Lit by Design 2024

Vol. 5 / 2023-24

LIT BY DESIGN

New Design High School’s Literary Magazine

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Lit By Design 2023-2024

MISSION STATEMENT Lit by Design, founded in 2019, is an online and in-print literary magazine run and operated by the students of New Design High School, situated in the Seward Park Campus on the Lower East Side of New York City. Lit by Design offers us a chance to experience writing, publishing, interviewing, reviewing, editing, and designing the best student work in our school, and offering it to the New Design community on slides, websites, or in magazines like this one. We hope to entertain and inspire and enlighten readers like you with the finest work submitted to us during the 2023-2024 school year by NDHS students. We thank all our contributors and the many talented artists and writers who did submit work that, for any of a variety of reasons, could not appear in this issue.

MEET THE LIT TEAM Kadesha Asseverio, Josiah Baugh, Janylis Difo, Jonasia Johnson, Alison Mejia, JD Noonan, Adriyel Reyes, Emily Suarez

Cover art by Sahana Lynch 2

CONTENTS 2 Mission Statement / Meet The Lit Team 3&5 Table of Contents

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Sahana Lynch

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Art

Araceli Castelan

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Portrait

Tanae Morrison

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Poem

JD Noonan

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Photographs

Josiah Baugh

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Poem

Gabriella Diaz

10

Portrait

Melanny Abreu

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Poem

Marianna Adames

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Art

Janylis Difo

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Poem

Ariah Swift

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Art

Debora Molina

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Poem

Malak Ounnab

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Memoir

JD Noonan

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Photograph

London Recio

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Art

Janylis Difo

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Poem

Aprill Taverez

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Collage

Art by Sahana Lynch

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CONTENTS Kadesha Asseveiro

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Two poems

Briseis Seda

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One-act play

Jennifer Ramos

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Mini-book art excerpt

Tanae Morrison

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Poem

Mariela Pujols

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Art

Meliha M.

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Memoir

Yuliza Gonzaga Veliz 30

Art

Adriyel Reyes

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Art

Marianna Adames

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Collage

Josiah Baugh

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Poem

Aaron Perez Ramales 34

Art

Ashiyah Saunders

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Memoir

Jada Crawley

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Sketch

Janylis Difo

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Poem

Jenna Neils

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Poem

Ben Lewis

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Sketch

Rui

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Poem

JD Noonan

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Photograph

41-42 Contributors’ Notes & Thank You Yuliza Gonzaga Veliz

Back Cover Art

Shattered Portrait Araceli Castelan

ART

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Poem Tanae Morrison I’m sorry this is an apology letter Dear Me, sorry doesn’t capture the guilt the guilt I feel for betraying you I’ve stripped you of you dulling down your spear into a tongue a tongue content with being locked in a cage a closed mouth I’ve dressed you in clothes Not meant for you in hopes you may shrink down enough to fit apologetically in their pocket I’ve turned every coiled kinky strand On your head to a silk road For them to walk on I’ve shattered you I’m sorry.

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Two Photos JD Noonan

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A Philosophical Escapism Josiah Baugh Don’t you agree that poetry is one of a kind?

A pulchrous realm with dreams that come in many forms.

Haikus, sonnets, free verse and more.

Pages filled with philosophy and words that rhyme.

An Arcadia where the only limitation is your mind.

This planet beats to a steady thrum Your pen is the catalyst that all life spawns from.

Some write, some read and some play a beat.

Poetry is an escapism for all mankind.

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Portrait of a Cat Gabriella Diaz

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Breathing Poetry Melanny Abreu Speak. If you can. I wish, we could rewind our silence together.

Skies full of different colors. A giant spark.

I just knew, I knew, that complete darkness would smother my scrambling.

To me, the sky was a giant chalkboard. I had the power to draw, and erase all the clouds I wanted. Yet, I was facing the biggest picture to be drawn.

But, now, everything reminds of you. How I fade into you, but I could never find you.

I was all over you, the color blue, velvet tears, an everlong sadness that my sun could not bear.

Ceaselessly, in the grayest blue skies with the brisk and long cuts, I remind myself that I exist, I exist, I exist. In these final moments, I breathe the lethal oxygen from the poisonous trees because it was once pure, and in the end I blemish my giant chalkboard simply because I could not forget it’s chalk marks and simply because I could not breathe.

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Eyes & Pointing Fingers Marianna Adames

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Trauma’s Shadow Janylis Difo It follows me everywhere even into my safest space, reminding me of things in my childhood.

The bullets hitting the wall.

The anger of having to see my father.

Running to my room as soon as they got home.

The nights I spent alone wondering where it all went wrong.

The shadow creeps up on me from time to time making me want to leave this place I call home, but then again what is home?

A place you sleep with 4 walls, A loving family who sits at the table every night for dinner, Actually say hi to each other when you walk through the door, A father who shows up and a mother who tells you she’s proud of you when you succeed, Except I don’t have that.

I hate looking into the ones I love dearly with hate and bitterness.

But they made me this way.

Happy birthday dad.

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An Average Dream Ariah Swift

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Thoughts for Lot Debora Molina My thoughts are like cars being stuffed into lots.

The lot.

The fuel to my thoughts and discussion.

The discussion just the surface of my world’s earth.

The rigid jade green of my eyes holds the green grasses of my lands, as transparent as the glass made my beach’s sand.

But can be as foggy as the sea glass that washes on my shore.

What am I to do anymore?

My hair long, making up the leaves on my willow trees.

My voice

Soft Like my mother’s,

I am the breeze to her wind beneath my leaves.

But I’ll harden my soft nurturing voice leaving the gift, my trunk that my father gave to me, too strong and unmoving. Following the path of the heart they gave me that’s uninhabitable like a plague, spreads quick.

Then suddenly disappears.

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My Hijab Malak Ounnab The first time I wore the hijab, it was November 13th, 2023, on a Monday school morning. My heart was pounding like never before. The anticipation of trying something new was so high. I stood in front of the mirror scared of what I was about to do but not a bad scared, a good one. I could feel my sweat dripping down like a popsicle on a hot summer day, the day I would wear the hijab for the first time. I took a deep breath. I was both nervous and excited. I carefully draped the soft green fabric over my head, adjusting it, pulling the hijab and twisting it until it felt just right. As I looked at my reflection a sense of serenity washed over me. The hijab framed my face accentuating my features in a way that made me feel proud of my identity as a Moroccan hijabi Muslim girl.

Finally I walked out into the world and I couldn’t help but notice the curious glances and weird looks I received. I was meeting up with my best friend to go to school that morning. Mikayla almost walked right past me.

When she noticed me, she gasped and blurted out, “OMG. Malak you’re wearing the hijab.”

“Yes. You finally convinced me to do it,” I said. Mikayla gave me a warm hug that felt like hot cocoa during a snowy morning. At that point I felt safe.

When we got to our school, I saw my other friends. They seemed surprised but happy for me. I still felt anxious. Everyone always complimented me on my hair and I was worried about what they were going to think. Many people were actually really sweet about it, but for some reason I felt like I was on fire. I felt a little humiliated. I didn’t know why though. By the next day I realized it didn't matter what I wore as long as my friends liked me for me.

The hijab, once a symbol of modesty and faith, has become a statement of my inner strength and resilience. It is a shield protecting me from judgment and allows me to express myself through it. Trying colors and outfits I really

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My Hijab

(continued)

liked helped me get comfortable with wearing the hijab. I get so happy and smiley when I see other hijabis and exchange smiles with them. I am glad the hijab shows who I am and my religion, something that my hair didn’t do. That’s when I realized the hijab isn’t just a piece of fabric, but a powerful symbol of faith in my identity. It connected me to my community of strong inspiring young women who walked this path before me in ways I couldn’t imagine. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, wearing the hijab has become second nature to me. It has become an innermost part of my beliefs of Islam.

Photograph: JD Noonan 17

Untitled London Recio

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What being a woman means to me Janylis Difo Being a woman means being able to be powerful and assertive, yet kind at the same time.

It means being compassionate and vulnerable towards those we love in our lives without feeling weak for doing so.

It means striving for our goals even in the face of the adversity we may encounter along the way.

It’s finding beauty in the smallest things.

We are brave even if we are not prepared.

To be a woman is to suffer and thrive simultaneously.

Power comes within a woman.

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Predator in the Wild Aprill Tavarez

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Two Poems Kadesha Asseveiro Death By Cancer I asked many times But they said “Next Week” I wonder why? * * * My Evil Stepmom Crying and dying You can tell by the Human mind Very cracked My grandma died from cancer.

First time ever heard The word……….

Money That’s all they wanted The treatment wasn’t it My heart broke Cuts and blood All over my arms.

The House The white walls I am locked in a room Trapped in the bathroom Waiting to get bathed She’s finally here Purple scrubs, black Nike shoes I’m totally fried.

I have been here Less than 5 times My head in the waves The shiny gloves as she’s wetting my braids Rubbing my back Then again back in a grave Felt like a minute But now I’m back “Home” I miss The House.

The Rabbit A play by Briseis Seda Characters: Pearl: The protagonist. A thirteen year old girl who is very caring.

Amanda: Pearl's older sister. A sixteen year old girl who likes to follow rules.

Jacob: Pearl’s older brother. A twenty-nine year old who just wants a better life.

The man: A random librarian who works in the library.

A rabbit: Doesn’t talk, is nine years old.

Scene One (Pearl and Amanda are in a clean, light-gray lab looking at a green glowing rabbit in a glass box.)

Amanda: I know you love him, but, in life, you have to let go.

Pearl: No, we won’t need to put him down. I’m getting closer to knowing how to fix the issue.

Amanda: Pearl, our mother is planning to lose this job in three weeks. Not even she has gotten to the bottom of the problem.

Pearl: She can’t convince them to let him live longer?

Amanda: No, this rabbit is a danger to our planet. The moment they find out she's been keeping him alive, the walls are going to come crashing down.

Pearl: We have to find a way to keep him. How about our brother? He says he’s always busy but I bet you he has time to care for Timothy. And he'd be happy to take care of him.

(Amanda laughs curtly.)

Amanda: That man has been shunned from the family for three years now. I thought mom made it clear that that was the last you'd see of him?

Pearl: I can convince her again.

Amanda: No you can’t. If you try, I’m letting her know what you're trying to do.

(Pearl stands quietly.)

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The Rabbit by Briseis Seda (continued) Scene Two (Pearl is in a library close to her school during lunch. Inside, there’s a man sitting on a blue chair, typing away at a black computer. Pearl goes up to him.)

Pearl: Hello?

The man: Hey. Pearl: Can you locate the lab my father works in?

The man: Um, what’s his name? His full name?

Pearl: Peter Olander Haze.

The man: Ok, let me see.

(Sounds of fingers typing and getting into the computer.)

The man: This him? Is he an ex worker of this place?

(Pearl looks at the screen. It is a man with white hair.)

Pearl: Yeah, that's him. Where does he work?

The man: He's in Sundew State Prison.

Pearl: What? How? What did he do now?

The man: It says he's been charged with life for the murder of seventeen people.

Pearl: Oh my god. Well, is there any way I could talk to him?

The man: The only way I advise would be through letters. He's in another country.

Pearl: Ok then, I'll just send a letter. How do you do it though?

The man: Oh, ok, hold on.

Scene Three (Pearl is at a small red house. She knocks but has no answer back, so she rings the doorbell.)

Pearl: Jacob, it's me, Pearl, your sister!

(The door opens, it’s a young man with bags under his eyes.)

Jacob: Pearl? But how? Did mom give you the address to my house?

(Pearl hugs her brother.)

Pearl: No, our father told me. Which reminds me that you have a lot of explaining to do.

Scene Four (Pearl and Jacob are sitting on the couch drinking hot cocoa.)

Jacob: So he left all the explaining to me, huh?

Pearl: Yeah.

Jacob: Well, originally he was living with me because after his last failed medicine, your mother wanted him on the streets. He also started to go mad from it. So the plan was for him to focus on having therapy and then he'd get a new job.

Pearl: Wait, don't tell me this was why you were shunned from the family?

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The Rabbit by Briseis Seda (continued) Jacob: I mean, am I allowed to lie to you or like...

Pearl: Oh my god.

Jacob: So the answer is yes. And so, however, he decided he wanted another shot at creating medicine to which I said “no.” Then he disappeared. I still have no clue where he went at the time but all I told the family was that he had a new job as a science teacher.

Pearl: He always said he was making a medicine but never said what it was for.

Jacob: From my understanding he was trying to turn heroin into a psychotropic drug. I don't know. The administration told me they didn't even know he was doing it. He was supposed to be doing medicine for cancer.

Pearl: What, what is a psychotropic drug?

Jacob: Oh sorry, I meant a drug for mental health. (Pause) And they didn't know he had volunteer test subjects.

(Pause) Pearl: (Stuttering) So you don’t know why he’s in prison?

Jacob: (In a monotone voice) No. Pearl: So let me get this straight. Not even you know why he's in prison and he doesn't want both of us to know anything about it.

Jacob: Yeah that's what it sounds like.

Pearl: Honestly just forget about him. They said he's in prison for the death of more people.

Jacob: Again?

Pearl: Yeah, but this time it seems he wasn't excused for it.

Jacob: Ugh, I talked with him about this. How did he even find another lab job? He lost everything.

(They stay silent while Jacob has his hands vigorously rubbing his face. Then Jacob notices the box Pearl had been carrying, on the floor to her side.)

Jacob: Is that for me?

Pearl: Oh yeah, it is.

(She grabs and opens the box revealing a green glowing rabbit.)

Jacob: What, what the hell is that?

Pearl: Jacob, this is Timothy. The rabbit you adopted when you turned twenty-three.

Jacob: He, he’s alive?

Pearl: Yeah, we never put him down.

Jacob: Pa said the treatment he gave him for his cancer killed him.

Pearl: No. It actually cured him, but now he's radioactive.

Jacob: How the hell!!??

Pearl: Anyway, our mother is moving on from doing lab work because she says she’s not passionate about it anymore. She thinks it’s best if we just put him down because she’s afraid of the damage he might cause by being radioactive; hence why you can’t take him out of the box since he might burn down the house. She’s already given up on him, but I’ll still find a way to cure him, I promise. I just need time. So I’ve taken him to you so you could take care of him until I land a job doing lab work.

The Rabbit by Briseis Seda (continued) Jacob: Pearl this is insane. No. No, no, no, no. I'd rather have him be put down.

Pearl: (Gasps) But he was yours?

Jacob: Ok, but what kind of life is that to be trapped in a small box? No grass, fresh air, or free space for the rest of his life.

(Pearl starts tearing up.)

Pearl: So you don't want him alive? You don't believe in me?

(Jacob and Pearl stare at each other. Jacob takes a deep breath and sighs.)

Jacob: Give me the box.

(Pearl stares at Jacob.)

Jacob: Pearl, give me the box.

(She gives him the box. He opens the lid and touches the rabbit’s back. It shivers.)

Jacob: So hot.

Pearl: Wait, what are you doing? Stop!

(He lifts the rabbit in his hands. It whimpers while he places it down on the ground. Pearl stares with her mouth open while the rabbit pounces about the wooden floor. But nothing happens. She takes a while to respond.)

Pearl: Oh yeah. We never did anything to see if he’d actually burn the house down.

Jacob: Well, problem solved. You can rest easy now.

(The rabbit climbs onto Jacob. His body squinches up, but he smiles.)

Pearl: Wait, so this means you’re taking care of him now? So I don’t have to fix the problem?

Jacob: Yeah, pretty much.

Pearl: So you mean to tell me all this chaos was over nothing? Just how I’ve lost you because you put so much effort into nothing.

(Jacob takes awhile to reply.)

Jacob: You haven’t lost me. I’m right here, in front of you. My rabbit has brought you to me, so it wasn’t for nothing.

(Jacob starts breathing heavily and drinking from his mug. He seems to be stressed out) Pearl: I’m sorry.

Jacob: No, it’s ok.

Pearl: Maybe there’s still time for Pa. We could work to bail him out of prison.

Jacob: No, Pearl, it’s way too late. At least I can live my life knowing that I tried, even if that includes the loss of most of my family.

(They go silent for a moment but then Pearl hugs her brother.)

Pearl: Thank you. I knew coming to you was the right choice.

Jacob: Anytime. But please bring other people with you and have a backup plan the next time you do something like this.

Pearl: Oh. (Pearl laughs.)

Pearl: Ok, for you I'll get friends.

Jacob: No, for you.

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END OF PLAY

Pages from a “Mini-Me” Book Jennifer Ramos Aguirre

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Beautiful Scars Tanae Morrison

it is finally over. the wilted rose petals lay out on the ground like empty bullet casings. the wind weeps its cry of relief relief as the dust of hateful words settles in its final place on this battlefield of broken hearts the butterflies in my stomach flew A W A Y as they heard the shots you fired "it’s not me it’s you." the sound of these words were a declaration to my soul as i look at all the new battle scars you caused it reminds me of the old ones you’d trace to erase the pain they caused.

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A Taste of Home Mariela Pujols

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Dad’s Kid Meliha M. The sun peers into the gazebo and July wraps me in bows of heat. Flies buzz around our table mindlessly. I take a bite of my food and turn to my dad, who I last saw 6 summers ago. His eyes, the color of the North and Baltic Seas, flash a familiar blue. My sister looks at me from across the table, her scattered, sun-kissed freckles kind of like a strawberry. I always tell her she reminds me of one. The silence fills the sweet summer air, but it's not so bad. I look over my shoulder at the children, playing soccer and giggling amongst themselves. Folk music plays from a distance. The silence breaks.

“Hello! Is the food good?” a young waitress with kind eyes asks, notepad in hand.

“Perfect!” My dad’s voice is gentle and comforting.

That’s all this day was. Perfect, gentle, comforting, awkward. I bite into an orange slice and cold juice drips off the peel.

“How is school?” my father asks. Conversations with my dad aren't as they were. I glance at him, then my eyes trace the black mountains surrounding the restaurant.

“School is good, Tata. How are you? How is your health?”

Conversations between us never flow like when I was a kid. Partially because of a language barrier, partially because we don’t really know each other. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, giving me a reassuring smile.

“I’m okay. I’m doing good.”

“Good, Tata. Ulcinj was beautiful. I miss it.”

I had just been in Ulcinj. The blue water fills my mind, fills the spaces in this conversation. The pauses. My sister Dzenisa speaks softly and joyfully. Her wedding is in five days. She's been acting like it, too.

“This food is amazing. Meliha, have some.”

My dad and sister use their forks to put huge pieces of food on my plate even though I have my own. I don’t usually finish my own food, nevermind theirs. I smile and accept it. I graze my fingertips against the glazed wooden 29

Dad’s Kid by Meliha M. (continued) table. Some rowdy children run into the gazebo, all wearing red and yellow soccer jerseys, the color of Montenegro’s flag, sitting at a booth to the left of us.

A blond waiter comes and offers them glasses of orange Cedevita.

I look at my father again and he tightens his arm around my shoulder.

Smiles and silence are exchanged. I lean on his shoulder and take a deep breath. The sun burns my skin, a stinging sensation on my nose. Dinner with a stranger who I love so dearly.

Awkward silence.

I wouldn’t trade this for the world.

“Tatin,” my father tells me. He always calls me and my sisters “Dad’s kid” in two parts. He says “Dad’s” … and waits for us to finish by saying “son.”

I use the Montenegrin word. “Sin,” I respond with a smile.

Art by Yuliza Gonzaga Veliz 30

My Pride and My Joy Adriyel Reyes

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Girl Swinging

Marianna Adames

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Masquerade Josiah Baugh

A smile The most effective mask Free and flawless A mask for your emotion A mask for your pain A mask for your hubris A mask for your disdain A mask that takes everyone's woes away All but yours, because under that mask you Slowly Fade Away...

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Untitled

Aaron Perez Ramales

To Be Young, Lit, and Turnt Ashiyah Saunders Life growing up in the Bronx. Life growing up in the Bronx is holding down your own. Life growing up in the Bronx is going shopping on crackhead central, also known as 3rd Ave., legal littering also known as Fordham and in Bay Plaza. Life growing up in the Bronx means everyone on your block is cousins. Life growing up in the Bronx is taking the crowded Bx 15, Bx 6, Bx 35 anywhere you need to go. Life growing up in the Bronx is your favorite restaurant remembering you and your siblings’ faces after going there almost every day. The same Chinese man, low eyes, same blue shirt at the register of Merryland Buffet, who would say, “Back again?”

“Yes,” I’d say, laughing on my way out.

Life growing up in the Bronx is the smell of burnt fireworks on July 4th.

Life growing up in the Bronx is the sight of gang members on the corner next to the deli everyday. Every day I’d walk past this thuggish, sagging-their-pantsdirty-mid-20s-looking group of guys on the way to the deli to get my daily breakfast sandwich. They’d always ask, ''How’s your mom?” and almost everyday I’d reply, “She’s good, excuse me,” trying to get into the store.

Growing up in the Bronx is running home from Mullaly Pool on a warm summer evening to make curfew.

“Hurry!” I yell to my sister down the block.

“I’m coming!” she says with a shortness of breath.

Life growing up in the Bronx is the block parties and random cookouts.

“Run upstairs and pass me the black spatula with the damn burnt spot on it,” my best friend’s mom orders me.

Life growing up in the Bronx is unforgettable. The memories, the people, the places, the food, the conversations, even the annoying men near the deli, who think I don’t know they want my mom. I wish I could go back every day.

Living in the Bronx was so filled with love, a love only you can feel if you are there. Living there, I was young, lit, and most definitely turnt.

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Tattoo

Jada Crawley

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Ladybug

Janylis Difo There is no real comfort in saying “I don’t care anymore.”

Of course you do.

When you’re saying goodbye to your father and your mouth trembles As you try not to cry but your heart aches And you hide these waves of despair in your throat.

Own it.

It is a beautiful thing to feel but it is even more beautiful to understand what you feel.

Stop looking at the world as a “why.”

But instead as a “why not.”

Try not to rip it out or question or fix it.

Indulge it.

Take a dip in an ocean of exploration and division.

Find the light and swallow it whole.

Read life as a romance and not a treasure hunt, As a warm tenderness, be infatuated.

You read it for everything but the end.

The pleasure, Not the sticks and stones that led you here, Not the why, what, where, when, maybe even how.

But the pleasure of the steps you still have to take The 5 senses you have yet to experience, A million times over again.

Forget everything but leave nothing behind Live carelessly but never stop caring.

And when your day starts to feel like it’s been more than 24 hours, like you’ve never had a home, remember the ladybug that landed on you one day at the beach and use that to move yourself through life with your head held higher than you’ll ever recall because even a black dotted creature has so much significance To you.

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Noyer Noir Jenna Neils

In me, a whimsical spirit dances defying in vain gusts, like an elusive trick birthday candle, ever gleaming.

Fairness resides within, intertwined with a touch of trepidation. a fencer’s grace light as feathers and honing skills with unwavering dedication Though my steps may seem grumpy, crushing twigs beneath my weight, my heart holds generosity, boundless and innate Intelligence blooms, a magnificent chorus of minds

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harmonizing as one unveiling wisdom’s treasures brighter than the sun behold, my wit shines, sharp and nimble akin to a walnut’s clever riddle, forever engaging, a delightful enigma to unravel.

I’m All Ears Ben Lewis

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Day 5: Life’s Mystery 😇 Rui

Life as we see it is not dependent on faith, for the choices we make are subtle and at times a mistake maybe one day it will come back complete, the intention of the person who deserved it to be fulfilled, for we are independent, which is our personal skill, learning for ourselves the true meaning of this world, for when it is announced we will be certainly proud of what we have done.

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CONTRIBUTORS’ NOTES Melanny Abreu: A previous contributor to Lit by Design, Melanny is a graduating senior.

Marianna Adames: About “Girl Swinging,” the artist writes: “I’m using acrylic and the idea is based off adulting. When I was younger I know I couldn’t wait to grow up. Now that I’m a senior in high school I started seeing the reality of adulting–it’s not what it’s cut out to be. It’s very challenging. This started as a collage then it became a digital collage and then a viewfinder. Now it’s an actual finished piece.” About “Eyes & Fingers” she says, “This painting is a mixed media painting. I used watercolor, pencil and color pencil. The idea behind this artwork is my anxiety as a kid. I was always super shy and often felt like everyone was watching my every move. This started as a sketch but then I wanted to add color so I experimented.

Kadesha Asseveiro: Kadesha likes to play volleyball and says about poetry, “It helps with my inner thoughts, and I like writing because I can express myself in different ways and forms–it’s like a coping mechanism.”

Josiah Baugh: I wrote the poem “Masquerade” to represent that you can’t assume you know how someone is feeling because they’re wearing a smile on their face.

Araceli Castelan: I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. Ever since I was little I have always liked being creative. I’m not afraid to try new things and go outside of my comfort zone.

Jada Crawley: MJ is a rising junior. About her art piece, she says, “I really wanted a tattoo, so I drew what I love and what represents my style and aesthetic. Playing electric guitar is one goal I want to reach in life, to shred it and rock out in my room to songs I love. The stars add detail to the page and pop if you will. It’s too much of a pain to me not knowing how to play guitar but I will learn. That’s what inspired me.”

Gabriella Diaz: Gabriella will be starting her junior year at New Design this fall.

Janylis Difo: A member of this year’s Lit Team, Janylis is a rising senior.

Ben Lewis: I’m a rising junior and the inspiration behind this piece was the Picasso portraits at the MoMA, usually featuring exaggerated proportions and vibrant colors. In this piece I made the large ears the center focus, which gave it its title, “I’m All Ears.”

Sahana Lynch: From age seven or eight I discovered my passion for drawing. My mom noticed and encouraged me to try and get into BSA (Baltimore School of Arts). I was selected and had the chance to experiment with different mediums. I grew to really love creating art. I especially enjoy digital art since all the materials I need are at my disposal. My inspiration stems from Monster High dolls. Growing up I was obsessed with the character designs, along with how unique their outfits and hairstyles are, which led me to want to create my own characters based on them.

Meliha M.: Meliha, who just finished her freshman year, likes to debate, play games, sketch and paint, and hopes one day to work in the sciences.

Debora Molina: Debora is a rising sophomore.

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CONTRIBUTORS’ NOTES (continued) Tanae Morrison: My name is Nae and I just finished 10th grade. I originally wrote my poems for myself while I was going through some things. Writing like this can be hard to share, but I chose to do so because maybe my work will help or inspire someone else.

Jenna Neils: Jenna, who just finished her freshman year, has a passion for storytelling that breathes life into her art and writing. Drawing inspiration from the beauty of the world around her, Jenna immerses herself in the depths of human emotions to create her pieces. Diving into the realms of digital arts and cartooning, Jenna’s dedication to crafting compelling narratives and vibrant visuals showcases her commitment to sharing her authentic self with the world. When she’s not lost in her art, Jenna finds joy and inspiration in the moments spent with her family that fuel her creative fire and infuse her work with depth and meaning.

JD Noonan: A member of this year’s Lit Team, JD will be a senior in the fall.

Malak Ounnab: A rising sophomore, she’s very funny and loved by all. She says of her piece of memoir: “I hope ‘My Hajib’ is inspiring to all Muslim students.”

Aaron Perez Ramales: Aaron just completed his junior year.

Mariela Pujols: Mariela is a rising senior.

Jennifer Ramos Aguirre: Jennifer finished her sophomore year during which she created a book entitled La Buena y La Mala, which is where her images originated. The main story is about growing up, from a childhood memory to a letter for her future self to remind her of maturity.

Everything written in Spanish is for her parents to understand her point of view.

Adriyel Reyes: Adriyel is a member of this year’s Lit Team. He writes, “I am a rising sophomore and like sports, playing games and cats. My dream is to be a professional soccer player one day.”

Rui: My name is Rodrigo Tetzopa but my poet’s name is Rui. I’m a sophomore whose joy for creative writing and poetry has had a great impact on the way I express myself, while having a positive impact on the people and community(s) around me and knowing that there are people who could learn more about this form of visual art.

Ashiyah Saunders: Ashiyah just completed 9th grade.

Briseis Seda: “The Rabbit” is Briseis’s second play that Lit by Design has featured. She just finished her senior year.

Ariah Swift: I based this artwork off on what I like the most, like fairies, the color blue, and space. This piece was based on a collage that was meant to give off dreamlike vibes, which I tried to emulate to the best of my ability in its recreation. I call it ‘An Average Dream’ because this painting is pretty nonsensical, and a lot of dreams are also.

Aprill Tavarez: I am finishing 9th grade at New Design. I chose to create this artwork because I liked the alligator photo and thought the grass landscape would match it best. I used color pencils and a shading pencil. I created multiple boxes to create a woven image drawing.

Yuliza Gonzaga Veliz: Yuliza is a graduating senior.

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THANK YOU! This issue of Lit by Design would not be possible without the help and support of the entire New Design High School staff, with a special shout-out to ELA teachers Brett Burns, Darren Chase, John Chiaravalloti, Tori Chirafisi, Maria Clausen, John Istel, Laura Madera, Mike Murphy, Rachel Posner, and Ranisha Singh; to our librarian Mina Leazer; and especially the inspiration of our school’s design teachers: Charity Lord, Rachel Poccia, Peter Tresnan, and Julie Zenobi.

Photo: JD Noonan 43

Lit By Design

2024

Send us art, poetry, and writing for next year’s issue!

Email it to: LitByDesign@NewDesignHigh.com Lit by Design is the literary magazine of New Design High School 350 Grand Street, 4th floor, New York, NY 10002 / Dr. Scott Conti, Principal Back cover: Yuliza Gonzaga Veliz