Category: 12th

“Come, honey.”

Your eyes glistened from the golden sun,
painting sunsets into your eyes.
Only hoping my eyes looked as wonderful as yours did.
You grasped my hand
and pulled me.
We ran through the field
with rows of sunflowers across the vast land,
drops of lemonade dripping down our hands.
Approaching under our tree,
hidden from the sun’s rays;
You kissed me
with lips sweet like honey.

I was addicted.

You spoke in low, soft tones
smooth like honey;
of needing a cure for that sweet tooth of yours.
The sun shone brighter,
as beads of sweat formed on our foreheads;
the heaviness of our breath syncing was thought as light.
Your fingers interlocking with mine,
you kissed me again with those saccharine lips.

“Come, honey.”

---

James Bowie High School

12

You planted flowers within my ribcage,
and it was beautiful.
But I didn’t see the weeds
slowly entwining around my bones.
I overlooked the thorns on the stems
piercing my heart every time I inhaled.
And so the flowers began to wilt and
the soil began to crack and dry up.
Because my broken-hearted tears
would never be able to revive the flowers
your love provided for me.

---

James Bowie High School

12

Aquatic life glides across a canvas screen
and I enjoy the false magic,
because the advertisers hugging children with
plastic arms, always guarantee
a future enthrallment.

But I want to go beyond the glass that makes
Aquariums two dimensional projections in classrooms,
to finally slice the restless
waves, burying identical suburbs
under castles of sand.

I will find the white whale that protects
my saltwater heart.
Soon, the depths will procure
a gleaming token of independence.

For now I settle, with the cheap
string of pearls pressing
against my neck.

---

James Bowie High School

12

A snowy mountain cap within the grass,
as malleable as clay, the lamb
cross-eyed, gazing
at paper wings of a butterfly
suspended in light.

On the opposite side of the range,
the closeness of flanks disrupt any chance
of sleep. The sheep climb
over rusting machinery
To the sound of assembly line bells and tv static.

Wrapped in rainbow blankets,
the sheep decay in their unmarked graves.
Both domesticated followers, victim
to shining shears that snip away wool in clumps

Leaving a rash of pink flesh,
vulnerable and guilty, an empty manger
littered with crushed straw. Heartbreak then
begins to ebb away, eroding
as it always does.

---

James Bowie High School

12

What once was Parisian dreams,
slinks out of the warm sun
with a hint of abandonment.

The museum is silent now,
Except for the falling glass tears
of the nameless;
a weeping woman.

Critic muse the final piece,
sipping their acrylics, blended with
a dash of red wine.
Gripping the stem of their glasses with moldable judgement.

They place authenticity
Upon the staircase of eyes
enshrined in agony,
encased in oil.

Disjointed limbs slice
The composition.
A period of deep blues becomes
violent and bright.

The minotaurs are unleashed.
And the scattered fragments leftover
from their massacre, are hung in gold
and called cubism.

---

James Bowie high school

12

As I stare outside
cars passing
rain slowly falling outside the window
I tune back into the world

It’s a little after seven
I was young
uninformed of global current events
which lead me to believe that NPR
was an entire radio station
created to torture kids of my age
while on long car trips.
It was then that I began to pay attention
to my mother
who was currently showering me in praise
as she haphazardly
pulled into the parking lot of my elementary school.
Slick with the remnants of the previous night’s rain.
Brycen, Mrs. Champion tells me
that you’re an incredible student,
kind, attentive, and cute too.
She says as she reaches over to put her hand on my face.
Being a young boy at risk
of being seen with his mother by his fellow classmates
I was quick to dismiss her affection.
God Mom, I get it! Can I go now!
She stared at me
Her face blank
used to this sort of reaction by now
waiting a few seconds before responding.
You know,
you’re gonna talk that way to the wrong person one of these days
and get your butt beat
I hear her
unaware of the incredible amount of leniency
I have been given

---

James Bowie High School

12

The teddy bear
soft with brown fur,
frowning with sadness,
as his beady glass eyes,
staring at me,

Asking:
“Why haven’t you played with me?
Why don’t we talk?”

To be honest I forgot
about him just like I forgot
the stuffed elephant
the Giraffe and even the monkey.

But the bear-
he was special,
He was there everyday
for every year,
when I was crying,
when I was bored,
when I needed a friend.

Until he wasn’t.

Then I had a new companion
Not a friend.
Not someone I love.
But is required to be with me.
My future requires him.
My happiness later
in life depends on him.

It has many layers,
homework, teachers,
peer pressure and bullying,
stress and anxiety.
It is so much
I almost hate it.

But it brings me no joy,
not like the teddy bear-
who slumps down,
worn apart by age,
frizzing at the end
of his feet, fading
under the shadow
of my past.

As its little ear is holding on
by the threads,
so is everything
in my life,
coming apart
every day I age.

---

James Bowie High School

12

How does your heart steadily beat,
under the weight of all of that guilt?
How do you rest against cotton and silk,
as savagery continues to stir in the night?

I watch in disbelief
when you dance upon the raw and bloody flesh
of those who remain lame.

Do you recognize those blind yellow eyes
that gaze up at you beneath your mirror?
How about those ashen, oozing lesions
that dapple the arms reaching for your silver, your gold?

As you bathe in your oils of gladness,
captives continue to rot and spoil.
You are not above the lost,
simply because you are found.
You are not greater than the sick,
solely because you are healed.

Beneath your jewels and your spirits
lingers a pink and fleshy body,
still drenched in that slime and shame.

---

James Bowie High School

12

Everyone came to Dianna’s party.
Silly Riley and Comedian John and Funny Silvia,
they all came. Even reclusive Will, introvert Sharlene,
and I knew that missing this party would be

social
suicide.

The lights are too bright and flashy-I can’t see-
Was this my cup?- It feels so sticky and sweaty-

Why is

the sound

of the

bass so

damn loud?

Everyone- every-one
is packed into the apartment
like sardines in a can.

Too small a space
Too many people
I can’t-
Breathe-

I manage to find a door throw it open

Breathe.

Sorry silence of a sweet night.
You offer me no comfort.
I look back through
the blue-hued window

But the image is blurry–the glass is murky
Dark and foggy, like a cemetery-
a headstone for all, death be merry
Eyes stare back, fishy eyes
And everyone becomes every
body,
All too quickly.

---

James Bowie High School

12

My dad always told me I shouldn’t strive to be happy
Now at first, that’s awful
But to explain he said, Son. you can feel happy
but you shouldn’t be happy
But isn’t being happy a good thing?

At times, of course it is
But emotions are fickle
They’re a response, not a lifestyle
Happiness at all times is forced
Meaningless, nothing without context

What you should strive for, he said
Is satisfaction.
It’s a hard state to describe
It isn’t measurable
But it’s important

You’re allowed to be upset
And Sad, and Angry, and Lonely,
But at the end of the day,
Being satisfied means being okay with it
Being in a place where you can look back
See yourself arrayed
And smile at what you see

Satisfaction is hard
Happiness is impossible
Life isn’t about plastering a smile
It’s not about climbing the highest peak
It’s about sitting in your nook on the cliffside
Looking at the view
looking at yourself
Seeing yourself
And loving what you are
Loving where you are
Loving who you are

---

Cedar Ridge High School

12