"Scary Nights"
by Savā Ford These times a due When the house is a blue Creepy sounds coming from upstairs The shattered glare coming from out there It makes me cringe when I feel wind in the air Yet it causes me to stare, in silence Knowing I am alone in the room I began to fear the gloom in the air Yet it's not fair, before this day I felt the urge to be alone But here I stand on the phone Hoping to not be alone On This Scary Night It's a sudden freight That brings a lot of height, upon me Lock the door and close the blinds There's someone lurking behind me Waiting to be released in my room In the darkness I feel the doom In the air That gloom that's in the air The shadows that really stare In the silence of being alone We’re scared to go outside We're afraid to be upstairs Bute we’re soldiers in the light Waiting to attacked that night Because we’re never scared Just fearful and prepared On these scary nights Savā is a junior. She enjoys listening to music and writing in her free time.
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The Miracle On Ice
By Sterling Bryant This is the story of my first time seeing a Hockey Game, this is the game that I learned of The Soviet Union's reputation for Dominance and this is also the game that I learned that Reputations aren’t everything. The United States Team Starters were Goalie- Jim Craig, Defenseman-Ken Morrow, Defensemen- Mike Ramsey, Center- Mark Johnson, Left wing- Rob Mcclanahan, And Right Wing- Dave Silk and The USSR Team Starters were Goalie- Vladislav Tretiak, Defensemen- Viacheslav Fetisov, Defensemen- Alexei Kasatonov, Center- Vladimir Petrov, Left Wing- Valeri Kharlamov, Right Wing- Boris Mikhailov. “Dmitry! Dmitry!” I hear my Mama calling my name. “Yes Mama?” I call back, trying to look through the hoards of people that were filing into the stadium. After finding her, I navigate my way towards her and my father, who were frantically scanning the crowd looking for me. “Never run off like that again”, my father scolded me. “I just wanted to see the Stadium”, I retorted and my father nodded. We had just arrived in New York from Philadelphia and i was so excited, we were going to watch the Olympic Hockey game between The United States of America and my parents’ home nation, The USSR. I pulled on my father's shirt, signaling that we should hurry up and get inside, he nodded, told my Mother something and together we pulled our eyes away from the stadium and began to walk inside. As we waited in line to get inside my mind was racing. I was going to see Jim Craig!! The best goalie in the world in my opinion. I’ve never seen him play in person and i couldn’t wait. “C’mon Dmitry”, my Mother said. When we found our seats she asked, “Do you want something to eat before it starts”? “No Thanks, When's it going to start”, I moaned impatiently. “The players are still warming up”, my father said, “Look, there’s Jim Craig” “WHERE!” “In front of the goal nearest to us”, He answered. I looked in awe. My favorite player in the world is right in front of me. As i was watching Jim Craig warm up i realized that one day i wanted to be just like him. Then, the players lined up on each side with their respective teams and first played the USSR National Anthem then they played the USA’s. Then the game started. “No Way that the US pulls this out”, Said my Father to my mom and she nodded. “Why not”? I asked. “Well you see Dmitry, there are certain things that people are just better at than other people. Hockey is to The USSR as baseball is to the United States.” was his response and, upon seeing the confusion on my face he continued his explanation. “Originally in the 1890s Russians played Hockey but it was with a ball instead of a puck and it had the rules of field hockey instead of hockey hockey. First, since hockey is played on ice, people in an icy climate will be more adept to moving their bodies in the cold or at least be able to do it better than someone who grows up in California”, he smiles at me. “So since the climate in The Soviet Union is colder they have an advantage?” I asked “Of course,” he replied,” they’ve even earned themselves the nickname “The Big Red Machine” for their Ice Hockey prowess. RIIING. The bell signaling the end of the quarter rings. The Score was 1-0 to The USSR and it looked like they were going to pull away. Maybe Dad was right… I think that my father sensed that i wasn’t seeing this as anything more than a hockey game because he began to tell me how important the game was to the political world if America could pull out a win and how especially important it would be if the Americans were to suffer a heartbreaking loss. “You know that these Olympic games are being held during times of political unrest, right?" he asked me. “Of course”, I replied, “The Cold War, we’re learning about it in school”. “Right, he said, now imagine how superior either one of these countries might feel if they know that they are more dominant than the other in a physically grueling sport like Hockey. It would vastly improve the moral of the winning country. This game, along with the other events that have both the Soviet Union and The United States competing in them, could possibly impact the spirits of the citizens in that respective country and the people fighting in that country as well.” That was a lot of information to soak in for me. So i just resorted to nodding my head and watching the game and trying to process it in tandem. The Second Period had just ended, The United States was falling behind 3-2 and i was watching the Soviet union celebrate their lead prematurely I thought. As I watched Vladislav Tretiak return to his place in front of the Soviet goal post a question popped into my head. “Do you think that America can win?” “I think that we shouldn’t count them out just yet, he said, but I think that the wisdom of experience will always trump the energy of youth” I took this as saying that he thought that Russia would pull away but he was right, you can’t count America out just yet because despite being down 1 point, they did score twice against a revered Soviet Defense. “SHH”, my Mother hissed, it’s the final minute” I have never heard a place get so loud in my life, however as soon as the players got out of the timeout the arena was deadly silent. USA had the puck and the whole Arena watched in amazement as Mike Eruzione skillfully weaved through Red Jerseys until he made his way to the Soviet Goal Post. In the split second between Mike Eruzione getting to the goalpost and him hitting the puck everyone knew what was going to happen. “GOAL”, The PA announcer yelled, “DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?” I looked excitedly at my father but when I saw him he looked extremely sullen. At the moment I hadn't even realized the internal conflict that my father would have been facing since he was born in the Soviet Union but moved to America. “What’s wrong?” i asked “Nothing Dmitry, Nothing” “Are you mad because the USSR lost?” “I'm not angry Dmitry, I’m just conflicted” “Didn’t you want the United States to win? I mean, this is our home.” “ No, this is your home, you’ve been here your whole life, this is the only place you’ve known, and all your friends are here. That isn’t the case for me and your Mother, Dmitry. We only decided to come here once we knew your mother was going to have you. Although we reside in America, The Soviet Union will always be home for us. Our families are still there. It’s just a little heartbreaking to see the Country you grew up in take a loss like this in a sport that we were suppose to dominate in.” The full extent of my father's little speech to me didn't hit me until later when i was alone and had time to contemplate everything he said. This was my story on the events that happened at the “Miracle on Ice Hockey” game that I attended with my parents and to this day, the words of the PA announcer stuck with me. “DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?” Work Cited http://www.arcticicehockey.com/2010/2/28/1330251/shot-totals-in-1980-us-ussr-game https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miracle_on_Ice#The_Soviet_and_American_teams https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ice_hockey_in_the_United_States https://russkiyhockey.wordpress.com/2009/10/07/history-part1/ http://blog.acton.org/archives/82630-how-hockey-helps-us-understand-russia.html http://www.usahockey.com/miracle Sterling is sophomore. He originally wrote this piece for his United States History II class. Chocolate is a Bad Boyfriend
by Isabella C. I’ve always said this to myself The sweetest of your attention towards me Makes me want more of you Your color so rich and smooth Dare I say you tease me As soon as you get everything that you want from me I’m left alone and drunk in your taste Chocolate, you're so good to me like a lover In moments when I need you the most, you’re never there for me And when you are there to give me the pleasure I so crave, I’m left clutching my stomach I see you with other people, giving them what you gave me Such a candy that’s superior My favorite one to really savor I work hard to have you in my hands Never cheap to come by I know that large amounts of you is not good for my body Wanting you all to myself I don’t care if you make me feel fat The feelings that take over are just empty calories Isabella is a senior at Franklin High School. She enjoys writing, reading, and theater. "You"
By Sierra Schiff Emptiness; like a silent balloon deflating into the cold, winter air. The air used to feel so much more vibrant when you were here. I have graying hair; my appetite is thin. Where have you been? Stress upon stress, and even more built up stress ignites a fire in my soul. The shackles of guilt entangle me into their grasp. My mouth can no longer speak. My body shrivels, and I become weak. A wise man once said, ¨Not all who wander are lost.¨ Yet I am a wanderer and I am lost in those thoughts of mine, wondering, Where did I go wrong? The pain is real, It is all I feel. I have found someone who lights up the dimness that is life. But reality sets in and at the end of the day I become a meaningless nothing. Because of you, I am afraid. Sierra is a Junior. In her spare time, she enjoys reading and writing. "Safe Haven"
by Jada Bethea Reminiscing about when things were easy. About hours of free time, Morning cartoons, Nap time in the afternoon. When you thought 5 dollars could buy you a house. When coloring was all you could think about. Things are different now. You feel as though the years keep getting tougher. Maybe it's because they are. You feel as though you keep reaching farther to dig up the happy memories. Maybe it's because you are. That doesn't mean things are the way they have to be, the way they should be, You can decide to initiate the change, To take control of your life. But it's not that easy, Cause then we'd all be okay. It takes time. Just concentrate on moving forward, Even if you're not sure what you're moving towards. Search for anything to live for, Even if there's no home to live in anymore. Give yourself a purpose, And remember your loved. But don't forget the work you put in to get here. Don't disown the pain and the tears. Recognize your strength, Find happiness in the small things When you discover a new and promising opportunity. It does you know good to turn the other cheek. It's okay if you don't believe in what I'm saying now. Because someone will stay by you anyway, Accept you in every way, Hold you close everyday. You'll always have a safe haven. Jada is a sophomore. She enjoys reading and writing in her spare time. "Reality Check"
by Jada Bethea They say I talk to walls. I scream at them and tell them to leave me alone, scratch my face until I break skin and then laugh at their horrified faces. You see, I’m sane. They’re not. That’s where everyone seems to get it wrong. They’re jealous that I can see what they can’t. I’m envied for my gifts. Wherever I want to go, I’m there within a matter of seconds. Right now, I’m at this amazing parade in - “God dammit Romona stop banging on my bed!” Jody hollers. “Jody! What are you doing in Rio baby?” “What the hell are you talking about?” she groans. Suddenly my surroundings fade from painted bodies and brazilian bird mascots, to the all white furniture that occupies my home. That happens from time to time. I’ll see something one second, and the next, it’s gone. It sounds terrifying but you shouldn't be afraid. There’s not one thing in this world that ever remains permanent. “Rise and shine wack-a-doodle-doos. Breakfast is already getting cold and the longer you sit here the less rec time you have.” Anthony grumbles. “Hey An-TONY... You know what else is on the menu?” Katie asks mischievously. “Eggs, toast and drugs to keep you as sane as humanly possible. Breakfast. Now.” He leaves the doorway, rolling his eyes as he departs. “Dream on cupcake, he’ll never belong to you.” Jody chuckles. Katie glares at her and spits, “Bite me.” Jody shrugs. “I just might.” “Hey! Come on now guys, we’re better than this.” I interrupt. “Oh look! Happy-Go-Lucky is here to swoop in and save the day! Preach your lovey-dovey feelings to someone who cares .” Katie sneers. My anger gets the best of me. “Hmm. Little lonely these days, are we? I heard that Tallia next door is looking for some company.” Katie lunges towards me but I dip out of the room before her knuckles find my face. The hallway lights flicker as I run my callused hands along the bumpy wall. My eyes search the doorways until they locate “142” printed in faded, black lettering. I creep to the bed on the side of the room. It’s still dim enough for my shadow to be a fuzzy figure on the tiled floor. I tap her shoulder. “Melani!” I whisper. “Melani, it’s me.” She rolls over and smiles a toothy grin. Her ice-cold fingers brush against my cheeks and wrap around my tan neck, pulling me closer. “Romona.” she breathes. I stand up, tugging on her arm like a toddler. “C’mon let’s get something to eat. I wanna show you off to those psycho freaks.” I laugh as we stumble out of the room, hand in hand. • • • I take her to the park, sometimes the river bank, but my all time favorite is the back of the bar on 47th street. “What happened next?” Melani says as she taps my shoulder excitedly. “I jumped off!” I respond. She shrieks in giddy horror. “Shut up they're gonna hear us!” I tell her. “Make me…” She backs up against the brick wall and puts on a mock look of fear, bringing her wrist together in front of her like they're bound by handcuffs. I don't move. “I said, make me.” She says. Slightly louder this time. I look away. “ C’mon Melani. I didn't get to finish the story. Besides, we’re out in the open where everyone can see.” I can feel my chest slowly tightening. “It’s not as special.” I add hastily. “That's nonsense. You're with me so it’s as special as it'll ever get.” Her voice has taken on a defensive tone. It shakes as if she's straining against something. I still haven't moved. Her face twitches and then she grabs me by my shirt and slams me against the surface she was once leaning on so innocent-like. The back of my head hits the brick knocking the breath out of me. Her grip is so tight I can't escape. “So ungrateful,” she says. My eyes jump around, searching for anyone within earshot. “Let go.” I whimper. A tear swims down my left cheek. “Okay, fine.” she says with a strained smile. Then without warning she throws me aside. I trip over a bottle of Bud Light and careen towards the concrete. Blood begins to clot at my elbows and my eyes are fluttering in an effort to stay open. I can hear Melani’s feet scuffling across the ground as she makes her way towards me. Just as her face comes into view, the world goes silent and all I can see is black. • • • Nothing is in focus yet. The metal springs of the bed above me greet my eyes as I wake from unconsciousness. The smell of rotten eggs sifts through the barred windows. I turn my head to the side and see Melani staring at me from across the room. Memories from only a few hours ago rush back to me all at once. I sit up too fast and yelp from the pain. “Relax you’re safe. I’m sorry.” she says to her hands. Now looking at me, “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t in control of myself.” She starts to rise. “Don’t come near me.” “Romona please you have to believe me.” she pleads. “You know I love you.” I inhale sharply. “Don’t…” “Don’t what? Admit the truth? Tell you how I feel? Jesus what am I supposed to do?” “Just leave me alone.” I say with gritted teeth. “Why do you do this to me? I give you so much attention, make you the top priority in my life and you treat me like this!” Melani screams into my face. “Look at me!” she growls. I scoff and she slaps me in the face. I thought I’d only have to endure a few more blows after that. But they kept coming. It went on like this until my skin turned red and the numbness was so severe I stopped flinching. • • • I’ve been missing for over two hours. For people who consider us the ones to be mentally challenged, they’re not the sharpest tools in the shed if they haven’t checked the roof yet. Then again, if they had the door to the roof unlocked they don’t really care about us to begin with. The crisp air stings my eyes but I don’t mind. It’s quiet up here. Peaceful even. I’m safe from Melani, or whoever she is now. Safety is only temporary though - but you knew that. I don’t want to always be in a constant state of fear. This panic that I feel now, the desire to run and keep running, I hate it. They’ve always considered me inferior because of the way I think but never have I believed in their words - until now. I look down at the people on the street below me as they walk briskly past each other. They’ll always have somewhere to go. Where am I going? I’ll forever be held a prisoner by these bumpy, old walls, with the faded lettering and the monster from room 142. Right here on this roof, I’m in control. I remember once again that wherever I want to go I can be there within a matter of seconds. And in this moment, the only place I want to go is down. So I take the ultimate leap of faith. Now, I’m free. Epilogue When my partner and I arrive at the crime scene it’s around 2 p.m. “Coroner said she’s been dead for about 6 hours?” I ask. “Yeah. It’s just sick. These mental institutions are suppose to be a place you can trust to look after the ill but they treat them like criminals.” Lee says. I nod in agreement as I step out of the car. All I can think about is my youngest daughter, Naomi, who has Down syndrome. We walk to the cafeteria where we’re told there’s a group of patients for us to question. “Jody, this is Detective Jones. Can you tell her what you told us?” A man named Anthony prompts. “All I know is that this morning I woke up to Romona stressing about some Melani girl. It wasn’t breakfast time though so I just went back to sleep. I got my own issues. Oh! But she was talking about how the girl never loved her. Who’s Melani?” Jody says. “Jones!” Lee yells. “Come take a look at this.” He holds out a manila folder for me to see. It’s Romona’s file. As my eyes skim the document I come across a word that stops me dead in my tracks. “She was a schizophrenic.” I say in defeat. In that moment, everything comes together. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” “Call the Captain.” I hand back the file and start walking to the car because the case is solved. It's clear what’s happened here. The irony of it all makes me sick to my stomach. “I’ll drive.” I say. Lee silently tosses me the keys. He’s realized that this is a personal matter for me. I woke up today thinking I'd be drinking pumpkin coffee right now while finishing the paperwork from the successful close of last week’s case. I'm of course doing none of the above. My vision becomes obscured by tears that I fiercely wipe away. Your imagination can be so cruel. 21st Century Issue:
THE “PERFECT” FEMALE BODY By Elizabeth Augustin “This morning on CNN, Christie Brinkley - an American supermodel and actress admits she is currently struggling with body image. She tells us ‘For some reason I still looked in the mirror and I always find something to pick on. I’ve went from too fat, to too thin, to too muscular. It’s hard being a model. You’re always under pressure to be perfect. Except, I don’t think perfect exists.’” “Emily, what are you watching on the news!? It seems interesting.” My friend Jessica screamed from across the kitchen. She eagerly paced across the tv screen, then plopped down on the couch right beside me. “Hmm, I don’t know. Seems my mom’s favorite model is struggling with her body.” I shrugged and gave a sarcastic laugh, rolling my eyes and waving at the TV. “She’s fine. What is she complaining about? She makes girls like us feel bad.” I quickly lifted up my purple panda pajama t-shirt and grabbed my tummy fat. “I mean, what should I say? She has no reason to complain.” Jessica eyed my tummy and gave a dramatic laugh. “Girl, I just came from the kitchen, I’m near overweight. I hog up all the food in your house and you know it.” She nudged me. I gave a quick peek at her stomach. It was poking out from the thin shirt she was wearing. I mean, she did just eat. I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. The news anchor was speaking now. “2016 was dominated by ridiculous and delusional fitness and health trends. First, the thigh gap. It celebrated woman whose legs don’t touch when there feet are together. Then, came the bikini bridge, where your hips protrude when lying on your back. Even in China they have bizarre challenges including the waist challenge. You hold up a piece of paper which is approximately 8.3 inches and try to see if your waist fits that size. There’s an iPhone 6 challenge to show how skinny your knees are, a 100 Yen challenge for skinny wrists, and a belly button and collarbone challenge! The list goes on!” Anderson Cooper said, setting his papers down. He looked into the camera, his eyebrows raised, and forehead wrinkled. “Let’s hear from you, Don.” I glanced at Jessica who was engaged in the news, for once. She was leaning forward, her hands interlocked. On the TV, Don Lemon was outside a busy New York City street, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, and a long coat on. He clutched his microphone as a stranger came beside him. This man was an African American guy, and he had two friends with him. One was white, the other Hispanic. “What do you perceive as the perfect female body?” He asked the Hispanic male. “Well, men always prefer women who are more feminine,” He gave a shy smile and shrugged. “You know, more boobs, more booty.” His other two guy friends laughed in the back. “Songs never sing about a flat butt.” Jessica grabbed the remote from my hand and put the sound on mute. “Oh my gosh. You know how I used to smoke right? I was skinny. After I stopped I literally gained 20 lbs. I mean, I do get more compliments on my bigger butt than my perky one. It does feel good to get attention.” “Yeah, Jess. You did seem bony… you almost looked boyish.” I chuckled under my breath. Jess had a lot of curves now. Guys digged it. “You know, I never talked to this about you, it might seem crazy. I’ve never told anyone but, um…” I stopped and took a breath. She’s going to be the first person I ever told my anorexic problem to. “Well, I’ve dealt with anorexia.” She gasped, but I kept going, looking down at the wooden tiles. “I knew I had Mike, my boyfriend who loved me. I knew I had you,” I looked up for a second, then back down. “And my family. I knew I had everything. Potential, support, etc. But, I was disgusted at myself. I resorted to self harm to deal with my emotions.” Jessica jumped out of the couch and covered her mouth. “What!?” She pushed my shoulders and lifted my left sleeve up. Faded cuts were visible. I turned red from embarrassment and teared up. “No way. When was this?” “Ninth grade to twelfth.” I whispered. “ I knew you were skipping meals. No wonder. You look so much healthier now.” I didn’t want to continue this topic so I stalled by unmuting the TV. I was a bit sad. Now the Caucasian guy of the group was speaking. “Honestly, us guys don’t want to be the only ones eating. We’d feel awkward. We associate wide hips with childbearing as crazy as it sounds. It’s subconscious.” Lemon nodded and asked the African American guy something. He smiled at him, but quickly turned serious. “Do you think social media has any part in all of this?” He nodded fast and grabbed the mic, looking dead at the camera. “Body image itself is based off of a mental picture of your figure. It’s how you see yourself. Where do you think these girls get the image from? Most likely social media, magazines, the radio. Songs sang by Nicki Minaj’s “Anaconda”, Meagan Trainor’s “All About that Bass.” They promote curvy bodies. This is damaging and enforces an ideal image. Even my girlfriend, she wears a waist trainer to get that small core look. She wants an hourglass body. She’s told me a million times. Gosh, even my boss at work has starved herself. Most of the girls we see on television get surgery to get that perfect body look. Teens and adults really think we could be exactly like that.” He shook his head disappointed, but Don pulled the mic back, in awe. He nodded slow, indicating he was impressed. “Wow, you’re absolutely right. What’s your name, sir?” “Davon Jackson.” He said, smiling. One of his friends came from behind him. “Yeah, man. With apps like Snapchat, Facebook, Instagram… it’s kind of hard not to give in to the hype. It gives us all the tools we need to compare ourselves to others. I’m sure we’d all want to be whatever is getting cherished. We all want to be seen when we walk into a room. The Kardashians are a great example of that. They enforce the idea of a “curvy” body. They go through great extents to look good.” I turned off the TV and gave a loud sigh. I rubbed my temples and looked at Jessica. “They’re so right. Oh my goodness. I need to start loving my body for what it is. I don’t want to give into the trend. I’d rather love what I got.” I started to say. “Same, girl. Oh look, your mom’s walking our way.” She got up and hugged her. “I could hear the TV from upstairs. You know, I had this magazine lying around in my bedroom. Maybe you should take a peek. She took an issue of TIME magazine. Printed in bold was ‘BODY CRAZE.” I opened it up and showed Jessica. She leaned in closer to me. Inside was a bunch of statistics on this matter. My eyes ran across some. “Approx. 91% of women are unhappy with their bodies and resort to dieting to achieve their ideal body shape. According to statisticsbrain.com 80% of woman agree media makes them feel insecure. 58% of college girls are pressured to be a certain weight.” I flipped to the back of the magazine where they explained the body type valued in each decade. “Classic Beauty - Ancient Greece Woman with chubby arms and legs are considered beautiful. Food is a sign of health. During the Great Depression men preferred curvy woman because it associated with wealth. 1900 - The Gibson Girl Ideal femininity deciphered as slender, tall, with voluptuous bust and wide hips. 1950 - Post War Remained fuller figured, hourglass women were prized such as Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly. 1960 - Twiggy Minimal chest, boyish look was the new sign of beauty. 1980 - Hardbodies Increase and emphasis on fitness. 1970 - Thin Is In Anorexia was common. Ladies took diet pills to decrease hunger. 1990 - Heroin Chic A bony appearance is valued. 2000s - Now Ladies who have an hourglass body is valued like Kim Kardashian. Ladies work out often, but there are still many diabetic people in the U.S. Issues with Anorexia is still common.” was written on the magazine. Jessica shrieked and pointed to a statistic on the magazine. She read it out loud. “81% of ten year olds are afraid of being fat. Geez, that’s young, Emily. They shouldn’t be worried about that yet.” I frowned and turned the page. “Daughter of Billy Joel shares out to us. ‘I don’t have a completely flat tummy, or cellulite free thighs, nor am I a model shape, or height. But, I still feel beautiful. Everyone should too.” “I like that,” I pointed out. “That’s my viewpoint on body image from now on. Trends come and go, but self love is forever.” “We need to start focusing on loving ourselves instead of following the trends. Now, lets go to Planet Fitness then eat ‘til our heart’s content.” Outside, my mom’s car honked. I gave a gigantic smile and said, “Lets.” Elizabeth is a sophomore. She enjoys writing in her spare time. She originally wrote this piece for her United States History class. Monarchy of the Mind
(Villanelle) By: Skylar D’Angiolillo I live in a castle of fear and degradation. No amount of morphine can dull this pain. You claim you can offer me salvation. You enter my home in disbelief, frustration. Even the strongest still turn insane. I live in a castle of fear and degradation. Your kind words threaten to destroy my fortifications. My treasury is barren, there is very little for you to gain. You claim you can offer me salvation. You see what I am, never uttering a foul proclamation. What are you trying to obtain? I live in a castle of fear and degradation. Your ideas are presented with poor explanation. Starting a fire, unable to keep it contained. You claim you can offer me salvation. You are just another danger to my hearts population. You fight against an army I live to retrain. I live in a castle of fear and degradation. You claim you can offer me salvation. Skylar is a freshman. She enjoys being the freshman class president, as well as writing and performing poetry in her free time. Misfortune
by Lizet There she goes Wherever the wind blows Without looking back Never stopping to say hello She's had a life full of misfortune Without a purpose But to just walk She once had friends More like people who know her Because whenever she needed help They were never there People say she use to have a guy Who she met at a ball But he only played her like a doll Full of mistrust She'll be knocked out with one punch She continued to walk anyway Hoping one day Lizet is a junior. She enjoys reading and writing in her free time. One of a kind
by Lizet Beautiful yet delicate Like the early morning She’ll come a you without warning Beautiful and full of color Because like her There is no other Not a flower More like a pearl She’ll take your breath away Lizet is a junior. She enjoys reading and writing in her free time. |
About Epiphany
Epiphany Literary Magazine is a safe space for students at Franklin High School to share their creativity. Archives '16-'20
June 2020
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