Out of the Box- Lit Mag - Archbishop Molloy High School

2
Banging Controllers & Crashing Memory Cards since 1997
1997, A year when I was born.
Had to wait and it took so long.
Clickle, clackle like there were shackles,
Except the tangled webs were controller wires.
Crash and Sonic were on the run.
Too distracted to think because of the fun.
There was fire, water, or snow.
“Oh wait, please don’t go!”
Gained an inch in just a pinch.
Kingdom Hearts made me a snitch.
Whether it’s fighting Heartless or killing sins.
Bad guys had the upper chins.
Adding Disney gave it epic wins.
Hit Puberty in the late 2000s,
Making the sun blaze to the 1000s.
Ama
terasu dashes the world.
Aiding the Gods and giving them a swirl,
While Issun acts like a churl.
Up the hills, down the castles,
Demons causing so many hassles.
Strip away adolescence and call me an adult,
Plays The Last of Us as a default.
Clickers as zombies are an epic twist.
Protecting Ellie and taking the risk.
Fought my battles day and night.
Endless greenery as a pleasant sight.
All of my life has been a video game.
Growing older doesn’t make it lame,
And I feel the same.
Don’t look at me with shame,
Let’s go and get in the game!
Kadejah Steele
3
Tick Tock
Tick tock,
Goes the clock.
There goes another year.
The gears of life,
They work together
And build upon your fears.
They spin and spin
Remind you when
You were just a child.
Now here you lie
With brilliant eyes
In this decaying body.
And you discover that
No matter how much
You close your eyes,
Your mind will fly
Into the sky
And take you to another world.
And here we are,
A flock of flies
Flying around with no morals.
We find our worth
In work and riches
And other worthless distractions.
As a mass we are stupid
As a sole being we stay useless
And these principles of life
4
Will always haunt us.
When we fly we crash
And when we soar we burn
But when we remain grounded
It all hurts.
And we say,
"Death to the one
Who takes away our rights!"
But who is to kill us
When we are the reason we fight?
And tick tock,
There goes the clock
The gears of life won't stop.
Tick tock, I beg to God
To make the sound end.
Tick tock, I broke the clock.
Now I can go to bed.
But tick tock, it’s in my head
I too can make that end.
Tick tock,
The sound I've locked
Away so I can start the day.
Tick tock this life goes on,
Living keeps the ticking away.
Amanda Arevalo
Whiteout
I’m trying to break this pattern
And get out of this world
The pen moves over the page and I do the same
Forever written into the pages of time
I don’t even get a dime
Or a say what happens next
The animators gave me life
But not my own to keep
The pen writes words for me to shout,
“Where’s the whiteout?”
Katlin Stath
5
6
Blue Hearts
People of impulse, strangers will draw near
And fighting feel, will be a job you hold
There are but only two truths, lust and fear
Happy and sad, but a story once told
Our hearts are unique, not crimson as blood
We are skeptic royals, leaders of doubt
With morals seen evil as dark thoughts flood
If only red knew these thoughts and their drought
Their nightmares feed ideal reality
Their curious spirit not yet jaded
Mistakes reduce their hope’s vitality
Error leaves their heart’s ruby tone faded
These new blue hearts, discover scared desire
They scoff as boys and girls mix love and fire
Sean Boehme
7
Seahorse
It's warm.
I'm small and I'm weak,
And I'm floating along the shore's edge.
It was so cold and dark before,
So deep, the sun didn't know me.
But now I'm so close to the surface.
What will happen if I leave the water?
I don't care.
It's so warm above the waves.
Sun
This song makes me think of summer.
Well, summer and you.
It makes me think of Ocean Avenue and
The sound of two sets
Of bare footsteps
Padding against the boardwalk.
Yours and mine.
And it was our last summer together,
So naturally I remember it fondly,
Even the parts where I was too afraid to take your hand in mine.
This song makes me think of summer and you.
Then again,
So does everything nowadays.
Brianne Lindee
8
Difference
What’s so bad at being different?
I find being the same kind of lame.
Wear the same, act the same, be the same.
It’s like death but mentally.
Restraining your true self for others.
Feel like a bother to the clique.
The victim becomes sick being lick’d
Beatin’ to the whim,
Clinging from their original sin.
Hands wavering out of control.
Body pressed by those unknown.
They pull the entangled chains around you,
Then the abyss swallows you whole,
And restricts your life to a cocoon.
Become a black butterfly and collapse.
Become a colorful butterfly and paint a rainbow.
Kadejah Steele
9
Kieran's Descent
To be lost in yourself had to be the most haunting fate anyone could be damned
into. For time was no longer a construct -‐ you couldn’t tell your minutes from
your hours or your days from your weeks, but instead you were forced to live
in long stretches of eternity, living in the dark in the solitary confinement of the
mind. Slowly eating you alive, letting the long stretches fall into the torture of
slow self-‐deprecation. With no one to help anchor you down or remind you of
the way the sunlight colored in the sky — they had always said you were your
own worst enemy, and even if they’d ceased to understand its importance, it rang
true. Threatening to lay waste -‐ while pain endured in forcing yourself to wake
up… Even to just dream of waking up, to be able to make yourself whole
again.
There had been a time when Kieren would do anything to fall into that
oblivion of silence. To cut out the very world as we know it and let the reaper
silence him. Take him away from the deafening noise of grief and maybe, just
maybe, find the light. To let his body cave in on itself and allow his very person
to bleed out into the sky, To say that final good bye. Let those pastels that
colored the sky turn to black and fall into the eternal sleep. — He’d succeeded
once. But, now, he wasn’t looking for it —— … he feared it.
Nerves begging to flail out in realization of his own humanity. Force his limbs to
splay out in sporadic lividity. But, he was frozen. Resembling the corpse locked
in his own personal hell. Pumping acid down his extremities. Burning him from
the inside out, forcing his body to stay intact, but, locked in stone. It could be
centuries or just mere minutes, but rigidity trapped him in a space he could no
longer control. Piercing agony burning out his insides while his outside, well, he
hadn’t even twitched. No relief. As if being punished for his sins. There was no
escape from the night. Until, the centuries crisscrossed and met their ends.
Was this what he’d once craved? Was this what it felt like to finally die? To be released?
To finally see — the light….
He’d do anything to escape it—as eyes seemed to open up to the inevitable. He’d
left the only things he’d held dear… There was no longer any vanity in the idea. …
Just —-‐ …
Ears suddenly filled with sound, suddenly exploding in noise. Aching networking
through his very body, welcoming him back from the Labyrinth. Heavy eyes not
awakening to eternal sleep, but to thrust out from the gates of hell. Fingertips
suddenly ticking in awareness. Bulging irises forcing wide-‐eyed terror.
White.
A scream begged to fall out from his mouth, but only a whimper could muster
itself from a dried out trach
Only to awaken in another hell
Kaela Coppinger
10
Breakdowns or Butterflies
Created to complain
You drive yourself insane
You’ll always find yourself in pain
If you refuse to play a pretty world's game
Tranquility and fear
Being lost or being here
Everything else, scar or tear
Will break if you don’t claim your ship and steer
Think of a little girl, crying without reason
She has a purpose, a will, a must to make herself feel uneven
She’ll blame anything; the earth, the weather, claims she hates
wind breezin’
You’d both be a lot more satisfied if you had four favorite
seasons
With a hunger for happiness you refuse to sate
You forgot love and life, only seeing death and hate
You’ll always drag yourself down to a hopeless state
While with a strong mindset you could find a storied “happily
ever after” fate
People say life is what you make of it
But I think that life is what you take from it
I know you’re used to being sad for the sake of it
But maybe it’s time you took a break from it
Sean Boheme
Carpe Diem
Up down,
Right left,
All these different directions.
Front back,
Side to side,
So many choices
Take over my mind.
Down the block,
Or crossing the street,
Either way could lead me to
Different lives
Different styles;
Struggling people
Living in denial.
I'll go out
Or stay here.
Who knows which will
Make me disappear?
All these worries,
All these frights,
For either direction could take
your life.
So sit back
And just relax,
Or go take a walk,
Never come back.
Do as your heart does desire
Or regret will burn
In the fire.
Maybe you are angry,
Maybe you are sad.
But too many decisions
Makes it hard to be happy,
But better to decide
Than just live dead.
12
And if you don't know
Which one to choose,
Then good luck to you my friend.
Time won't stop for anyone
So you better start filling in the
blanks.
And keep this in the back of your
head:
Remember to never live in repent.
Regret will fester
Faster and faster
And stay with you
Until you meet the master.
And so if not to live,
And not to think
Then not to be alive.
This is how you lose your faith
In life,
In hope,
In your mind.
And despite the raging seas,
That push against all your
dreams,
It's a choice
That you must make
To live,
And seize every day.
Amada Arevalo
Come ride the magic
grasshopper with me!
We'll ride through the
lawn onto the sunset.
We'll fly through the
stars and orbit around
planets on our magic
grasshopper!
The floor is bubbling, the
ceiling is melting
into starlights.
The clock is no longer
ticking.
-Mark Perkins
13
“The Looking Glass”
Once upon a time,
Alice looked through the looking glass.
A casual glance,
Just a momentary peak,
And they say she saw a world of wonder.
A world of magic,
With explosions of color,
And an endless expression of beauty;
Simply an unattainable enchantment.
Untouchable,
Impossible,
Yet, right under your nose.
Opening up a world of unimaginable vision of grandeur.
Alice may no longer be looking through that looking glass,
But the magic isn’t lost.
Walking carefully towards the portal,
I can feel my heart hammer.
Stepping into a world that I could have never imagined.
Societal screams had scared me away,
But, Alice found the secret,
Why couldn’t I?
Building courage in every tip toe,
The very edge of that glass catches a visage.
Suddenly, the fire burning the soles of my sneakers melt to ice,
Forcing my body to glide closer,
Curiosity pulling my whole person forward,
Until we’re face to face.
Suddenly,
I’m facing the glittering grin of the Cheshire Cat,
Falling into the aroma of those glittering flower petals,
And following the white rabbit along the terrain under the brightening sun.
14
An imperfect place,
Yet perfect in its own individual way.
Pulling my body ever closer,
Making me squint to get a better look.
Two pools of a light blue oceans open up around the white snow,
And a graceful mountain plunging right between the two.
A unique beauty.
Blinking in hind sight,
I finally found the source of Alice’s magic.
Wonderland was never a place of imagination,
But a place that lived within every single one of us.
From every curve of our faces,
To every small detail,
Wonderland lived in our reflections,
Battling the Jabberwocky lurking in the trees threatening to make us blind,
Brandishing its sword to strike him senseless,
Allowing those gates to finally open.
For the Jabberwocky created flaws,
To challenge the land,
But, with care, I struck it down,
And finally learned Alice’s best-kept secret.
They may have called her mad,
But all the best people are.
Wonderland is flawless,
Ever changing,
And beautiful.
Kaela Coppinger
15
16
I had no idea how my life was going to change when we met,
You came over and asked my name as I felt my palms sweat,
I couldn’t keep still, I remember the summer breeze on my dress,
The feeling I had in my stomach is still hard to express,
We fell deeply into each other, head over heels,
Even looking back, nothing compared to the way it feels,
But nothing lasts forever, how could it?
Real love is work – knowing when and when not to quit,
The joy of our bond started to fade,
And at times the pain cut like a blade,
But we were two that become one – that I believe,
It’s why I can’t bear to turn and leave.
You caught my eye from across the way,
Flustered, I tried to gather the words to say,
As I walked over, telling myself to not do anything lame,
I noticed your smile and thought you might feel the same,
It didn’t take me long to figure out you were different from the rest,
Every time I saw you, I could feel my heart racing in my chest,
When that feeling started to fade, I thought you were done,
I was terrified that our love would end as fast as it had begun,
I started to blame you for all that had gone wrong,
It pained me to think that it might be time to say so long,
But I never stopped thinking you were a diamond in the rough,
Every day I wake up hoping our love is enough.
Love is not a movie or a fairy tale,
Without effort, compromise, and trust – it will fail,
Even though our words distanced us apart,
It made us realize we share the same heart.
Farahana Ali
17
Technological Regression
How many followers do you have?
Did you see that funny Vine?
How did that pic get so many likes?
Did you get my Snapchat?
Did you see his last tweet?
In our world full of Instagram selfies, subtweets,
Pokes, reblogs, upvotes, and check-ins,
Are we truly more connected?
Real conversations get reduced to texts,
Real jokes get reduced to memes,
Real emotions get reduced to emojis,
When did face to face get replaced by Facebook?
We created social media to bring ourselves closer together,
To share ideas, photos, and thoughts,
But along the way we became obsessed with sharing itself,
We are drowning in information, but starving for connection,
What was once conversation between friends,
Is now silence interrupted by chuckles and taps on a screen,
Saturday morning cartoons and playdates are now apps,
Disconnected from not only each other, but the world itself,
Sitting inside clicking “like” on a bright, sunny day,
Have we lost our way that we need E-harmony to find a soul mate?
Or that we can only relate to each other’s status updates,
So before you use YouTube to go from unknown to well known,
Remember, you are more than your phone.
Farahana Ali
18
Savage Butterfly
Now I'm a waste to my race stewin' in Satan's place
But I'll try to save face, time for a trip of reminiscence.
The story starts four years back, my glory train of life's on the
track
Rife with money, head of the pack,
Could've cracked, but had a knack for maintaining innocence.
As a result, I was the remainin' one left
But always had to consult, my cranium's sanity bereft.
Started out with a few friends, at first far from the crest,
Two boys, both created noise, after all, money walks and talks,
They could talk the talk, you all know the rest, that is, until life
creates rends.
Oh, you want to know? Number one's known as "Fiery Cho",
Always been confident and moved deftly, as such was the
desired beau,
At first he didn't know, but he caught on eventually.
You'd think his efforts'll be redacted for the girl he'll call the One,
But he was like a minigun, never done,
When someone needed a test run he was always receptive.
Wasn't free of baggage though, had parental problems too,
Heard it comes from bein' of Oriental brew, but what do I know,
Mine spouted racism like a squawking crow.
The girls' affection was only rented, his attention always ended
up relented,
His perfect mask had a blister, his head's penchant always asked
for his sister.
But one day the Reaper returned in the form of a bucket of rust
with the creeper's demeanor,
Shots rang out from the windows, was the collateral intentional,
who knows?
But in the end it was dear sister who bit the dust.
Fiery Joe was devastated, his attachment was underestimated,
He enacted to reenact the perfect sibling flick with the next
budding chick whose flirting was evident and direct.
Alas he didn't know how to choose, his girl concocted a ruse,
Maybe he knew but elected to lose, turns out she was an
underage flooze.
19
Her parents sought to indict him with brevity, he fought back with
kindness and money aplenty,
But you know what they say, at the end of the day, it'll be 16 that
gets you 20.
My second companion grew up a carnal parental action's adverse
reaction.
The parents, actin' like they didn't make a mistake, showered him
with green paper, smiles and gifts,
But the kid's cranial machinations put him one step further, as
such his visible affectional reparations were actually forged from
righteous anger forming into crafty deception.
One day the parents finally had enough, bank earnings were
virtually in the trough,
Thought maybe they could craft the perfect child,
It was an investment, but the chance, they missed it,
Opportunity had come and gone,
The race for early nobility was done, and they missed the starting
gun.
So they kicked him to the curb, not even the one leavin' got word,
The metal-lined boot came from behind, his vision went blurred,
came to in the dirt.
He elected to move on, eventually forgot, then sought to conduct
his soul's goal of ultimate parental defiance, fought to mold a
green empire with the foundation of self-reliance.
However his former conscience constructed from 100%
innocence developed a sense of paranoia, every wannabe friend
who sought to aspire was secretly a from-behind striker.
As such he kept his funds to himself, then made buns that now
inhabit every bakery shelf.
His intelligence now propagated, his affluence was in every
gossip circle related.
It was his time to kiss the sky, but look who's comin' with a
beggin' cry.
Did you miss them? Well so did I.
They demanded recompense for the time spent, give everything
to them,
No time to relent, "Total parental repayment" was apparently the
reading of the newest celestial alignment.
He denied them with nary a curse,
20
But the parents' internal might meant every slight should face
retaliation, the situation only got worse.
His memories he sought to repress all came back to light, but not
the way you'd expect, parents' fabrication works wonders, they
were angels who fought the good fight, the son got no respect,
their transgressions and the supposed sinner's redemption never
came to fruition.
The once innocent son then lost his mind, but it wasn't the time to
lose,
He knew what to do, after all, it never pays to be kind.
He stood up from the defendant's desk, looked into his parents'
eyes and lunged for their necks,
Next thing jolts go down his spine, his body feels paralyzed,
His stalked legs tasted defeat, he fell down to his feet.
Now he felt the chains on his wrist, pathetic pleas spouted like
untamed flames from his lips.
It was kinda ironic, constant apprehenstion kept every relation
platonic,
But on the hour of judgement, it was his own mind that took
action and demanded "End it!"
He was created to dominate, become his own life's controller,
But as he fell deeper down Hell's hole, at least he sort of followed
a motto,
May have kicked friends to the road, but he kept his enemies
closer.
My peeps may have lost their innocence, but at least I could reap
life's benefits albeit with an uncertain complacence.
That all changed one day late on the train, a girl paused to
converse,
I was her friend, her childhood memory retained, my brain was at
first uncertain but I couldn't complain.
Next thing I knew I was in love, my heart flew up above like a
matrimony dove.
But the happiness wasn't about to last, she was taken, her other
made moves without the slightest delay and,
It happened at first glance, they already performed that twilight
dance, I never even had the chance.
I refused to lose companionship, she's the one I wanted
communion with.
21
I begged her to reconsider, be single or at least find one who'll
richly treat her,
The verdict was neither, said she'll always have mystery beau
fever.
I spat an open threat, her remit was a call to the Feds,
Next I saw nothing but black, seemed my train derailed itself from
the track.
Now some lessons for the mind, under the inner demons of the
night,
When reason's in the gutter, shriveled and died, even the
average innocent tyke can become the savage butterfly.
-Jafar Ali
22
The Giving Tree
I have no family and I have no friend.
I just want this loneliness to end.
My mother defends the father who beats me
and I feel like trash because that’s how the kids in school treat
me.
The bullies hurt me till I hear the crack of my bones
and I’m so tired of being in company, but still feeling alone.
I come home one day and I go cry in my backyard
and I see a tree that looks strong, but is really stone cold and
stone hard.
I look up and I see your branches, bearing no fruit and no
green,
yet I feel the beauty in you, it’s just not seen.
I guess, you and I, we’re not too different in a way.
I finally found someone like me on this great, dark day.
I can barely force myself, but I manage a bright smile
because I’m finally happy, even after all this while.
So as I take this rope and tie it around my neck, thank you best
friend,
for giving me the perfect end.
Amit Persaud
23
"I love you. "
The words are wooden and stiff,
Hollow and empty,
But they're my gift to you.
Of course, I don't really mean them,
But you seem to like them well enough.
You are too full of kindness.
You let yourself be a victim to trust,
With sweet words you lower your guns
And invite the enemy to roost in your home.
Did you forget about them?
Did you forget about me?
"I love you darling,"
But you're too easy.
Brianne Lindee
As bees in honey drown, so too,
Have I sunk sweetly, into love for you.
But in the gentle buzz that bees may sing,
do not forget the feeling of their sting.
Joseph Sullivan
24
We all have
seven severely
psychotic
salesmen in
our minds
Wrath, greed,
sloth, pride,
lust, envy, and
gluttony
Selling all their
ideas of how
we should be
“I’m going to
eliminate all
those in my
path”
“All the money
in the world
should be
mine”
“I could stay in
bed forever”
“I’m better
than the rest”
“I want her in
my bed
tonight”
“Why can’t I
look like that?”
“I’m never full”
It’s a matter of
who makes the
best pitch
So they can
spend their
commission to
buy our minds
Katlin Stath
26
It's come out of my pocket again.
Each exhalation
a bittersweet release.
I want it more,
But I only suffer.
I got my fix.
One puff, two puff, three...done.
The truth hurts
Why do I do this?
I want to stop
But, I need my hit.
It eases my worries, my pain
I puff till, I burn it all away.
The truth is supposed to set you free
But I light up one more time.
Over and over she pulls me in
But I push her away.
I want it, I need it, It won't go away.
Nicotine's here babe and she's
not gonna go away.
Matthew Zwolak
27
Screw student loans and how colleges only offer them because they
know they'll get constant money from student debt.
Screw the philosophy of Darwinism, not the theory, but the morality set
by it. There's no room for sympathy or empathy and only room for selfinterest.
Screw circle jerks, where all people do is mindlessly agree with each
other and turn away from intelligent conversation and debate.
Screw so-called psychics and mediums and how they exploit grieving
and mourning families with their fake-ass magical powers.
Screw extremists in both politics and terrorism where all they do is halt
progress and hurt others.
Screw scientology (wow I can't believe spell check even suggested I
grace these guys with capitalization by the way) and how they only let
you join their cult if you pay them to exploit your gullibility.
Screw censorship and how we make distinctions on who it's okay to
make fun of and who we can't. And how this replicates the thought
police from 1984.
Screw calculus for being BS and only involving memorization and not
critical thinking.
Screw blind patriotism where the people are manipulated to think their
country can do no wrong. Germany censors swastikas, Japan censors
their tyrannical history, and the U.S. censors the genocides it has done
over the years.
I could go on, but complaining instead of acting on those complaints
gets us nowhere.
Also, if you judge me, go ahead I don't care.
Orlando Diaz
28
On The Edge
The door locks with a soft click as I tear away with an
acceleration like the burnout of a man flooring it driving stick,
With the tire screech replaced with a "Today's the day!" shtick.
All that was needed was for my supplier to arrive,
I hope this time he won't be late,
He'll be baiting the way for my patience to take a dive,
And I know that if I hit the threshold,
I'll be imagining the sick split of his cranium,
Or my own shirts and kicks, with blood I'll be staining 'em,
Either way, I contemplate whether one of our ultimate fates
Will be to be hidden away in that black bag or shipping crate,
To be delivered to the worms toiling in that soil's foreboding cold.
Standing by the street's edge, my visage is riled up enough to
demand it,
Like a sojourner completing his latest survival tool fledge, the
charming image of anything else is defiled at worst,
At best depressingly bland and,
The failure of attaining this sensation makes me desire the
detaining station, to remain remanded,
Two minutes wait is two minutes too long, night has descended,
Now rain has people's umbrellas extended,
Both the traveler's banes here in the time needed to ring a gong,
If I have to endure any longer the relationship between me and
the dealer won't even get the moment to play the swan song,
It'll already be joining the other 50 percent in their memory's
graveyards where they now belong.
Amongst my lamentation I received notification that the product
was ready,
Just in time for the withdrawal's manifestation to render my
walking conduct unsteady.
My senses take in the sensation, but this time I'm stuck with a
sense of doubt,
The dopamine injector and therefore the happiness creator's lost
the emotion's mental bout,
Now the soldiers of my nerves scatter in a disgusted and hesitant
rout.
29
Looks like the money from the loaner wasn't worth it to borrow,
The sculpture of my special friend, the elation of the craving's
satisfaction, will now be impossible to mend,
It's back to the inescapable sorrow,
But might as well try something else, don't feel like sitting back
and letting the body wallow, always room for new routes to follow,
And while walking away back to home base, I involuntarily belch
while thinking of instead going to Nathan's for my special funnel
cake tomorrow.
Jafar Ali
30
Over the horizon,
It comes.
The sky is colored with old and new blood,
Bruises on its apogee,
And wispy scars on its boundless skin.
Night succumbs to dawn's battlecry,
Bun in twelve hours there will be reversal.
Night will regain its ground
And we begin again tomorrow.
It is a game.
No one wins.
They are merely passing time.
Brianne Lindee.
31
Man in the Forest
In peace, you hear the friction of connections that weave together to create a dome of
misfits spirit all join together to become one like the sizzling of the neural synapses to
formulate a brilliant idea. That's all it is, just a brilliant idea that some man made to
relieve himself of those burdens that were made worse by his living on.
...
In every crack and crevice of the inhabited human world resides sound. Harsh, biting,
inharmonious sound that screeches in your ears and forces you to place your hardened
hands into your ears and scratch till the sound boils down to a hum. He prefers to live
isolated with nature. There, is music: the lull of the stream beating steadily against the
sediments on its floor, the earth vibrating from the grass in the flowers in the plants
drumming to the constant consumption of the rays of the sun. A pulse within him grows,
the blood thickens- his veins barely able to control the flow. Intimate messages through
his body tell him to react in this manner. He opens his mouth and yells although he
knows it will get drowned out by Mother's song. He unhinges his jaw and faces the
clouds of white as if to sustain his stomach with cotton made from the elements. Then
the rain comes and drenches him, soaking his skin and it stings, burns. His soul bursts
into flames and his spirits transforms into the ash but is to rise again like the bright
ember feather of the Phoenix.
Angelica Carpenter
32
Vive le Roi
They play no trumpets, no horns as he is marched down the pathway.
There is no kingly march, no bowing and downcast eyes. His subjects used to
lower their heads whenever he graced them with his presence, but now he can
see their dirty, defiant faces. They jeer at him, scream, and he feels afraid for
the first time in his life.
Afraid and empty, so very, very empty. He hadn’t known emptiness was a
feeling until this moment, and he wishes he’d never found out.
The executioner is a woman. The rebels are deliberately trying to toy with him.
He sneers at her and the ugly cow smirks in return.
To her side stands a tall, thin young man, little more than a boy. The head of
the rebellion. He resembles a raven-black hair, black clothes, and big, jet black
eyes.
As the king looks at that pale, emotionless face he wonders when his son got
quite so tall.
Didn’t he used to be that pale, pathetic little creature who was constantly
cowering in fear? Didn’t he be that pasty shrimp the king would take to
executions and interrogations for fun, just to see him vomit? The boy he’d
sent to live with his most sadistic general, the boy who’d come back a
bloodied, broken, silent mess?
He’d laughed in that boy’s face, hadn’t he? The king holds his son’s gaze, a
brown so dark it’s nearly black. His mother’s eyes.
Didn’t he used to be that infant who cried every time his governess took him
out of his father’s arms? Wasn’t he the tiny child whose first word was ‘papa’?
Was it really his child that had done this to him?
His son is taller, so much taller than he. The king feels cold. Regret and
sorrow, two things he’s prided himself on not feeling, claw at him, and he
wants to cry. To cry and fall to his knees and beg his oldest child for
forgiveness, promise he’ll change and be a good king, the sort his subjects
deserve, and the father his children have always wanted.
He wants to hold his son, hold him like when he was a tiny baby, and stroke
his raven hair and tell him he’s sorry, goddamn it, and he won’t let anyone hurt
him again-he won’t hurt him again.
But it’s too late and he’s too proud to and they’d never believe him anyway.
He goes on his knees and the heavy set shieldmaiden raises her sword.
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“Wait,” the prince says. The king looks up. His heart is pounding in his chest
so loudly it makes his head hurt.
The prince tilts his head, those onyx eyes large and not nearly as innocent as
when he was small. “Use the axe.”
Alexandra Fitzpatrick
34
Mrs. K
Part seven the first of a trilogy
That makes total sense to me
Who said number one is the only way to start
My teacher lied to me
So now I have one finger in the middle to start
I’m sorry that was rude Mrs. K
You tried your best to make us all the same
Katlin Stath
35
The Journey to Oneness
I find my solace among the trees and the dirt. I keep
my secrets with the dragonflies. I whisper to the
wolves and dance amongst the robins. I bathe with the
sirens and learn to sing their songs. I hide with in the
tall grass and creep with the lioness stalking her prey.
I cry with the birds and our tears water the seed that
fell from the acorn the squirrel scrimmaged. I lie in
the mud with the pigs and disease and I inhale. I look
up at the sky with the clouds calling, wanting to
ensconce me like the spirits that take a residence
inside. I close my eyes and feel the sunlight try to
pierce through the fleshy barrier that conceals
darkness. I open my eyes and am temporarily blinded,
all my senses replaced by nature's gifts given
specifically to me. The wind's susurrations lead me to
a sweet smell of salt and life. The waves beckon and
tell me to face my fears. I put my toe in between the
foam and the dough and decide to go further. I dive
deeper into the melody of speech between dolphins. I
taste the ink expelled by the squid and I do the same. I
feel my breath leave my lungs and I succumb to the
cold and soft motions of the sea.
Angelica Carpenter
36
Malicious & Callous Joy
The townspeople are hollow.
Some others are shallow.
The Bird looks evil,
But did it do anything wrong?
The warrior carries a blade,
Like being a maid.
Fear and anxiety clings in the Bird’s chest.
Time to put honesty to the test!
Bird’s body restricted to a pedestal.
One will stand, and one will fall.
Pressure by the people,
Warrior felt so evil.
Bird was miserable.
Hang high and slam down!
Blood spurted out.
Crowds shouted out.
Bird cried out.
The Bird died an awful night.
Everyone cheered like a gladiator fight.
All was lost, and nothing was won.
Stagnant in the air was Callous & Malicious Joy.
Kadejah Steele
37
38
French rebellion up in this sucka,
The Mountain bouta chop up yo motha.
Enlightenment style virtue is the goal,
the guillotine's making heads roll.
Yeah, I'm Robespierre, De-Christianization,
shot myself, and I'm still a sensation.
Y'all talking crud 'cause I blew my jaw off
Doesn't mean I ain't comin' back wit' a sawedoff.
So what I follow the cult of the Supreme
Being.
Maybe you lame 'cause you ain't seein' what
I'm seein'.
These refractory clergyman gave the Pope a
re-crowing.
I know exactly what I'll do! Mass drowning!
Can't do nothing 'cause the National Guard my
posse.
Lafayette gonna give you a tossing.
Bastille fell, brick by brick.
My rhymes are just as sick.
Just remember, when you call me a churl,
Damn, Robespierre just stole my Girl!
Word!
James McGuire
39
DREAMS
As the audience stares at Q in silence, Q suddenly grabs
Weddermen's microphone, looks into the audience, and says,
"Let me tell you something about dreaming. Don't you
dare...Don't you even think of giving up. So what that you're
losing. So what that people think you're crazy for dreaming. So
what. The odds are stacked against you for a reason, they
expect you to lose, they expect you to give up. So what. You
fight until you physically can't stand for what you believe in
anymore. Until you're six feet under, you cannot stop trying.
Dreams are dreams for a reason. We make those dreams, while
life tries its hardest to defer them. Deep down inside all of us,
are warriors, fighters, game changers, that life hates seeing, but
can't stop because we won't let it. We can only control so
much. But here's my comment to that, SO WHAT. Don't you
dare regret dreaming. Don't you dare give up on a dream either.
Dreaming makes us who we are. Society calls dreamers,
"dreamers," but who are they? Answer me. Who are they to tell
you that you can't dream. Who are they to tell you that you
can't change the world. No one's stopping you except yourself.
There's a dream, somewhere out there in the realm of dreams,
and it's dying to be looked at. All those dreams ready to do
what it was meant to do. Millions upon millions, waiting,
waiting, waiting. As we speak those dreams are knocking at
your door, waiting and waiting and waiting. Close your eyes
and let them in. Embrace them. Become them. Go get it. Don't
you dare…not even for one second, think of giving up." Q then
drops the microphone and leaves.
Bryant Quito
The good times never last, do they?
Always gone in a flash, by the time
you realize it, you're already too late.
But what if the good times never
ended, what then? Sounds amazing,
right? Wrong. If the good times never
ended they wouldn't be good times at
all they would just be the times.
Anything without end eventually
becomes perpetual punishment. The
ending gives it meaning, it's a
necessary component of all things.
Think how different you would live
your life if you knew it would never
end. As tough as it is to admit the
end is the best part, because without
it we wouldn't assess meaning to
anything. The end is near and maybe
that isn't such a bad thing.
Joe Savastano
41
LIFE
In life, there will always
be evil you cannot stop no
matter what you do. It's
like The Catcher In The
Rye, we can only protect
our loved ones for so
long. Just pray that life
treats them good. Just
Pray.
Bryant Quito
Blue Plate Special at the Student Café
Here you go, the Blue Plate Special:
A math final smothered in our special sauce we
call stress
On the side is a slaw of mock trial, Science
Olympiad, and Driver's Ed,
all jumbled up with schedules overlapping.
Your meal came with a beverage of justice,
which because your ordered,
you must drink.
For dessert is a slice of Devil's Food cake iced
with sleep deprivation.
If you need anything else I will be your waitress
today, my name is
School.
-Roy Coulter
43
Fear
Fear....
Fear ruining lives through dismay,
Painting a picture of fright,
Afraid to feel the pain of despair,
Longing for the security of love.
The Hopes...
Hopes quiver quickly through a sense of
horror,
rising thoughts of rejection,
afraid of what others will think,
what they will say,
how they will act.
The horror...
Horror unbearable beyond belief,
wanting to love, longing to be loved,
but trapped in the shadow of darkness,
destined to fall,
falter with our hopes
into the pits of panic.
44
The Depths...
Depths covered by the cloak of darkness
for those
destined to fall, yet holding onto the odds,
the desire, what can be gained,
what can be achieved?
That feeling of "what if?"
Grasping...
grasping on to hope,
holding on to the chance of a heavenly
ending
where the final hour will come, with the
hopes of heroism within ourselves,
prevailing over failure,
striving to overcome our
fear of failure.
Vincent Moss
45
Eyes open. I turn over. The room is lit up by
the sun tip toeing through the shades, I sigh.
There is a another breath in the room.
Panicked, I turn over on my other side waiting
to be killed by my patient assailant - she is
sleeping, looking as beautiful as ever. I
cautiously hop out of bed and blindly stumble
to the bathroom. The light switch makes a
loud noise - gotta fix that. It's too damn bright,
eventually my eyes adjust, although not
enough that I can stop squinting. I go about
my morning routine and eventually waddle
out of the bathroom - towel around waist, hair
wet. She's moved over to my side of the bed,
how adorable. I stumble into some clothes
and head over to the fridge for breakfast. A
few beers, two eggs, and orange juice...dang.
I peer over my shoulder and see a notepad
and pen. I scribble: "went to store to buy food
46
for breakfast, be back in a few. Love you."
Tossing the notepad back where it was, I
grab my keys from the hook and sneak away
through the door. After a few flights of stairs
I'm outside, it's still early - maybe 5am ...the
supermarket might be open. The sky is
orange with a threatening blue.
I finally get to the supermarket and find
myself strolling up the aisles as smooth jazz
plays over the loudspeakers. More eggs,
bread, bacon, milk, pancakes: i grab them all
and put them in my cart - a great breakfast for
a lazy Sunday. I get the groceries and run up
the flights of stairs as the sun finally rises and
slip back into my apartment to see the bed
empty and the shower running. Taking the
opportunity, I get to making breakfast:
pancakes, eggs bacon, and toast - our
favorite. The steamy aromatic smells of both
47
my cooking and her soaps mix in the air
creating a sickening smell, but this is how I
know she's out of the bathroom. She sees the
food all served and hot, and smiles at me waddling over attempting to keep her towel
from falling. We eat, her in a towel, me in
workout clothes, the food is good however,
the towel does fall, and the bed beckons and I
fall, not for her looks but for the cute smirk
she wears. And as I wake up in the bed - I
return to it, to my sweet nothing.
Danny Jimenez
48
49
There was a man named Phil who lived
in Alabama. He was an introvert and
socially awkward. He often found himself
walking down the same street every
night when he got off work. Him being
an introvert, he never thought to really
discuss this with anyone. He found it
peculiar that in all of Alabama he walked
down this single road at 10:00 every
night. The next night when he was
walking home from work he decided to
take a new path. He never made it
home. But nothing bad happened to
him. He just kept walking. He observed
all the people walking down their same
roads every day of their lives. He walked
to North Carolina and then to Chicago
and then to California. Everywhere he
went people were stuck on their rails of
life. Now Phil being an introvert and
socially awkward was always seen as a
drifter and a bum. People looked at him
50
in disgust and threw him money on the
street when he was resting. When he left
for the next town he left the money
where it lay. He became incredibly
smart. He no longer needed to even
speak to others. He knew more then
anyone else in the world and that the
key to true happiness and the only way
to be truly free was to walk away from
it all. He no longer cared for the basic
material needs of people or any trends
of society. He was happy. He was alone,
smelly, had aching feet, tattered clothes,
long hair and a tangled beard, no
money, no family, no spouse or
girlfriend, and was happy.
Johnny Alfonso
51
They call her sweet potato jones-
It's the year 1845
A period of mass starvation
We're trying to fight for our creation
A million people are dying
None of the crops are even supplying
But wait, we have a chance
The only way to survive is to advance
We have to board this ship
And no, this won't be a road trip
Our time has come, we've arrived
Now my friends, we are revived
Yes, we are in a place called the New World
But I will never forget, not even my wife
They called her sweet potato jones
By Ethan Sanchez
52
TomorrowWhat you will bring,
I do not know.
Good fortunes I hope.
Sadness I don't
Disappointments maybe.
New found happiness I pray.
I'm sure with anything,
I will be okay.
For now, I will try not to wonder
Too much.
Because soon, you will be yesterday,
And the next tomorrow, will be mere hours away.
By Vincent Manta
53
The Loudest WordWords can often hurt,
Some more then others.
Words can be uplifting,
Make some feel like they are more.
But, the loudest words though,
Are the ones that go unspoken.
The silent affection from a lover.
The strong disappointment from a parent.
Most important things often go unsaid.
Too much focus is often put on what is
spoken.
Often words we hear can invoke fear.
Why is so much attention on what is
spoken?
The loudest words, the ones that truly stick
with you,
Are the ones that no one needs to say.
By Vincent Manta
54
55
White kids in school will say they wanna graduate from the streets
But they continue to go home and get tucked into their sheets
I don’t think any of us know how the world really is out there
Because some kids’ parents disappear into thin air
And so they give up on the book of common prayer
They give up on God because he showed them no care
So they dance with the devil
Below ground level
They forget to come up to take a breath
So their last action is to face their death
-Josephine Pepa
56
Look Through
Look through my eyes, see what I see
And you'll understand.
For those who can't explain for themselves.
For the nerd who can't show his bullies how he
hides behind studies to escape reality.
For the insecure who only make fun to feel
important in that split second.
For the popular kids who can't be who they really
are for the fear of being judged by their "friends"
For the girl who hears every day how foolish she
is to still be in love with the boy who doesn't love
her back.
If only they'd look through her eyes, and see
what she saw, because then they'd understand.
And wouldn't be able to help but fall in love with
him too.
Annalisa Piccolo
57
Seed, seedling,sprout,
flora, flower,flower pot,
flower field, flower bed,
flower power.
Strength in numbers, nature's bounty of beautiful bouquets
Seeds sprout fleet feet in a drought, the trees start to pout.
Their lungs turn brown and crumble, like a smokers cough
expelling the burning icy air of death and yet, out of the
barren soil, through mounds of dirt and earthly rubble, a
seedling emerges. And that tiny stardust entity flourishes
through all trials and tribulations of life, a single solitary flora
sprouts. Underneath the dying autumn leaves a tragedy
becomes a prodigy, combustion creates a cornucopia of
roses,delicate,yet forceful. An entirely fulsome flower bed.
Their thorns are not to harm but to protect, the gentle aroma
rises in the air and spreads a warm,loving embrace. In space,
yes even in the endless vacuum of life their extravagant
58
expressing cannot be stifled, snuffed out, SNIPPED.
Only the problem is that you can't fight hate with roses, you
can't simply spread seeds everywhere and expect them to
propagate wildly, because the gardener will just mildly clip
here, mow there, then suddenly you've lost that aromatic air.
The acquisition of agricultural munitions had brought about a
division, the terrain has been ripped asunder, nature's bounty
has been plundered and no fruit has been reaped. The
shadow of death has creeped upon the fertile crescent of
earth's smile, and in its
place a new frigid hellhole is stained.
If I learned anything after the flowers turned dead, it's that
you can never fight gardeners with flower beds
Freddy Jean-Joseph
59
A Single Strand of Hair
A single misplaced strand of hair.
Another girl'kirs scrutinizing glare.
A little extra on the scale,
The latest beauty magazine in the mail.
Jeans a bit too tight,
Can't seem to get your makeup right
Won't look like the girls on the cover.
Trained to believe you'll never find a lover,
If you don't look like how the media portrays.
Not feeling pretty for longer than a few days.
But beauty comes in all shapes and sizes,
Don't believe what society surmises.
Daisy Demasi
60