady

I am ceramic finished but never cared for. Only used until I cannot be used anymore when I shatter into pieces.

I feel boiling rage red looming all consuming. A violence wishing to break forth from within screaming ripping and clawing tearing and crying.

I feel like a tantrum-throwing child wild with emotion kicking and screaming to break free forth from these familiar chains that bind me.

I feel wall-hitting glass-breaking fury ever enduring. A burning fire runs races through my veins screeching cutting and biting

I end up tearing up and crying. Amber Constante

Little paper cranes flowing in the breeze

They know not where the wind is taking them, But they all wait for the wind to decide. The dainty pink crane may fly west and land In a park for a small child to find. The watery blue crane may drift to a distant Town where it is displayed in someone’s room. The pale yellow crane may soar to a big city Where it nearly dodges cars and lands on The sidewalk to be picked up by an old man. And the muted green crane may flutter On forever until its wings no longer flap. However the wind has a plan for every little Paper crane that enters her breeze. Each crane has a purpose to others and itself. The child, the someone, the old man are all Made happy by the little cranes for they have Entered their lives after exiting the breeze. Even the muted green crane is spotted Everyday by someone new, giving it a purpose, Even if it does not have a destination. Every paper crane is unique and beautiful. Every paper crane must leave the breeze sometime, somehow when it is right. And every paper crane has a purpose. For we are all little paper cranes flowing in the breeze.

Sarah Newmann

Writing is a conduit

Writing.

Boy, am I thankful for it.

It is a conduit for my feelings. My thoughts, hopes, dreams, and sorrow are exhibited through what I create. Tko? My fears are depicted through his menacing scowl.

Jax? The best version of myself.

Condora? A dystopian nightmare that fosters my terror and trepidation. Bo? My hopes for the future align with her saga. Begru? My fears of the unknown lie in the deep shadowy depths of his hood.

Writing is a tool

A conveyance of myself

A way for me to transform everything I feel in my soul into a paper confession

When the day has treated me harshly, I can escape to another world A better world. Because I created it. I control the affairs of the world. The good, the evil, and all that lies in between.

Putting pen to paper is an alleviation. A soothing herb that heals my soul. It heals the scars left behind, hidden behind the crevices my body holds. Writing is a liberation. It unbinds the sorrows that have been captured within my soul. Their chains are broken with a chainsaw, unshackled and free to be seen.

Writing is a conduit through which my personality flows

My hopes, my dreams, my love, my hatred, my sorrows All poured into words.

Writing keeps me sane.

It is a way for me to get it all out there. The pen is a waterfall

Overflowing with the rapids and the strong current of my soul.

Writing is a conduit.

Miles Hayford

Childhood Tchotchkes

The Ocean

Where i spend my summers relaxing A voyage into the unknown Fish, corals, and shells are a Technicolor meld of Rupturing brilliant Bursts of color Vibrant yet Serene. Ocean.

Miles Hayford

Promise Me

“Promise Me” I say, That you’ll hold onto It. It should not be taken away, For someone else’s benefit.

There are millions of souls, But yours is filled with goodness. You’ll soon realize up to the point, That people will take notice. Delicate as a vase, So fragile and frail. One minor crack, All your flaws will unveil.

People like the ingénues, That’s how females are loved. The more naive you are, More likely you’ll be taken advantage of.

Not every guy will treat you right, Not every person will be a good friend.

I’m hoping you got this ingrained in your mind, Because these issues can lead your self love to an end.

You’ll start to get into doubt, Thinking you’re not good enough. Your bones will crack, your heart will die, Then suddenly it’s starting to get rough.

You’ll end up thinking your the problem, So you start punishing yourself. All for them, you try to fix the trouble, But at this point you’re ruining oneself.

Up to the point you start to lose hope, Life is now a darkness.

Your self love has disappeared, Everything has become meaningless.

But I’m begging

And praying that you don’t throw yourself away. Your self love is what you really need, It doesn’t have to decay.

You are strong and powerful, Bright as the sun. You’re tougher than the demons, That can be outrun.

I will constantly be there, Even during your worst moments. But you’ll have to team up with self love, To overcome the opponent.

The world will collapse, The good things will come to an end. You might’ve lost the battle, But here is one thing I recommend.

Go find a mirror

And look at the view. You think you’ve lost everything, Well there still is, You.

I know it’s scary, Not knowing when you’ll be attacked. But it will all be okay, As a matter of fact.

Just have your troops ready, Because there’s always some sort of incident. One will tell you you’re so weak, But she will say you can do it.

“So Promise Me” I demand, That again It won’t be neglected. If you want to rise up again, It’s going to have to be accepted.

Sofia Martinez

The 100th Time

Her eyes were guarded

And the way her demeanor

You could just tell

She missed what was

What had taken place

And what would never be again

She was lost on her island

Stranded from the love that once surrounded

Her only way of surviving was to remember

She found comfort in what had been temporarily

But grew tired, of the constant void

Impatient of feeling incomplete, worthless

And so she began, for what felt like the 100th beginning

To recognize that true love arrives in waves like the sea

Flowing forwards directly, sometimes backwards but never stops

Loving a sandy shore filled with delicate, yet rough sea shells

Honoring the different versions of love that arrive through people

So she strengthened herself and began

For what felt like the 100th time

Isabella Ortega

Julienne Custodio

Not the Same

I grew up across from a park. My neighbors, my sister, and I would spend our summers and any free time we had at the park. The park was like a second home to us. But then we all grew up and stopped talking. Our hips didn’t fit in the swings anymore and it wasn’t funny to watch our hair stand up when we went down the slide. The wood chips weren’t food and the jungle gym wasn’t our home. That one bush that was never filled with leaves wasn’t big enough to hide us and the crack in the fence at the back of the park was suddenly smaller than it had ever been. The swings were always thrown over and the holes in the dirt got bigger. The tree in the middle was too small to climb and the benches were sat on more than the swings. Our park wasn’t ours anymore.

Iris Nelson

The Narrow Place

As the child recalls the questions of the Seder and their eternal answers, I raise my cup four times, yet, I fear the plagues that divide us.

To Spring: I want to collect shriveled petals and repair the halflipped stems of our flowers, wide-eyed and raging and pry the indifference from the face of the wind. Can I rouse proof that life shimmered around me? Mud thickens the soles of my shoes as I upturn winter’s emphatic musk without you.

To Resistance: Your eyes broiled the torment of melting sweat and hallucinations-projection screens for a rage that cavorted and chattered on your lashes-flickers that curdled your mind and sour faltering spirals that pierced your veins. Your vivid dissidence is dissolving.

To Liberation: Drained and swallowed, howling from your bones, you ceased resisting the defiance that browsed through your blood, you stopped stretching through nights that cloaked you in convulsions, You abandoned the irascible murmurs that bloated your dreams and as an accomplice, I watched you die.

To Next Year: Tonight is no different from any other night. Many are dying while others cry into the mortar that holds them invisible to the narrow place. Door propped open, places all set, I am waiting for Elijah to return with my friends. Despite choking on the seeping days of another year, I trudge toward the promised land, brittle and needing solace.

J. Paliatka

The quiet one

I am the quiet one.

The one who inhabits a back seat and wears headphones listening to other people’s discussions

While Stuck in my thoughts

Wondering Why am I the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit?

Why am I constantly alone?

Why is it so tough for me to blend in?

I am the quiet one.

The one that no one understands yet I can’t understand them either

I spend the majority of my time sitting in a corner I try to speak but the words never come out

Within my own bubble

Afraid to blend in

Watching as everyone passes by Hiding in my corner where I belong, unseen.

I am the quiet one

Sophia Valdez

Sarah Newmann

Anxiety

Filled in a room full with people

As my body begins to take over the voices in the background start to fade. The air begins to tighten.

As my body begins to inflate

My hands begin to shake.

Despite my fear, I am still smiling.

My eyes begin to tear up.

Feeling like I can’t breathe,

Feeling like I’m drowning at the bottom of the sea

My face that was previously bright red , goes pale. My knees begin to shake .

Thinking to myself, “It’ll be over soon.”

Sophia Valdez

Mother Nature’s Call

This time of year has evolved

From the cold, gloomy winters

To the blooming colors of Spring

Empty branches with no leaves

Sprout back to fulfill those empty trees

Pale grass turns to nourished colors of green

Sunlight breaks free from the gray clouds

Joy is brought back to your soul

You feel that all your energy, thoughts, and emotions have been restored

Sharp frozen winds no longer stab you when you step outside

Mother Nature comes to hug you and pulls you into Spring

Where everything is open and alive once again

All because Mother Nature called out for Spring

Katarina Santen

I would not die for you

Dying is easy

No, For you, I would live

I would stand against

The traumas that life throws me

The stress that life brings me

The fear that life feeds me

The annoyance that life leaves me

No, For you, I would live

Then we could live together

Take on the traumas together

Deal with the stress together

Cope with the fear together

Groan at the annoyances together

I would never force you to live life for me

Without me

Because life is scary, annoying, and sad when you’re alone

No, For you, I would live

Sarah Newmann