Author: Andre K.

Me llamo Andres,
Soy de dos mil tres.
Yo soy de mis padres.
De mi familia y Rusia.
Soy yo.

Pero todos me hablan
Que tú, no eres tú.
Eres un “Piscis”
Un pez del agua.

Ellos me dicen
Qué me gusta y qué no.
Me dan mis talentos
Y mi negatividad.
Me dan mi personalidad.

Pero
¿por
qué?
¿Por
qué?

No consiguieron nada
Pues todo lo que hicieron
Fue perder su tiempo
Para tratar de darme
Mi personalidad,

¡Qué, no entienden!
¡Qué ya tengo una personalidad
Y no necesito de una nueva!

——————————
Bellow is a direct translation of the poem above, to English.

My name is Andre,
I am from two thousand and three.
I am, from my parents.
Of my family and Russia.
I am myself.

But everyone else says
You are, not you.
You are a “Pisces”
A fish from the water.

They decide for me
What i like and don’t.
They give me my talents.
And my negatives.
They give me my personality.

But why?
Why?

They didn’t get anything right.
All they did
Was waste their time
To try to give me
My personality,

What they don’t understand,
Is that i already have a personality.
And i don’t need a new one!

---

James Bowie High School

10

Fall is red and orange
It tastes like pumpkin pie
It sounds like peoples teeth hitting together
because it’s so cold outside
It smells like pies being baked in the oven
It looks like piles of leaves everywhere
I feel like I am a blanket because of all the warm things I am wearing
The warm air from the fireplace hits you as you’re reading your favorite book
A smile comes across your face as you and your family cuddle under one big fluffy blanket
You laugh with the weirdest grin as you win at the family game night on Friday
And that’s when you smile and say “it’s finally fall”

---

Pearson Ranch Middle School

6

Unknowing in the time of Eden born,
Were the hearts of men in starlight blazing,
As fused on the fourth day first, solar born,
Bursted lights of God ever creating.

Effigy of He who formed the cosmos,
Burns flaming now in midst of night so dark,
Spinning stories to provoke the Telos,
Steadfast aim to ignite their own bright spark.

In whose image is created virtue?
If bright gleaming is the thing created,
When His silent love still doesn’t urge you,
To form new morality belated,

In homily, I call to reader thee!
Rest not while by God’s light you may still see.

---

Austin High School

11

Stand on your toes, ballerina;
You are small.
A quick craft of cheap plastic,
You’re not much at all.

Sing a song, ballerina,
Just sing along.
This is not what you were made for;
You are not that strong.

Spin around, ballerina,
Before it all locks.
Enjoy the monotonous motions
Within your box.

Stand up tall, ballerina;
Show them your worth.
As the bones in your back break,
Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Painted plastic,
Painted glass.
Oh, broken ballerina,
Will you last?
Does the song go on too long,
Or does it fade far too fast?

What thoughts go through your mind
As you dance?
Does the music soothe you,
In your little wooden box?
Buried deep beneath the dirt,
Does it rot?

---

Garza Independence High School

12

You have spent your entire life
Being hard on someone who can only be soft
In hopes that it will toughen them up.
How long will it take for you to notice that words can shatter not strengthen?
How long will it take you to notice that you are the only one in this world that is breaking me?
You have told me the ugliest things I have ever heard about myself yet you are supposed to be
the most loving.
Do not mistake your cruelty for kindness.
They do not go hand in hand.
I will not let you convince me other wise.
In my softness I have found power,
A strength much greater than cruelty.
To be jaded is to be weak.
Vulnerability is to be empowered.
I am like the rain, gentle, nourishing, but with the strength to shower, to flood, to drown.
My kindness is not a flaw, it’s a byproduct of understanding how cruel this world can be.
It is the result of knowing that the world doesn’t need any more ugliness.
My kindness is an act of nature, a force to be reckoned with.
It is my battle cry.
It is my lament.
It is my prayer for this world.
Kindness is not my weakness,
It is what makes me strong.

---

Anderson High School

12

We begin outside the big gym where we have all been,
where a girl with faded blonde hair grins.
She stands fairly tall with her ponytail high
“Let’s go stars, let’s go!” She cries.
This is the first year for her anyway,
just like the navy blue polo everyday
that she wears for the first time.
Now that she has no downtime.
Starting high school is never easy,
and the next four years seem anything but breezy.

Monday morning practice has passed
and now it’s game day and the possibilities are vast.
Waking up later and pulling her game clothes together,
just class practice today and a little nervous as ever.
Team lunch after English to build morale
followed by the preaching of geometric rationales.
The end of school follows without a bell
just waving goodbye, chorusing, “Au revoir mademoiselle!”
Volleyball clothes and nervous stomachs signal the start of a new game,
they walked out downtrodden with no one to blame.

Thursday is a new day
with new games to play.
Waking up early, to get to school before eight,
because no one will wait.
Warming up and practicing serves
to get her young team the recognition they deserve.
She jumps and blocks
the numerous points bring shock,
to the two teams that they crush, making them quiver
at the last two winning serves she delivers.

No recognition on Friday of their achievement,
leaves the freshman with some bereavement.
They go through classes to lose again,
cheer for the others, and walk out once more in rain.
Their tournament the next day goes quite the same,
no recognition postgame.
She leaves the game in disrepair
driving to change her hair.
She builds up her courage
in two ways and decides on a change.

Her hair is darker now and
she is ready to demand
that things take a revision,
to create a new vision.
Where teams aren’t looked down upon
and every team gets their time in the sun.
She takes this new ideal
into their next tournament with the utmost zeal.
So they begin
their coming games with thicker skin.

Four games later
the the tournament is theirs.
This is announced in assembly
and they have their small shining moment,
for a moment at least,
they feel at peace.
This is how they will face all of their opponents:
without trembly
and unawares,
but with determination to not be ignored anymore and to be recognized greater.

---

Ann Richards

12

Life goals is like climbing a mountain you will face obstacles
The mountain will be rough and jagged and you might
Cut your hand
Along the way but keep going keep trying to climb
That mountain

along the way you might have to face
A mountain lion
But don’t be frightened or discouraged

Because when you get to the top
Of the mountain boy is it
beautiful

---

Gorzycki

7

The most twinkly night sky,
It’s like hundreds of fireflies up high.

Yet I feel lonely,
when I look at you closely.

You consist of all the things I can imagine,
The sky is never dark but it is always shimmering.

They form constellations and all sorts of patterns,
The most beautiful planet in the solar system is Saturn.

Everything in the sky is magical and mysterious,
Like the question of the life other than us.

Then when it’s Christmas the sky gives me a merry feeling,
The snowflakes falling from the sky landing on the ceiling.

The sky’s truth is not yet discovered,
How is the sky so pretty,
I always wondered.

The sky’s color always changes,
The sky is pretty from all the places.

---

Pearson Ranch Middle School

6

The butterflies couldn’t seem to go away,
anytime during the day.

As I’m lying awake so many nights,
trying to recognize the passion,
my wishes hide in my open mind.

Their gentle wings keep them afloat
in my constant overflowing emotions;
washing my worries away in a sea of aspiration.

The painful sting of waiting.
The irresistible burn of wanting something you have,
that some how still seems out of
reach.
And the uncomfortable ache of my
vulnerable heart
let loose to a firing range.

But the overwhelming reminder from my butterflies;
they always seem to be a good sign.

Their wings push and pull on my breath
until it feels as if I can’t
breathe at all.

The air seemingly stomped from my chest
like the match,
thought to have been smothered from existence,
but not before its spark
lit ablaze in the depths of my
heart.

My some how effortless desire,
playing me like a fiddle,
and the endless sight of complication;
forming countless paths in
our maze.

Their natural beauty beyond belief.
Their pure, innocent, representation of
the most longed for, feared emotion, sometimes known as
love.

The fire.
The flame.
It is all the same.
My prayer for a simple attraction.

So listen to the cry of my butterflies;
the lullaby rocking me to sleep at night.
The quiet but fierce whisper from my butterflies
reminding you they’re still
here.

---

The Ann Richards School for Young Women Leaders

7

Why?
Why are we looked at this way?
Why are we broken by what people say?

The horrible ache
each time we long to please them.
Each comment taking a toll
on all of our once
confident souls.

Each tear,
finally spilling the deep emotions
we’ve hidden away
for to long.

Each tear,
as it falls,
washing a piece of us
away.

The mirror reflects a broken
hurt girl,
every minute wishing to be
someone else;
every second wanting to be something else.

The mirror reflects a girls
ruined confidence,
her crushed self esteem,
and her broken heart;
all torn apart by all of the
harsh critics,
her real life super villains,
the stereotypes,
the world.

But really it is all
fake.
The image.
The reflection.
The thought of her has been
distorted.

She isn’t fat.
She isn’t ugly.
She isn’t weak.
She isn’t stupid.

She is unique.
She is strong.
She is smart.
She is beautiful.
She is perfectly
imperfect.

The mirror reflects a girl.
Just a girl.
A girl who may not be
what the world “wants” to see,
but a girl who is who
she wants to
be.

---

The Ann Richards School for young Women Leaders

7