POETRY

I wish I saw the sun like you.
Samantha Sims 5/20

I watched the sun rise today
And I found myself wishing you were here,
Sitting to the right of me
Watching it with me. 

You would smile 
And point at the clouds
Analyzing each bend and fold 
Like the strokes of a painting. 

The glow from the sun 
Would warm your face
Your eyes, brown 
Your skin, yellow
Your spirit, light and airy...  

Your innocent and
Hopeful laugher 
Would warm 
My car
Your big dreams sitting in the
Backseat.

I want to laugh weightlessly, too, 
But instead, I look towards the blinding sun
stuck in time
Thinking
It’s funny how, with all this chaos
The sun still wakes up and rises:
A new day begins
As if what happened yesterday doesn't matter. 

I turn to you
And ask 
“What’s it like to have somewhere to go?
What’s it like to think the world is big enough with a space just for you?
What’s it like to feel grounded
To be certain that everything is going to be okay?” 

You respond:
“Well, wouldn’t you know?
Doesn’t the sun tell you everything?
How bright our future is, 
Doesn’t it give you a reason to move forward
And hope...”

I shake my head,\
“The sun is the worst of it all.”
I can tell I’ve broken your heart now.

You look back to the sky
But it’s not the same.
What was once a beautiful painting
Is now a painful reminder
That life is senseless.

It’s funny to think 
That the only difference 
Between you and I
Is a few months.
You are what I once was
And I am what you will become--
Hopeless. 

I envy you and 
If I miraculously hope for anything today
I hope that you will not become me 
And you will stay the you
That you were before everything happened
And that the sun will always give you the confirmation 
That life is full of opportunity, 
Not a hollow shell of disappointment. 





​Get There
Shaly Soto 3/20

It’s the feeling of losing someone that hurts.
What if the person you fall in love with 
isn’t the person who belongs in your destiny?

What if you need to run? 
Run far into a dimension where skies are just a bit darker 
and there aren't any pretty birds that stand out? 
Do you stay and fight? 
Wipe your tears and sit through the rain
Waiting for the flowers in the field to grow again?

Every tear I've cried has been counted and put into a jar.
Tears named after anger, regret, laughter, 
frustration, shock, and confusion.
Some of these tears are named after warriors.
Those who fight for their lives. 
The lives of others. 
The things they love and value most.

I tell myself I will get there. 
I fight for what I love.
I fight for what’s true.
What is good.

I’m gonna see the flowers thrive on the fields I walk on.
I’m gonna Get There.


Born in October
Ivelisse Lopez 3/20

You know I was born in October.
The month of the most beloved smells
Of pumpkin and crisp blistered leaves, 
Blazing apple cider and mellow cookies. 

How beautiful the leaves are
As they turn from green to 
Vibrant red, orange and yellow 

It’s seeing myself grow older 
And wiser.
Becoming delicate and indestructible
Like the trees in the fall. 

The Indian summer 
We’ve been waiting for.
It's the finest month of the year.

Inspired by Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson poem “Snow in October"


​Black History Month
Thomasine Harris Fletcher 3/20

Every February of every year we are taught about our history.
The same people play on repeat as if there is no one else to learn about.
As if we aren’t black every second of every day.
Our history is forced into a box
of what others deem important for us to learn.
Everything we are and everything that we can be is kept hidden.

We are taught about Langston Hughes, 
Rosa Parks, 
And Martin Luther King Jr.,
But there is so much more to our history than just these people. 

What about,
Garrett Morgan who was an inventor, businessman and political leader.
Madam C.J. Walker who was an entrepreneur,
social and political activist, and a philanthropist.
George Washington Carver,
Elijah McCoy,
Patricia Bath,
And many other incredible Black people that we have yet to learn about.

I am in high school and
I have yet to read a book written by a black author,
The history written by the white man has been forced down our throats.
And we have started to choke on our own self hatred
Our voice has been stolen from us.
Our history white washed.
And yet we say nothing.
Our native tongue has been buried beneath decades of repression,
We have yet to understand the racism our people have survived
and are still surviving.

Our native tongue has been bleached.
We have been dressed up by white people for so long that we have forgotten how to think for ourselves.
Our thoughts have been put on a back burner,
Our feelings are treated as if they do not exist.
Our history ripped apart and played with
to show you only what they want us to know,
But we will take our history back,
We will teach our children of their royal ancestry.
Of the Kings and Queens that came before them, 

We will teach them that their rich, mocha skin
which can cause some to shiver in fear 
Can cause others to see a miracle in their every breath
We will teach them that their dark melanin skin, 
That some may crack jokes at
is richer than all the gold they may wear around their necks.
We will teach them that their ebony skin is not a curse they were born with but a gift that many are not strong enough to shoulder.
We will teach them not just for a month every year,
but every day of our lives because,
We are black every second of every day
and there is so much more for us to know,
To do,
We will no longer be closed into a box
for our story is much greater than you will ever know.
And we will not wait anymore for anyone to teach us our history.


​When I Left
​Ivelisse Lopez 2/20
Inspired by Claude Mckay Poem ‘’If We Must Die”

When I left, I didn’t like the life I was living 
I didn’t like the mindset and low self-esteem   
Or the environment I was placed in. 

It wasn’t healthy.
I wasn’t restrained 
But I wasn’t safe. 
   
When I leave 
I’m not looking back, 
I’m not packing the toxic. 

I tried to express myself 
In the simplest way 
But you wouldn’t understand. 

Now I’m taking a stand. 
I may be outnumbered
But I’m on the rise. 

I didn’t have approval before 
And I don’t need it now. 
Nothing is stopping me 

from being the person
I want to become.
Not you and no longer me. 


​Lone–ly                                         
Charlie Brown 2/20

Loneliness is a disease,
And I have been infected.
Solo in my room,
My mind is being affected.
There sadly is no cure,
No dose of dopamine injected
Could save me from myself;
Happiness has been rejected,
Self-love is neglected,
Isolation perfected.

​
​Illusion                                                                                          
Nadia S. Gaskins 2/20

Astray, 
Wounded, 
And petrified. 

She fears the thought of getting better,
Even though she tells herself she is ready 
To look terror in the Face. 
She thinks she is bold enough to 
Damn Death for trying to claim her. 

But yet, she forgets. 

She forgets that she shuddered when Loneliness’s hands locked themselves around her throat. 
She forgets that she cowers at the mere mention of her trauma’s name. 
She forgets that she used to welcome Death with open arms.
She forgets the contract she signed with every drop of her blood. 
She forgets that she engraved her name on Death’s list with her blade. 

Astray,
Wounded,
And dazed. 

Built-up tears 
      F
      A
      L
      L 
               F 
           R
        E
            E
                L
            Y 

As she breathes. 
She dances in the gardens 
Of her facade of being

Astray,
Wounded,
And Fearless. 

Yet she forgets, 
Fearlessness isn’t real.

​

Lucid Dream
Johanelys Perez 2/20

I see you, sitting next to him
He who has placed you on display
My heart aches at the sight of your arms wrapped around him
But he isn’t even real; he’s an apparition, an “it”

Leaving the house to escape the pain, it follows
It follows in the form of a black shadow
It follows me, whispering in my ear
“She chose him. Not you”

Trying to hide but it finds me so quickly
It sees the blue glow of my phone
A sort of tracking device that I can't put down
It's dark. And I'm alone

I have to go back
Fight for her, right?
I'm running faster and it’s just feet behind me
The glow won't go away

It's getting brighter
Back home I lock the door
Back home to see her again
Her arms wrapped around him

Out the window the shadow disappears
The blue glow of my phone stops
I don't feel safe here
This isn't what I call home

Turning back to look at you 
I see that the black figure has taken its place
What now?
Wake up!

Am I not in control of my own dream?
Wake up! Now!
I don't like this feeling.
​

​Am I the Enemy, America?                                
​Charlie Brown 2/20

I am the youth,
And I heard 
You don’t like me.

I stand for truth,
Because you’re
Feeding me lies.

I am the sleuth,
For the victims
Of your cruel game.

Everything you do
Is just for your gain.

You spin fairy tales,
And beliefs
Just to fit your name.
You’re a shame.
As well as a sham.
Your confidence is lacking 
So you sacrifice me,
Like I am your lamb.

You won’t open your hand,
You’re afraid I’ll see your veins.
All the mud-blood within you,
Propaganda is your fane.

You know you’re a growing tumor?
Your host is my brain
You take my mind,
My money and time
Just so you can keep going

I’m a hole in your infrastructure.

Kids aren’t growing 
Cause you kill them.
Or you drain them away.
Tomorrow is no longer
A verified day.

You took that liberty, 
And turned my life gray.

So am I the enemy, America?
Do you have to target me?
You can’t just let me be?
Did you have to shoot your bullets?
Do you want me to plead?

I am the new America.


​Reassurance
Xzavea Bradley Glover 2/20

You,
may want success,
but if you believe you’re a failure,
then that’s what you’ll be.

You,
may think about prosperity,
but if you believe you’re destitute,
then that’s what you’ll be.

You,
may think you deserve a merry life,
but if you believe it’s going to be miserable,
then that’s how it’ll be. 

You,
may want great opulence,
but if you believe in paucity,
then that’s what you’ll get.

“YOU,
become what you believe,
not what you think,
or what you want.” *

* Oprah Winfrey 


​Helen Keller
Xzavea Bradley 2/20

We, 
Kept in the dark,
Have found a light,
Brighter than they’d ever think we’d find. 

We,
Within ourselves,
Have found beauty,
Through our souls’ own mastery.

And now the world receives
From our dower:
The message of strength we’re sending 
From self power

We,
Kept from the noise,
Have found a voice,
Louder than they’d ever think we’d find.

We, 
Within ourselves,
Have found competence,
Through our scorners’ doubt.

And now the world receive
From our dower:
The self powered voices,
Of a constantly oppressed people.

​
​Metamorphosis, ‘19
Charlie Brown 1/20

Late at night,
I wish for reassurance.
And I have dreams.
About the hammer of history, 
Of a weakened soldier,
About the opposite of life,
Of me.

The dreams stem from my life,
Directly at the root.
How I’m caged in flesh and bone,
And how my life is inside out.

This is the real world.
No more room for “we,”
And I know that you’re gone,
But…
I can’t help but scream.
Even the world’s smallest earthquake,
Can have the biggest effect.

My mind is puzzle pieces,
Like rough weather ensuing.

And it’s true;
Accidents happen.
Then suddenly,
Seasonal depression hits.
Ready to fall,
I just wish you would listen.

When you say it’s “No problem,”
And disregard my sleep paralysis,
You’re writing off the beauty of destruction.
And how in the sanctum known as my body,
Lie the darkest scars.

Na·ture is where I live.
Or where I want to live anyway.
Because the bitterness of a broken home
Is too much pressure for my shoulders. 

I often find myself saying,
Why write?
My midnight observations
Lead me to my answer. 
When the spirit says goodbye,
Life in a day begins to feel like
A reflection.

Our continuous timeline is
Restricting us. 
Because the truth is, 
Being alone doesn’t make you lonely.
And pointless sobs don't always need to
Criticize a letter to my okayness.
 
After all, when your home is the decaying city, 
The rain becomes your friend.
Even though the world around you is falling apart,
Before you give up all hope, 
Know that there is a loving heart. 
Know that there is growth outside society’s structure. 

To be scared as you turn is normal,
And to look in the mirror and say I wish you were different
Is a part of your story but not the theme. 
At your convenience, 
You have hope. 
And it starts in the middle of everything.
Where the desk lays.


​The Balance.
By Ashley Galindo Lara 12/19

Perdí el balance de tu amor. 
Like a seesaw, every day slowly going down to the dramatic heat waves, until you feel like suffocating and then, rising up into the blowing wind and the crystal blue sky.

Ruego, yo to le ruego no regales el cielo por una equivocación?
Being named the Morning Star, you were the signet of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. Who would've thought such a beautiful creature could turn so violent and disgraceful.

No quiero perder su amor.
You walked among the stones of fire, knowing the shoe was the right fit. Turning against people who loved you so much just for a taste of wickedness and despair. 

Tu que eres fogata y el tan frío.
In the abundance of your trade you were filled with violence, and you sinned. Instead you chose a side that you wouldn't be able to recover from. Instead of being opened up to the thought of happiness, you decided to enjoy the satisfaction of suffocating, like when you're at the bottom of a seesaw. 

Mama dice que todos mis errores servirá como lección.  
I brought out fire within you; it consumed you. Having your choices laid out to you with crisp silverware, you desired the most gruesome one. 

Ezekiel 28:11-19 


​Half Broken Home
By Rebecca Quirk-Sykes 12/19

They aren’t separated but they aren't together
There is no escape or way it makes sense

I realize this never should have begun
Nobody sees the mess inside
The endless damage we try to hide
They are wrong for each other in every way
They should move along but still they stay

This place we call home is like a maze
The people inside are at each other’s throats
We are stuck together with genetic glue
It feels lonelier than ever; we can never recover
Every time we look deeper it starts to crumble

The people inside will never change
This home will never be together

​Online World 
By Jake Warner 12/19

What teens call a “safe space”
Where you could vanish without a trace
Losing yourself in this global cyberspace
That asks everything up to your birthplace
And it’s all stored in an unknown database
Why would you even do that in the first place?

Where long distance relationships become a norm
The natural disasters begin to form
Creating a longer -lasting storm
Followers and likes quickly turning into a swarm

Now here you are, all media just one click away
Notifications blowing up your devices, day by day
Putting all of your cautions at bay
Basically throwing your whole life away
Leaving the world around you in a state of decay

​
​A Monologue in Dedication of My Favorite Scene
(An Emulation of Balcony Scene in Romeo and Juliet)
By Jaidyn Wein 11/19

The curse of mortality starts to quake. 
Love can heal the cracks, but Death will have none. 
After mere nights, to seductions she swoons. 
“Till we meet again” with grace of a leaf. 
But alas, no other as mad as he. 
Poor nurse, scuttling ‘bout a wed so tedious. 
Marriage so grand it shan’t be out and seen. 
Wants of bride brushed off with barely a scoff. 
Letters cast with unreliable dove. 
Infection of impatience without cure. 
Locks the color of the eyes she still bats. 
Fights occur that seem as small, petty fits. 
O’ fool, keep watch as the old floorboards creak. 
Thou a bit mad to take such a poison. 
Dear Juliet, falsely marched around the skies. 
The fire in her heart is too late to burn. 
Poor man, without love, sees himself as dead. 
From the sheath, but the sword does not fall far. 
No guard can halt, though the count was seven. 
Compared to the sun, thou said she was light. 
Death cared not how big the wit, strong the might. 
They will forever lie as hand in hand. 
Beside their rivals, both families stand. 
Pictures tell thousands of words; not one speaks. 


​Getting Hurt is in Style
Stephanie Ruby Latorre 11/19

Getting Hurt is in Style.
Everywhere you go, the more people you talk to, 
The more you notice how sick this world is. 
This world is like a big hospital,
Where people are just wandering around in pain.
Some are being treated;
Most are not.

It’s like a hospital during flu season,
Everyone is crowded in a room 
With the same illness.
Except this illness can’t be treated with medicine. 
An illness we fight off by ourselves. 
Blood dripping from our broken hearts,
Causing dirt to come out of our mouths,
As our brains are so polluted. 

They say:
Why is this? Am I alone? I feel so alone. 
No, you’re not alone,
Getting Hurt is in Style.
Look around, the sadness behind that smile,
The anger contained in that hug,
Pain. 

Like a sweater color in the fall,
A hairstyle in the spring,
A song in the summer,
Getting Hurt is in Style. 

Whether the hurt is from someone is treating you wrong,
Or as simple as, what? Inflicting
Your Own Pain.
Ouch, that hurt, right? 
It’s true.

Hurt keeps going like a snowball,
Packing down more pain
And rolling to keep growing. 
Little amounts of snow 
Creating a big sphere,
It happens to all people because 
Getting Hurt is in Style. 


​My Dream
​By Kenny Torres 10/19

Dreaming was my favorite thing to do as a kid
Being able to let my imagination take control of a world I created

One day I’m rock star
The next I’m in an underwater city

I knew these dreams weren’t real
so I made sure to make each one count

But now all my dreams seem to be the same
I see myself, with my brand on my back 

And I know this dream
will someday be a reality


​First Heartbreak
Rose Acevedo 10/19

I am from a place that is dreary.
It is dark and cramped.
I’m in a room full of people,
Yet I still feel alone.

My glass doll eyes,
Shattered when I saw the truth.
One mistake,
Changed that oh-so-innocent girl I was.

I was blind and couldn't see 
Past the person I imagined him to be. 
I kept my eyes on the ball,
But I forgot to swing.

The thought of him hurting me 
Was always on my mind.
But oh, how I didn’t see the signs.
I didn’t prepare for the pain I was about to bear.

I’m not a fighter,
I’m a lover.
But I'll fight for what I love.
Soon I realized he was fighting too
But he was fighting a different battle,
For someone else.

I was so tired of fighting.
Then I found that dreary place.
A place others cannot see,
For it is in me.

Now I wait for my wounds to heal.
Once in a while I poke them
To see if they hurt,
And they still do.

For now, I’ll sit and wait 
To heal or to be saved.
Or maybe 
I’ll just have to save myself.

                                            



​

PROSE

My Death 
Sam Sims 4/20
Inspired by Destin Williams’s “last days”

    I hope to have an idyllic death—the one where I am happy and old. The kind of old where my skin is wrinkled and soft. In its folds are years of experience and hard work. The old where I can smile wide with teeth of bone and nylon and let my thinning gray hair down. I would have lived a full life, absent of regrets, not wishing to make any changes to the past, seeing that an alteration would have provided me with a different reality. 
It would be a sweet death, where I am only remembered by friends and family and they can summon me from time to time by thinking of a memory we shared. I would be sitting on my porch in cool weather, the wind gently blowing past me as I rock back and forth in my wicker chair. In my final moments, I would slowly close my eyes, my spirit would follow the wind, departing from my physical body. My mind would be completely clear. My heart open. I would feel nothing but the cooling wind and the rocking of the chair back and forth. Back and forth. Surely, I would start to fade, my soul drifting from the earth until I felt nothing anymore. “She passed with a smile on her face,” they would say. “She was happy.” 
    Unfortunately, in the depths of my imagination I picture a contrasting story, a gruesome death—one where the pain is agonizing, emotionally and physically. A death where I cry out for help, hoping someone, even God, would hear my call and rescue me from my bitter end. Instead, no one would respond but the Grim Reaper. In my final moments, my mind would be heavy as it reviewing thoughts of things I should have done differently, people I wished I could say goodbye to, apologize to, or forgive. My soul would want to stay, insisting my time on Earth was too short, not ready to see “the light.” With the snap of the Grim Reaper’s fingers, I would disappear in an instant, feeling sheer terror throughout my body. It would be the type of death that is explosive, shattering the world into a million pieces and altering the dynamic of my family. My death would be a disaster, a horrible nightmare that lives forever in the news. A death used to caution the living. I would be recognizable by name and high school photo with the title, “Heart Wrenching Tragedy.” “I hope she didn’t suffer,” they would say, all knowing the upsetting truth. 
Most people are scared to talk about their death, fearful the conversation may speed up their expiration date or make the whole concept uncomfortably tangible. What we must be conscious of, however, is that death is inevitable. In life, it is all that we’re promised from the moment we’re brought into the world. We all are going to die someday, either a death tied up in a neat bow, natural and pleasing, or one that is like broken glass, catastrophic and piercing. 
    It’s worth giving death a thought. Each of our graves is waiting for us, a figurative deep, dark hole in the ground personalized with our name. And when we move into our eternal home, our loved ones will cry over our caskets, dressed in black and holding roses. Their tears will drip onto a body once lively, laughing, smiling, loving, talking, walking, now paralyzed by death. Ready to wither to dust...
    

​The Third Void, A Familiar Stranger and a Confused Reader
Adi Clermont 2/20

     I sat there. Staring into The Void, in the way where knowledge of my mortality, and anything else besides the void, disappears. There is just The Void. So, you know, it was a typical Thursday morning. 
     Everything was going as scheduled. I showered, had breakfast, combed my hair, woke up, journaled my dream, buried the crate that shows up every Monday, had brunch and began staring into The Void that appears in my bedroom corner at 11:14 am, on the dot, weekly.   
     But something different happened that Thursday, interrupting my disassociation session via The Void. Someone entered my room through the second void I have locked in my closet. That one isn’t friendly. That one is not empty and I’m almost certain it’s alive. 
     It was a strange fellow that came into my room that morning. Yet he was familiarly strange.
     “Oh wow, three voids in one building; you’re really lucky! Name’s Jelly. Wow, a real house! It looks to be from the 21st century. Never seen one before. Man, it’s ugly.”
     “Where did you come from?”
     “I’ve read about this world. And century. And country. It’s not my favorite but it is still amazing to be here.” 
     “You can’t . . .”
     “As you will soon knew, time and reality are fluid,” he would say, at 8:23 pm five days from now.
     “I get it, but you’re confusing the reader.”
     We turned to the fourth wall which had the third void in it, which you were watching us from, which appears at 11:14 am, on the dot, weekly.  

​

​Ghost picture story: Babysitter
Johanelys Perez 2/20

     On Halloween night, a 6-year-old named Toby was left home with a babysitter overnight for the first time while his mom worked late hours and his father was out of town. Toby wanted to go out trick-or-treating, but his babysitter, Jacky, had other plans; she invited 4 friends over and paid no mind to Toby. Jacky and her friends got drunk while Toby continued to ask about Halloween and followed them around with his favorite toy truck. Jacky became irritated with Toby’s constant asking, so without thinking, as a joke, she and her friends locked Toby in the attic for the night to keep him away. Toby cried, yelled, and banged on the door to be let out, but no one heard him. Jacky blasted music for the rest of the night while Toby remained locked in the attic.     
     The next day, Toby’s mother still hadn't arrived home from work, and Jacky was finally sober from the night before along with her friends. They looked all over for Toby. They had forgotten that they had locked him in the attic, until someone remembered. When Jacky went up to the attic, she didn't find Toby, just his shoes and his toy truck in front of an open window. Jacky knew she would get in huge trouble if some one knew she lost Toby, so she just stayed in the house hoping Toby would show up soon. When the day grew dark, Jacky was sitting on the sofa with her friends watching a movie, when she suddenly heard loud footsteps running on the floor above them and a child's laughter. They all hopped off the sofa and ran upstairs. But they didn't find Toby upstairs. Instead, they found the word “Babysitter” drawn in bright red on the wall under the attic door.    
​     Frightened, they all ran out of the house and called the police. When the police arrived, they searched the house to find but they did not find either the red writing or Toby.
     Toby's mother was devastated when she found out her son had gone missing. She locked herself in her home and kept up her Halloween decorations in his memory.
     People claim to have seen shadows of Toby under a bright lamp through the attic window at night, and that every Halloween, Toby comes back and you can hear his voice yelling out Jacky's name from the attic.

​
​Socialization Paper
Yesira Delgado 1/20

Childhood:
    In my eyes, my childhood was picture perfect, but now looking back, I realize the little things that didn’t catch my eyes when I was younger. Secretly, I think I always wanted the two-parent household; I wonder how my life would be if my parents never split up. Growing up in a one-parent household has, in fact, affected the way I developed into the person I am today. Living my life with just my mom was different than the others kids' lives around me. I only saw my dad every other weekend, and when I did see him I would cling to my mom as if he didn’t exist. 
    Most of my childhood took place in a daycare, I was rarely ever home. Home to me when I was younger was not the second floor apartment where all my belongings resided; home was with my mom. I was never the girl to play with barbies and host tea parties. I wanted to spend all my time with my mom. Instead of being in my room, I was right beside my mom watching TV. Now thinking back, my childhood was surrounded by my mom. My childhood was not a childhood; it was a hazy phase in my life where I was unsure about who I was and what I wanted. All I knew was that I wanted to be with my mom. I was stuck to her like glue, but who could blame me? She had to work long hours to be able to sustain us and I missed her. My childhood consisted of me trying to be just like her. 

Education:
    From the start, I was always interested in learning but as the years began to roll by, school became about more than just learning but about about satisfying my ego. At a young age, I became obsessed with my grades. Not only did it please my parents but it also made me feel like I had a sense of power. My grades are some of my most prideful achievements, and I believe that they will always be. 
    Being proud of my grades helped me build stability for myself, because I knew that only I could satisfy the voice in my head that keep telling to push harder. Unfortunately, it has created a very competitive and jealous side of me. I secretly strive to do better than my friends because I want to be known as the one to get the high grades in the group. But if one of my friends gets a higher grade than me, then not only do I have to compete with myself, but with them as well. This is not one of my qualities that I am very fond of, but I can’t help but think that I jump through continuous hoops to get my grades as perfect as they can be, ultimately just to keep up this unhealthy habit. 
    Aside from being proud of my grades, there is a part of me that enjoys helping people with their schoolwork. School has made me realize how much I want to be a part of the education system. As a little girl I would always go out of my way to help others with their work, which would often get me in trouble, and to this day I still continue to help others with their work.
     There are two sides to who I am as a student. I cannot change them, they are both who I am, and I’m grateful for that.

Culture/Ethnicity:
    Growing up, and even now, I never let my culture define me. I am very proud of my culture and if the topic comes up I will proudly talk about it, but I don’t let my culture be the only thing that I am. Growing up,my culture was never used against me. In fact, my peers seemed to praise me for it. The only thing that has linked me to my culture is my curly hair. My classmates were always fascinated with my hair and would even ask to play with it. My hair has always played a major part in people classifying me as a Puerto Rican, but that never bothered me. 

Relationship with Friends: 
    For as long as I can remember I have had different “best friends” through different stages of my life, but it wasn’t until my freshman year when I believed I finally found the right people to call my best friends. While during middle school my relationships with my so-called “best friends” were toxic and filled with drama, my relationships with my best friends now are care-free and fun. I’ve never laughed or had fun the way I do with my friends now. It only took a few test trials to get it right, but it’s refreshing to have friends that are genuine. 
    Our dynamic is successful because we balance each other out. Where each other lacks in certain areas, we provide guidance for each other. As I am always told, I am the mother of the group, which I like to take as a compliment. I think it means that my friends find me to be a giving person. 

Relationships with Family: 
    My relationship with my mother sets the tone for the relationship with the rest of my family. Because I was always so close to my mom, I am not really close to any other family members. While others depend on their family, I can gladly live without them. I find my family to be very toxic and childish, which is why I never let myself get too attached to them. As I've gotten older I’ve realized how hypocritical they are, and I avoid them at all costs. No one is excluded from this, not even my father. My relationship with my father started off as good as it can be when you have a weekend parent, but as I’ve gotten older I realized that I can’t tolerate the traits he carries from the rest of his family. While others can’t live without family, I can, and I have been for many years. It's only now that I’ve come to realize that although they are family, in reality they are strangers that I can live without. 
    Besides my immediate family, I’ve never had a healthy relationship with either side of my family. A big part of this comes from being really close to my mom and being the only child among a sea of cousins. I never really wanted to participate in activities because I was used to being by myself and to this day I still find myself alone in a corner at family functions with a select members of my family that I can tolerate. 
    I really only care about the relationships with my mom, step-dad, and my little sister. In many ways having my step-dad and little sister enter my life has taught me to be more tolerant and considerate of other people. For many years I had to only worry about my mother and myself, but now that they are in my life it has made me a better person. I’m grateful to have another father figure that I know will always be there for me and that I get to have a healthy relationship with. I owe a lot to who I am today to my little sister. Although she has no idea, she has made want to become a better person in any way that I can. I want to be a role model for her and show an example that she can look forward to being, like my mom was for me. 

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West Side Story Epilogue
Domingo Torres 1/20

Maria… 
     As time went by, the two gangs grew much greater than they once were. The Jets grew fond of our Latin culture, at least that's what we thought. The Sharks, well…let’s just say they changed quite a bit as well.
     After the death of Tony, at first it was total hell for the Sharks and Chino. I thought the war was over; little did I know what the Jets were planning. Chino was walking to the tribute for those who lost their lives in the so-called war and ran into Action. Chino thought they were allies and cool until he saw two other members of the Sharks--Ice and Tiger--lurking. He soon realized what was about to happen as they began to surround him and Action pulled out a switchblade.
     Chino bolted. There was a spark of fear in his eyes as he ran to the tribute. He met up with me and was breathless. I couldn't make out his speech but it was clear to me what was going on. He was scared and there could only be one thing that made him that scared, the thought of losing his life to a Jet.
     He calmed down and spoke faintly but I could still understand him. Chino told me everything about how they had threatened him and how he wanted to just make peace. I demanded that he stay with me and not leave my side; he understood why and listened to me.
       We walked to the tribute together and I saw the Jets’ members there. I was going to address and handle the situation after the tribute. I didn't see Baby John but I wasn't really worried about him not showing up. After I spoke about Tony and Bernardo, the Jets' members stood up and I questioned, what now? They snapped and began to walk up. Chino stood up and confronted them. I wanted to cry. I didn't know how to stop this war, but apparently I didn't have to.
        As Action and Chino both pulled out blades I heard a gunshot and looked up as everyone paused. Chino was frozen but then Action backed up and Chino fell to the ground, to his death. I screamed as I ran up to him, slowly losing breath.
     “WHY WHY WHY!?” I cried for mercy.
     The one thing on my mind was who shot the gun because no one had  pulled one out. I was clueless, but then out of the corner of my eye I saw someone running. I couldn't make them out. Maybe it was Baby John? I just don’t understand why the war will never end.
     Come to think of it, where was A-Rab?

Chino… 
         Me and the boys had just left Doc’s when I told Pepe that I’d meet him at the tribute later because I had some unfinished business to attend to; he didn't question it. I was going to ask him to come if he questioned it, but he did not and ran off with the other boys.
     I saw Baby John and met up with him. When he thought we were cool, I was planning on killing him off. We will never make peace in this city and no one understands that.
     We started walking down an alley, my hand was around him and before you know it, he’s dead. I stabbed him a couple times and hid the body. 
        Later that day, I went back to the body to check up on it and see if it was still there, but it wasn't. What was there was Action with a blade, and Ice and Tiger. I assume they knew what happened and I didn't want to become like Baby John, so I ran, bolted.
     I ran into Maria and didn't even tell her half of the story because the last thing I wanted to do was get her involved with this mess. I breathlessly cried to her for help and she decided that I should just stay with her. I didn't want her to worry about me or what I'd done, so I just listened to her. 
      I heard voices when walking to the tribute but I couldn't make out whose they were so I didn’t say anything about them to Maria. Maybe they were Baby John’s voice saying, “Why? Why did it have to end this way?” I really don’t know, but I started to feel kind of bad. When we got there, I felt an instant shot of regret and started to be overcome by the situation and it wouldn’t go away. I knew Baby John should have been part of this tribute but I couldn’t help myself but to kill off the bastard. Once this is over, I shall pay off my debt of life.
     After Maria talked, the Jets stood up and began snapping and walked up to Maria. I was scared. I thought they were going to try to hurt her and my instinct was to protect her with my own life, so I quickly ran up to them with a blade. While confronting Action, I realized that two of the members were not with them, Baby John, of course, and A-Rab. I turned to Action and was going to ask him to not hurt Maria, but hurt me. Before I got the chance to speak…I was shot. In the corner of my eye, moments before the bullet was shot, I saw A-Rab point a gun but I didn’t have enough time to react.
     The deal was done, my life has been taken. But I have one question about all of this, why today? 

A-Rab… 
     The story ends here, but the war will never end...
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Visiting artist Lucy McClure offers opportunity for writers to participate in "Sanctuary Cities" show.

Backfire
Prose Poem by Shaly Soto

​     It’s a cold night and I can't help but to think of how cruel people can be. Heartbreakers moving in silence and snapping at their victims once they lay themselves down...emotionally, maybe even physically! Lying in my bed, I close my eyes and imagine what would've happened if he really loved me. If everything he placed in my head wasn't just another list of lies but a sweet song from the honesty of his heart. If only it were a mutual kind of love. A breeze touches my skin and my room darkens as the sun sets itself to sleep. It all connected now. The glow of your love dies down once you feel that cold breeze. It's time to start fresh in the morning, making yesterday's pain the storm that watered your garden.


The New and Improved Declaration of Independence 
By Raven Joseph 10/19

The unanimous Declaration of the fifty United States of America and the five territories of which it inhabits, 
     We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all people, regardless of gender, nationality, creed, status or furthermore distinguishing attributes, are created equal. That they are endowed with unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness which include but are not limited to, exemplary education for citizens throughout the entirety of their personal matriculation, nationwide healthcare financed through taxation and fueled by need rather than ability to pay, and services to ensure the economic stability of every family. By this, no state or territory shall compromise the privileges or immunities of any race or ethnicity in their pursuit in refuge. To secure these rights, governments are instituted among its elected officials, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed for they should always advocate for their constituents. Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to move swiftly to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, as for prolonged abuses and usurpations are of no benefit to the nation. It is the right of the people to lay the foundation on the principles and powers that they collectively agree to uphold, for the rights of the people are both inherent and undeniable. 
     In layman’s terms, America, begin to treat each and every person with the freedom and dignity that they so rightfully deserve. 

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My Death 
By Samantha Sims 9/19
Inspired by Destin Williams's work in Metamorphosis 2019

    I hope to have an idyllic death—the one where I am happy and old. The kind of old where my skin is wrinkled and soft. In its folds are years of experience and hard work. The old where I can smile wide with teeth of bone and nylon and let my thinning gray hair down. I would have lived a full life, absent of regrets, not wishing to make any changes to the past, seeing that an alteration would have provided me with a different reality. 
     It would be a sweet death, where I am only remembered by friends and family and they can summon me from time to time by thinking of a memory we shared. I would be sitting on my porch in cool weather, the wind gently blowing past me as I rock back and forth in my wicker chair. In my final moments, I would slowly close my eyes, my spirit would follow the wind, departing from my physical body. My mind would be completely clear. My heart open. I would feel nothing but the cooling wind and the rocking of the chair back and forth. Back and forth. Surely, I would start to fade, my soul drifting from the earth until I felt nothing anymore. “She passed with a smile on her face,” they would say. “She was happy.” 
    Unfortunately, in the depths of my imagination I picture a contrasting story, a gruesome death—one where the pain is agonizing, emotionally and physically. A death where I cry out for help, hoping someone, even God, would hear my call and rescue me from my bitter end. Instead, no one would respond but the Grim Reaper. In my final moments, my mind would be heavy as it reviewing thoughts of things I should have done differently, people I wished I could say goodbye to, apologize to, or forgive. My soul would want to stay, insisting my time on Earth was too short, not ready to see “the light.” With the snap of the Grim Reaper’s fingers, I would disappear in an instant, feeling sheer terror throughout my body. It would be the type of death that is explosive, shattering the world into a million pieces and altering the dynamic of my family. My death would be a disaster, a horrible nightmare that lives forever in the news. A death used to caution the living. I would be recognizable by name and high school photo with the title, “Heart Wrenching Tragedy.” “I hope she didn’t suffer,” they would say, all knowing the upsetting truth. 
     Most people are scared to talk about their death, fearful the conversation may speed up their expiration date or make the whole concept uncomfortably tangible. What we must be conscious of, however, is that death is inevitable. In life, it is all that we’re promised from the moment we’re brought into the world. We all are going to die someday, either a death tied up in a neat bow, natural and pleasing, or one that is like broken glass, catastrophic and piercing. 
    It’s worth giving death a thought. Each of our graves is waiting for us, a figurative deep, dark hole in the ground personalized with our name. And when we move into our eternal home, our loved ones will cry over our caskets, dressed in black and holding roses. Their tears will drip onto a body once lively, laughing, smiling, loving, talking, walking, now paralyzed by death. Ready to wither to dust...

Emulation of "Don’t Touch Me" by Benie N’sumbu
By Nelani Mejias 9/19

     I’ve always had a self-inflicted isolation from touch. When it came to him, though, I wanted for our fingers to interlock. For him to hug my body close to his. Our short-lived relationship, however, lacked any of those small gestures of affection. The lack of touch made me feel unwanted and guilty. Like, in some way, I had turned him off and it was my fault. In my overthinking, I thought that I was physically appalling to him. I thought when he saw me he felt regret. With him I felt insecure. His words never gave me a reason; if anything, I should have felt confident. But his lack of touch seemed to contradict his words. I suppose this is an example of whether or (in)actions speak louder than words. 
     With the rest of the world, I still feel that isolation. I feel safe without any physical contact. Personally, when it comes to touch, I think you need a balance of both.

Bedside Manner
A Script by Xzavea Bradley 10/19

Tara, in pajamas, rolls out of bed to smash the snooze button. As she reaches for the alarm she notices it isn’t there anymore. She gets up annoyed by the constant blare of the alarm to see an irritatingly bright smile in the doorway. Lisa walks in the bedroom, holding the alarm, as cheery as ever. Tara gags in disgust.

Tara 
     Jeez.
Lisa
    Y’know this is my bedroom right.
Tara
    Can’t go to mine.
Lisa 
    Not when you’re angry. Hard to see your door when all you see is red. 

Lisa reaches over Tara and pulls a blunt out of her night table. Fumbling her hand around in her miscellaneous drawer of junk, she finds a lighter.

Tara
    Very funny. I stormed out again.
Lisa
    He’s probably as tired of you as you are right now.
Tara
    It’s not about me! He thinks I’m insecure. If I say “My stomach is chubby” he’ll say “Then eat less”.  Y’know, the whole “act like he doesn’t care until I leave him alone” routine.
Lisa 
    Sounds familiar. So what? You blocked him huh?
Tara 
    Girl, I’m not finished. He told me “You’re beautiful normally, you’re just bloated.” I go, “Normally? So am I not beautiful now?”
Lisa
    Then what?
Tara
    He tells me to calm down. WHAT!?
Lisa
    You blocked his email too, didn’t you?
Tara
    Of course Lisa.
Lisa
    That’s crazy!! You guys have been together for ages! I guess everyone needs a-

Tara
    Bryan!Bryan!Bryan! 

Lisa squeezes the illuminated end of her joint, quickly puts it in her pocket and sits at the foot of the bed. Tara tries to straighten up her appearance as if to prove a point.

Bryan
Seriously?

Tara and Lisa (in unison)
Seriously what?
 Bryan
    You guys get worse and worse at covering for yourselves. C’mon.

They both stand up and go over.

Bryan
    I’m tired of y’all! Everytime y’all are both here at the same time, you manage to embarrass me. Tara, you legit look like yesterday, which is not a compliment. And Lisa? Which one?

Lisa
    Right rear.

Bryan reaches his hand in Lisas back pocket to find no blunt. Bryan’s friend walks by as he was creeping his hand in Lisa’s pocket. They freeze.

Bryan
    OH- Uh.. It- it’s not wh-

Awkward pause

Lisa
    You can take you hand out now.

Bryan’s friend
    Well, I’ll Uh.. Let you three handle that.

He, making a very awkward face, walks away.

Tara
    What was that about embarrassing you?


Bryan
    I hope you two grow up someday.


This is a mirror emulation of Pablo Sanchez-Levallois’ “At your convenience” 
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