Category: 2023-2024 Submissions

The week has been so long and yet it’s only a Tuesday.
I’m sitting at a desk with broken ears,
The teacher’s words float out the door before I read them,
my head bowls a strike on the pins on the desk.

My needy body years for water but foggy eyes
Brings the water down my neck and onto my shirt.
A kid behind me snickers. I turn around, he smirks at me, I turn back
And suddenly my red face wakes up my mind.

I giggle at my bad luck, a kid in front of me turns
And we make eye contact. I give him an awkward smile,
but his face starts to flush as he avoids my gaze.
Odd. When I reach for my bottle, I notice his chromebook.

He’s writing a sonnet, I stare perplexed at the first line:
The week has been so long and yet it’s only a Tuesday.

– An old love story, written by yours truly of course.
– A picture of a never ending brightly colored Lisa frank tiger.
– An old packing list from my very first time at summer camp.
– A sketch of my millions apon millions of millions dollar wedding.
– Finally, a story of the time my crush asked me out!

This poem is short and sweet,
It’s that simple, or is it?

I mean, what makes a poem short,
How many characters there are?
If that is so then how can we know,
What the shortest poem is?

There must be another way,
To measure a poem’s length,

What about actual size?
Can you measure a poem in inches?
If you measured like that
Then smallest poem would be the size of an atom,
And that I cannot fathom.

What else could we do
To measure a poem’s length.

How about the time it takes to read?
Is there a way to measure a poem in minutes?
If that was the case,
Then the shortest poem would remain unheard
Because it would be too short to hear.

So it appears that there is no way to measure the length of a poem,
Maybe someday.

In my room there is a bed that that has always been there
There are some old dirty shirts lying around with socks to
All the small clothes that i outgrew, lying in my drawers
All the old crumbs that lie in the corner for ants to get
And the creaking, old, and dusty floorboards that always has dog fur on it
And the very little trophies i have on the side of my desk
and most of all a couch that i can lie on whenever

When does spring come? She came silently, unknowingly. She seems to be here, but she seems not to be here.
Spring comes in the breeze of February and the chirping of birds in March. In the morning of March, as soon as I opened my eyes, everything came to life. There was a slight warm breeze outside the window, and I unexpectedly found that I no longer needed to wear a thick coat.
Spring is like a girl, carrying a veil, coming silently. Spring is like a breeze that comes unexpectedly. Spring comes gently with greenery, birdsong, and breeze.

A Fairchild with a nose bigger than Pinocchios
An Airbus bigger than any other
A Jetstrean with 2 propellers
An Airbus with a Gigantic forehead
An Airtech with wings that touch the sky
A 747 that has an infinite amount of seats

I am from books.
I am from words and music notes.
I am from the energy and sometimes chaos in my house, always a constant.

I am from Diwali and Christmas.
From roti and paneer, dal and rice, and pizza and garlic bread too.
I am from Texas and India.

I am from Anumeha and Gurneet.
I am from the smarty pants and the funny one.
From arre bhais and hey bhagwans.

I’m from the craziness passed down from generation to generation.
From the refugee my father became as a child.
From my grandfather who lost a part of his finger as a child.
And from the distance my great grandfather traveled for a good education.

I am from a reincarnation of a soul that came before me.
I am from all this and more.
I am from a closet full of memories of the past.

At lunch I sit at the end
How do I even play pretend
I thought we were friends

I sit there silently
Waiting to get a chance to speak
Now that’s hard to believe

You made me think I was insane
But actually I have a brain
I’m not the one to blame

I’ve got a cup
Needing to be filled
So i’ll fill it
And wait for yours to spill

Forget the past
Forget the pain
The thought of you has left my brain
And I don’t care about you anymore

You might think that it’s all fun and games
But you made my cry like pouring rain
So I don’t care about you anymore

I am from stuffed animals,
From tooth fairy notes and unicorn dreams.
I am from balconies that broke and stopped my heart and hard-to-clean brown tile.

I am from floppy-leafed plants that look dead, yet come back every year.
I am from Gibbs and Ehrke,
From Texas and California,
From voice actors in Monsters Inc. at a year old.

I am from two Christmas Trees and Harry Potter movie nights.
I am from a room shared with my sister and fights over the bathroom sink.

I am from trading peas for macaroni, and Dad reading while we eat,
From birthday parties at the pool and faces dripping with watermelon.

I am from happiness, joy, questioning yet faith, and most of all friends and family.

I am from these moments and still have many more to make.

Say hello to the cat at night,
Slinking through the shadows galore.
Looking up at the stars so bright,
Laying down, try to catch a snore.

Wake in the morning, sky red pink,
The sunlight blinking through the trees.
Up on your paws, yawn, stretch, and blink,
Hear the buzz of the worker bees.

Racing over rocks and rivers,
Fish leaping out to wave their tails.
Glimpses of his coat of silver,
Are seen between the ivy rails.

After a long and happy day,
Settling down to rest your paws
Your belly very full of prey,
Close your eyes, world comes to a pause.