Vision+Voice

I used to… But now…

I used to wake surf,
But now I sit on the sidelines staring into the murky water.

I used to have no troubles,
But now I worry if I’ll make it to the next day.

I used to smile,
But now I force one.

I used to love school,
But now I worry if I’ll pass the standards.

I used to be happy,
But now responsibility is taking its toll.

THE POET: A POEM
by IPGH

The Poet
cannot write a work of art uninspired.
A forced poem
Is like a forced laugh.
Sad, stale, it’s sole purpose to please someone else.

Because a poem, first and foremost, is yours.

Because beneath all the fancy words,
The synonyms and the similes,
The metaphors and the mixed meanings

Beneath all the complexities the world calls a poem,

Lies a tiny masterpiece created in your heart of hearts

Lies a sacred being forged in the depths of your mind

Lives a little you, you in your rawest form:
A poem.

I used to think my friends loved me
but now I feel like they just want me to walk away

I used to know my friends wouldn’t talk behind my back
but now i’m not so sure

I used to feel loved
but now i feel unwanted

I used to have an abundance of friends
but now i barely have any friends at all

I used to think she loved me
but now I don’t know

Our family is smart and nice
They make our dinner — from burgers to rice.
We talk on walks merrily
And that’s what makes our family.

When it’s time to go to bed
We are always so well-fed
Reading books
In our nooks
It’s the perfect day.

My family is the best
Our home — a cozy nest.

Nothing But The Snow

The snow covered everything,
It blanketed the flower beds still trying to sing their song.
The dead leaves were embedded into the frozen icicles.

Everything seemed to be stuck in place,
Frozen, like, statues.
Nothing moved, but the people,
Trying to survive in the deadly weather.

The footprints were engraved into the snow,
Making a painting,
Illustrated by the village and its critters.

The snow was covering everything,
No other color than white.

I’m from family.
From food and baseball.
I am from a small house on desert Willow
I’m from the beautiful orange tree my grandfather gifted to me when I was young.
Who gives me the freshest oranges ever.
I am from pizza and speggeti.
From the Alvarez family.
I am from love and kindness.
I am from easter and Christmas.
From Colombia and Mexico.
And from all of this, I am the kind and loving young man I am today.

Up above my head I hear airplanes in
the sky, buzzing over my head like an
iron bee.

Down below the bridge I see bats fluttering
by with their squeaks loud as a lion.

Over the hill so green I touch the flowers
bright as a sunset on the beach when
the sky is burning from the heat.

Under the light I feel like everything is
going to be okay in the end and I really do
believe that I am happy.

As I pick up my pencil with no fear,
My mind goes blank and clear
Then ideas hit my head galore
A story about not one chore.

I travel to Japan
My pencil zooming faster than a van.
My hand is sweaty from my tight grip
Without a thought I skip.

My pencil dancing on the page
Feels like I’m an actor on stage.

Books
By: Naomi S
Thoughts-
They swirl and dance in my mind-
They don’t really care.
I hear quiet mumbles
They’re like and itchy scratch that never leaves
From the world of reality.
Whenever I’m holding the words- I feel like royalty
There’s a whole pile of words-
Right in front of me
Yet- completely out of reach

They have excitement and mystery
When I have my words, forget about history
I want to swim in the pages
Sing when something good happens
It makes me feel like if I take my eyes of the pages it’ll kill me.
The beauty inside every tiny letter is brighter than the sun,

But there’s something heavy keeping me away
From what I desire most.
Being told to put it down,
Or just do it later
Now I’m just thinking traitor-
The pile of paper so
Helps when Im bored
They ask, what’s the point?
I say, there’s no point.
You just have to pick a good one.

I am from cleats and soccer balls
From wearing my shin guards on the outsides of my socks
and playing on the small goals
I am from the soccer field
From small patches of grass and the crumbs of dirt in my cleats
I am from the ups with my team and all the downs
From cheering my teammates on when they score
And saying “good try” if they miss
I am from the smell of fresh air entering into my lungs
From taking deep breaths to kill away my fear
I am from all the practices that we do
From the big bright lights at night
And the hot sun shining over us
I am from the memories that make me laugh and
From the memories that make me tear up inside
I am from my home, the soccer field