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Cry Goodbye

I love you, bestfriend.

I cry goodbye with tears on my face

It’s all over

They all moved away

No one even thought to stay

My mom and counselor took me out

Now lies with you

You two are torn apart

It’s alright, it’s ok

I’ll find a way

To talk to my lover and my friend another day

But until then I guess this is the end

To my love story and my new best friend

I guess we can’t bend that at some point

Everything comes to an end

So farewell my love and farewell my friend

It didn’t work out, I couldn’t finish

This truly is the end

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Sonnet

How long will it take?

I found myself waiting to accomplish,

and now it’s too late.

Everything I held is demolished.

Brick by brick,

I build a better image;

Pray it sticks.

Straining so much my brain hemorrhages.

So I stand back,

letting it all fall,

I can’t do anything so I relax;

I no longer stand tall.

From where I begin

To my eternal end.

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Differences in Me

(Valena Rose- Franklin Military Academy)

When you look at me,

what do you see?

Do you see a girl,

or do I make you want to hurl?

Do you see the real me,

or do you see the differences in me?

Do you see a princess,

standing next to her misses?

Do you see a queen,

standing tall and not being mean?

Can you look past my frown,

or can you turn it upside down?

Do you see the differences in me?

Do you see my heart,

or does it have to hurt?

Do you see the heart that has been broken?

Even the tears I cry,

to make people unique,

to make me feel different,

to be alike like me,

to make me feel different,

to be alike with me,

to feel what I’m feeling,

to see the differences in me.

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Place

(Juliet Griffin- George Wythe High School)

I have been put in this place many times:

told how to do this and that,

what to say and think,

how to look and behave.

Be the way I’m suppose to be.

Expectations to be met;

I could never be myself, just me.

That place drives me overly insane–

I kept being placed there,

over and over again.

Yet I have no choice but to

be true to myself.

I can’t be somebody else’s book

placed on a shelf, in a perfect row,

not standing out,

no one knowing what I’m about.

That place doesn’t define me.

That place drives me overly crazy.

Yet I still go.

Why not just say, “No!”

No, that’s enough.

I will dress how I want.

I will talk how I want.

I will do what I want.

That place undefines me.

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Who We Are

(By Oneisha Green- Huguenot High School)

God

created women

from a piece of man.

He gave us a spine

so we can stand

alone.

Don’t

let a man

cripple you.

Women!

We are being called out

of our name.

But it’s kind of insane

that we complain.

Yet,

we call a girl we don’t like

a “That.”

We females should not have

to have our bodies yell

for attention.

We are worth carrying

the title,

“woman.”

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The Knight

(By Kailyn Small- Open High School)

We all want

what we can’t have.

Money. Fame.

Happiness.

Everyone struggles for these things.

I sit around and wait

for it to be gone.

For death’s black rays to be

cast upon me.

I wonder every night

what it’d be like had he not

taken to the bottle,

had she not

died,

had he not marked me

a punching bag.

After, I wonder; I hope—

hope that I

won’t see another day on Earth,

hope when I open my eyes,

I’m in Paradise,

hope maybe he’ll start

treating me like me.

But hope is just an

illusion.

When I awake to this pain

every day, it hits harder

every time.

I cannot wait until he decides

he’s tired of

my breath, and my life,

so I will be in

Paradise—

with my mother,

my angel,

away from my father

and siblings, my

tormentors.

The only way out is

a knight;

and my only knight can be

death.

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Pause. Play. Repeat

(By Vazya Herman- John Marshall High School)

I awaken in emptiness,

chained and coiled in the hands of every person I once was

and who I want to be.

Pause. Play. Repeat.

I’m awake, but dead to my surroundings.

I stink; I reek of sin.

The awful smell of shame and pure insanity escape

from the pores of my skin.

Over the metanoia of 2 years of kidnapped souls

in the back of grey vans and white Toyotas.

Skipping grades

and the weight of the world on your shoulders.

“All that has changed is the flow of your hair

and how high you hold your chin,”

said it, he, or she. The bitter beast daring

it, he, or she.

Me, to even dream of seeing a glimpse

or peek

of the sun

kissing the clouds so passionately.

2 dim lights turn on, swinging and dangling,

revealing what looked like an aged mental asylum.

Never home.

I mean, where am I?!

“Where you should be,”

said it, he, or she,

that bitter-sweet beast.

That voice, crawling over the walls.

Lingering like the cadence of jingling keys.

“Who are you, Vazya?” that voice said to me.

“Don’t let your life fall into another pit of pain and grief.

The truth will set you free.”

Must

Must cut into the frames of the souls you pretend to be,

to find the correct key to open the guillotine

that will sever the spirit in you

and delete every lie,

every letter.

“Would you like to play my game?”

I yell,

“I knew it was you Jigsaw!”

He responds, “I’m glad you’re familiar with my name.

You’ll be more comfortable with your fall.”

But I’ll live

to see another day.

To only die internally of insanity

and shame.

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My Father’s Ocean

(By Justin Wafawanaka- Thomas Jefferson High School)

       Longingly, I stare at the waves. The way they move fascinates and frightens me. As a child, it always excited me when my father invited me to the beach. We would laugh and enjoy the warm weather. We would frantically tip toe across the scorching sand. I loved those times together. Not a day goes by without reminiscence of those precious memories. Unfortunately, these happy outings became the things they are: memories, memories that I yearn to have again but will never attain.

       My father’s death from cardiac arrest was a truly devastating event that affected not only me, but my family, especially my younger sister. At night, sobs and wails of despair would wake me. I’d run from my room and embrace my dear sister to comfort her. I would try to combat my own tears. Yet I always found myself inside my own room, crying for my father to return to me, knowing that my cries were forever in vain. For three months, I slept in my own tears, too distraught to even wipe them from my face.

       I throw a pebble into the ocean and watch it skip until it sinks. I sit on the slowly cooling sand, watching seagulls stand ever so quietly. As time passed after my father’s death, I regained my composure and thought about how I viewed my life. The sobbing ceased. My sister found serenity within herself. At night, I heard no wails or dire screams, but something that we both desperately needed.

       Silence.

       In my heart, I knew that my father would never want my sister or me to suffer every night. I still wished for him to return, but I also wished to fulfill his wish for the both of us: to live a happy life.

       I rose and took one last glance at the waves and peacefulness. Silently, I thank my father for all that he’s done for me and leave the place I have loved all my life.

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Me

(By Taiji Smithers- Open High School)

I am from a time with achromatic decrepit pictures,

air conditioners in the windows,

and sundials being hung from dot-making nails. 

I am from houses

staring at each other like friends

glaring at each other’s glory.

The yards of my neighbors and me are muddy dirt - no grass.

I’m from times where corners of my ceiling are unfinished.

I am from the corners stores being my grocery store. 

A time when men aren’t being role models to their children, 

men not being there, nor having their pants around their waist.

I’m from a time where men see prison as their way to a good reputation.

I’m accustomed to tempers being like bubbles from bubble gum, 

waiting to get to the point of blowing,

and in my situation, 

            “Parents know best”

is a motto rather than just a saying, where

            “Started from the bottom”

                or “rags to riches”

is set into play.

But, all said and done, I’m only thing;

I am the formulation of Mary’s Creation

or just me.

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I Ain’t See It

(By Charles Bolling- Armstrong High School) 

It hurts to see it’s broken

and we ain’t fix it yet.

Well, I’m growing tired of trying to fix it,

Cause ain’t none of y'all trying to see it.

I guess I’ll sit here and act dumb

Like I ain’t seein’ it too.

But even if I don’t see it,

I’ll still hear it.

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Infallible Jack Rabbit Constellation

(By Justin Wafawanaka – Thomas Jefferson High School)

Some nights I can’t help but just stare at the sky. Bright stars are mesmerizing, staring down upon my gaze. I would see Orion, the Big and Little Dipper, and many other constellations. Though absolutely beautiful and mighty, there was one I admired and desired more than any other. It was the smallest of all, but to me, it seemed enormous. A jack rabbit. It’s ears upright, always so curious. For some odd reason, it appeared great to me. I would stare at it constantly, my interest infallible. Then I realized why this constellation commanded my attention. It was me. Small and afraid, like anyone would define me. Running for my life, scurrying for survival, fearful of others, and what predators craved. Fleeing from conflicts, I strive to live another day. All I am is a coward, I’m scared of the future, what lies in store, what fate holds in it’s grasp. I yearn to be brave, desperately. Unfortunately it’s something I cannot attain. I’m too afraid, to put it simply. It’s a curse I cannot break. I am glass that has shattered. All that’s left of me are broken shards, thousands of pieces that are an

[thepodiumfoundation-blog]

Music is Better than Love

(By Myeah Perry – Thomas Jefferson) 

This thing we call love

causes nothing but hate.

But when you run out of it,

We look for any source to heal the pain,

We try drugs

       and partying,

    and going around,

But it never works.

We listen to others say

“It’s okay, I know it hurts,”

But...it’s...not.

We confide in music, we sing

“Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone,”

Hoping to move on, we look forward to a different song,

finding comfort in the lyrics and the

    Boom, Tap of every beat,

Hoping the music will swallow and help our feelings.

    ¡We use it!

to hide our feelings,

to patch it up.

Music is like a warm touch

healing our souls.

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Untitled

(By Justin Wafawanaka – Thomas Jefferson High School)

There it was upon my awe struck gaze,

My eyes absolutely mesmerized,

A glass of crystal clear water.

A seemingly simple glass, in fact.

Though it appeared nothing was special about this object,

This very object seized my curiosity.

It was extraordinary.

Legend tells that the water inside this very glass

had been blessed by the Gods eons before my birth.

I reach my trembling finger towards it, slightly nervous by its presence.

My teeth rattling, heart pulsing, mind stricken with undeniable apprehension.

But my hand stops,

My movement ceased in an instant.

Why has fear held its clawed talons around me?

It’s just a glass of crystal clear water.

A seemingly simple glass, in fact.

I slowly retract my fingers and hand altogether.

Sweat cascading down my neck’s shivering nape.

Desire to touch the glass continuously mocked me.

I laughed maniacally.

It went into hysterics and gnashed it’s sharp teeth at me,

Until it finally came to an ultimate climax.

An apex of frightening proportions,

Desire was never going to control me,

I am nobody’s crafted puppet.

I am the omniscient puppeteer.

Suddenly, I found my right index finger upon the glass of crystal clear water.

My eyes were wide with surprise.

I felt enormous inside.

I was forever triumphant.

This must be the feeling of embracing victory.

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Life: The Search for Control

(By Destiny Brown – Thomas Jefferson High School)

Life widdles away

into a hole of mystery.

No path to follow,

Life goes as it pleases.

Life is a puppet

with billions of puppeteers.

Everybody controlling everything,

but no one is ever in control.

Nobody knows what the future holds,

but everybody has an idea.

An idea of their lives

that is blown away

by the nearest passerby.

Everybody can take charge,

but no one steps up.

We follow a path

that leads us into the future.

Everyone wants to be a leader.

No one wants the responsibility,

But we are responsible for ourselves.

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No Thanks

(By Jacob Sexton – Thomas Jefferson High School) 

One day I was on the wrong side of the track,

Ended up with a couple of people with stacks.

They said, “Man, I got the girls and a honey,”

But yet he got all this with his drug money.

I couldn’t believe where I went to.

Just the fact I was there, I was a fool.

There was this one dude with the free hookah.

His friend came with the pistol, “Oh, he won’t shoot you.”

He said “take a puff, it’ll make you cooler.

Just being there made me feel like a loser.

As soon as the hazel hit the air,

Told me that I shouldn’t be there.

I’ve lost friends to the hazel sensation,

But no way I would fall to the drug persuasion.

I walked away before it could get me.

Some people say I’m a wuss, but what’s clean?

I’m one of the few I know that can say I’m drug free.

The high life, not for me, neither is the low road.

There’s no denying that drugs are in songs,

No thanks for me, I’m trying to live my life long.

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Untitled

(By Destiny Brown – Thomas Jefferson High School)

She sits at the corner

watching the cars go by,

wondering: when

what, how, and why?

When did her family

become so very broken?

Leaving her memories

as her only good token.

What did she do

to deserve the abuse?

What piece of the puzzle

did she happen to lose?

How did she end up

in such a sad situation,

where her own father

was the source of frustration?

Why hasn’t she left

with her mother in tow?

Why does her father

treat them so low?

She should escape,

run far and run free.

But instead she listens

to her dad’s remorseful plea.

He’s sorry he hurt them

in every which way.

He says he’ll do better

on another day.

The day never comes.

The abuse never ends,

but still in his mind 

they are all good friends.