The Hanger 2022
The High School of Fashion Industries 225 West 24th Street New York, NY 10011 Daryl Blank, Principal
Table of Contents Journal PROSE page 5-6 My Love of Reading page 19 My Name Aissata Haidara page 22 Art Lessons Macouta Thomas page 26 My Hair Kajmah Davis page 28-29 Dear Heartbreak Gracie Jeffers page 37 Tales from the Abandoned Forest Samiya Baxter page 41 How to Eat a Wedding Cake Mildred Cardenas page 43-45 The Witch Anjali Misir page 46 Once Upon a Time? Julianna O’Neill page 48 One Fatal Day Savanah Greystone page 49 42nd Street Val Zetino page 50-51 Letters to My Grandmother Jackie Garcia-Flores page 52 The 17 Moons A Love Letter to... Faye Krelic page 8-9 Until Death Do Us Part page 11 Fate of the Faery’s Fable POETRY page 12-13 Illusion page 14 My brain as well, gets away... Aja King page 15 Where We Go Back to, Where We... Aramella Duenas page 16 hydrangeas & tulips Athaliah Elvis page 17 Educated Fool Charmaine Cera page 20-21 I Am Woman Mahima Islam page 24 justice for all Anjali Misir pag 25 Letter to Self calaena washington page 30 Best of Both Worlds Aja King page 31-32 Breeze Dionyae Mitchell page 33 Inferiority anaiya moore page 34 Where Did I Go Wrong? D’Aria Williams page 34 Haven’t Seen You... Kiss Leslie Sandoval page 36 Altar Boyz Nailah Edwards page 37-38 Dear Heartbreak Johanna Vicente page 39 O’ Daughter of Mine Athena Ysabel Johnson page 40 2 Weeks Raquel Almendarez page 42 Through a Carnival Door Yaralee De la Cruz page 47-48 I Heard them and I Still Hear Them Mildred Cardenas page 53 In the Chasm of my Mind Everett Reed page 54 A Love Letter to My Younger Self Estefania Rosales page 55 Hello Meets Goodbye Wisdenia JeanCharles page 56 Yerali Lopez Riti Shrestha Anelim Santiago Jasmina Nosirova
Table of Contents (continued) ART & PHOTOGRAPHY Frenzy Fiona Cheung front cover Squirrel Angelymarie Pacheco page 4 Childhood Memories Heidy J. Ramos page 7 My Steps Krystie Guaman Quizhpi page 10 Designer Garden Nakia Thompson page 13 Untitled Amara McNair page 15 Words of the Mind Autumn Harrison page 18 Emotional Head Demetric Johnson page 21 Shades of Melanin Iana Clarke page 23 Reflect Penelope Arias page 24 I Can’t See Angelina Sanchez page 25 The Gothic in America Gracie Jeffers page 27 Splendour Nia Mills page 29 Muse Unique Diaz page 30 Crescent Moon Gabriella Addomah Gyabaah page 32 Skating Jessica Dapaah page 33 Laws of Perspective Jayson Llinas page 34 Slow Down Benjamin Gomez page 35 Distorted Mind’s Eye Sarah Almanzar page 38 The Voice Nile Mitchell page 40 My Relationship with Grief Anjali Misir page 4 1 Uniquely Fascinating & Dangerous Habitat Olivia Davis page 50 Living in a Constantly Moving City Sarah Almanzar page 51 Healing Emotional Wounds Coumba Seye page 54 Photographing Roses Jessica Dapaah page 56 Sleeping Novali Guillen page 57 Self-Image D'Angelys Galvez back cover
Journal Aissata Haidara Sunny days, gloomy days, Loud subways, empty subways… It was all the same to me. I believed that, as my wisdom hurriedly appeared, I felt as if my youthfulness fled. For I was still trying to find my meaning in life. With this in mind, I yearned to find ways to conquer this want for self-discovery in the hope that I could become less insecure, become fearless. This is brutal. Eventually, Insecurity plagued my life. No later than that, I found myself being engulfed by this entity. Journal # 1 3/19/20 I feel shabby. It has been weeks since I washed my hair and my room is eerily dark. My “friends” want to hang out, but I can’t help but wonder if they actually like me. They probably talk behind your back. What makes you think you are good for them? These words constantly trail in the inner depths of my mind. Perhaps this conspiracy about my idea of friendship stemmed from a never- ending betrayal by those around me. Soon enough, I became an outcast. Life has been halted As I stand still I contemplate what kind of person I could’ve been without fear. Journal #2 3/19/21 Fear... All I have known is fear. Fear of speaking my truth, fear of being vulnerable, and fear of being me. Chimes ring loudly as I am in a deep slumber. Despite my want to sleep in, I wake up with a smile, a warm smile full of expectations, a warm smile ready to learn, a smile that came back into my dull life. Blue period equates sadness
Red period exhibits love Romanticism wins I am in love! You appeared in my dreams with a surreal calmness. Unphased by your auspicious entrance into my life, I struggled to cling to the bright light that you have gifted me with. Without this light, the world as I have known it, becomes dark. Running towards the light, I became obstinate. You shall run, you can hide--but, this time, I am not letting go of you. My dearest do not misjudge me! For I will become the light. Journal # 3 8/15/21 I have been reborn. My days started and ended at libraries. In this battle against my inner con- science, I wondered: what is this feeling I am experiencing? From the sensation of crisp pages turn- ing to the complete stillness in the library, I acknowledge the library as a haven. It became my escape from the brutal world that took me by force. This library is a haven that has helped harbor my ideas, aided in helping me endure and combat my problems, and assisted in my quest for more knowledge. You give me chills… Literally! As I sit in your perfectly rounded couch, I fall into a deep hypnotic trance As the chilled air blows from everywhere, I can't help but feel warm. Through your endless exhibition of books, I become the main character. Tears, laughs, and fury. The emotion that you hold on to so tightly releases all at once I admire your graceful appearance That's why I let you teach me. Dear Journal, You have held onto my pain but it is time to let you go. I let go of the insecurity, I let go of the fear. As I listen to \"Haunt me x3.\" I take the first step into my new life. A life free of insecurity. ~~~~~
Love Letter to… Aja King Love The result of unforeseen moments That tore you apart Yet constructed you of pretty lies That at one point seemed to be everywhere Until it was nowhere Birthed pain that unleashed rivers, Rivers that rivaled those of Poseidon Shattered your perception And left you feeling desperate To be struck down by Zeus Love disintegrated. Doubt Control No one loved you before No one will love you now Let yourself be dragged by Dolos Your will totaled Changing tones To not be alone To not be left behind Walk in the directed line Bite back words The flames of Prometheus Love burns. Loss To lose, And know that loss is never coming back A constant reminder of what’s gone Or rather who The multitude of whos, who once touched your heart Memories, vivid, like art
Reminding you of that period of when But none had quite damaged it like them The ghost of their breath against your skin That Boreas always seems to tuck into the cold Northern wind None had quite captured your light Locked in the dark behind rusted doors Love eroded away. Hope A clinking of metal A figure Clothed in beauty A divine glint in their eye It speaks mischief and makes you feel alive Soft palms And calloused fingers Release you from your capture Fingers soon to run across your scalp And sure arms to hold you when it pours To carry each other's weight Emotional turmoil Nursed through thick and thin Ready to face any scorn Love reborn. Change Sharp Dark That pain was love But this is love A personal sun delivered by Apollo himself A love that eclipses anything conjured by Aphrodite Transcending the barriers of life and death Felt from the underworld Surviving through Tarturus and back Weaved tighter than any art created by Arachne Souls intertwined by the strings of fate Love, here to stay.
Until Death Do Us Part Aramella Duenas The whole world seems to stop A charming thing she was to him When Death takes her in their arms Even before their love They smile at her wickedly And she thinks it’s part of the charm He still felt her cold hands in his Still, he smiled at the sky above Above was where she looked for him Looked for her lover’s steely gaze In a maze is where he saw her first Here she felt like Theseus, Her hair once as golden as the sun Theseus with no hope inside the maze She met his eyes with a defiance No one saw the man she once loved And claimed she could love no one For he seems so different now She feels the whisper of Death in her ear Somehow he survived without her And Death seemed closer somehow However, survival is barely living After ten years, he still hears her voice Death’s name is ringing in her mind Whenever the Church bells are ringing In the House of Hades she was kept The name of Thanatos rang true He wept for his fallen lover And in the fires of hell, she wept For the girl that captured his heart He wept for the sweetness of death “May the Gods protect him,” she whispered The same one that tore them apart Whispered with every ounce of hope she kept But he kept the blade pressed to his chest And into the arms of Death he leapt
Fate of the Faery’s Fable Athaliah Elvis There once was a girl in the world who yearned to be careless and free and liked to imagine a life sailing across the cerulean sea. Oh, how she danced with the whimsical winds, whirling about. The scent of citrus and chocolate leaves a trail of zest along the hot summer winds. And the sizzling sun swelters down on her as she wipes at the beads of sweat trailing upon her dark brown skin. Onward blows a cool wind through her hair, setting her ginger curls afloat, as it glimmers from the sun's shine… If I could show you the beauty of my dreams, you’d understand why they’re so important to me Because in my dreams, in that distant far away land, I’m a faery And my wings, fragile, and beautiful are they, dusted ever so lightly with pixie dust, Push me to places I once never knew imaginable. Furiously fluttering through the budding rainclouds, speaking to everything left undiscussed Oh, how I wish I could tell you everything about why I’m here, And that in my mission to disappear, I yearned for someone, anyone to hear The flowers blow with the wind, and deeper into her imagination she dives. Down the road, shards of the night's disco litter the grounds. A small memory to the party of it all. She meets a chamber of mirrors, left only with her feelings as they dissolve. Wearily she steps forward, soon to be graced with the reflection of everything that could be. And in her heart stirs something evil because of her resentment for the lucky girl. The girl that mastered control of the universe. The girl that could be loved. So it’s not soon before her dreams turn into a daunting nightmare. Spirited sunflowers sway to the sound of the sea in harmony And the sun glistens off the waves, extending its warm kisses to the foreheads of all the lost girls, causing us to scream in glee Hand in hand we skipped down the road, in sync with the song that was our life with the very thing that had chased me here, on my tail, leaving me in strife, And in between our skips, which were once filled with bliss, I miss the beat, and stumble at my feet, sinking into the ground And in my fall, like a bag of stones tethered to her My mistakes, like a plague, consistently weighed her down Causing her once winsome wings, to wither under the pressure And our friendship, in its budding phase, woefully wilted, now a long-lost treasure Like Prometheus. I’d carried the lethal burden of it all
I’d let my emotions get the best of me, nibbling away my sanity, until I’d become small Selfishly sucking away the thing that made you... You Your friendship, your love, and everything in between as you tended to my gluttonous garden of needs All the while I doused you with my burning tears of sadness you’d bottled away for me And for that I’m terribly sorry, for this is my apology long overdue So it’s with everything in me I hope I can dream another dream, where we can meet again One where I can be better, as our wings paint against the skies together The chromatic colors of our auras cheekily chasing one another without this tragic end If I could show you the beauty of my dreams you’d understand why they’re so important to me Because in my dreams, in that distant far away land, I’m a faery.
Illusion Charmaine Cera I heard the thunder when he said it I heard her tears fall as she cried Her eyes screamed at me, “please” But I just looked And with my eyes I apologized My desire to give her a better life cried louder than her eyes My hunger for money roared louder So I sacrificed her innocence for her life So I traded her past for her future I’ve never seen so much money in my time The sweet taste of greed The illusion of something grand The crispness of the bills and the scent of newness Lied to me and said, ”I can bring my family out of here” But I didn't know that it would lead to this That this money would sell my daughter’s dignity and give her impurity And the dream that once touched my fingertips Crumbled and led to her destruction
My brain as well, gets away me from in pre-summer Mahima Islam My brain as well, gets away from me in pre-summer to the parts of mango and palash tree. What's more, loosens up in satisfaction for two or three hours in the youthful green and moderately aged reds of fields, after every one, all men are debt holders to the earth. The evening, lost in a fantasy, gazes mutely somewhere far off, it's in the past with no work by any means, my occupied considerations turn in the breeze furthermore, lose themselves in the call of pigeons across abandoned town rice-fields. The night, becoming flushed with colors, sings itself out on a thrilling note, in the profound tune of a melody. Do you have any idea that I long for that melody very much like a dry chatak asks for water?
Where We Go Back to, Where We Come From Anjali Misir My dad told me that when we die we return to the ocean I started to wonder could we go to ponds, rivers or lakes, merge with puddles, rain drops, or boiling pots of water, join the pages of a mermaid story where blue pigmented seas are creased and worn in a closet of old clothes and very used art books, can we swim with fishes, or possess boats or cargo ships, can we start new chapters in shipwrecks or fields of seaweed and moss, will the hands of the person who cremates my body and throws my ashes in the nearest vent to the sea stay in my memory, will my ashes stay together--in one uniform shape, or will they scatter on different paths doing their own dance finding each other when they’re all done?
hydrangeas & tulips calaena washington a flower grows new, young, naive and unknowing as the seasons change so does she for better or for worse? as the harsh bitter winds of winter blow, the flower becomes familiar with the biting winds and recoils into her petals. as spring approaches, the colors of her petals are brighter than ever pointed in the direction of another flower her very own petals obscure her vision and, disappointed, her petals wilt, just a bit though. Summer’s sweltering heat is here. petals trembling under the hot sun a group of various flowers distinct petals and colors point in her direction and hers in theirs. as fall rounds the corner, the flower has a moment to herself a soft breeze runs by and she catches a glimpse of herself: new beautiful colors and a split petal. the breeze grows stronger and the flower wafts in the wind, complacent with herself for now.
My Love of Reading Macouta Thomas People are sometimes able to pinpoint a person novels that interest me. Being a “bookworm,” as people love to call it, is or thing that has been in their life for as long as they can remember. Whether it is their childhood best friend not unique or rare. In fact, there is a huge community or the family pet, most people possess something they of people who find comfort in literary pieces. That’s the cannot picture themselves living without. Mine takes the beauty of it, with a plethora of genres and authors with shape of pages littered with words and bound with their own unique styles, personal experiences are born. heavy cardstock and glue. As early as I can remember, You can find yourself within a book: through the topics I’ve taken an interest in books, reading day and night that interest you, a foundation is built for what will attract at a pace so rapid that I ran out of stories. It was specif- you later in life, whether it is your college major or the ically those midnight readings that caused me to add a town you live in. We can draw inspiration from various pair of red spectacles to my wardrobe (an addition I factors in our lives. Reading is where I draw mine. While wasn’t happy about). Nevertheless, nothing stopped me we cannot rely on fiction to build a path for ourselves, I from picking out my next book. People thought I’d be find it motivating: no matter the circumstance charac- less motivated after long lectures from both my parents ters went through, they were able to find a solution. and the doctor, however, I was still burning with an un- tameable fire to fill my mind with the works of authors. My love for reading, if I had to pinpoint an exact starting point, happened after I had my appendix re- With this burning desire to read came the itch of moved at the age of three. My daycare, friends, and my hand to write. Before I continue, this is not a story family gave me an endless amount of books, a mini-li- about how reading filled me with the dream of crafting brary! I was hospitalized for a month and had all the my own literary piece. I wish, but unfortunately, we don’t time in the world to read while I recovered from surgery. all get inspired the same way. I did, however, find a love After that, it was a passion that blossomed. for discussing the things I read. Reading has been essentially my longest friend. Assigned paragraphs in elementary school With every friendship comes sorrow. I have experi- turned into pages of my thoughts because a paragraph enced many conflicts with the works I’ve read, to the could not simply encompass an entire story. Reading point where I considered rewriting the ending of certain can be seen as a strenuous task. Being tainted by the novels so that I would be pleased. It’s all in the fun of education system with minuscule tasks that take the joy reading and what makes it so important to me. At a time out of a good book, I once even believed that I got over when I was vulnerable in the hospital and doctors were my “excessive” reading habits, when in fact I switched calling me a “miracle child” for surviving the severity of from the heavy cardstock covers to digital apps. What my surgery, yes I had my family and the new stuffed is developed at a young age is hard to shake as you bear called “Beary.” I wasn’t expecting to find a friend grow. I remember discussing with my mom how I finally in the pages of illustrated books. Whether I was reading grew out of my reading phase to then go on my phone digitally or briefly glancing at the pages, reading always and open my reading app. Everywhere I went, I was followed me. hunched over my phone, swiping through the latest book. It didn’t register for a long time that reading on These days, it’s like a late friend or that feeling my phone still counted like reading a hardcover novel. that someone’s watching over me. The works can cre- ate an ideal path, and without them, I don’t know who On days when I didn’t have my phone, I would I’d be today. Reading builds character and a foundation take a book to school and then rave about how it’s been for those who get interested in it early in their lives. so long since I read. It was the one habit I couldn’t Likes and desires are influenced by the detailed pages shake. I cannot go for long without filling my mind with and, sometimes, unrealistic expectations can be set. literary pieces. Without my love for reading, I am not However, the fulfillment you gain is grounding. It’s not sure who I would be today. It has been the one constant the most abstract interest, but what makes a person in my life, whether or not I was aware of it at the time. themselves does not need to be the embodiment of a Days cannot pass without my starting a new story, and Picasso painting. my Amazon account is flooded with purchases of new
Educated Fool Aja King How is an education full when we learn one story? As I understand history is OUR stories They say my history starts at slavery And we never learn about people of color’s contributions to our economy While some states may put it in the textbooks, that isn’t the case for many Why do we have to deep dive and dig up historic graves, as young kids, Just to see what our actual history is? Why is education politics? Why does money, status, gender, or color determine if you are smarter? Why does who you are and everything that comes with that affect you even if you work harder? And I wonder if that bubble as African American affects my test score Why is white the standard? Is colonization that rich of a culture? Why aren’t we taught to properly recognize Culture Vultures? How many kids of color, like me, get to see teachers like us? Is white approval all we’re working for? Because if white’s the standard or goal, they must be the highest judges looking at your portfolio? So many unanswered questions that we all know the silenced answers to J. Cole had a point in “Brackets” When he spoke on his paid taxes And our lack of tools The tools we don’t have, but the white schools do And the white saviors we learn about, we later see were cruel Schools of Color have to scrape and scramble to give the fullest experience With the greatest of education, they provide with resilience The same education looked down upon because they didn’t have the fancy funds The same education that has this generation ready to make our social runs Because education in human decency starts from young Sugarcoating doesn’t do us fair That’s what creates such an ignorant air And unjustified fears That stem from centuries-old oppressions And their everlasting fear of us growing smart, that somehow is always failed to be mentioned Which is why this cycle never ends. A sudden change without explanation or acknowledgement to the root of the problem doesn’t make amends Not to the kids who thought they had to be white to get by Had to cut their hair because of rules, to which they had to comply Who dropped out and gave up because no matter what they did, the system never did enough
And the girls who had to edit their clothes because of their body shape Did they fear rape? If boys were taught properly, it wouldn’t be a problem That we should fix ourselves for their wrong-doings Education has always been used to shape us Mold the future Because apparently, white people have always had the credentials to be our sculptors But there’s a new wave coming Of future leaders who are tired of the shortcomings And the empty plans and promises of change The educators that try too hard to tame our rage They tried to ban Critical Race Theory But it won’t stop us from analyzing our stories They withhold information and change textbooks to fit political outlooks It isn’t even just POC kids you set up to fail Withholding cultural education from white kids sends them into the world frail With less likely of a chance to prevail Over the disadvantages of their ignorance Equity to some is irrelevant Many don’t see the role access to education plays in it School much like this country wasn’t created for all men to be equal, I’m a naive fool for being so hopeful.
My Name Kajmah Davis Your name is something that divides you from everyone else, maybe in a good way. Whether you and another person are both named Ashley, or the person next to you spells their name S-A-R-A and yours S-A-R-A-H, it's still your name. Having a unique name like mine can some- times be hard. It always feels like a broken record, just repeating the same lyric over and over again. For example, my name is Kajmah (K-A-J-M-A-H) and many people misspell it as Kash-Ma. I used to dread every new school year, knowing what was to come. The cold breeze in the Sep- tember mornings would always ease the fear and sadness that I was about to walk into. Before even entering the classroom, I always knew what was going to happen when my name was up on the attendance list. I saw how the teachers all gave the attendance paper the same puz- zled look and would say, “Uh... sorry if I say this wrong-- Kajmir?”. In good circumstances, smiles dance across my face when people actually DO get my name right. I always feel so re- lieved not having to repeat myself 100 times more. I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I had a different name. I've never actually met anyone with my name before. A few people had similar spellings, but never actually the same name. Maybe. Maybe I wouldn't feel like a boat lost at sea. My mom told me a few years ago that she had wanted to name me Chelsea, but my father had named me, and so she agreed to Kajmah. Of course, after hearing that, I wished that I had a time machine and could convince them about how giving me that name would change my life forever. Besides this rollercoaster of constant embarrassment and anger, I've realized that, eventually, this ride will end with good times and memories. Sometimes, after I’d corrected them a bunch of times, people would say, “Wow, your name is so pretty”. I used to think it was a slight I'm- sorry-I-can't-say-your-weird-name-but-I-will-make-it-up-by-complimenting-it apology, but have now realized maybe it’s not. Maybe my name is actually pretty in some weird, strange way. So, maybe there isn't any heartbreaking story about where my name came from, but maybe I am the meaning. Over the years I've realized your name isn't just what people refer to you as, it's your name for what’s in you. It's what keeps you from being divided from the person next to you. ~~~~~
I Am Woman Dionyae Mitchell I am woman I am strong and carefree I am woman I am the definition of body positivity I am woman I’ll make you hear me I am woman I can take over the world I am woman I am ambitious You can’t change me I am woman I will be seen I am woman I choose who I wanna be I am woman You won’t change me
justice for all anaiya moore i am a black girl from the bronx who is not afraid to speak what is on her mind who is not afraid to show her curls to the world she raises her fist up to the sky like the sun shining so bright to show that police brutality is not what we call reality that segregation was not in our declaration will you join her with your fist in the air to represent the lost of the black race and make it one big case
Art Lessons Gracie Jeffers When I was a young girl, my mother and I spent most of our time together because my dad worked long hours. To us, my dad was Superman: nearly indestructible. He’d work day and night, nonstop. Although I loved and admired my father, we never spent much time together, nor did we have a lot of hobbies in common. I was more of a “Barbies and tea party” child and he could never seem to play correctly. However, I did notice how often he drew in his free time and saw how creative he was. He was greatly interested in portraits and concrete art, focusing more on surrealism. I devised a plan to spend more time with him and told my mom how I planned to go about it, as if I were a spy. I took it upon myself to join him when he would create his art. I’d wait for him to arrive home and would approach him with pencils, crayons, and paper every day with a loud wel- come of, “Hi, Daddy, I missed you!” Once he noticed my growing interest in his creations, he began to teach me. Every day he’d yell, “Babygirl! Time to start your art lessons!” I never really quite en- joyed art at that time, but I tried anyway. Every day, after a long and tiring day of work at the precinct, he’d teach me a new method. We’d use cross shapes for large teeth, narrow ovals for eyes, and the letter “c” as ears. We’d add personality by enlarging features and making others smaller in a caricature nature, giggling and smiling at our goofy creations. As our bond grew and blossomed, so did my love for art. I began begging my mother for notebooks weekly until she dreaded the art store as much as a child dreads seeing the dentist. I wouldn’t stop until there were no more notebooks to decorate. I’d color on walls or clothes with bright colored markers and sparkly specs of the most beautiful glitters I could find. It was my happiness to create; it lit my world up every time I’d touch a crayon. My strong love for art grew and I have been carrying it with me for the past twelve years. I dream of owning a studio filled with my artwork, incorporating the many skills I’ve learned from my father along with the skills I’ve personally developed and learned in school. Without my persistence in our bond, I might never have realized how much I genuinely love art. Now, my father and I have the tightest bond possible. He continuously applauds me on developments in my technique, along with my persever- ance. The drawing sessions from years prior stick with me and continue to be my fuel to strive and do better. Those little after-work art lessons with my father impacted me beyond anything else and brought me closer to my true passion. ~~~~~
My Hair Samiya Baxter My personal experiences with my hair are different worse when someone tells me that they’re ashamed of every time I do it or get it done. Since my hair is on the their natural hair. I also feel like this occasionally. I more curly-coiled side of “hair typing,” I would say it's blame society for making individuals with more tex- between 3C and 4A because some parts are more tex- tured hair feel and think this way about themselves. tured than others. 3C curls have a circumference of the Hair is a source of empowerment in many cultures, but size of a pencil or straw. 4A hair is tightly curled hair in America, the beauty standards and stereotypes make that can look coarse. The curl usually is a repeated “S” it difficult to feel proud and at peace with your differ- or “Z” shape. People use “hair typing” to understand ences. the relationship and differences between straight, wavy, curly, and coiled hair. When I was in kindergarten, I realized that people have different types of hair. It was my first real bullying ex- My relationship with my hair is complicated. It brings perience. I’d be minding my business, playing with my me confidence and compliments, tears and tantrums, best friend, and a little boy would always tell me that and sometimes makes me late for school. Over the my hair looked ugly. I remember crying, telling the years, it's been trained with routines to be more man- teacher, and telling my mom about it. I’d also ask my ageable. It can still be very stressful. I would usually ask mom to try doing different hairstyles so he’d stop talk- my mother or grandmother to help me, but they are ing about my hair. My mother had experience in the ed- both impatient and rough. Doing my hair or having it ucation system and called the teacher every week and done in a “protective style” are my best options. Pro- complained. When he came to me to give me his daily tective styles are low manipulation styles or styles that option, I’d ask what exactly was wrong with my hair. I don't require to be maintained often. They can consist learned it wasn’t the texture, the color, or the style: it of braids, twists, cornrows, wearing wigs, and whatever was the barrettes on the beginnings and ends of my else that does not require you to redo the hairstyle twist! Eventually, I stopped caring and I made sure to often. These types of hairstyles can help grow your hair, tell on him every day. By the beginning of the first along with constantly taking care of it. grade, I discovered that that he had gotten held back in kindergarten. Since then I’ve believed in karma. Most of the styles I wear are “protective styles”. As a high school student, it makes my everyday life a little I often get, “Does hair matter to you?” or “Should hair easier. Hairstyles come and go and probably will come matter to society?” I don’t have an answer to these back again. I am usually open to trying new hairstyles, questions. I love my hair and I take care of it. I also make but I've also had to deal with people's negative com- sure it looks “presentable”, whatever that means. So, ments and options. maybe it does matter to me. But hair has always been used to objectify women, men who choose to keep “I would never let my child get braids like that.” “That’s their hair long, people who choose to keep their hair way too long.” “It’s not age-appropriate.” are examples short, and others who don’t have hair. Some individuals of commments that have been made to me. Usually, I have health conditions that require them to not have don’t take the time to let words like these get to me, hair, others decide that they don’t want it. So, going but it does upset me sometimes. It makes me feel back to the second question, hair shouldn’t matter to
society; it is important for the wrong reasons. hair and she was furious. My curls were not completely damaged; however, my mother decided to frequently My hair has changed so much throughout my life. I’ve get my hair cut down. I partially blame the hairstylists always had thick hair until I was about nine to twelve for not being informative and recommending a perm (I years old. At that age, my mother was my primary hair never got it). I also blame my father for not following care giver, but when I would spend weeks at a time with my mother’s instructions. My dad was told to let my my dad, he would take me to a Dominican hair salon to aunt braid my hair. All he had to do was take me to her get a “wash and set''. I would have my hair shampooed house, but because the hair salon was closer, that's and conditioned, then put into rollers, put under the where he chose to take me. hooded hair dryer, blow dried, and lastly, flat ironed. My father was unaware of the negative effects that had Overall, everyone’s hair experience is different because on my hair. After going there every two weeks for about everyone’s hair is different. Most of mine was a learning eight weeks, my hair started to get thin. experience. I learned what styles, products, routines, etc…, are harmful and and which ones are helpful to my After those same eight weeks, my mother returned hair. If I had never learned these hard lessons, I would from her work trip. She noticed the difference in my probably have made worse mistakes on my own.
Letter to Self D'Aria Williams Dear Future Self, I hope you're doing well Containing peace without a sweat Not living in total regret Listening to loved ones who are there for your best interest Rather than pushing them to the cliff's edge Transforming a stone cold heart Into a warm, cherishing place for others All the puzzle pieces are complete To be able to fight the obstacles that block the smooth path To be light and free as a bird To let go of the unnecessary luggage And to soar beyond the sky's limit Dear Present Self, What's the problem? What's stabbing your heart badly, Causing it to bleed heavily To turn it into stone? Causing you to dwell in sorrow? Causing you to slowly rot inside? Causing you to lose your grip? I advise you: Keep holding on to the handle Look past the pain Forgive the person who stabbed your heart heavily Learn to open your heart Thaw it out Share it out with others Regardless of what happens Always keep your heart open Learn to fight along with allies instead of being the enemy Fight the demons that are slowly feasting on you, inside out Let's destroy these demons together You're not alone Dear Past Self, I envy you dearly I want to be happy, like you Is it because you have something I don't? That loved one? The one who is in your corner Encouraging your success Where you turned out to be, Being able to say, \"I can do it!!\" And kept moving forward.
Best of Both Worlds Leslie Sandoval Born in the Americas. But rich Mexican warrior blood flows through my veins. Not from here or there. I am from Vapor rising from the pots like a hot air balloon. I am from plates full of rice and bean, Bursts of flavor. Food is gold. Food is Everything. Tamales being rolled up in dry corn leaves. The tasty food overpowering my mouth like a gusher. The sound of tortillas smacking against the smooth flat griddle comal, Radiant and illuminating faces surrounding the table, From playing Vicente Fernandez’s soft, sentimental, heartbreaking guitar strums To Michael Jackson’s upbeat, empowering music on blast. Not knowing how to speak either English or Spanish, But something in between. Quinceañeras. From girl to woman A big pink dress, Family and friends, A lavish feast and many guests. A mariachi band, Armonia and melodies, A tasty cake, Decorations galore! Music to be heard Dances to be learned. But… It’s exhausting. Keeping up with two identities. Careful not to delve too deep. Too Mexican for the Americans Too American for the Mexicans. Gotta be more Mexican than the Mexican More American than the American. Got to work twice as hard as the typical American.
Finding a balance between both. Like a seesaw. I am from both sides of the border. The sun is smiling at us. I am from the red, white, and blue flag filled with shining, hopeful stars. But also I am from the red, white, and green flag with a mighty golden eagle preying on a snake on top of its cactus throne. I cherish all of who I am and where I’m from. My life filled with love and so I love you. I’m not American Nor am I Mexican. I am a proud Mexican American. Best of Both Worlds.
Breeze Nailah Edwards Let this breeze feel like freedom A peace of mind as the leaves Sing with the air Air I must breathe persuades Me to sing I feel the wing of a beautiful bird Sing to me, I’m a queen Seein’ green May fifteen be a routine Routines become an unseen machine Rise and shine, little queen Just pop like a cup of caffeine and lean cuisine And can’t drink saline But I heard you sing “billie jean” In search of a machine Between nineteen screens
Inferiority - - - - - Johanna Vicente My age is immature It is the bane of my existence Maturity controls the knob Of the volume at which I am allowed to speak My gender is imperfect Compared to the coveted masculinity I am not allowed to exhibit traits of A phase is a phase This one I hope to never outgrow Taking a stand against tyranny And proving against what I am taught About myself And correcting how I am treated Where Did I Go Wrong? Athena Ysabel Johnson My heart starts to beat When the birds are sleeping Memories start to get warm And the trees have stopped dancing And I wonder And it makes me wonder Where did I go wrong Where did I go wrong? My eyes start to sparkle But something is missing I can still hear your footsteps Someone is missing I still remember your scent I still remember your favorite song I don’t miss him at dawn And the giggles and laughs on our way to class When the moon and sun meet The times you told me about Or when the birds chirp Why I’m so special I don’t miss him at 3pm Why I’m so different When the sun is shining And it makes me wonder And the trees are dancing Where did I go wrong? I only miss him at 3am
Haven’t Seen You Since Our Very Last Kiss Raquel Almendarez Haven’t seen you since our very last kiss Why do you have to act like this Left the night before Guess you had help keeping the bed warm Priceless wine sitting on the dusty piano u pretend u know how to play Different rooms and you still think the same People said we were a pair But they can’t say ‘cause they were never there Mary, I loved you ‘cause you were a mystery Now we have a bad history Should have known your friends always told me that “every guy writes love letters to Mary” You never were my girl, Mary Bet you didn’t know I ran for the train Just so I could kiss you in the rain Called it off in November After 4 years of saying it’s forever Playing our favorite country songs on the jukebox While you kept all your letters under your bed in a shoe box Singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio Next thing I know, you’re blaming my male ego No guys saw through your lies With brown hair and green eyes You play the nice girl so well That when you’re gone, it hurts like hell So I moved on to a new girl, Mary At first it was scary But now I don’t have to write love letters to you, Mary.
They’ll mesmerize you Altar Boyz Seduce you Wit their perfection Yaralee De La Cruz Clean-cut hair Pearly white smile Vowed to protect me Steam pressed Like the body of Christ Lintless Yet you trampled Cassock and Surplice All over my heart Mannerisms You chewed, That you could bring to Father Tore, and spit Perfection It out like Used to Enchant Gum Your mind Losing its flavor. Hypnotize you Te odio! Into obsession They lure you in “Te amo. Wit all their bullsh*t promises You fill my chalice Wit their aquamarine bloodstone With your wine Eyes of lies Of glory, peace, They make the butterflies And affection. In your stomach You are my Lamb. Into bloodthirsty moths I want to fill That feast on your Your womb Hopes and Dreams. With my inheritance, The seed of my fruit. Your motto is I worship you. “To serve” You’ve led me Then where’s To Heaven. The Service Te amo.” (Love) I f**king deserved! Te odio. Why couldn’t you I regret Treat me Letting you fill Like I was one of those Mi alma Sacred objects With your strong You so cherish! Narcissus Poeticus. When you said you loved me Incense. Did you strike your breast It still occupies my brain Out of respect Intoxicates For the one you My sinuses. “Worshipped,” You were my Or had your fingers crossed? Knight in golden amor The curls I once caressed To sense Pleasure
Feel like “F**k You!” A crown of thorns And lets you burn In my memory In Hell! You took my secrets, No Mercy Insecurities No Salvation Solidified them Into rocks *WARNING! BEWARE!* And stoned me with them To make me feel Altar Boys [noun]: I was the black sheep Males wit sour milk c** You manipulated me B*lls that haven’t dropped To crucify myself Synonyms: To paint you P***ies The saint Judas You claimed Wolves in sheep’s clothing I led you to Heaven Devils. Well I hope That Fatima says (Yet Devils were Angels once) **********
Dear Heartbreak Mildred Cardenas Dear Heartbreak, There are 5 stages to you. It’s different for all of us or looks different for all of us. Denial. Loving someone hurts. You deny the break up. You make yourself believe that it was just a little petty argument. That they will come back. You whisper to yourself while crying in bed “It’s not over. It’s not over”. Anger. All the lies they told you get to your head. They must have had their fingers crossed. You reminisce in your mind about how you want to get to them back, hit them, yell at them, and just scream your pouring heart out to them. Because all you do is question… why? That makes you feel like boiling hot water in your body. “We can try again, right? Act like nothing ever happened.” Bargaining. The stage where you try to fix it. Fix something you should let go of. “Be patient with me and don’t fall in love with someone new. Try with me again,” you may say. Depression. You want to be gone. They burned you with their words. You feel like you can’t breathe. Bags under your eyes. Crying in your room, trying not to be loud so other people won’t hear you. Your throat clamping up, so it feels like you have a necklace of thorns on it. It just hurts too bad. Lastly, Acceptance. You understood the lesson. At this stage, they come back because they al- ways do. But you don’t fall for it. At the end of the day, you realized you always just wanted them. You never needed them. So, these are the 5 stages to you. You are bitter, hurtful, and aching. Sincerely, the girl that never wants to see you again
O' Daughter of Mine (The Stages of Grief) Everett Reed Daughter, why did you die? O’ child of mine? Daughter, why did you go? Go to the light? We all change in the dark, we twist and turn. Was it my fault, the same? You shift, you burn. Daughter, I’m at my lowest. Why must you fade? Yet you choose to forgo us, just to sit in the shade. Is it beautiful there? Your house in the sky? Is it better than here? O’ daughter of mine? For I sit and I wait, one day to climb. To bring you back home, to see how you fly. Mother is asking, oh where did you go? I have nothing to tell her, for I do not know. I write you this poem, in hopes that you see. Though more than anything else, I long to be free.
Tales from the Abandoned Forest Anjali Misir Since my grandmother died during the SECTION 2.8.1 RIVER GENOCIDE, there have been numerous whirlpools of utter darkness trying to conquer my heart. It’s been ten days since; even so, things continue to lose their meaning. Nothing makes sense anymore. As I aimlessly walk towards the tranquil and safe abode my grandmother and I once shared, the stench of decomposing corpses and red-stained ponds fill my nostrils with anger. With sorrow. I suddenly feel nauseous. The memories held within my spirit aren’t enough to console me. Not nearly enough to ease the pain that swells from head to toe. Shards of lanterns and gardening pots scatter the front yard. They make a trail leading to my grand- mother’s bedroom. On the ground lays a glass vase. I bend down to inspect and realize that this isn’t just any glass vase, it’s the glass vase. The glass vase that my grandmother cherished. I never knew why--I can’t even ask now--but she adored this glass vase. She’d fill it with fresh daffodils and dandelions right from the garden, had it by her side during every prayer, and filled it with wisteria for when we couldn’t sleep. For when I had nightmares about demons taking her away from me. For when she feared demons would take me away from her. I remember how the light would hit the glass just right during sundown and shine onto my grandmother’s face and hands. She was so beautiful. A stream of tears glides down my cheeks and into the gap of my lips. The streams turn into waterfalls. I put my hands on my face and wail loud enough for the birds to hear. Loud enough for the whole universe to hear. I lay on the ground and see the glass shards once more. They look lost without their caretaker - like they’re grieving for her. They look fragile. Just like me.
2 Weeks Estefania Rosales Confusion lingers, And you still see your past with them, A spark inside of you Still see all the good, the bad, and the ugly, An unknown spark for someone? But you can’t even look at them anymore Every-time you see them, Abandoned, betrayed, and overall confused! Every-time you think of them, Every-time you talk about them, They left you in the dust A slap on the face A lightning bolt of joy strikes you With no real explanation As you come to a conclusion You become the lightning, You’re falling in love! For the first time, The lightning that becomes stronger You’re in love with someone else And stronger, until it is so clear, But, have you ever loved yourself? Overwhelming, but necessary. As the new school year starts, Was everything real? It’s a beautiful start to your September Or, was it in your head? Every day feels like a blooming spring morning Were you the problem? Most afternoons you’ll see them Or, did they cheat? With the brightest smile ever Were you selfish? Or, were they faking it? It makes you have “the butterflies” Were you doing too much? It makes you have blushing spots Or, were they doing too little? A realization that you’re finally happy, Happy with someone else A first love that turned out to be But not happy with yourself? A bitter ending. An unfinished chapter? Out of nowhere, those blooming spring mornings An unfinished problem? Turn out to be storming nights Every bit of lightning is every mistake But definitely left behind a broken heart Every night, those lightning strikes And an even more messed up person Come more and more often Barely happy with themselves Sounding louder than silence itself Barely loving themselves Barely accepting the truth. You still see them now,
How to Eat a Wedding Cake Julianna O’Neill What’ll you need: Wedding cake, knife, plate (glass is encouraged, but plastic could also work), small spoon Step 1: Get home from work. Look at the old analog clock you should’ve sold on EBay a long time ago and realize that you should have something to eat before you go to bed. Step 2: Wash your hands in the cold water, jolting your nerves and looking around your surroundings. 3 AM. Only light outside being the porch lights and the lamp you brought three years ago. It honestly seems like yesterday you went into the store and bought it. Your friend said it was a great lamp to “lighten up the mood,” but all you can do when you turn it on is think how god damn dark the rest of your house is… Step 3: Take out your mom’s China plates because, really? You’re going to waste a perfectly good plate on just collecting dust. C’mon! It was for you and- Step 4: Take out the knife and immediately scratch it on the China surface. Let your ears be pierced with the loud screech of metal on glass. Great, you potentially ruined a great gift from your mother just because the sound you created yourself was too much to ask for. Why do you like hurting yourself like this? You say you want to get better, but all you do is com- plain how much your boss sucks without doing much of anything or eating cake that’s been sitting for god knows how long. Step 5: Go into the freezer and unwrap the tin foil on the cake. What you should see (if you haven’t eaten it already, you fat f***) is a good portion of cake. From the color alone, you can see that the black specks on it means it must be poppy seed, with cream cheese frosting. For decoration? A lemon wedge that has frost bite all over it, and should fall apart into your hands the moment you touch it. … your spouse told you that freezing the cake meant that in a year, when you two defrosted it again and ate it, good luck was to come your way and bring good fortune to you two. Nice house, big fancy car, the only problem you would’ve ever had to worry about was whether or not you were to make it for mimosas. Now look at you. Stuck in the childhood house you only inherited because of the life insurance and, from the looks of the house, with the exception of the office space, everything is still the same. You even still sleep in your childhood bedroom. Blue walls decorated with celebrities of yesteryears, bed sheets still having the same scratchy effect as they once did when you were ten years old, and that damn toy box you
probably should’ve gotten rid of but can’t for some reason. Sometimes you take them out and play with them for about thirty minutes. The GI Joes swing through the air as they’re trying to stop the old New York Express from hitting that poor Barbie doll, but hold on! You see the plush mommies trying to untie her, despite their big plush hands barely doing anything. Will Barbie be saved from this disaster? Will GI Joe ever be able to stop Cobra from attacking the love of his life? Will any of this even appear in the next episode?! Step 6: Take a glass of water to the table and set it next to the cake. When you sit down, take the knife and slice a bit of cake, just big enough for your mouth. Step 7: Eat it. Take slow, big bites of the cake. Let the frosting crunch in your teeth while the cake surprisingly stays soft to the touch, with the exception of the poppy seeds. Feel yourself immersed in the chewing experience. Oh, you like it, don’t you? This bakery quality cake, is it bringing you more joy than that promotion you had four years ago. Was $2000 not enough to satisfy your human instincts? Of course not, and why would it? Your mouth still salivates when thinking about your “Lady of the Night”: Rosemary, Joeline, Chloe, Jasmine, Jackson. You can still feel them clearly. Their soft lips touching yours, how you would slip off your wedding rings before putting your hands on their waists and using the only one-liner you know from the local newspaper. You watched as they all smiled and blushed at the comment, asking you to “Tell me more” lines and it worked like clockwork. Ask for her name, tell her a quick anecdote that hasn’t been relevant in your life, watch her laugh and snort, and bingo! You got her into your car and drove off to your house. You still have some maraschino cherry lipstick stains on your white tee shirt. When you smell your shirt, it takes you back to all of those nights ago where clothing was thrown on the floor and it was just you and- “James?” He looked up to see Madeline looking up at him. Her long jet black hair was ever so close to touching him. Big blue eyes shining so glittery at him that they were almost diamond-like. Two days after their wedding night and she was holding a piece of their wedding cake. “Maddy, what good would this ritual do-“ “I’m just saying, James, it’ll be nice to do it. My parents have done it, my grandparents have done this, their par- ents, and so on.” “But isn’t it weird to eat a year old cake?” “Not when done right,” she added a chuckle before placing it in the freezer. “Oh, Maddy, I hope this works.”
“Of course it will. Listen, this is just a temporary living situation. All we have to do is save a couple of dollars-“ “More like a couple of thousand--“ “And move out in about a year. Then, we eat the cake and celebrate moving day.” “And then what?” “Live out the American dream.” “Or as we call it-“ “The Rat Race!” They both laughed together. With a small pepper kiss, James went over to the stove and turned the heater on. You’re losing her again. You see the wedding photo of you and her, all smiling with champagne almost spilling on her pure white gown. Her bubblegum pink lipstick still on your cheek and lips as her veil was pushed back. Then, the image distorts. You see yourself completely gone while she still stands in front of you. This time, you just see black mascara staining her face, but that is it. Just her eyes dilated at you. No nose or mouth, just smooth patches of skin. Everything around her is glitching out. Her head jolts from left to right, coming closer and closer to her. Raising her hand, she revealed her axe to you. The same one your father gave you on your 18th birthday. Still shiny and new and red. “WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?!” A voice said so loud. Was it her voice? You’re not even sure as all you can hear is distorted voice after voice all saying the same thing in harmony. The axe rose higher and higher, her angle becoming impossibly straight. Her fist tightening the handle of the axe. Her eyes at this point were pitch black and you couldn’t see where the irises ended and her pupils began. Then, and only then, was axe swung and what you saw-- Step 10: …go to bed. Remember, you must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break the cycle before it repeats again. You must break- ~~~~~
The Witch Savanah Greystone As I ran towards the black door with scissors in my hands as my only protection, my long hair swung in and out of my face as I kept turning back to see where the man who was chasing me was. I pushed through the black door and smoke filled my lungs. I started to feel myself fall to the ground and, before everything went dark, all I could see was the full moon and hear the sound of a dog barking. As my eyes slowly shut, I saw a woman slowly coming towards me. Her hands were glowing and that’s when I went out cold. Blinking. I kept blinking my eyes as I came back to consciousness. I could finally see clearly, and I looked up to see the same woman with glowing hands with her back turned to me. I started becoming aware of my surroundings. I was strapped down to a chair. I started to panic. As she started to turn around, I could see her mixing something together. “You’re awake,” she said with a smile. “What do you want from me?” I asked, nervously. “I am trying to help you. I saw that man after you, so I decided to help a future witch out,” the woman said, still smiling. “Witch? What do you mean future witch?” “You, Felicia, are the next head witch. It runs in your family. Your mother is one, her mother was, and so are you.” I sat there, flabbergasted and confused. “Let’s get started!” she said.
Through a Carnival Door Wisdenia JeanCharles Through a carnival door I saw the darkness of the world Children being kidnapped and killed Mothers and fathers crying a river of souls For they lost their most precious treasures Their secrets carved with fear Silence was their demon No one sees what's underneath A child massacre Help! they scream with closing lips Their monsters were real not under the bed The answer was no, for they didn't listen Without constant they touch Like a fly that won’t buzz off They tore their clothes apart, continuing to follow their cravings Ripping souls apart Leaving nothing but traumas Depression came knocking on doors Creating its territory Suicide came knocking next Whispering death is the answer You’re just a woman, they say, know your place Be a robot and be nice Just sit still and look pretty Stop crying and be a man Look strong be strong emotionally and physically One sign of emotion or a tear is weakness Awakening with fear is stepping into the light For the darkness is where they are the safest Accused of having a dark skin For their skin looks powerfully dangerous One shot Two shot Three shot Was it their reflexes or the fear of color That made killing us their salvation? Creating a massacre, a bloody ocean of color Oppression, harassment, expectation, judgement, discrimination, child sexual abuse, assault, rape, and
racism One for the skin is a masterpiece painted in a different color But when you look deeper, you see its true beauty and strength Don’t be ashamed of your skin and don’t judge by looking because their skin is not your skin. Two stop making excuses for their wrongdoings because they’ve ruined lives and caused horror which has been sucked into their victims’ blood. Three be careful what you say and what you do because every word and action can be like a sharp dagger Four learn self-control. Your mind is your biggest weapon. Use it to achieve what you see as impossible. Five we all have a lot of different labels, but at the end of the day, we are all human and we all gonna die someday. ~~~~~ Once Upon a Time? Val Zetino Once upon a time there was a girl called Gina, who was born with nice red silky hair with eyes that shone like emeralds, but also a temper so bad that her parents sent her far away to be locked in a tower. All of that changed one day… the day she would be free and would control her temper. Meet Alan D. Walker, her vigilante, a boy with black and white hair, one blue eye and one gray one. He was trying to steal ex- pensive items from the royal family to help support his parents who couldn’t afford their expensive med- icines. Alan D. Walker is a very determined person who would do anything for his family. One day, Alan tried stealing the royal crown (foolish, I know), but was caught by the royal guards. He tried to outrun them. He tried to hide. He tried to lose them. While he was running (and not paying attention), he somehow ran off a cliff and fell into a convenient pond really close to a waterfall. When the guards got close to the edge, they looked over. The commander decided “There is no way Alan D. Walker could survive a fall like that. Alan is gone and so is that crown” and they went back to the castle without the crown or Alan. Little did they know that Alan was still alive, and that he had the crown. Now, he was ready to go meet Gina…. ~~~~~
One Fatal Day Jackie Garcia-Flores Once there was a woman named Mary. Mary lived a life of wealth; however, her husband was consumed by greed. He left her for someone else. Mary became a single mother, who had to look after her four kids all alone. Although the oldest, Maggie, was often self-centered, she sometimes helped others, too. Then, there were the twins, Milo and Comi: some may even call them evil. Lastly, the youngest, Jose, was loving and kind to others. The evil twins were always jealous of their other siblings because they were the mother’s favorites. So, one day, the twins made a plan to kill them. Mama went to the nearest pueblo to buy food like bread, meat, candy, maze, tortillas, spices, etc. She went every Saturday to shop so the family would have food during the week. One Saturday, the twins took advantage of this and put their plan into action. When Mama left, Milo and Comi knew they had exactly an hour to kill their siblings. “Food is ready!” Maggie yelled. “Okay, coming!” said the twins, Milo and Comi, in unison. “Not that hungry,” said Jose, the youngest. After they finished eating, Maggie washed the dishes while everyone else got ready to go to the event. They started walking out of the house, with the twins following Maggie and Jose. “Let’s do this!” Milo said. “Yes!” said Cami. Their plan was taking shape….
42nd Street The 17 Moons We all look for that one thing that can bring out trying to hail a cab, and those in shock by every- us comfort or provide us a settled feeling. It's one of thing around. the difficult moments we face, because not every- thing brings or can show us our true character. You can feel people all around you, all crowded in like a pack of sardines. Your mind is dis- When you do find yourself with that place or tracted, in total astonishment. You are stuck in such item, it reveals a part of your character and goes into a moment with yourself as you begin to get pushed, the depths of revealing something about your inter- shoved, and moved to the side as everyone goes to est, dislikes, thoughts, or concerns. This can guide their desired destinations. It's a mysterious rush you to a sense of peace and a sense of calmness. through your mind. 42nd Street is the center, eye, and highlight of New York City. The area brings people of all backgrounds This represents and describes me, but it re- together. It also brings people together based on veals the constant thoughts that occur and disappear. their style, how they carry themselves, and their on- My life gets so hectic and I tend to have thoughts going perspectives. everywhere, breaking me piece by piece, causing me to push everyone away. It's so hectic in the area of When you stand in the middle of the street, 42nd Street; it doesn't give people a break or the you discover the lights, the different attractions, the chance to even pace themselves. Just as my over- people, the stores, the traffic, etc... You find yourself thinking periods occur and don't give me the chance staring at billboards with ads of artists, places, or to even feel like myself, the world keeps spinning even apps. Everything seems so big that you tend to as everyone rushes by with no mercy. feel as small as an ant. As people leave and come, my thoughts tend This feeling of excitement rushes through to come and go, but make their way around, just like your body without stopping. Your adrenaline begins everyone in the area. Everyone is in their mind bub- to pump and it's almost as if you can take your heart ble and I consider everyone's bubble a part of my out and feel the fast beating motion. Your eyes glide personality or core memories. everywhere, strained by the lights. You lack the abil- ity to focus on one thing, as everyone around you is The way my eyes are distracted by every- rushing to get through--yelling--you hear all the dif- thing reminds me of my daily distractions such as ferent traffic jams going from one ear to another, as my artwork, poems, reading, and writing. All these your mind stays astounded. distractions build a foundation in Times Square, just like my distractions/interests; they build my growth Your five senses are triggered. You smell as a person, allow me to cope and get through the sugar-coated nuts and the smoke rising in the air hardest parts. 42nd Street--there's never a moment from the hot-dog and pretzel carts, you can almost where everything stops. 42nd Street brings out the taste the sugar-coated nuts as the smell goes from deep function of how my mind works and promotes block to block. You hear the car horns, pedestrians itself. I can never find myself in a moment where arguing with those on bikes, people with their hands everything stops. I always seem to have something
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