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Poetic Justice Issue Twenty-Five, Volume II Introspection
Editor in Chief Lilyana Hamerling
Managing Editor David Gold
Production Editor Haley Hartner
Copy Editor Zac Jacobson
Head Editors Kaelyn Thomas, Poetry Sophia Upshaw, Prose Gabe Sabol, Art & Photography
Associate Editors Jack Tobin Ariana Bird Melany Thomas Ty Profit Soraya Esmard Sam Krebs Eka Knudsen Brandon McGuire Zac Jacobson Joseph Belzaguy Laura Vargas-Gallardo Haley Hartner
Faculty Adviser Mr. Laubscher
Thanks First, I want to start off by thanking the literary magazine staff. None of this would be possible without you guys, and I love you so much. Everyone worked so hard to make volume twenty-five, issue two possible and I’m so grateful to everyone for their efforts. Everyone should be so proud of themselves. To the readers, thank you for supporting the lit mag. Also a special thanks to Mr. Laubscher for being radical. *Thumbs up emoji, sunglasses emoji* Lilyana Hamerling Editor In Chief Winter, 2016
Theme: Introspection? Since becoming a senior, I've had to think a lot about my transition into adulthood. So, I decided to make the theme of the magazine introspection. Our goal as writers was to really focus on ourselves, and, who knows, maybe learn something new.
Programs used: Microsoft Word, Microsoft Publisher, Adobe Photoshop This Journal was printed in Bodoni Font. Cover Photo Credit: Julianne Schiliro
Poetic Justice Introspection Volume Twenty-Five
Issue Two
Table of Contents Poetry 3 5 6 10 12 14 16 18 20 22 23 29 30 32 34
The Ground, Sam Krebs The Truth, Eka Knudsen Therapy, DGOLD The Tree, Sam Krebs What the Alien Said to the Astronaut, Sophia Upshaw Delirium, Lilyana Hamerling World, Ariana Bird Stars, Melany Thomas An Apple, Jack Tobin Words Unsaid, Joseph Belzaguy Birthdate, Gabe Sabol The Truth About Me, Kaelyn Thomas The Something, Sam Krebs One Picture, Worth a Thousand Words, Laura Vargas-Gallardo The Uncomfortable Truth, Lilyana Hamerling
Prose 1 11 19 24 26
That’s the Issue (School), Ty Profit Equal, Brandon McGuire Memoir, Soraya Esmard Judgment, Brandon McGuire Khaki Pants, Eka Knudsen
Art Work/Photography 4 8 13 17 21 25 28
Held Skull, By Laura Vargas Gallardo HIBISCUS, by Gabe Sabol Anhelo, by Laura Vargas-Gallardo Votfreude, Joseph Belzaguy Fireworks, Joseph Belzaguy Untitled, Sophia Upshaw Untitled, Sophia Upshaw
Editor’s Awards 9 38
Poetry: Universal Spirituality, Katey Zmijewski Art: Urban Expression, Julianne Schiliro
That’s The Issue (School) Ty Profit Chlorophyll, a green pigment, present in all green plants and cyanobacteria, responsible for making grass and leaves green. Ty Profit, why do you know this, why is it important? I don’t know and it’s not, but the system thinks it is. Because somewhere in the strict guidelines most of our instructors must follow, there’s a statement that says I must know what makes grass green. I must understand what a logarithm is. I must be able to divide a letter by another letter just to get another letter, but there are only 25 letters. For some, odd, random, and obscure reason, I can explain to all who may ask that the “Great Fire of London” happened in 1666. And me stating all this back to you, I just might sound educated in the minds of those who are ignorant and not enlightened on our education system, but at the same time I do not have a freaking clue how to go about starting a business. I don’t know how to start a business, or the importance of credit, but I do know that the main new headline in the city of London 350 damn years ago was that it caught on fire. But I should stop here before I take y’all on a trip through my mind… Naw, bunk that. Let’s take a trip through my mind and see what we find, ‘cause in my mind right now, I’m looking at us as bees. Honeybees. What are bees known for? Stinging people, besides making out with plants and what not, honeybees are known for stinging people. So, look at students as honeybees. Honeybees usually end up killing themselves, because when they sting, they break in half. They don’t have a clue on how to get that stinger out and die in the process of doing it. The same way humans can kill themselves by lacking an educated foundation on society and our economic system. Because without those basic things we just might end up homeless, unemployed, and economically stuck, because no jobs out there need
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you to define chlorophyll. Killing ourselves through not knowing, just like honeybees. How do you balance a checkbook? I don’t know. How do you check your credit? I don’t know. How do you take out a mortgage? I don’t know. What’s a good credit score? I don’t know. Why is a resume so important? I don’t know. Why are leaves green? Chlorophyll. A green pigment present in all green plants and cyanobacteria. Now let me go write that on my resume.
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The Ground Sam Krebs The ground grew grass at your very step, and browned. Where the glass smiles, a ripple from the thickening stew, filling the hole with me and with you. The ground whispered in my brain what we must follow, burrow our way, to its vicious mud hollow. Our bare bodies scream without a single sound, toes digging through the core, toes digging in the ground. There, then, we hold red power, striking our temples like a second robbed from the hour. In this gloom we call a place, the blood does run with haste, sealing the hole, forming your face. You, the ground, and me, make three, you see, the ground is so very happy.
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“Held Skull,” by Laura A. Vargas-Gallardo, Digital Photography
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The Truth Eka Knudsen Was I just a container for your child, or was I a container for your heart? Did you even miss me when we were apart? Because last time I checked, you were driving down the street to another woman so you could meet up with her. Oh, spare me your time, I really don’t want to hear your pathetic little lies of how “It was a onetime thing,” or “I’ll never do it again.” Because why’d you even do it in the first place, then? You’d come home on late nights with a smile on your face, and there I noticed it didn’t take long for me to be replaced. The feeling of denial was constant in my head, over the thought of you and someone else there in our bed. I gave you all my love, my time, my life. But in the end, it wasn’t good enough to just be called your wife.
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Therapy DGOLD Week One: Ond now, Mr. Gold, tell me what I need to know, what is wrong? Dr. Jeckle I keep hidin’, it’s my anger, how do I keep goin’ on? Well is it something new what recently happened to you? Well my momma killed herself; people blamed me, that’s a quote. That’s terrible! Still, take this pill, it’s the antidote. Yeah, it’s bad, no freakin’ joke, but that’s not why I wear my cloak. What cloak? Don’t you see my cloak with the fake smile on it? I wear it to make people think I’m happy when I’m talking. Really, I’m either sobbin’ or I’m so angry, nobody can save me, my brain plays me like a ukulele. So this happened lately? No, you see, when I young I was bullied everyday— Oh look at that. The session’s over. Have a nice day. Week Two: Okay, David, it’s been a week. Are you any less crazy? {No, Doc, lately I’ve been goin’ by DGOLD on the daily} Ah, yes, I see you are trying to reinvent yourself with a new identity. {Problem is, I can’t control myself mentally, I think I’m losing my sanity.}
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Mr. Gold you must control your sanity, you’re losing it rapidly. {Holdin on to my sanity’s like holdin on to my misery, worthless to me—besides, my sanity is slowly killin’ me} Mr. Gold. You’re scaring me. You have problems you must start telling me. {David is gone, DGOLD is what remains. He’s stuck in my brain,} tied up in a chain next to my conscience.} That’s nonsense. {I was tired of the constant ridicule, people are really cruel.} Mr. Gold, what did you— {Hahahaha} Week Three: Doc, nothing seems real to me. Who right now is seeing me? It’s David, {No, it’s DGOLD}, help, Jekyll, I’m losing control! {We don’t wanna be in control, we already lost the soul. My Mind is as cold as the body} somebody stop me With my anger, no one can stop me.} I’ll fix your mind. {Oh, Doc, that’s really kind, but you don’t have any power here.} You’re full of fear, look at your tears, lemme make it clear All the fear in my life’s been missed since 9-8-16.}
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“HIBISCUS,” by Gabe Sabol, Copic Marker on Paper
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Universal Spirituality Katey Zmijewski The idea of religion has become just that— an idea. They say He loves you, He will save you, that He died for you. Yet they say I will burn for who I love, what I do with my body, and how I live my life. I do not believe in God. And I know it must pain my mother to hear me speak such words, but I do not believe in God. Now before I get trampled, stoned, or burned at the stake for such words, I must admit that the spirituality I have feels just as holy as any other religion. For what I have is the sheer unfathomable beauty in the world. I have deep blue waves breaking on rocks. I have the lilac twilight and the pastel sunrise. I have rainstorms on a summer day. I have the scent of my mother’s coffee in the morning. I have ancient blood flowing through my veins and I have stardust in my eyes. And when I feel the gentle night breeze grace my skin I have the beautiful chaos that is the universe. The universe is my spirituality. Nature is my temple, simple pleasures my vice. And I don’t have to worry if this will save me. For when I hear the laughter of a child or the ring of the profound chords my choir sings, I know that I am already saved.
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The Tree Sam Krebs There was a day I thought you were a tree, your leaves trembling beautifully. There was a day I figured you were a small wave making right my father’s grave. And I’m pretty sure there was a day, you were a little itch and I scratched too hard. There was a day you were a broken watch because you forgot to come home. There was a day that skipped the day, and the night too. There was a day you were leaving, because that was best for you.
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Equal Brandon McGuire I glance over at my red Vans. There they are, with all my other unwanted shoes. I love how they look, but I want to branch out into a different style. Of just not waking up every day for school and thinking, “Can I go home already?” even though it’s five fifty-four when I wake up. To just accept the fact that I am here, writing a piece for lit mag and none of this will matter in the future. Because where do any of us stand? “Equal.” All of the smart kids take first grab at a bright career, while the rest of us, like myself take that job that can barely make ends meet. But… that’s how the world plays, the strongest get to live another day. Well, until you get too old or sick, then someone replaces you. For the weak, you’ll just be taken to an open field, blindfolded, and shot in the back of the head. So, while my red Vans stay on the top of the shelf, I too shall be there in the nearby future.
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What The Alien Said to The Astronaut Sophia Upshaw “I wonder,” said the Astronaut. “Is there a planet out in this never-ending abyss where I’ll finally find bliss? There’s got to be more than this.” “Nebulas crash and burn bright, Casting shadows arching a million miles away that I can see resting upon your face,” said the Alien. “You’ve got constellations in your eyes, galleries of galaxies in your head. Don’t snuff out the universe wishing yourself dead. You’ve got places to go, light years to follow, within your veins treks a comet’s course. Your heart is the sun. You are not hollow. Things could be worse: you could be a myth like me, but your name is carved into the side of the moon. Gravity exists only to get closer to you. If there is hope for this world, it rests only in your view. we wish to speak to a leader. we wish to speak to you.”
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“Anhelo,� by Laura A. Vargas-Gallardo, digital photography.
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Delirium Lily Hamerling Sin Cold glass in sweaty palms, Raised to cracked lips preparing for the inhale. Delirium spreads to Every cell of your body, and a fog clouds your brain. The pulsing of the music beating in time with your heart that aches for another hit. Another hit. Something you promised to never do again, and yet here you are, lungs burning with guilt. Guilt fueled by the same lighter you used to warm your body from the inside out, but instead has left the room hazy and smelling of sin. And the only thought you have left in your clouded mind is, another hit.
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As your skin begins to itch and crawl, you pace the room, back and forth, limbs shaking for more. Suddenly, hyper-aware of the situation you have left yourself in withdrawal. Guess it’s time for another hit.
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World Ariana Bird A world of three loves, physically, mentally and emotionally. One love hurts you so much that you can’t breathe. The other love messes up your mind where you don’t think, everything is bottled up. The last love fills you up with joy. So much joy that you burst. Love is what keeps us together, till death do us part. That’s what he said three years ago. Now I hold his empty ring, signing this paper that unbinds our love.
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“Votfreude,” by Joseph Belzaguy, Digital Photography
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Stars Melany Thomas Stars tell a story, They tell a story of snapped necklaces and scattered pearls. They tell a story of love that was never really meant to last forever. They speak in silent shimmers of sadness and mysteries, only showing who they really are against the darkened sky. They cry out in the glimmers of white light illuminating a shattered road that shattered just one to many souls. And I am at peace re-reading the sky and finding out the story they might tell that night.
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Memoir Soraya Esmard I look at the cardboard boxes around me. They’re sealed shut and my little nine-year-old hands want nothing more than to rip through the tape and spill their secrets. There are suitcases everywhere, overflowing with clothes. I give my doll, Crystal, a confused glance. She sits quietly in my palm, oblivious. I watch as my mom runs around the house. She’s going from room to room, items piling up in her arms like big Jenga pieces. I look outside the window. It’s dark, and small raindrops begin to fall from the night sky. My dad is outside on the porch, smoking a cigarette. I walk outside and stand next to him, but he doesn’t notice. His eyes are fixed upon something, and I curiously try to follow his gaze. There’s nothing there, and I tilt my head in confusion. He finally turns to look at me, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply gives me a small smile, and turns back to stare at nothing. Usually, he’d tell me how much he hates the cat, or a fact about frogs. But today, not a single word. I go back inside, confused. I sit at the dining room table and watch as my mom fusses over my sisters, tightening the scarves around their necks. The boxes and suitcases have disappeared, and only a small key remains on the table. I braid Crystal’s long brown hair to pass the time. When I look up, both of my sisters are gone. My mom walks up to me and puts Crystal away. She doesn’t say a word, only kisses my forehead like she does every night, and walks out of the house. I hear the door open, and my dad comes back in. There are tears streaming down his face and he pulls me into a tight hug.
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An Apple Jack Tobin An apple fell from its high branch, way up in its tree. It rolled its way down a steep hill and plopped into the sea. The apple bobbed its way along, past islands, oh so free. Until one day it washed upon the shores of Miami. And so the apple laid down roots, until it came to be a brand new sturdy, great and tall mighty apple tree.
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“Fireworks,” by Joseph Belzaguy, Digital Photography
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Words Unsaid Joseph Belzaguy I wish I could tell you how you make me feel. Some days I feel special to you. On other days, I don’t matter to you, as if I’m the dirt you step on. I’ve always wanted to tell you that I love you. I hold back those syllables, knowing you would move further away because you don’t feel the same. Lately you haven’t been yourself. I can see someone else living inside you, taking control of your body. All of the things I loved about you have faded away in the wind. Your warm heart turned to solid, cold ice, brown eyes become a dark, piercing red. You buried me six feet deep, ignored me like a ghost. The pain of you leaving lingers in my soul. Please come back to me, I need you.
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Birthdate Gabriel Sabol Happy birth— No, Don’t utter those words I’m sick of them. I’m tired of that song, ridiculing me with its smile, laughs, and joyous boaster, mocking me with its upbeat tone, slamming its cruel sugary reality into my face. Corroding away my life the way that sugar does to the innocent teeth inside of my mouth. Happy birth— Stop, Just stop. I already cannot relate to the peers that surround me, I don’t want age to be another factor. I don’t need the extra sugar. I don’t need these gifts, I don’t need the extra numbers that are attaching themselves to my body. Happy birthday, Gabe, it’s time to wake up. It’s time to face the future, it’s time to grow up.
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Judgment Bandon McGuire We all judge, don’t try to hide it. We judge. A “judge-free world,” is something society tried so hard to create… but under those thoughts, it isn’t “created equally.” Our early ancestors, ages ago, had a judgment process deciding what was good and what was bad. Those thoughts still linger on, but in a modern context. Let’s just say someone bumps into you without saying, “Sorry.” You’re quick to judge. “That person is clearly rude.” Or, there’s a chance they were having a bad day at work. Humans like positive, so when something goes negative, we are quick to change moods and have a completely different judgment. So stop trying to be a “better person” by using the phrase, “I don’t judge.” You clearly just judged by realizing that you judged the fact “you shouldn’t judge others.”
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“Untitled,” by Sophia Upshaw, Digital Photography.
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Khaki Pants Eka Knudsen The sweat building up on my palms was wiped once again on my khaki pants as I made my way into the apartment building in which my fellow co-worker lived. Hopefully, this was the building she lived in. Me not knowing my way around the new city, and being too socially awkward to ask a stranger, all I could do was hope. The color of bright red attracted my eyes to look at whatever it was beaming off of while I made my way into the building towards the elevator. The object that the stunning red color was beaming off of was a dirty blond, hazel-eyed woman. A pair of black wedges and a clutch accompanied her dress. As I walked in, the sound of tension-creating elevator music filled my ears as the ding of each level followed. I was currently on my way to a holiday party that my co-worker was throwing. My eyes flashed to my watch, showing I was roughly an hour late. Hopefully that was the trend around here in the city, being fashionably late even though I was no were near looking fashionable. As I looked up, the sound of creaking gears echoed around me and that was when the elevator came to a stop. The flashing red light next to the floor numbers went off, signaling something was wrong. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said the blonde lady in the stunning red dress. “I’m sorry?” I said, obviously missing something. She looked at me confusingly and repeated, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” My eyebrows furrowed and I tilted my head slightly, looking like a lost dog. “I . . . I don’t know what I’d be kidding about.” Her eyebrows raised. “It’s not a literal saying,” she said sassily. I was taken aback by her tone. I’ve never had such an attractive woman talk to me, let alone give me sass. “My names Tom,” I said happily, extending my arm out. 26
She scoffed and reached inside of her clutch. Pulling out a black phone, she starting tapping away on her screen, texting I assumed. I awkwardly pulled my arm back and wiped the sweat forming on my palms on my pants again. “I’ve never gotten stuck in an elevator before,” I said. “I guess now you have,” she spoke while still looking down at her phone. “What’s your name? You’re a very pretty lady,” I said with the same happy attitude. That was when she put her phone back in her clutch and looked at me. For the first time, I saw her beautiful hazel eyes lock contact with my boring dark brown ones. “Sarah,” she said, but with a fake attitude. I nodded lightly while looking down at my pants to make sure my pants weren’t stained with sweat. When I looked up, she was back on her phone and tapping away. “Maybe we could be friends, you know?” Her head snapped up while she rolled her eyes. “Can you just be quiet please?” And after that was said, I decided to leave the beautiful dirty blonde lady with the stunning red dress and black wedges who went by the name Sarah alone, and continued to wipe the sweat forming on my palms onto my pants.
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“Untitled,” by Sophia Upshaw, Digital Photography.
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The Truth About Me Kaelyn Thomas The truth about me isMy favorite color is indigo, I love the way it looks in the dark. My favorite food is pretty much everything, even though I never really eat. The sound of thunder calms me down, it’s like therapy to me. The rain that comes with it is just a plus because it makes me think about life and the way the clouds behave. My favorite scent is either vanilla or lavender, depending on my mood. I was born on June 27th which makes me a cancer. I’m also scared of getting cancer, yet I love the way a cigarette feels in between my lips. They help me with my depression, which I’m slowly starting to get over, yet it feels like I’ve been sick forever. Music helps me think. It helps me process my thoughts and write them down, when I can. I don’t have a favorite type of music, I like them all. I actually really like classical, along with heavy metal. I love hugs, but I think they’re awkward.
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As you can probably tell by now, I’m a walking contradiction. I can’t make up my mind most of the time. Okay, not okay. Okay, not okay. I don’t know. I love horror movies because they bring terror to my mind, because most of the time I’m in denial. I’m a walking contradiction. I hate my mind because it scares me. I judge myself too often. My therapist tells me not to, but I do it because I want to. I compete with everyone and everything because I want to. My life is competition. I compete with everyone and everything because I want to. My life is a competition. I compete with everyone and everything because there is no “calm” or “relaxed” in my world.
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The Something Sam Krebs On that night, like every night, the creatures crawled and crept, so much so, terribly so, that I had hardly slept. Nasty things smiling while I try to sleep, and peeling off their skin, so much so, terribly so, that I didn’t like the world we’re living in. Riding the quick dark like cavalry, in metal blood of great destruction, so much so, terribly so, that I could hardly function. Coming and going and shouting and whispering, the father waves goodbye, so much so, terribly so, that I’d begun to cry.
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One Picture, Worth a Thousand Words Laura A. Vargas Gallardo I never thought this moment would come, it’s not like I didn’t think I would graduate. I just never stopped to think, I had things to do. I couldn’t envision a future that seemed galaxies away. I am a senior in high school, the sentence feels foreign in my mouth like a piece of gum that’s a bit too minty. These words which I have placed on a pedestal so high they seemed unreachable, bring only worry. Everything I’ve come to know in my brief existence will change. But I box up all this anxiousness and ship it to a storage room in my skull. I focus on the present because the future is almost here and I’m not ready. I sit in the gym, surrounded by my fellow seniors for a class picture. I feel a rush of excitement. I look around at all these people and realize although death is inevitable, in this moment we are immortalized. Every soul in this room is in harmony. We will share this moment, forever. Every hardship, all the struggle is gone. We are equals, we will live on in each other. Before the blinding light of eternity, I smile and pray to God I won’t blink. 32
“Urban Expression,” by Julianne Schiliro, Digital Photography
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The Uncomfortable Truth Lily Hamerling 200 mg. of Zoloft to get out of bed, 2 mg. of Abilify to make me numb. A chemical cocktail that tastes bitter to me, but you who have never tasted it believe it to be sweet honey. Don't tell me it's beautiful because I'm the one left with raised, pink scars across both wrists, not you. So don't kiss them because of your warped, romanticized perception of my illness, because my scars are tough and numb, like me when I forget to take my meds. Meds you claim are a “cure all,� but really they leave my mouth dry and empty, so I can't tell you they only keep the crazy away for a little while. You ask what broke me, but the truth is I'm not broken. You just view me as defective, because sometimes my heart beats too fast and I feel like I'm falling into oblivion.
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And no, you wrapping your arms around me and saying "I got you" will not stop me from falling because you are not the countless hours of therapy spent pondering over what makes me anxious. Don't tell me you'll make it better by being here and loving me because I have to learn to love me first. And with all that said, I know this has fallen on deaf ears because you still believe, I cry diamonds and bleed rubies into the night while you blissfully dream about how you are going to "save" me tomorrow.
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Joseph Belzaguy Ariana Bird Soraya Esmard David Gold Lilyana Hamerling Haley Hartner Zac Jacobson Eka Knudsen Sam Krebs Brandon McGuire Ty Profit Gabe Sabol Julianne Schiliro Kaelyn Thomas Melany ThomasJack Tobin Sophia Upshaw Laura Vargas-Gallardo
Poetic Justice Introspection
If there is hope for this world, it rests only in your view. We wish to speak to a leader. We wish to speak to you.