New Beginnings

“The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core strength within you that survives all hurt.” – Max Lerner

I miss the little girl I once was
The one who lived and breathed
She will always be a part of me
I have hurt and have been hurt
I have forgotten and forgave
But I will not waiver from myself
I will not shrink as others stand tall
The girl I once was is gone
Along with the beliefs she carried
But I will hold her memories close to my heart
As if they were as fragile as a snowglobe
I will stand in front of her but also
I will stand in front of myself
I can finally breathe

Anderson Highschool


Mauve Azaleas

I watch this place,
as if I were watching Monet
in real time.
Mauve azaleas
flutter as the breeze swept
pollen from their pistils.
Bumble bees decorated
themselves with flaxen dust,
Take what they want,
innocent blossoms.
Indulging until
once petite bodies,
become ponderous.
anther and filament,
Awkward and cumbersome,
their stripes disappear
into yellow daisies.
The way the pollen
moved the gentle wind-
released the dread
of thunder and lightning.

James Bowie High School


This is What The Moon Thinks About

I wish I could recite to you,
all that I know of Earth.
Although, I have kept a respectable distance
from her, for billions of years,
I have learned everything
there is to know.
I envy her-
everchanging green, blue, gold.
Rolling cascades of milky
vapor glide across an invisible
orb— her halo.
I am only a descendent,
of her being,
the leftovers.
This is the reason
I was left,
half encased
in an unbearable
Insufficiently caressed,
gilded arms pay no matter to
the darkest of me.
My only will:
her ocean.

James Bowie High School


Jake’s House

Jake’s House

There was a man whose name was Jake
Who had a house upon the lake
Every morning he would wake
And for breakfast have a piece of cake

He had a private fishing hole;
He always used a long cane pole
He fried his fish on red hot coal
And served it in a great big bowl

For a pet, he had a cat

Wolcott High


I am a cicada

My life started in the ground
I was taught to dig at a young age because that was the only way to stay
away from the predators outside.
They could smell our fear and that is how they hunted us
We felt trapped in the place that was supposed to make us feel safe.
We dug tunnels and created these underground communities that were
We would feed upon the roots of the giving tree because everything else was
This was our life
Dig. Eat. Stay inside…
There are always predators outside.
I heard stories about cicadas who have gone outside and it usually went one
of two ways: they were eaten as soon as they reached the surface
Or they grew wings.
I wonder how it would feel like to fly
To feel a gust of freedom blow off this dirt that has been tattooed to my skin
They told me not to go outside
Because that’s what we were taught when we were young and it seems like
the most logical thing to do right?
But why is it that the place that is supposed to be safe makes us feel like we
can’t be free?
Each year brought me closer and closer to building up the courage to go
Whenever I thought about it, I imagined that gust of freedom again
But I also imagined the predators chewing on my bones.
They hated me despite never speaking a word to me
But they were raised to hate us just as we were raised to fear them.
Then the day came when my shell began to harden
I began to travel to the surface and saw my memories painted on the walls
of these tunnels
My whole life has been down here, but that’s not the life I should have been
I saw the sunlight, the grass, and the sky.
I even saw the top half of the giving tree
It was so much to take in at once but I also noticed that the predators were
nowhere to be seen.
Where the predators ever here?
Or were they made up so no one would leave?
I finally got to the tree trunk and thanked the giving tree for all she has
given me.
My skin began to shed and I felt like the weight of all problems have just
been lifted
I looked back and noticed how ugly my old skin used to be
I could also see my wings and they were ever so beautiful

The Single Star

The speck showing
a future among
Sharpie scribbled skies.

A planet who shines
its hardest with
a raging surface.

A white ray ripping
Through the black hole above,
Gouging out soulless eyes.

An Idea written
Out of goals to break
walls emitting shadows

A spot separated
From where it belongs,
though it belongs nowhere.

A strength shown as
It bursts through
What seemed impossible.

The Dream untouchable, but
Desire still sits,
Waiting to be reached.

The Star, alone, one of many.

James Bowie High School


Dark Static

Foggy eyes, grabbing at a
Lack of glass
Only dark fuzziness in front of her

A window coated in 3 years worth of dust and dirt,
A thin sheet of water descending in front of her face,
A screen of a spring door
speckled with dead fly legs

The shards of her glasses
Into her palm, her eyes left

Withering weeds caressing her ankles
The enraged wind licking her bare shoulders
The faint smell of distant roadkill assaulting her nose

An empty black sky, clinging to her fingertips
Her hands pressing through
endless layers of black brick walls

She could hear coyotes calling
cubs nearby, yet
Nothing was seen.

James Bowie High School



salty liquid
sand scraped
knees and

You force breath,
burning eyes,
and land
on its unwavering form.

Once one with it,
sure to be there for the rest of eternity.
Cold, blue bloated body
lost among the fish and coral.

Lost concentration,
diverted by the cerulean tint,
unconscious of approaching waves.

Washing over you,
filling lungs,
uselessly fighting.
Flailing limbs,
limp after several moments.

Unaware how you got to shore,
hazzines encompases you.
It must have spit you out,
once the dark overcame you.

You know it to be merciless at times,
pushing the body and the mind,
forcing you to fight for whatever you’ve come to it for.

It’s allure transfixing,
morbid curiosity daring you to jump back in,
let the harsh waves provide the comfort you crave.

It’s a safe harbor,
and its cruel,
and you’ll never be able to drag
yourself away from it.


The Stars of Starry Night

His favorite painting was Starry Night.

Gazing at the bright yellow and white stars swirling into the dark blue night.

And you see I was those stars.

And he was the dark night sky.

Our colors beautifully blending together,

Contrasting in the most breathtaking way.

His dark blue brush strokes wrapped around my bright yellow ones.

Kissing every star making up the sky.

The sky made love to the stars.

Colors bleeding together with slight hints of light green.

We were a harmony of hues spreading across the canvas.

But time carried on.

Our colors fading and separating.

The sky was almost unrecognizable.

We were no longer the beautiful colors blending together in a harmony of hues that made the choice of the piece.

He no longer looked at me the way he looked at those stars.

I felt as if I were a cheap replica of a masterpiece

With too harsh of lines and color two shades too light.

He was no longer my sky.

The colors blended into a muddled mess.

We were no longer the masterpiece everyone awed at.

And that night that everything went down,

The arguing,

The anxiety,

The crying,

Because he wasn’t aware of the stars that waited patiently at his door.

Growing dimmer and dimmer with each missed call as I stood at his front door.

Each knock and ring of the doorbell gone unnoticed.

I was no longer his stars.

And after we said our goodbyes,

I sat back in my car.

Looking into the clear and starless night.

The Good Ol’ Days

The good ol’ days

When naptime was the best time

You would always fall asleep to a nursery rhyme

And climbing trees would leave you with

Bruised skin and skinned knees


The good ol’ days

when everything was an adventure

You would always move the couches and all of the furniture

And play lava, build forts, and get into all

Sort of trouble


The good ol’ days

When your best friend was a teddy bear

You would take him to school and nobody would care

And now you’re learning how to share

And you think it’s not fair

For life to ever be this way


The good ol’ days

When it was plain and simple to see

That you didn’t have to worry about what you really wanted to be

Or what you wear

The color of your hair

Or even if you were allowed to swear

Where has the time gone?


The good ol’ days

I’m losing that sight

These colorful photos are turning to black and white

Those memories will soon fade

But oh how much I’d pay

To just go back to the good ol’ days