Flower Boy, Where is Your Smile by B. Arriaga

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Flower Boy, Where is Your Smile by B. Arriaga
What do you know
Elizabeth Sperring ‘18
Yeah, you laugh now, but what do you know?
“Why are you so angry? It’s just a story.”
Just a story? Just a story?
As I said, what do you know about anything?
Take a breath, we’re going on a journey.
I will have to tell you the story,
The precautionary tales that I’ve grown up with.
“Be careful who you trust.”
Yes, yes, I understand completely,
Look what happened here, with someone who seemed trustworthy,
Guess not. Oh well. What does he know, any way.
Yeah, you roll your eyes now, but what do you know?
“You’re overreaction. It’s only fiction.”
Fiction. Only fiction?
As I said, what do you know about anything?
The world practically bends at your feet.
To be fair, I dislike these rules, these norms,
But it’s easy to bend and fit in with the crowd.
“Don’t be afraid to embrace your true colors.”
Yes, now leave me alone, thanks.
According to them, my true colors aren’t even correct.
So much for individualism. What do they know, anyway.
Yeah, you snort now, but what do you know?
“You’re so dramatic. It’s not real.”
Not real? Not real?
As I said, what do you know about anything?
I’ve got news for you buddy-
It felt pretty darn real
When someone relatable was shot in the chest.
“Representation matters, you know.”
Stop forcing this fake standard down my throat,
And don’t show people like me,
Only as they choke, or as the butt of a joke.
What’s that? You don’t want to see me? What if I offered to kill myself?
Oh-that’s right. You’re so “open-minded” and “accepting.”
So if you accept everyone regardless...
How come seeing me represented makes you so uncomfortable?
Whatever. What do you know anyways.
Math Class
Bridget White ‘17
I was sitting in my Calculus class,
Wondering how to graph an integral,
But not wanting to think about math.
Instead I chose to write some verse,
Because it’s better than finding the derivative first.
For nothing in this universe is as adverse as a Calculus course.
LRAM, RRAM, MRAM, more like no ma’am.
Why do we need graphs?
Can’t I chart my own path?
What is f(1/2)?
I don’t know, but it can function better than I can in math class.
Fresh Blood
Mary Clare Hancock ‘17
Hold your breath for hours,
Peel off that monster face.
Have you mastered the art of lying
Crossing your fingers while you’re saying grace?
Honey-drunk and tired
Sleeping in last night’s clothes,
Who am I supposed to be tonight
The guys will never know,
That it’s a god-damn horror show
But we’re familiar with the way fresh blood flows.
When will anybody notice our worth?
Mom, did you mean it when you said we’d inherit the earth?
Serene by B. Arriaga
Untitled by Audrey Morehead
Journal Update! We have just finished photographing all La Salle art show submissions! Thank you to everyone who created and shared their beautiful art. You can still submit your art, poetry, photography, or short story! Bring them over to room 302 ASAP.
We have a new Zine out! Pick up a copy of “Wonderful Darkness” in the LSLO, the LC, the counseling center, or the front office.
CBHS LAJ Poetry Jam 11/9/16–The decoration...lots of lights.
CBHS LAJ Poetry Jam 11/9/16–Enjoying snacks before starting the readings.
CBHS LAJ Poetry Jam 11/9/16–The “Playlist” of Poetry
My story
Ricardo Turner ‘17
I am a book with no cover.
What you see is not what I truly am.
You may read through my pages,
but Do you really know me?
We may share a few laughs and tears,
but we could not be farther apart.
You may try to understand,
But in the end you will just give up.
If I die, so does my story.
Thus, I must make it meaningful.
I alone know the true story.
Through every chapter,
I am the hero.
Are you the hero of your story?
A New Beginning-Welcome Back To The CBHS LAJ
Welcome to a new year for the Literary Arts Journal! We’re looking forward to collaborating on creative original projects and further being involved in the vibrant school community.
Having only had a few meetings thus far, we are still in the process of deciding exactly what to do this year. However, several ideas have been collected, and we hope to put them into effect.
The possibility of a winter edition journal in addition to the traditional spring compilation has been heavily discussed, along with the regular distribution of zines (small, self-published collections of literary and artistic works), and several on-campus “poetry jams” involving not only students, but teachers and staff-members as well. We have also been working hard to produce a club t-shirt, discussing the possibility of various designs at each meeting.
This blog will be updated soon, and hopefully added to on a regular basis!
Keep your eyes open for the artistic talents of Christian Brothers High School, it will be coming your way very soon.
What is a Man?
Camille Moniz ‘16
“What is a [M]an?”
“I am not able to say without precision”
“I have never been quit able to determine”
“Some people’ll do anything anyhow these days”
Fools...who were expected to be always ready with sharp witticisms, at a moments notice
I will make a [M]an of you
He vowed his perfect willingness
How may I live without my name?
The beauty of the game lies in the fright
It puzzled him to decipher what he saw there
I am a [M]an if I ain’t a whole one.
Works Cited
Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, Kate Chopin’s “A Pair of Silk Stockings”, Flannery O’Connor’s “The Life You Save May Be Your Own”, and Edgar Allen Poe’s “Hop-Frog”
Saving Grace
Section from “Saving Grace”
By Anonymous
Penelope stood on her tiptoes, bent her knees… and jumped.
It was probably the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was like watching an angel take flight. Her hair fluttered in the breeze. The golden rays added an ethereal glow to her body. Her dress billowed out and caught air. I swear, her arms became feathered wings. She looked so calm and serene.
I reached the railing where she jumped.
She started to fall down.
I grabbed a fistful of her dress. Thank goodness it was long.
Penelope gasped in surprise. “What are you doing?” she cried.
“Saving you,” I grunted. The fabric started to tear. I tugged harder, panic levels rising. Finally I managed to drag her over the railing and back onto the bridge.
“Don’t! Everything will be better if I just leave the world!” Penelope was screaming in anger, and tears fell down her face.
I lost it. No one should speak like that. Ever!
“YOU IDIOT!” I shouted. “THERE IS ALWAYS SOMEONE OUT THERE WHO LOVES US! ALWAYS! THINK PENELOPE, THINK. THERE HAS TO BE SOMEONE WHO LOVES YOU!”
Penelope started to cry harder. “M-my sist-ter tak-kes care of m-me,” she stammered.
“Does she love you?” I asked. “I mean, she takes care of you, right?” By then I had calmed down just a little.
“Y-yes,” said Penelope. She wiped her eyes.
I sighed with relief. “Will her life be better if you’re gone?”
“Yes-s,” she whispered. “She has so much to do because Mom is at work. She won’t have to worry about me if I’m dead.”
“DON’T SPEAK LIKE THAT!” I screamed. Penelope shrank away from me. I had to remind myself that this was a matter of life and death for a bullied girl. Penelope lived in fear and had others constantly making fun of her. So, I took some breaths, and continued.
I love you
Anonymous
If your body was a temple,
Then I would be there
Everyday
Professing my faith.
Treating you so well so everyone can see
The immaculate glory you posses.
Praise the heavens for sculpting such a piece of perfection.
I shall genuflect
And profess my sins,
Knowing that I am unfit for you.
Humbling myself beyond all measure due to your awesomeness.
The curves of your body, and the marks
You call flaws,
Are the places I like to kiss best.
Running my lips on holy ground
And feeling your energy, quivering inside.
You are my god, my salvation,
And without you, I fall from grace.
Awe
Anna Dahl (‘15)
Awe is a thing that roams in solitude,
Yet it is not lonely.
It is a mangy beast
With silky fur.
Awe is a thing with watchful eyes.
It lurks in the shadows,
Ready to pounce
At the most unexpected moments.
It springs on your senses:
Rips open your hands,
Growls at your ears,
Pants under your nose,
Glares into your eyes,
And spits on your taste buds.
Awe snatches your heart,
Stops the bloody, beating thing.
Awe demands to be felt.