Category: 2018-19 Submissions

2017-18 Submissions

Who?

I want to be 6 years old again
So I can color and watch spongebob
On the living room couch
While my mom cooks in the kitchen
And I smell some type of cake
I don’t worry about anything
And I laugh when spongebob annoys squidward
Because it’s simply funny
There’s no deeper meaning
Life is simple

Instead I sit here on my bed
Back bent
Cross legged
Holding back tears that will never flow
Because it’s much too late
And I think of everything
And I think back of when I was 6
And I knew who I was
I was Anaïs
With 2 dots on the ï
But now I don’t know what that means

Maybe it was butchered
by one too many teacher or sub
Beyond recognition
Or maybe I killed it myself
Slitting its throat
And wringing out all the good
Like a dirty kitchen rag
So that all that’s left
Is a colorless and useless shell
Of what I could have been

But it doesn’t matter much
I think it’s too late anyways
Because I’m still sitting here
Back bent
Typing
Feeling like I can’t get out of bed
But I know I have to
Because I can’t let myself down
More than I already have
And I can’t die
So I guess I’ll have to survive

Anderson High School

11

When I Write

I need not write.
My head doesn’t overflow
Spilling liquid thought out of my brimming brain bowl.
My mind doesn’t turn predatorial
Seeking words like rabbits, hunting sentences like deer.
My heart doesn’t feel protective,
Loving writing like a mother cat guarding newborn kittens.
For me, writing is taking a picture
I will never use or look at ever again,
But I feel obligated to record it
To make it real
To remember it.

My brain is a bookshelf.
Writing is running my hand across the spines,
Cataloguing and classifying,
Curating and coordinating.
There’s comfort in knowing
They’re all still there.

Sometimes I face great problems.
Problems unexpected and unyielding,
Problems testing my patience and will,
Problems identifying problems.
In this, writing does not help.

How could writing alleviate
My sadness sliding south?
How would writing ameliorate
My fury falling at the finish?
How should writing unweight
The pressure of potential perfection?

But when I am at rest, when I have no need to fight,
I curate my collection, and find some comfort when I write.

LASA

11

will you still love me?

dear mother
will you still love me
if i hold her hand
and tell you how i feel free

and father
will you still love me
if i wear my pride with a smile
even if you don’t agree

grandma
will you still love me if i tell you about the girl
that reminds me of honey and the sea

oh grandpa
will you still love me
if there is no boy
and instead there is a she

please just hold my hand
take a deep breath 1 2 3
can you try to understand
that i finally love me

Griffin School

9

My Happy Place

When I’m feeling really sad
I go to my happy place
Where houses sit on rainbows
And stairs are lined with lace

Where days are filled with stars
And nights are filled with light
Where you can dream up candy
If you wish with all your might

Where puppies grow on trees
And kittens have soft hair
Where wishes rise into the sky
And smile in the air

Maybe if you’re feeling down
Or miserable or blue
Then you can close your eyes and go
To my happy place too

Canyon Vista Middle School

6

Immigrant Parents

I’m a girl, whose only fifteen,
a Hispanic girl, with immigrant parents.
Parents who have gone through so much
and still do.
It’s disappointing.
Parents who get up so early and come home so late,
to be able to make sure their kids are straight.
Parents who didn’t get a very good education
but still do what they can to see their children happy!
knowing that its not just one.
It’s disappointing.
How they still get discriminated,
mistreated,
because of their race,
because they don’t know English that well.
It’s just disappointing.
How they are amazing people, great personalities,
and still get done wrong.
It’s just disappointing.

LBJ High School

10

Flowers

I see the flowers sway in the wind
The sun shining on the brightly colored plant
The petals fall slowly to the ground
The wind blowing on my face makes me feel calm and collected
The wind blows my book away from me
Soon nightfall’s the brightly colored flower is now gone.

Barton Hills Elementary

5

Yellowstone

Yellowstone.
The wind whistled through the trees and sang through the water.
The voice of the water carried the river,
Swayed the salmon right to the grizzlies.
The bisons’ hooves going very steady through the tall green grass.
The large horned mountain goats clambered along the mountain,
The pebbles formed,
From there black tough hooves against the stone.
Yellowstone.

Barton Hills Elementary

5

Silent

Quiet
Quiet as rain falling to the ground
All I hear is tiptoeing
And my silent breathing
The window swinging open
water flooding my room
And my eyes
An empty room
All there is, is water
Just water
Nothing to clear my path
Nothing to get me closer to getting out
I can’t move
I can’t stand
It’s too silent.

Barton Hills Elementary

5

bird

As the life drained from the tiny body
Falling to the ground it sang a last note a note of sorrow
A song of pain starting to ebb away
A last note that said this should not have happened

Then it fell silent wings broken
Body shattered
Blood oozed out of the hole in its chest
As its last breath came out of his beak
Now laying there with the life drained from its body

Barton Hills Elementary

5