Pegasus
2024-2025
VOLUME XLV
THE URSULINE SCHOOL
1354 North Avenue | New Rochelle, New York 10804
STUDENT STAFF:
Ariana Banks
Valentina Cipollone
Ava Dimos
Kelly Guire
Grace Irving
Grace Recine
Natalia Rijos
Olivia Stella
Maiya Williams
Olivia Zanette
FACULTY MODERATORS:
Mrs. Patricia Joyce
Ms. Pamela Vasile
COVER ART:
Ella Herspring ’26
LAYOUT:
Mrs. Meg LaBella
PRINTING:
Ms. Denise Velasquez
A note about this year’s edition of
Pegasus
...
Published each spring, Pegasus strives to promote and exhibit the work of student writers and artists. These pieces reflect the budding creativity of Ursuline’s young women. While it is impossible to publish every entry that we receive, the Pegasus staff wishes to thank all students who submitted artwork and written work to our 2025 edition.
Pegasus, the winged horse of mythology, was beloved by the gods and cherished by all. Born of Medusa and Poseidon, Pegasus was at first wild, but was soon tamed and harnessed by Athena, goddess of wisdom. Pegasus became a favorite of the Muses, and he created the Hippocrene Fountain, source of inspiration. With his soaring yet disciplined flight to the heavens, Pegasus is a fitting symbol of our works of imagination, fantasy, and fact.
The Pegasus staff wishes to thank the many people who helped us with this year’s publication. In particular, we thank the English Department, especially Mrs. Hanson and Ms. Young for all of their assistance in collecting and editing written work. We also extend thanks to the art department for gathering all of the wonderful pieces of student artwork displayed in this year’s edition. We extend an extra thanks to Mrs. LaBella and Ms. Velazquez for designing, printing, and publishing our magazine. Finally, the Pegasus staff would like to thank Ms. Vasile and Mrs. Joyce for their guidance, dedication, and effort in helping us celebrate and share these original student creations with our entire school community. We believe this year’s Pegasus is the best one yet!
The Rescue of Santa
In the valley where laughter fills the air, Santa’s workshop stood beyond compare. With elves and fairies working through the night, Crafting toys by the soft firelight.
But far away, in caves so deep, The Daemons gathered, their hearts in greed. They hated joy and despised the cheer, That Santa spread year after year.
“His gifts bring kindness, his laughter is loud, We must stop him, make him feel proud!” So they devised a wicked plan, To trap poor Santa, the jolly old man.
On Christmas Eve, under a frosty sky, They seized him quickly, as he passed by. With ropes and chains, they bound him tight, Hoping his capture would end the night.
But Santa’s helpers, small and true, Set out to find what they must do. The pixies, fairies, and nooks galore, Would rescue Santa and settle the score. Through snowflakes swirling in the cold, They searched through caves, both dark and bold. Until they found him, worn but kind, And with a smile, he eased their mind.
“I knew you’d come, my friends so dear, No Daemon’s trick can bring me fear.” With courage bright, they broke his chain, And Santa laughed through his pain.
Together they returned, both proud and strong, To bring back Christmas, where it belongs.
Anonymous
Kaia Saenz ‘28
Angeline Mazzei ‘26
The cabins rest quietly beneath towering pines, their wooden walls weathered by years of laughter and whispered secrets. The lake glimmers in the distance, its surface catching the last rays of the sun, reflecting a thousand shades of gold and blue. By day, the water is alive with campers, splashing and racing to the dock, while kayaks glide across the smooth surface. “Wan to head down to the lake?” I’d ask, grabbing a towel, and before long, we’d be sprinting barefoot, racing each other to the water’s edge. The friendships here are like the trees—rooted deeply and growing stronger with every shared memory, whether it’s racing in canoes or battling for victory in color wars, where red, green, blue, and yellow clash in spirited competitions.
When the sun sets, the camp transforms into a world lit only by the moon and the stars. Friends lay sprawled on blankets in the field, pointing out constellations and letting the cool night air carry our quiet conversations. “Think we’ll ever see a shooting star?” someone would ask, all of us gazing upwards, hoping. Some nights, the projector hums softly as everyone gathers for movie night under the stars, wrapped in hoodies and blankets, the smell of popcorn in the air. “Let’s hit the canteen before the movie starts,” we’d say, as if candy would make the night even sweeter. There’s a comforting rhythm to these nights—the feeling that time stretches out endlessly, that tomorrow is a distant thought.
Morning arrives in a soft haze, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as the campers gather in the gazebo, still yawning, wrapped in sweatshirts. The quiet moments before the day begins are sacred, a time to sip hot cocoa and breathe in the fresh pine-scented air. The peace is temporary, though, as color wars gear up again, the camp alive with chants and cheers, the spirit of competition uniting everyone in a bond that lingers far beyond the summer.
Anonymous
Bryant Park
Bryant Park sits quietly in the middle of midtown, surrounded by tall glass buildings that seem to stretch endlessly into the sky. The park feels like a small, peaceful escape from the city’s constant movement. The grass is soft and green, glowing under the bright midday sun. Trees line the paths, their long branches reaching up and meeting above like they’re holding hands. They create a canopy that lets sunlight peek through in small patches, mixing light and shadow on the ground. Birds chirp from their spots in the trees, and every now and then, a breeze picks up, sending leaves skittering across the pavement like tiny dancers.
The benches along the paths look worn, their wood polished smooth by all the people who’ve sat there over the years. Some sit quietly with books or newspapers, their faces calm, while others talk in soft voices. In the center of the park, a wide lawn stretches out, where people take off their shoes and lie back in the grass. Some eat lunch, others just close their eyes and soak up the sun. The smell of coffee drifts from the small café nearby, mixing with the earthy scent of grass and leaves.
As the sun begins to set, the park changes. The air feels softer, quieter, like the whole city is taking a breath. Shadows from the trees grow longer, and the city noise fades into the background. Streetlights start to glow, casting a warm light along the gravel paths. Footsteps sound softer now, and the library at the edge of the park comes into view, its stone walls glowing faintly in the evening light. It feels like it’s watching over the park as the day slowly slips into night.
Natalia Mendoza ‘25
The air was tense. The only sound that shattered the painstaking silence was the heart monitor; the patient was still alive. The surgeons crowded tightly around the patient in the dimly lit room, desperate to save her life. It was intended to be a short operation, but as the clock ticked by, its minutes soaring to hours, the head surgeon, in particular, started to feel exasperated. It was a tedious, straining day. A single morning dragged like a lifetime. From having to pull the plug on another patient, to spilling scorching coffee down his chest, his eyes dropped from stress. He felt anxious to be done, anxious to go home and allow himself the leisure to wind down from the long days of the job. He wiped the sweat bead from his brow with his forearm and stepped from the patient, massaging his aching neck from remaining in the same position for hours. He stopped and took in his surroundings. He noticed the room and his co-workers diligently operating with ease and patience. What was their strive? Weren’t they as exhausted as him? A flicker from the overhead light distributed his thoughts. He stared at the monitor where the patient was projected and returned to observing the light. Every other second resulted in a light flicker, indicating a near broken fuse. In the corner of his eye, he noticed the projector glitching. It glitched patterns of red, similar to blood streaming in various strands, dripping down to the instrument tray. He heard the individual dripping against the metal, unsure if it was hallucination or reality. His breathing hitched as he looked down towards his bloody gloves. He couldn’t shake this weird feeling. Something was off. In hopes to confirm his suspicion, he shakenly asked his coworkers if they noticed the flicker alongside the glitch. There was a murmur of confused nos along with an overpowering, annoyed voice, beckoning him to do his job. Flushing in embarrassment, he entered back to his position, dazed at the distraction of the light. He glanced at the tray, reflecting light, unscathed by any drop of blood. He shifted his glance towards the vein he was supposed to remove through the monitor. The monitor glitched and it chilled him once more. He tried his best to ignore it to not distract his coworkers. However, the persistent voice in his head warned him to be conscious. Something wasn’t right. He peeked at the patient’s face, content in a deep sleep. He needed to save her life. He inhaled a deep breath and grasped the scalpel from the tray. Still dazed and feeling unstable from the need of sleep, he hastily punctured the vein with intentions of removal. The moment slowed. He sliced the wrong vein. “Oops,” he exclaimed as the lights suddenly shut off. The room went silent minus the echoes of his exclamation. He shook in place, unable to breathe. His coworkers were silent, unable to be seen through the harsh shadows of the room. His blood drained cold as a harsh hand seized his wrist with the scalpel. The hand tightened its grasp and he screamed. He glanced towards the direction of the patient to see its eyes glowing red, her teeth glistening white against the dark. He overheard his coworkers screaming his name and a stream of light coming from the opening of the room. His hand dripped cold and the scalpel clanked against the floor. Shivers sent down his spine, his heart threatening to be ripped from his body. The patient laughed against his hand.
“Oops,” she chuckled, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Gabriella Guevara ‘26
Porcelain Doll
In the stifling warmth of the attic, Sarah spotted a porcelain doll perched on a shelf, its presence unsettling in the silence. Cracks spider-webbed across its face, breaking up once-pink lips, frozen in a sly, knowing smile. Its glass eyes – an unnatural shade of blue – seemed to follow her every movement, glinting in the candlelight as though watching, or waiting. A faint, stale scent of lavender clung to it, thick with age.
As she edged closer, the air grew colder, prickling her skin. The doll’s gaze held a glint, almost mocking –an invitation, or perhaps a warning. A low creak broke the silence, the wood beneath her feet groaning, but Sarah couldn’t look away.
Its tiny, cracked hands rested in its lap, fingers curled as if they might spring to life at any moment. Shadows deepened in its cheeks, and that fractured smile seemed sharper, more sinister. Was it closer now, or was that just her imagination?
The lavender scent thickened, almost suffocating, tinged with something metallic. In the dim light, she thought she saw a glimmer – a single tear, wet and dark, sliding slowly down its cracked face, leaving a thin, crimson trail in its wake.
Natalia Mendoza ‘25
Emma Bogic ‘27
The Haunted Key
In a dim, dust-choked attic, my fingers brush against something cold and ancient—a tarnished iron key. Its surface is worn and pitted, as though it’s been buried in the earth for centuries. The metal bites into my skin, sending a jolt of prickling numbness through my hand. A faint, metallic smell wafts up, mingling with the stale scent of forgotten relics, and an odd chill clings to the air around it. The key feels wrong, heavier than it should be, as if weighted with a silent, malevolent history.
When I hold it up to the thin shaft of light breaking through the attic’s gloom, a glimmer of strange symbols, barely visible, pulses on its shaft. I turn it over, and as I do, a shadow flickers in the periphery of my vision—a fleeting figure, watching. My heart thuds faster; the shadow’s gone, but the cold presence lingers, oppressive, almost whispering. I know without question: this key belongs to a lock that guards something unspeakable. Something waiting…
Anonymous
Savannah Kajtazi ‘28
Sofia Cabanillas ‘26
Bridgit had always felt safe in the woods behind her house. It was her sanctuary, a place where the world faded away, and she could run through the tall grasses with her dog, Charlie, a shaggy mutt with a heart as big as her own. Every evening, after finishing her homework, they’d wander through the trees, following trails of deer and listening to the wind rustling the leaves. But lately, something had changed. The woods had grown quieter, almost too quiet. The birds no longer sang in the mornings, and the rustling of leaves seemed to carry an ominous edge. Even Charlie seemed uneasy. He no longer chased squirrels or bounded through the underbrush with his usual enthusiasm. Instead, he stayed close to Bridgit’s side, his ears constantly perked, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees.
It was on one of these walks that Bridgit first heard it—a faint whisper, like a voice carried on the wind. At first, she thought it was the wind itself, or perhaps the trees creaking in the dusk, but as she walked deeper into the forest, it became clearer. The voice seemed to call her name—soft at first, barely a murmur, but as they ventured further, it grew louder.
“Bridgit... Bridgit...”
Charlie’s growl interrupted the strange sound. He stopped dead in his tracks, his fur bristling, and his eyes locked onto the dense thicket ahead of them. “Charlie, what is it?” Bridgit whispered, crouching beside him, but the dog didn’t move. His gaze was fixed, unblinking. The whispering was louder now, and it seemed to swirl around her, like a thousand voices carried on the breeze. They weren’t just calling her name. They were... Pleading.
“Come... come closer...”
A shiver crept up Bridgit’s spine. The voice sounded wrong—thin, stretched, almost desperate. And the air around them felt heavier, colder, as if something had changed in the woods. “Charlie, let’s go back,” Bridgit said, her voice trembling.
But Charlie wouldn’t budge. He was frozen, his body taut with tension. Bridgit stood, feeling the weight of something dark pressing down on her. The voice was almost deafening now, a chorus of whispers from every direction.
“Bridgit…” The voice came again, clearer than ever, but this time it was different. It was no longer pleading. It was angry.
Suddenly, the whisper stopped. The silence was so complete, so profound, that Bridgit could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
And then, she heard something else. A soft padding of paws, approaching from the direction Charlie had been staring. Bridgit turned, her breath catching in her throat.
Out of the trees emerged a figure, crouched low to the ground, eyes glowing unnaturally in the dim light. It was a dog—but not Charlie. This one was skeletal, its fur matted and thin, its teeth sharp and yellow. Charlie growled and lunged, but the creature was faster. In one fluid motion, it knocked Charlie aside, sending him crashing into a nearby tree.
“Run, Bridgit!” Charlie yelped, his voice now ragged and strained. Bridgit didn’t hesitate. She bolted, her heart thundering in her chest, with only one thought in her mind: get out.
She didn’t look back as the creature’s growl echoed behind her, growing fainter with every step. She only ran, her breath burning in her lungs, until the woods finally opened up to the familiar sight of her house. Charlie never came home.
And the whispering never stopped.
Audrey Kelly ‘26
The kitchen hums in quiet now, No scent of basil, no flour-dusted brow. Your hands, soft with stories, worked the dough, Crafting love in every fold, every glow.
I miss the sound of your laughter’s song, The way it could make the hardest days feel not so long. Your apron strings tied more than just meals, They bound us in warmth, in all that heals.
The garden is silent, but I still see Your shadow among the vines and trees. Tomatoes ripen, but they don’t taste the same, Without your touch, they’ve forgotten their flame..
But until we meet in that timeless embrace, I’ll carry your spirit, your love, your grace. In every recipe, in every bloom, You live in my heart, beyond the gloom.
Julianna
Albanese ‘26
In the quiet moments, when laughter fades to silence, I feel the weight of what’s unsaid, the gentle pull of a friendship, once vibrant, now drifting.
I’d rather see you up than see you down, to watch you chase your dreams, to see you thrive in spaces where I can’t follow. Your joy deserves to flourish, even if it means stepping away.
We’ve shared our deep, dark secrets, echoes of late-night talks, but the paths we walk are shifting, and it’s time to honor that truth.
I hold onto the memories, the warmth of your presence, a bond that reshapes itself, not diminished, but transformed.
With every step back, I wish you well— the freedom to discover, the courage to grow, knowing that in letting go, I give you room to shine.
Audrey Kelly ‘26
Jane Lovely ‘27
Back when I was a child, Before life removed all the innocence, I would lie on the ground, And watch the clouds go by. I would stop and smell the roses, Running through the garden, Finding joy in the little things, That money could not buy.
Back when I was a child, Chasing fireflies like shooting stars, Dreaming about getting older, Seventeen seemed so far. Pillow forts in the living room, Protection from the monster, Go on, run and hide.
Little did I know, the monster was already inside.
I wish I was still a child, Before life removed all the innocence, Before clouds became smiles of loved ones, Watching over from above, When dreams felt achievable, Not just of reach, And smiles were genuine, Not for hiding feelings buried ten feet deep.
I wish I was still a child, Fighting imaginary demons, Not knowing they would make their way inside. I wish I didn’t think so hard, And bring myself to tears each time. I wish I could live in the moment, as I once did. Now that I’m grown, I wish I was still a kid.
My youth I look back on fondly Clinging onto the memories I cherish the moments longingly You put my heart at ease
I miss you every waking hour We were the sun and moon You blossomed like a flower Oh I can’t wait to see you soon
You’re my beacon of light A forever shoulder to lean on Your smile was oh so bright It’s so hard with you gone
But you’re always in my heart Forever there you will lie Time will never break us apart This is see you later, not goodbye
Mya Joseph ‘26
Sofia Muoio ‘25
Clara O’Brien ‘29
The Doctor’s Visit
The smell hit first, sharp and sterile, like something harsh enough to erase every trace of life from a surface. Sam swallowed hard, already regretting the visit as she stared down the long, dimly lit corridor of the clinic. Her appointment wasn’t for another ten minutes, but she’d arrived early, hoping it might make this easier. It hadn’t. The receptionist had barely looked up, muttering for her to “wait in room seven,” as if her voice were muffled by the antiseptic haze that seemed to hang in the air. Sam’s stomach lurched with every step, a sickening roll that worsened as she passed each numbered door. By the time she reached room seven, the walls seemed to hum, a low, droning buzz she couldn’t quite shake.
Inside, the examination room was unbearably bright, every surface a gleaming, unnatural white that reflected the fluorescent lights in a way that made her eyes ache. She took a seat on the exam table, paper crinkling beneath her, and tried to steady her breathing. But something felt wrong. No sounds of other patients, no voices, just a pulsing silence that thickened, pressing in on her from all sides.
She glanced nervously at the counter, where rows of pristine medical instruments lay, gleaming and polished, neatly aligned as though awaiting their turn. Each one seemed to glint at her, taunting. Her mind raced through every worst-case scenario she’d imagined the night before – needles too big, scalpels slipping, hands too heavy.
The door swung open with a suddenness that made her flinch, her pulse spiking. A man in a white coat stepped in, closing the door softly behind him, the click of the latch echoing in the stillness. His face was hidden behind a surgical mask, but his eyes – the only part of him she could see – were disturbingly dark, hollow, and empty. They bore into her, flat and unblinking, stripping her down to something raw and vulnerable. He didn’t say a word, didn’t greet her. He just stared, a faint glimmer of something twisted flickering in his gaze.
“Um, I don’t think I –” she began, her voice faltering. But he was already adjusting the lamp, pulling it closer to her face so its light burned into her vision. She lay back reluctantly, feeling trapped, pinned down by the sterile light and the man’s silent presence. Her heart hammered, and her hands twisted into the paper covering the table, crinkling it into tight, sweaty folds.
Without a word, he reached for a syringe, its needle long and daunting. The sight of it sent a surge of nausea through her, and she shut her eyes, willing herself to stay calm. But when she opened them again, he was closer, bending over her, his maskless face inches from her own. She froze, every muscle locking in terror. Sam’s chest heaved, every breath sharper, shallower, her heart racing out of control. She couldn’t bear the way he looked at her, as though he were peeling her apart layer by layer, seeing every fear, every dark thought she’d ever buried. Was she losing her mind?
His lips stretched into an unnatural smile, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he whispered, “You’ve come to the wrong place.” The words were barely audible, but they pulsed in her ears, reverberating with each frantic beat of her heart.
Before she could scream, his hand pressed down on her shoulder, cold and firm, holding her in place. His grip was iron, and no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t break free. She could only watch as the needle descended, closer and closer, until –
The room was empty again, the door closed, the hallway silent. A faint rustle of paper was the only sign she’d ever been there.
Natalia Mendoza ‘25
There are often wounds in our hearts that no words can reach, cracks in the soul where the light gets lost.
I watch you drift into silence, A shadow of who you used to be I wanted to pull you into my hands, Wanted to pull you from the dark
Hiding away from the punishments of time
For love’s the greatest healer to be found, unlike time and ignorance, it’s quiet and soft
Finding its way into the deepest fractures of your soul
Filling yourself with warmth
I didn’t mend you I didn’t save you But I loved you
And in that, we both found what we needed A place to heal.
In a shadowed room, a canvas sways, A painting whispers of lonely days. A boy with tears like rain that fall, His haunted eyes seem to call.
Painted shadows twist and turn, As if he yearns for things to learn, A whispered promise, a game once played, Now trapped in time, forever frayed.
Each brushstroke drips with silent dread, Echoes of laughter, now long dead. When moonlight spills across the frame, His gaze follows, always the same.
In the still of night, he cries anew, For dreams forgotten, for hopes untrue. Beware the gaze of the weeping child, For in his sorrow, the night runs wild.
Audrey Kelly ‘26
Natalia Mendoza ‘25
Audrey Teng ‘30
Carina Russo ‘27
From Us, To Them
A shout and metal being hit. This is how they woke me up.
6 A.M.
I have never been a morning person. My mother told me that many times. Although not in a loving way, she couldn’t even fake a smile to make it seem nicer. She wasn’t very good at playing pretend anyways. Maybe that’s why I am. I like to win at games, and acting is my favorite. As I walk in the hallways, the animals start to roar at me as usual. But the zookeepers try to calm them down. That’s new .
11 A.M.
The zookeepers take me outside to a van to go to the house. My mother never liked to pick me up from field trips. She said that I was born with a hungry fire like no other, and after a field trip, it burned hotter. She was just waiting for me to give into it and let the fire die down. Did it ever die down, mother? Look at me now.
1 P.M.
Finally fresh clothes.
I can’t remember the last time I had fresh clothes. Mother hated doing the laundry, and she never taught me how to do it. But what does it matter now?
So instead I breathe in the fresh clothes hoping they will smell like you . Nothing could ever match that perfume you wore. It smelled so delicious like the sweet pudding cups the lunch ladies used to hand out. I swear you would spray extra of it just to make me want you more.
As I finished breathing in the freshest clothes I’ve ever worn, I finally noticed the piece of paper they left on my desk. “What do you want for your meal?” Such a simple question, and yet they could never give me what I craved the most. That’s long gone. After all, my mother said I was born hungry, I was hungry, you made me hungry…
Nothing could replace you.
1:30 P.M.
The zookeepers, now my babysitters, take me to this man; he’s wearing a suit and a smile. Why is he looking at me like that? I haven’t seen this look of kindness since … My thoughts are of course interrupted by this strange man. Time to play my favorite game again .
3 P.M.
The keepers took me to another room and as I sat down, I realized how uncomfortable this chair is, same with my wrists. They couldn’t spare a cushion or give me a moment without the friendship bracelets they made too tight? I suppose I won’t be here long anyways. Playtime’s almost over, and I am starving. I picked up the Chatter Telephone. My favorite toy phone to play my favorite game. The phone began to ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring… I hate waiting. It seems as if I was born waiting. No response. It’s not like I expected one but it got me thinking. I wonder if she’s even thinking of me? After everything I did for us? So we could be together forever, in one body, one soul?
6 P.M.
I find it quite strange that today is going so fast. My days have never flown by this way before. Tomorrow will probably be even quicker. All I have to do to get there is drift off to sleep…
9 A.M.
Usually I find it hard to sleep when I’m nervous about a live performance, but I slept with utter comfort last night. I don’t remember the last time I slept in such a clean room. Not to mention later the babysitters are going to let me shower by myself without any of the animals from the zoo.
2 P.M.
I can hear them talking. They’re talking about me. Of course they are, and I know why. Mother used to call me monochromatic. She used to say how my obsession with the color red made it seem like it was the only thing I saw, like I was drawn to it. I saw red. I saw red coming out of her , and I knew what it meant. “I love you”. The red meant I love you.
3 P.M.
It’s getting closer to my meal. On the piece of paper I wrote down something rather simple so that the chef should be able to do it with the budget. Just ribs. No fancy sauce or seasoning, just plainly cooked ribs. It won’t be as good as they were before. But they wouldn’t let me get what I really wanted. They couldn’t replicate that. No one could, that moment, that taste, it only exists in my memories now. Our memories.
4 P.M.
My first bite into the ribs was utterly disappointing, as expected. But in my mind I trick myself into thinking that it’s you here with me. That makes the meal sweeter.
6 P.M.
The babysitters came and grabbed me forcing me to walk forward. This was it…show time. They walked me there in utter silence, that is until the female guard finally broke it. “How were the ribs?” I smiled at her while still thinking about it. “ Her ribs were like candy.” This made her tighten her grip on me, but honestly, you’d say the same thing if you tasted her blood.
6:10 P.M.
As I sit down they take off my handcuffs and I feel them strapping me in. The leather is tight on my skin. I look ahead to see them. The same people that kept you away from me. They came just to see us go. It’s honestly sad that they think this will do anything. One day each and every one of them will reach a day like this, their last one. Because time eats everyone he loves in the end. It was either him or me, my love. But now, you and I are together forever because of what I did to make it so. We are together: one body, one soul. That’s what I tried to tell you, and yet you still tried to run from me. They finally put the blindfold on.
6:15 P.M.
That’s the funny thing about life, no one makes it out alive. I tried to save you , my love . “Any last words?”
If I could look at them I would. But I know they can hear my next words. “My Dearest, Emmeline, I loved every bit of you.”
Gwendolyn Mobilia ‘26
I always wondered what it would feel like
To fall in love
Always the talk of the town
That fickle emotion
Would it be like a leap of faith?
Or a slow plummet back to reality?
There is no rhythm to it
Only notes strung together
Praying they made the next big hit
It took a mintate
To find our flow together
It might not be a chart topper
But our love’s rhythm doesn’t have to make sense
Then the high faded
Our light began to dim
Crushed by years in the industry
One final dance with him
Was all I got before we faded to oblivion
Death is a funny thing. It creeps up on you when you least expect it.
When the doorbell rings
And you don’t know whether to answer
Fear of the unknown behind the other side
Loved ones who passed wait for you
But you can’t shake the feeling of being forgotten
The life you had flashes past your eyes
Memories of your childhood and time elapsed
You’ve seen it happen before in other tries
Near accidents that make you appreciate your life
At the doorstep of the next ride
The ride of the concealed and uncharted
A plane of existence many hope for
Praying for a minute more on this Earth
To see the sunset one last time
Maybe it’s time to go
And open the door
I love you my friends
Mother, I’ll see you in the end
Camila Napoleon ‘26
Blake Wilson ‘26
Blake Wilson ‘26
Fire
Hot and destructive
But energetic as well
Fire like the soul
Spring: Trees and the Breeze
Trees, trapped in one place
The breeze lets them move freely
The trees and the breeze.
Claire Graham ‘31
Katerina Panayotou ‘31
Ela Dominguez ‘30
Alyssa Sciara ‘27
Ela Dominguez ‘30
Palindrome Poems:
Starbucks
Starbucks is overrated,
And I don’t need another caramel macchiato.
I’m definitely not obsessed with their iced coffee, I can live without the whipped cream.
It’s silly to think
I’m addicted to pumpkin spice lattes.
Don’t even suggest I visit every morning.
I’m not a regular.
I don’t care about the seasonal cups. And honestly,
I could totally skip their pastries.
The lines don’t bother me.
I’m fine without the caffeine fix.
And I don’t really love their fancy frappuccinos.
I can make better coffee at home.
Don’t try to tell me
That Starbucks is a daily necessity.
Because I’m completely fine without it.
I’m not waiting for my name to be called. It’s just overpriced coffee, after all.
Julianna Albanese ‘26, Audrey Kelly ‘26, Gwendolyn Mobilia ‘26
Everything and Nothing
I have everything
The monetary and tangible
Everything I could ask for is within my reach
I spend my money without a care
Success is among my fingertips
That feeling of greed takes over
A vice that deprives me of humanity
Never truly able to understand what I lack
I look at the world at a observer’s stance
I see the ugly and painful greedy sins
But also
The beauty and love of virtue
Deep within I feel a pain
While I waste away
I feel a desire of emotional gain
To see the smiles causing a longing
To see happiness fluttering about
Without the ego, without the pride
Without that value I needed to survive
I have nothing
Gabriella Guevara ‘26 and Blake Wilson ‘26
Manuela DelVecchio ‘26
Victoria Jordan ‘27
Through the Years
Freshman year begins, the doors are wide open for you
Fear and excitement fill everyone’s hearts
Greeting new faces, the halls outstretched before you
Taking the first uncertain steps as your new journey starts
Through the highs and lows
Through the laughter and tears
Lessons are found
As you learn and grow
Live life leaving no page unturned
New challenges to face as independence grows
Start chasing the dreams you want to pursue
Time is flying
All the pressure is now on you
Senior year, the end is near
A mix of joy and bittersweet tears
Fight to the end, keep your spirits high
Keep your grades up, do not focus on the goodbyes
Each tiny step taken brings you closer to the end
You’ll share a final class with all of your friends
That lunch table at the end of the hall is someone else’s now
You’ll walk away with your diploma and one final bow
Sofia Muoio ‘25, Natalia Mendoza ‘25, Anonymous ‘25
The screen goes black I click the button
Scrolling for hours
Colors seem to blur
Smiling faces stare back at me
The content consumes me
Likes, followers, views
The clock strikes 1am
My eyes feel heavy
I know I should unplug
It enthralls and enrages me
But I know it’s not real I know who I am
And who I can be
Likes, followers, views
It’s all an illusion
This isn’t the root of my happiness
It’s like a toxic relationship I want to leave, I want better
But something keeps pulling me back
This is not for me
Camila Napoleon ‘26 and Mya Joseph ‘26
Kelly Zarnitzky ‘31
Victoria Leshi ‘27
Infuriating Things
A younger cousin who destroys the neatness of your room. The sight of toys strewn across the floor, mocking you. The sheets, too lazy to remain on the bed, hang off. Your cheeks flush at the sight of the disaster. Piles of work with similar due dates. The tower of papers stacked on your desk, waiting for you to demolish it piece by piece. Several unopened books and assignments unfinished that are all due tomorrow. Anxiety wells up in you, and the pungent scent of sweat floods over you. Time runs out like sand through an hourglass. The stench of garbage on trash day. The scent of days-old spaghetti fills the room. The giant black trash bag that waits to be brought outside. It leans, tilting towards you as if it wants to fall on you. A mysterious liquid leaks from it, and an odorous, green substance covers the floor. Losing an argument. The appearance of the smirk on your opponent’s face, knowing they have won. The taste of defeat on your tongue and the feeling of isolation. The silent notion of laughter taunts you. Being injured. The pain of being hurt and missing out, unable to participate in sports and activities. You sit on the sidelines watching your teammates learn and bond. They smile as someone tells a story you are too far away to hear.
Things That Make Someone Tired
No sleep and too much sleep. When you are deprived of sleep, it is all you want. The bed calls out to you, beckoning you to climb into it. When you sleep too much, you become sluggish, and the bed entraps you in its sheets.
Exercise. Hours and hours of working out. Sweat trickles down your face. Energy oozes out of every pore until there is none left. Exhaustion envelops you, and the bed yearns for your presence.
Work. Whether nine to five or eight to three, work brings exhaustion. Your gaze drills into the clock, waiting for the day to end. Your eyes flutter open and shut as sleep calls your name. A laptop mocks you as you stare at it blankly, hoping the work will finish itself.
Travel. Time on a plane seems eternal as you pass over your house and venture to a new place. The lull of the plane passing through the sky rocks you to sleep, while the turbulence forces you awake.
Sunlight. The warm sun soaks into your skin. The warmth hugs you and rocks you to sleep. Your body becomes heavier, weighed down by the sun. So relaxed and comfortable, fatigue waves over you, and your tiredness is realized.
Ariana Banks ‘27
Lilli Taylor ‘27
Bitter Nostalgic Things
There is something unbearably heavy about the winter sun.
It rises reluctantly, casting pale light that feels more like a shadow, and it sets too soon, retreating before it has truly graced the day. How tragic, the end of a rushed story, as though the author grew bored and closed the book without regard for the characters left behind.
After a concert, the sight of confetti crushed underfoot – flakes that once adorned the air with brilliance now scattered and forgotten – is an image that lingers.
Equally mournful is the emptiness of a chair at a dinner table, its silent presence reminding everyone of what should have been, but wasn’t.
And how unsettling, the faint strains of a melody drifting from another room, stopping abruptly before one can name the song.
Bare branches clawing at a slate-gray sky, the skeletons of trees, evoke an aching void.
Some things lose their power so quietly that we hardly notice until their absence stings. A graduation tassel with its thread worn thin, hanging forgotten in a dim corner, no longer stirs a sense of success.
Even children’s laughter, muffled behind the glass of a distant window, loses its vitality, becoming little more than a faint memory of joy. The fire that once roared with light and warmth diminishes into embers, offering only smoke – a pale ghost of its former self.
How pitiable is the sea when its waves no longer roar, but lap weakly against the shore, as if exhausted by the very rhythm of its existence.
Nostalgia carries its own bittersweet ache. The scent of plum blossoms, wafting on the first breath of spring, calls forth childhood days when the air itself seemed enchanted. The faint crackle of a record player fills a room with echoes of voices long silenced, and suddenly, one is young again, if only for a moment. Passing by a house I once lived in, its windows gaze out at the street with the same quiet familiarity as before, though the people inside are strangers and a room that is no longer my own. The creak of a wooden floor beneath my feet brings back the nights of childhood when I would listen for the soft, reassuring sound of a parent’s footsteps in the dark.
Natalia Mendoza ‘25
Emily Trezza ‘26
Grade 6 “I Am” Poems
I AM:
Gemma Lucia D’Angelo
I am Gemma Lucia D’Angelo
I wonder what heaven is like
I hear my friends laughing
I see a colorful world
I want to be truly happy
I am a singer
I pretend that I am always happy
I feel all the colors of the rainbow
I touch my satin ballet slippers
I understand that life is short, so enjoy it
I say you got this Gemma
I dream of living in a world without pain
I try to always keep moving forward
I hope that I am enough
I am Gemma Lucia D’Angelo beautiful, smart and brave
Gemma Lucia D’Angelo ‘31
I AM AVA FIGUEIREDO:
I am Ava
I wonder what my life will be like
I hear the music
I see the bright lights
I want to be kind to everyone
I am a dancer
I pretend to understand everything
I feel my cat’s fur under my fingers
I touch my keyboard keys
I understand a little bit of Portuguese
I say to never give up
I dream of being on Broadway
I try to live in the moment
I hope to follow my dreams
I am Ava
Ava Figueiredo ‘31
I AM Grace Davis
I am Grateful.
I wonder about my future.
I hear waves sound in a seashell.
I see meaning.
I want everyone to be loved, including me.
I am brave.
I pretend to be perfect even though I’m not.
I feel happy.
I touch my hair when I’m nervous.
I understand that everyone is different and that’s okay.
I say self affirmations.
I dream that one day no one will be judged.
I try to be the best version of myself.
I hope less fortunate people find homes and happiness. I am amazing.
Grace Davis ‘31
I AM the light of my life
I am loved
I wonder what my purpose in life is
I hear my heart beating
I see people who love me
I want to give love to others
I am alive
I pretend that my passing family members are still here with me
I feel my family holding my hand
I touch them but I know I can’t really feel them
I understand that they’re gone but I think there still here
I say i’m ok, but i’m really not
I dream that they’re here singing and playing with me
I try to move on
I hope i can see them again someday
I am the light of my life
Isabella Thompson ‘31
Grade 6 “I Am” Poems
I AM Maya Kattapuram
I am Maya.
I wonder what the future will be like. I hear talking.
I see students.
I want to become a scientist.
I am a person who enjoys playing the flute.
I pretend I enjoy dancing.
I feel happy.
I touch the computer keys.
I understand that everyone is different. I say things about my activities.
I dream of winning the science olympiad competition.
I try to do my best in school.
I hope I will accomplish all my goals.
I am thankful for my family and friends.
Maya Kattapuram
‘31
I AM Fallon O’Shea
I am Fallon
I wonder what will I be when I grow up I hear the talking in the classrooms
I see my family
I want to have a healthy life ahead
I am the Shea
I pretend I am the owner of the Shea bridge at Citi Field
I feel like my own person
I touch the food I eat
I understand life is not fair I say never give up
I dream to see my grandpa
I try to stay positive when in hard times I hope people will remember me
I am Fallon O’Shea
I AM figuring out who I am
I am figuring out who I am
I wonder who that girl is staring at me in the mirror
I hear God calling my name
I see my family trying to help me figure it out, but I keep on praying to God saying….
I want discover who I am inside
I am figuring out who I am
I pretend to be someone else
I feel my calling sometime, somewhere, or somehow
I touch myself and begin to stare
I understand I am 12 and am unsure about who I am in this world but again….
I say I am figuring out who I am
I dream of being the person everyone wants to be
I try and I try again
I hope I will find a way but again and again I say I am figuring out who I am
Ava Jackson ‘31
Fallon O’Shea ‘31
Grade 9 “I Am” Poems
I AM becoming
I wonder about the things I can’t see, I hear the ocean calling out to me.
I watch the stars, they shine so bright, I wish to hold my mother tight.
I am myself and I try to grow,
I pretend that there’s nothing I don’t know. I feel the highs and all the lows, I touch my heart where love still glows.
I understand what’s in my hand, I say my thoughts, and take a stand. I dream of more than what’s around, I try to find my way unbound.
I hope to grow and find my place, I am here, with endless space.
Abigail Callahan ‘28
I AM Isabella Durante:
I am a determined swimmer
I wonder what comes next
I hear the crowd cheering my name
I see the distance ahead
I want to win
I am strong and passionate
I pretend to be a dolphin under the water
I feel the water splash against my face
I touch my cap and goggles
I understand that everything happens for a reason
I say that I can do it
I dream of becoming famous
I try to be stronger
I hope I become successful
I am Isabella Durante
Isabella Durante ‘28
I AM: ME
I am a girl with big dreams
I wonder what I will be when I am older
I hear the laughs and voices of my friends and family
I see the world through my eyes
I want to travel the world
I am learning something every day
I pretend I know who I am
I feel lost sometimes
I touch the hands of my loved ones
I understand that everything happens for a reason
I say what I feel even when it’s hard
I dream of big things to come
I try to stay strong through hardships
I hope to make a difference
I am still figuring out who I am
Ferguson ‘28
I am Taylor Lavery
I am my own person
I wonder about the mysteries in the world
I hear others opinions
I see people’s actions
I want a world of equality
I am Taylor Lavery
I pretend that nothing bad will ever happen
I feel loved
I touch the hearts of those in a tough time
I understand everything takes time
I say that everything matters
I dream of what I want
I try to help others the most I can
I hope the world can be safer
I am Taylor Lavery
Taylor Lavery ‘28
Gia
Grade 9 “I Am” Poems
I AM Chloe :
I am kind and compassionate.
I wonder about the impact of spreading kindness. I hear the voice of my peers standing up for others, as well as me.
I see my family spread warmth and love to all.
I want to make people feel as loved as they make me feel every day.
I am a symbol of inner beauty.
I pretend the world is filled with genuine smiles, and not fake ones.
I feel the warm hearts of others as they help me through my dark patches.
I touch the lives of others with my words and affection.
I understand that one act of kindness can make someone’s day.
I say empowering words to those around me who need it.
I dream of being the kind of person people come to, when they just need to talk.
I try to be open minded in tough situations.
I hope to inspire others to be the best versions of themselves.
I am a strong advocate for the phrase “Treat others the way you want to be treated” as it can help the world become a bit kinder every day.
Chloe Niznikiewicz
‘28
I Am Me
I am a spark in the night, I wonder about the light.
I hear the whispers of rain, I see the end of pain.
I want to spread my wings, I am a song that sings.
I pretend to be brave, I feel the waves.
I touch the morning dew, I understand what’s new.
I say words that inspire, I dream of a fire.
I try to climb the hill, I hope for peace and still.
I am a spark in the night, I am the guiding light.
Alexia Torruella
‘28
Victoria Leshi ’27
Time Machine
You can wish to go back all you want, You can reminisce in your memories, The memories made years and years ago, But if you were to go back, No one would be there waiting, Everyone else has moved on, So why can’t you?
Olivia Zanette ‘29
Smile
I smiled when you showed up at my doorstep
To talk about all the wonders that you’ve seen While my own clouds were heavy And my own mood was spent Still, I smiled because you came to me.
I smiled when you showed up at my doorstep I quickly frowned when I saw your broken look Though my own face glistened From tears recently wept Still, I smiled, and as you cried, I listened.
I cried when you showed up at my doorstep. For finally, you’ve grown tired of me.
All my weeping, all my grieving, From pain I couldn’t keep in check With the smiles that I saved for you and me.
I smiled when I saw you from my doorstep
Because you had someone who rarely ever frowned. All the tears I hid for you, All the years that we spent, Showed me I’d rather see you up than see you down. Maiya Williams ‘25
Heartbreak
My heart breaks a little more when I think about what we were, Each crack filled with faded and dead memories, The ones that filled my eyes with sorrow, And the ones where I felt like I couldn’t breathe from laughing, I miss who you were, Who we were, How you acted in the beginning, And most of all,
The thought of it working out And how I actually thought it would.
Olivia Zanette ‘29
Thea Moumni ‘31
Chloe Stella ‘28
Wishin’ On A Snack
In a land of bread and jam
Where the peanut butter’s grand
I was sittin’ by the drawbridge with my snack
When a squirrel with tiny shoes
Did a nutty dance, and made some moves
He grabbed my sandwich and ran off with a whack!
I looked inside my lunchbox, too
But all I found was just a shoe!
I’m wishin’ on a snack
To get my sandwich back
It was peanut butter, jelly
On a soft and fluffy stack
I told the knight, I told the elf
I told the baker on the shelf
Now I’m wishin’ on a snack
Come back PB&J, come back!
I met a wizard in a robe
With a wand and big purple globe
He said, “snacks are tricky, they like to run!”
He gave me a peanut spell
That worked okay, but not so well
And now my sandwich is still on the run!
I asked the dragon by the pond
He just snacked on bread and yawned
I’m wishin’ on a snack
To get my sandwich back
With that peanut butter goodness
And jelly, sweet and stacked
I told the cook, I told the king
But still, of no sandwich did I sing
Now I’m wishin’ on a snack
Please come back, PB&J, come back!
Oh PB&J, you were so sweet
With peanut butter, such a treat
And jelly shining in the sun
You were my favorite lunch, comparable to none!
So I’m wishin’ on my snack
Please come running back
With a side of potato chips
And juice that’s in a sack
I’ll be waiting with my plate
For my sandwich to show up quite late
Yes, I’m wishin’ on a snack…
Come back, PB&J!!!
Sierra Daly ‘26
Isabella Carchipulla ‘27
Wishing on a Star
“Star light star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight…”
Stell held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut as she finished whispering the song taught to her by her older sister. She waited a few more seconds before growing childishly impatient, and then peeking her eyes open. Looking around her room hoping to see a magical change, Stell puffed out an exasperated huff and slumped back down into bed. Astre always had the right answers, so what was going on? Surely this was not her sister’s fault, so perhaps there was a miscommunication between Stell and the stars. After all, Stell was named after the stars themselves.
The only trouble was, when she was born in the hospital, her father had misunderstood that her mother wanted to name her youngest daughter Stella. For some reason, he forgot the last letter. Since then, neither of Stell’s parents have bothered to fix her name. Her father used to say “Stell would have been your nickname anyway, so we saved ourselves some work and jumped the gun on your birth certificate.” So it would be fitting that misunderstandings were kind of her thing from the very beginning.
That still didn’t do much to console Stell as she pouted in her bed because the stars couldn’t hear her. The moon was bright that night, so bright that it overflowed from the sky and into her bedroom window. This was Stell’s favorite kind of night, when she could play with the moon rays as they shone onto her bed. She shuffled back under her covers and raised her stuffies onto her lap so that they could dance in the night. As Stell made her dollies dance around the room, she saw the princess’s arm dangling loosely, and wondered, as she always did, how that tragedy had happened. Gradually, the stuffies’ dancing grew slower and slower, until they were eventually freed from Stell’s grasp and tumbled down from her quilt and onto the floor. Although they try, the princess and her companion cannot get up from their new position. They are cursed to remain here until Stell retrieves them in the morning, no longer operating under their own free will.
Mia Brown ‘26
Happy as a Clam
Rolling waves crash down
Splayed out on a beach towel
Happy as a clam
Kelly Zarnitzky ‘31
Theater
Singing And Dancing
Making A Lot Of New Friends
Performing On Stage
Simona Rizzetta ‘31
The Story
An untold story
One that is filled with glory
A magic story
Ruby Herspring ‘31
School
I take out my pen…
I write and write all day long, I love Ursuline.
Katey Collura ‘31
A Nice Sunny Day
Sunny days heat haze
Sunlight shines off the ocean
With the nice blue sky
Sienna Scarpa ‘31
Gemma D’Angelo ‘31
“Hold Fast to Dreams”
“Hold Fast to Dreams,” as Langston Hughes said But Dreams . . . Dreams take on various forms
Some easy to grasp
Some easy to lose
Some depend on the person, The situation, Or the Dream itself.
Dreams can feel fleeting, like a fistful of sand The tighter you try to hold it, The more it seems to slip away.
Dreams can stick, like honey, or paste. Never truly leaving, Constantly begging to be acknowledged.
Dreams can burn, like fire. Expectations and your own sense of reality Can singe you, simply for going near.
But the intoxicating light
Addictive
Drawing you in Its flames pulling you towards what hurts Into a sort of bittersweet bliss
“Hold Fast to Dreams”
“For if Dreams die . . .”
Maiya Williams
‘25
You And I
Let us go then, you and I, I could never forget your name or the look in your eyes that burned me like a flame.
I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m sure it isn’t this. Not this feeling, not your face, not the things I dearly miss.
Maybe we’ll meet again Maybe you’ll feel it too The quiet kind of loneliness that lingers within you.
Let us go then, you and I, no reason left to stay. Just two tired souls, going opposite ways.
Sophia Iorgoveanu ‘26
___snipped—the —sky—open—with—fabric___
H e l l o, I’d said, ripped into the weave with my fingers. What’s it like to see your reflection in the rivers?
The breeze said nothing as I watched her in the mirror
The sky didn’t clear, but at least I could see Mister Dipper
Good evening, dear winter, trimming the skies again?
Y e s, I’d responded, pulled the blue back into red I backstitched it to some yellow, then folded up the hem
Right at the horizon, on the glen
Then a shooting star threaded a line through the material
Left punctures in the cloth that shined silver as it went across
The thread slipped away before I could catch it in my fingers
But I still smiled and made a wish on it in my thoughts
Mister Dipper faded behind the seams
As the stars put on their daywear and disappeared with morning dreams
I stitched and detailed for all to see
In a language they could read but only I could speak
My twin needles stitched the way the world drifted into today
As the vibrant colors of the sky invited life out to play
Then the blue snipped my work so I could put it all away
And I unwound my thread to welcome another new day
Kaylie Souza ’26
Arianna Vescio ‘29
The Flower that Bloomed
The Flower that bloomed
Splish splash when you water it
Take care of it well
Avangelina Fortuna ‘31
Sunsets
Sunsets paint the sky
Filled with colors, Red and gold
The day turns to night
Maria Valvano ‘31
I am a writer and a musician.
I wonder what my ancestors would think, if they saw me Writing
Creating Learning . . .
I hear the voices of those who came before, Running, Shouting, Singing freedom.
I see the seasons changing before me, As time goes on Leaving me behind.
I want to believe myself when I say I am a writer and a musician.
I pretend that I’m sure of myself, even though I’m not. I feel everything at once, Inspiration and Fear, Love, and regret, And understand nothing.
I touch inked pages, searching For answers, For stories, For something.
I worry that I disappoint That I’m failing, Falling.
I cry out, silently, to those voices that keep me going. I am a writer and a musician.
I understand that I have time. Yet I say to myself, “Keep going.”
“It’s not enough.”
“You’re falling behind.”
I dream of a world
Where I don’t have to hide Or watch how much I share about myself, Or be careful of who I talk to I try to create it through art, Through melodies, Through writing.
I hope that one day I won’t have to remind myself “I am a writer and a musician.”
Maiya Williams ‘25
Sienna Sisto ‘29
Dear Those Who Have Seen Less,
I haven’t seen much of the world. What I have experienced has been twisted and stretched and pulled and flattened by those around me. What I know is cut up and pieced together from the minds and ideas of others. Like a patchwork. And here I stand trying to make sense of it. What I have seen has been defined by my experience and shaped by what I know. I haven’t seen much. And I’m not sure if I’m the best person to ask. But for those who have seen even less, here are ten things I’ve patched together from the “less” that I’ve seen.
1. It gets lonely. For all you children of color out there, you’ve heard the speech. One day, you’ll walk into a room where no one else looks like you. It’s not an exaggeration. It’s true. And it’s not a feeling you can teach; it’s one that must be experienced. One day, you’ll find yourself in a room where not one person can acknowledge what an amazing person you are, or how you are what you have learned and so much more, or how hard you worked to get there. If you didn’t, go find one. There is a room waiting for your voice, a room that will never be able to reach new heights without what you’ve seen. It will be lonely. It will be hard. Even so, hold onto yourself. You will find yourself in a room one day where yourself is all that you have.
2. Hold onto good people. Don’t be afraid to let go of the bad ones. For a garden to flourish, you have to pull a few weeds–even the dandelions. Don’t wait until it is too late. If you do, those roots will grow, and pulling them out will only hurt more.
3. Your parents influence your mind–they do not own it. Don’t be afraid to think.
4. Be open to suggestion, but don’t be afraid to defend your thoughts. Remember to listen, but don’t forget to ask questions. This is how we learn and grow as people: from each other. A healthy conversation can mean the difference between knowledge and ignorance.
5. Don’t be afraid to read something that you might not agree with.
6. Remember to care. Sometimes, things can get so bad that we’re numbed. You may feel as if . . . as if you are drowning. Like the bad just won’t stop, has never stopped, will never stop, and it will always be this bad. Remember, it wasn’t always this bad. That means it won’t always be this bad. We can only get rid of the bad if we remember that we can. You only can if you care. So, don’t forget to care. Please.
7. Cringe culture is dead, as far as I’m concerned. Don’t be afraid to embrace life.
8. We are all talented. We were all given some sort of gift to make our world better. Just because your gift may not fall within what society deems useful does not mean that you are useless. Use your gift to challenge this notion. If we are going to build a better world, we must first use our gifts to prove that we are all gifted.
9. Admire the world around you. Marvel in its simple complexity.
10. Keep fighting. It will be difficult. It might seem like there is no one else standing with you. But it isn’t true! Keep fighting for what you believe in. Keep fighting for this race we call humanity. Keep fighting to live, keep fighting to flourish!
10. Keep fighting. Don’t give up. We are right alongside you. War is weary. And when you’re fighting for your right to exist? For your right to your identity? For your right to be treated as human? It might be never-ending. But it gets better. It wasn’t always bad. And even if it was–it hasn’t seen us yet.
Sincerely, Those who have seen a little Maiya Williams ‘25
Forever Kind of Memories
Those nights from long ago, That are embedded in my brain, The ones where we pulled all-nighters, Prank called random boys, That night we slept on top of each other because the dark was too scary, Those days as school when we would get yelled at in the hallway
Because we were being “too loud,”
We were, but at the time we were clueless and honestly just didn’t care, Those lunch table conversations where I was left with tears in my eyes, From laughing, like always. When I think about how it went down, How all of those memories are never to be looked at again, How you betrayed me in the blink of an eye
My heart breaks a little more each time, Each crack filled with another faded memory
That is now just a spirit sitting where we used to talk about the future together, The future we are now living without the people we planned it with.
Olivia Zanette ‘29
One Day
One day you woke up and weren’t seven anymore, The people and things outside seemed louder and larger, Your bedroom seemed too childish, The pink walls you wanted to cover with white paint, Suddenly being outside wasn’t just the backyard you played in, But the dirty streets and sidewalks too, The stuffed animal you couldn’t sleep without was left at home, You’re now old enough to sleep without it, You would get made fun of if you did, No one told you growing up felt like this, Like it should move you, Pieces of yourself getting torn off year by year, You’re now ripped into a reality that doesn’t feel like yours, The life you live doesn’t feel like yours anymore, does it?
Olivia Zanette ‘29
Two Hands, One Heart
Two boys vying for one heart, a choice must be made, its decision resting on me. Outstretched before me their hands lie, waiting to be grasped, to be chosen
One heart so pure, a love of peace and safety, a comforting embrace
The other, a distorted form of what once was, demons lying in wait
In the light the darkness hides, mirroring something true
False love, a pretense of perfection, yet its deceit falls through its cracked plaster mask
Knox, my ex-love, the one who stole my heart who hath returned to me. A hand I would once grab instinctively, the only choice, my first call His words promised eternal love, relentless, claims of destiny, Promises of protection and safety, but then why are my deepest wounds from him?
Scars from all he couldn’t save me from, a purple hue, a bruised and broken trust His betrayal, dropping my hand as we stand apart, crashing waves between us. Knocking me to the ship deck, washed into the sea in the way my heartbreak drowned me
Yet now, here he stands, a mangled love wrapped in a bow disguised as what it once was, Do I take his hand, accept this broken, regifted love, to trust in the untrustworthy?
Yet another option remains, a sweet boy, his heart pure and true, intentions kind
One arm outstretched towards me, the other holding a blade, pointed at Knox Dearest Djinn, my best friend, his heart lying upon his sleeve, open, unprotected His concern not for his own safety but mine, promises of protection made true. Loyalty beyond compare, devoted to me, to us, risking our friendship to say how he feels Not an ounce of cowardice in his eyes, headstrong and true, he fights for me.
The choice remains, do I turn away, reject that which rejected me, save myself the hurt?
Do I heal what hath been broken, letting my scars fade away into thin lines of memory
Evidence, a reminder to not make the same mistake again
Or should I grab the blade that hath cut me and plunge it deep
Shall I rake it through my arms, letting the blade slice through bone,
Tender skin oozing red blood as wounds reopen, no sign of scars, only swollen limbs
My heart placed upon a scale, the weight of my feelings making a choice, destiny imminent Before me are still two outstretched hands, each wanting this one heart.
Jane Lovely ’27
Frances Onorio ‘28
A Passing Storm
Somewhere between then and now, There was a friendship, A pretty strong one too, It’s like a tree in a hurricane that still stands, Kinda like me, Although I may have lost you, I’m still that tree, standing alone, Withering away, dusk to dawn, Nothing changes, You’re still not here, Oh that’s right, It’s because you were just a passing storm.
Olivia Zanette ‘29
A best friend is like a constant spark, A shining light when things get dark. With inside jokes and sharing looks, A story written without books.
Constantly together through highs and lows, The space where your truest self shows. With imperfections but always there, A strong connection that says, “I care.”
Ava Dimos ’27
Saying Goodbye
You were standing outside, waving I tried to wave back, but we left before I had time. The car zoomed off, And your figure faded away, into the distance.
I hope to see you again soon. Maybe the car won’t leave quickly, And then I can wave. Then I’ll have time to say goodbye.
Sienna Perez
‘26
Catherine Buzaid ‘28
In the basement of the school, there lies the abandoned library. The air is thick, heavy, and stuffy. Several bookshelves adorn the room, filled with worn books and countless pages of literature. The floor creaks as Nia enters, the chill air nipping her skin. She’s heard of rumors that the school’s library was haunted after a horrid accident happened to a student in the past, but like most rumors, she disregarded it, simply needing to locate a few resources for her project. As she ventures further into the room and approaches one of the bookshelves, a desk in the corner catches her eye. Conveniently placed on the desk were a notebook and pen, which were clean and spotless compared to the other items covered in dust. The notebook was open with a fresh page with the sleek red pen lying across it. Nia approaches the desk and just when she’s about to pick up the pen, suddenly a book falls from the shelf. When Nia turns back to the notebook, her blood runs cold as she reads the words freshly written in red ink on the paper.
“Behind you” were the last words she uttered before being engulfed in darkness.
Mya Joseph ‘26
Ariana Banks ‘27
