Category: 12th

I remember how the booming,
bright, and brilliant bursts

of color hurt your eyes. We layed
in the prickly grass of the

crowded park, looking at the sky.
I remember how you didn’t

know of the growing death in
your body, and life was

like a flower in a sunny meadow.
I remember your bright, yellow

petals, never falling in the cold
of winter, and your glowing

leaves in the warmth of day.

I remember the first day your
petals fell. After the color

left the sky, and before the branches
became clean and bare.

Your leaves drooped, and the warmth
was sucked out of your

thriving heart. I still watch the
erupting purples, and

yellows in the night sky, and I
will forever feel the

grass of the meadow on my skin.

---

Bowie High School

12

The rain has come again
Extinguishing sunlights flame
A tapestry of grey memories paints the clouds
Maybe the sky is broken today
It held too much and suddenly it cracked and everything fell apart
Pouring from the sky, heavens discarded sins

The rain reminds you of your past
You don’t know why
Maybe it’s the color – grey
You mutter something along the lines of “what an ugly day”
Then turn your head in disgust
Retract into yourself
Pray for the sun
Close your blinds
Turn blind – maybe

I sit against the warm asphalt
The sun is still there , the heat is our reminder
Pools of mud and dislocated thoughts surround me
Stagnant brown oceans
I dip my toes into the water
Then my legs
Until I am up to my neck in puddles
Wading in the dirty thoughts
The ones others hide themselves from

I want the mud to stain my skin like paint
A reminder of the rain when it leaves and is erased by the sunlight
I want to swallow up heavens sins, tongue out towards the sky like a child
Gulping down the rain you avoid
I want to look into the destruction of water and see the life it brings
Feel the way it kisses against my skin
Thanking me for joining it
The rain and I, star crossed lovers

Pour onto me
As I wade in shallow puddles
Toes covered in dirt
Hands gripping at wet asphalt
Eyes trained towards the broken sky
I know you cannot forgive the rain for what it does
It’s a reminder of your loneliness
Approaching you in storms
Until it pours and spills and devours
Forcing you to hide indoors
You find memories to be such an ugly thing
The past you despise so much
I hope one day you’ll find the beauty in the storm, the rainbows or maybe even just the puddles.

---

Anderson High School

12

Some days I wish to dig my nails into my flesh
To shed my skin like a winter coat,
discard it for the warm rays of summer
Maybe be bones for awhile
Bask in the feeling of being empty, of being a ghost, a shell
But unfortunately, my body and I seem quite attached

So instead I’ll keep my body but remove my brain
Float it like a balloon above my head, half stuck-half free, never quite anything
Suspended in air, dizzyingly out of place
Going through the motions without emotion

Yet, in the end I find myself crawling back, body and mind nothing without one another yet in constant combat
I’ve been fighting a civil war with myself for 17 years
Who I am on the inside resenting the person on the outside
I stop to wonder if they’re even different people
I try not to wonder

Resent is a lot more palatable than vulnerability
So I’ve found myself resenting things that scare me
And oh how I am scared of myself

It’s easier to trim my body off like a split end
Not think about it until it grows back and breaks again
The cycle repeats, over and over until I can’t remember a time that I wasn’t snipping
Cutting off the unsightly bits
When did I decide it was so unsightly?
Who taught me to loosen ties with something so determined to love me that it continues to come back, despite my constant abuse?

My body and me
We’re quite attached
Although we’re not yet friends
But yet still I find myself staying, loving, longing for change, to improve
I see the love my body gives for me
Despite my efforts to cut it off
To sweep it under the rug, detach myself from it’s presence

It’s been a painful war between us
But my body is not a battle ground
It is a temple
A place of worship
A house that one day I hope will become
Home

---

Anderson High School

12

I swallow the hard lump in my throat
The one that brings tears to my eyes
As if I’m stomaching poison
Maybe I am- in a way
You’re so toxic after all

When I cry you decide that you’ve won
The silent battle of who-hurt-who
As if my tears of frustration are a trophy
A white flag I’m waving
A symbol of your superiority

But no one wins a war
Soldiers are lost never to return home
So is trust
And love follows soon after
A relationship shattered by a game
A relentless need to conquer
You lead a crusade of pointless arguments
You argue your way to hell and false riches

Bathe yourself in my destruction
Lather yourself in my tears
You’ve hurt me- congratulations
You fought a war against a peaceful nation
You stripped it of its gold
Slaughtered the citizens
If only you knew that the true value of the nation resides within the richness of soil
Or maybe- it’s ability to grow back despite conquest

Tear down and destroy, dear conquerer
Until your feet are weary and your soldiers are dead and you cannot remember why you were fighting
Does it even matter?
You’ve won.
And once you’ve set the small peaceful nation into flames
You bask in your earnings
Plastic covered in gold paper
A facade of glory
You weep into your winnings
Mourning your own loss

The small nation thrives again
The soil is rich and deep and lively enough to survive such vicious attacks
I am reborn, stronger than ever
Maybe it’s because the deepness of my roots

Dear conquerer, you’re conquest of rudeness was fruitless
I am not something you can destroy
I will kill you with my kindness
Confuse you with my empathy
Terrify you with my softness
Destroy you with my tears

---

Anderson High School

12

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

It’s dripping on the floor,
now it’s coming out the door
the puddles growing larger
cleaning it is harder
it won’t stop coming
there’s something wrong with our plumbing
we better get swimming
our chance of being dry is slimming.
It’s going out the hall,
now mothers gonna bawl
All I have to say,
is never let your rubber ducky stand in the way
because now the tub is overflowing
now we best be going.

---

Gorzycki Middle School

12

I’m watching you buckle and falter,
Giving in, weakly, to the voracity of flame.
Do you remember when I molded you,
How carefully I folded you?
Only to give, coldly, you who lacked blame,
To the sacrifice and pain of my altar.

If the game is creation, I am the defaulter,
I’ve burned what I built for the sake of my name.
But do you remember how I held you,
How gently I shelled you,
From a world more callous than tame?
An irony before cruelty, for you, my exalter—

For you, who still falter,
For you, who collapse under flame.
Do you remember how I called you?
Do you feel it now I scald you?
Say my name, say my name,
My exalter.

Sometimes
Art says love is dead.
When it does
it’s right, by the way
Still
Cherry lipped, with pointed shoes
they parade their darlings
Past the doomsday preppers
Past the kaleidoscopic billboards
and into the frill
of flaxen light.
To them
It must mean something

---

Gonzalo Garza Independence High School

12th