Category: 12th

A brief ease —
found in vivid blue
with arms of
deceiving light.

hands strike
into a dark haze

left with
a lump of coal
in my throat.

I gnaw at the skin
near my nails

Where does my head go
when I rot?

Did Andrew Tart notice how
I pronounced “ethereal” wrong?

A cruel virus —
glued into the
depths of my DNA.

---

James Bowie High school

12th

In the courtyard, many are selling,
Those with ties, and trinkets and yelling.
“Hear ye hear ye, the newest cure and ail”,
To which people a far come and hail.

And though most will never stop by my cart,
I cannot say I’ve got wounded heart.
For there are no ails, no cures, no meals,
Just me, my cart, and my love for deals.

A man stops by, a curious wonder,
“What have you got?” his voice a plunder.
“I’ve got the finest deals you see,
Anything you want, just not for free.”

The man looks at me, with scornful face,
Walking away without a trace.
Though there are many carts round here,
I’m the owner who profits from fear.

Two days later, while I’m setting my cart,
A man comes up asking for hearts.
“I want to marry this woman you see,
But I’m already married, with children of three.”

He entrances me, so I draw up a deal,
“You’ll have a new heart, but after you steal.
There’s no tricks or follies, you haven’t a worry,
Simply give wife’s heart to me, and hurry.”

Signing quickly, trembling with fear,
The man runs from me to find his dear.
“Quiet now,” he says holding a knife,
”it’ll be soon” he says to his wife.

A day or two later, I’ve sold some more deals,
The man shows up, trembling and teal.
“The heart sir”, he hands it to me,
“Now my mistress, could you please.”

Now, I am not a man of the law,
But my cart and I are one of awe.
When I saw stains upon his hands,
I knew he might fill my demand.

“Yes, I’ll grant you your heart’s desires,
I switched the bodies of your admires.
The woman you love, you’re holding her heart,
It’s bleeding, defeating, it’ll tear you apart.”

He looks at me without sense of belief,
And has trouble accepting all of his grief.
He shudders, he mutters, and falls to his knees,
“That couldn’t be her,” he begs and pleads.

“It can’t be her, there’s just no way,
You couldn’t have switched them, not that day.
She was sleeping so soundly, I know my wife.”
He sputters to me about his strife.

Wanting consoling feelings from me,
These humans don’t understand, you see.
My deals are not like other vendors,
And my profits are not always splendor.

“Well you see sir, you’ve signed my deal,
You wanted her heart, now I’ve got a meal.”
I let out a smile, laughing all the while,
As he stares back at me, angry and vile.

“Liar! My mistress is alive and well!
You spin your lies, deceiver, I tell!”
Men, and their daftness, I decided to show,
Force him to watch his wife and love go.

I show him his wife, waking confused,
She was not in her house, her home or her shoes.
Then his mistress, cut up in his bed,
No heart in her lungs, no life in her stead.

“It’s alright, now don’t you cry,
Deals can always go awry.
How’s about this, I’ll cut you a deal,
You come with me, and you’ll be at her heels.”

Shaken, and untrusting he glares at me,
Though, contemplation I can still see.
“You actually think I’d come with you?
Haven’t you seen what you’ve put me through?”

Sometimes it’s longer to understand,
But I had only so much time on my hands.
“You’ll come with me, and you’ll see your mistress,
I’ll write you a deal, it’ll be in your interest.”

I knew from his looks he hadn’t any trust,
So with my parchment and pen I thrust,
“He can see his love if he comes with me,
And there will be enormous bouts of glee.”

He read over my pages, with care this time,
Looking out for tricks, follies, and lines.
“This deal seems in my favor, give the pen,”
Again he signed with glee, and then-

I became fantastically in joy,
I took his hand and we deployed.
Not for a jail, or a cell, mind you,
But to my home, where brimstone brews.

I chained his wrists, and gave him a spot,
Seeing his love, with him she was not.
For you see, she was up above,
In a place of happiness, filled with love.

But here, this man, who I torture and loathe,
Stays with all the others I stow.
The vengeful, the raged, the evil they may,
Chained and locked, no sight of day.

Packing my cart, parchment ready,
I walk to their world, and get to setting.
A man walks to me, alone and afraid,
I smile and get my parchment laid.

The aged cobblestone streets whisper
with the sounds of
feet shuffling in every direction
Joy radiates
as flowers bound from buildings,
Spreading alluring colors.
The cobblestones were assembled with a memory of centuries past,
As if the city was attempting to grasp onto every last bit
of the country’s violent history.
The statues were discolored with the rebellious remains of those from wars of former times.
Frozen with the faces of determination and independence,
Marked with the bullet holes of those who lost their lives to the cause,
Of independence.
And now, today,
The air is contagious with blissful euphoria
the city beamed with the sounds of talented street performers.
The bright green blades of grass peaked in between the bricks of the streets,
As if playing a great game of hide and seek.

Mentally, emotional, and physically
Sometimes I wonder why does it hurt so much
Why am I in this position? Why does it suck
Should I give up, or not?
Mentally, pain can mess with one’s mind
But it’s up to the person to let pain take all of your time
Emotionally, pain can really mess us up
It could play with our emotions and leave us stuck
Physical pain, we all know it well
But it’s not something you would bring to show n’ tell
But as people say, no pain – no gain
So, Pain shapes people into who they are
Even if you have a goal that seems very far
There will be pain somewhere on your “road to glory”
Because pain is always present in any good story

---

Leadership Academy

12

Hey, I am learning what it means to ride condemned.
The music is blasting the windows like we are in a cage.
Maybe I am? A cage plummeting 20 miles per hour over
To nowhere.
The tune is good, but not catchy enough to
distract me from our destination.
The dog will be hungry by the time
You get this. Feed her before you leave again.
I think He just wants to drive. So I’ll let Him.
We all need something, but
We usually don’t know how to ask.
He and I don’t know how to ask, so
We keep driving until the wind drowns out the music.
I’ll see you when I see you.

---

James Bowie High School

12

All that matters
is the plastic barriers
between the road
and whatever lies
on the other side.

Six feet tall
and covered in ridges
the way some people
are covered in freckles.

Graffiti whizzes by,
a flurry of colors,
shapes

Some looping like ropes
curled up on one another.
Some chiseled cartoon chins.

Bridges and barriers embrace
the colorful art
but the forests through which
the pavement cuts hideous streaks
break the pattern.

The trees sprout over the asphalt
like gothic arches.

The woods ask,
What adventure will you find?

The graffiti asks,
What will be your mark?

---

James Bowie High School

12

Plush grass, silky and soft
underneath my bare feet
The blades shiver
listening

to the hush of suburbia
that hovers over the garden
Only chatter over coffee and waffles

The last of the summer warmth
a blanket not quite long enough
cold feet left uncovered

The chatter fades
a reluctant decrescendo
into one sullen word

---

James Bowie High School

12

I cannot breathe
But I don’t miss it

Breathing includes life and life includes living
Living ends in death and the prick of misery
It includes ends and beginnings and decisions I won’t make
No
That I can’t make

I cannot be
But I don’t care

I have walked this earth as a shell of a girl that I once knew
Who picked up petals to drop them from the tallest tower
Just to try and catch them when they fell
The shell of a girl who believed in the peace
or rather the peace of people
But was trampled by the elephant in the room

This girl could breathe
Would breathe if able
I’m supposed to breathe for her
To keep her memory alive as if she is the weight of a pebble in my pocket
But she isn’t a pebble, she is a boulder that weighs on my shoulders
She is the giant that came from the beanstalk
She is the beginning even if I wish she was the end

I can’t breathe
And I miss it

---

Anderson High School

12th

“The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core strength within you that survives all hurt.” – Max Lerner

I miss the little girl I once was
The one who lived and breathed
She will always be a part of me
I have hurt and have been hurt
I have forgotten and forgave
But I will not waiver from myself
I will not shrink as others stand tall
The girl I once was is gone
Along with the beliefs she carried
But I will hold her memories close to my heart
As if they were as fragile as a snowglobe
I will stand in front of her but also
I will stand in front of myself
because
I can finally breathe

---

Anderson Highschool

12th

I watch this place,
as if I were watching Monet
in real time.
Mauve azaleas
flutter as the breeze swept
pollen from their pistils.
Bumble bees decorated
themselves with flaxen dust,
humming.
Take what they want,
disregarding
innocent blossoms.
Indulging until
once petite bodies,
become ponderous.
Stamen:
anther and filament,
violated.
Awkward and cumbersome,
their stripes disappear
into yellow daisies.
The way the pollen
moved the gentle wind-
released the dread
of thunder and lightning.

---

James Bowie High School

12