The Masks We Wear
By Michelle Simon We wear masks every moment of every day, But most of them don’t look like this. Our masks, or at least my personal collection, Consists of various smiles and laughs, Grins and mouths murmuring “I’m fine.” Then again, some of my masks do look like this one: Cold and broken, pitiless and bitter; Or maybe that is how this one makes me feel. As if I have been born from stone and Carve my expressions when I get ready in the morning. Or maybe I was once alive, With rosy cheeks, and eyes that were windows to my soul. But now my eyes have lost their spirit, And my body is cracked and frozen from the pounding of fists, Knocking too late against my strong, stone, shield-of-a-heart, like it’s a door. Like it will ever open up for you again. What do my masks make you feel? How do you think I feel under my masks? Or, when you look at me, do you forget That I have any true feelings at all? Michelle is a freshman. She enjoys reading and drawing in her spare time.
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For the arms who used to hold me metaphorically
--Amanda Gray The fuzz from your locs reminds me that man is God made And if God is this planet You are definitely made in his image Your hair having the sense of a tree Growing from the root being something great Oh how Africa is coiled in your hair Being your strength And What is a tree without its branches to hold and release all the dead and alive things Your smile being the purest form of grace I've ever seen a man give Like opening the front door of serenity This is my only proof of that on this earth Your lungs being so distended We can survive underwater for day off our exhale and inhale Your carbon dioxide defeating its own definition of being waste There is no flaw in your teeth You have the universe in your tongue For it speaks of things man could never run his mind across Your mind explains why Gravity is something the moon barely remembers Because matter such as space can not be held down Infinity is your best friend Your soul is the butterfly that hatches from that same cocoon Your skin is the silk that it makes Only being half as beautiful Your skin being the color of caramel Dipped in honey Feathered with youth My eyes are like scratched spinning vinyls Whenever you are near When you walk you give the ground chills Like you are its God Amanda is a senior. She is an officer in Natural Effect, Franklin's Slam Poetry Club. In the Fall, she will be attending North Carolina A&T, where she will be pursuing a degree in education. "I am me"
by Zonae Hill I am strong and beautiful and they can’t make me frown Because I raise myself up when they put me down My heart is in a good place and I dream about Living in a world where there is no doubt My soul is playful and very creative Which is why my fashion sense is so great No one can top no one so we’re all perfect I will never say I am better unless it’s my birthday Zonae is an 11th grade student. She enjoys fashion, making people smile, and writing. She is a Poetry Today student. Wilted Stem
by Kono I used to think the world was so beautiful, A nice big wondrous place I wanted to explore But little did I know it was plagued with grotesque, Disgusting beings Who lurked around the corners of the world Eagerly watching our every move Before I knew it I was here A place that felt so uncomfortable and weird Peculiar men equipped with Guns and harmful things I’ve never seen I continue to walk in this state of despair “ Walk faster, keep your head up keep moving” My body just listens as we head deeper and deeper into this purgatory I once had a brother but now I have a skeleton chained to my leg And what was once my mother is a walking corpse in front of me People stare as we all walk by All they see is zombies They don’t see people Kids eyes marvel I smile back but they all run away They all flee from me I don’t know why they do that I should be running from them with their pale skins and red cheeks they’re all monsters Stop looking at me Looking at the people around me, It’s truly a sad sight We’re wounded warriors Yet our fighting spirit remains Holding on to a dying flower, I smile and cry Its funny how the things associated with death are the most beautiful That’s something I learned about the world Filled with this poison This scum that rots the earth It still spends round and it still shine beautiful Looking at the flower, It’s dried up, its dead, it has no fight left Even though its petals have all fallen, the stem still remains, Perhaps I'm that flower, Still clenching on life. Holding the flower tighter I continue walking “Even though my petals have fallen, my stem still remains and that’s enough reason for me to keep walking,” I sing to myself now smiling The smile of a mighty Cherokee A might flower I shall grow again I’ll regrow my loses, I’ll regrow my petals Even with just the stem the flower lives on And so do I Kono (not his real name) is a ninth grader who enjoys Anime (Jojo), running track, and writing stories. The Night When the World Was On Fire
By Natasha Ishaq Then the skies themselves darkened When breezes of dusk fled past When all the while the Earth shook This was the night when the world was on fire Flames chased after one another As so many voices were burned right there and then The pages and thoughts of many crippled before so many eyes This was the night when the world was on fire That was when stories were shattered As a bonfire erupted like a volcano Letting out its eternal rage This was the night when the world was on fire Natasha is a ninth grader. She enjoys writing and performing poetry in her free time. She enjoys writing for the greater benefit of others. Tired
By Gentherly Coronado My eyes close. For, I am tired. My mind is close. I cannot think straight. My mind is aching. My mind is desiring sleep. But I also desire to disappear. I just really don’t want to be here. I can feel the cold air on my skin. The shivers in my hair. I feel such details but I really don’t care. I can hear your voice. You speak with correct grammar. But my mind is elsewhere. You speak with a squeak. They answer your questions. And, I’m just here, sitting. Not doing anything, really. But my mind is too weak to think. I’m too tired to speak. I’m too exhausted to act out things. I regret staying up till midnight. I even forgot why I did, from exhaustion. I’m confused about anything and everything. Oh, please just leave me be. Walk away from me. Ignore me completely. Act like I’m not even there. I’m nonexistent as I sleep. Gentherly is an 11th grade student. She is currently a Poetry Today student. March is a month that I wish to forget
I wasn’t ready for you to leave me yet My heart felt heavy and it hung down low I wanted the day to be over but time moved so slow You being gone is such a surreal feeling I am wounded with pain and I need some healing You’re not physically here, but you’re here in spirit You knew death was near but you did not fear it A hero is what you always were and will be You were someone special and very close to me I will always remember your laughter and smile I wish I could see you for just a little while I wanted to tell you so many things Before you became an angel and spread out your wings I hope God accepted you with wide open arms He must have since your heart was pure and full of charm Words can’t explain how much I miss you But I know that one day we’ll see each other soon When I see you, I’ll give you the biggest hug And together we’ll laugh and you’ll call me your little bug I think about you everyday and I see you everywhere When we meet again, happiness is what we will share -Natalia Gonzales Natalia is a senior. In the fall, she plans on attending Caldwell University, where she will be pursuing art therapy. She is currently both a Poetry Today and CEP student. This Hateful Love
By Brianna Rosa It's bitter sweet How delicately rough It is to be madly excited But happily angry at the same time I walk outside and see leaves lightly crashing to the ground The heavy lightness of them dully surprises me It sparks a cold fire in my heart I feel as if I'm in a still-waking sleep To finally look away leaves me with such sweet sorrow Bright smoke clouds my eyes I try and I blindly see when it clears Wet tears running dryly down my face It's a hateful love hating every open secret Loving every time we spend alone together Us both clearly confused Can they hear the crash landing of my heart Every fair cheat Tragic comedy Foolish wisdom Every honorable villain Peaceful war and burning freeze I'm anxiously patient Cold sweat running down my neck Waiting for the one I'm madly in love with The forgotten memories Of the man that made me willingly force my heat to be his Brianna is a ninth grader. She enjoys singing and dancing in her free time. She is currently a Poetry Today student. Life by Gentherly Coronado
It tells me “ready, set, Go!” as I am young. When I can finally speak for myself. When I can walk by myself. It says “you must now go on!” I run and run and I don’t stop. I am looked at oddly by others. They see me as the quiet, ugly girl. To them, I look weak and easy to pick on. But when my brother was picked on by a bully at age five, I fought back. “No one hurts my little brother but me!” I had thought as I hit the bully. I was picked on myself, so I did not want him feeling that. Whenever he needed help, I’d help. I was eight. I was visited by my mother at Dominican Republic. I had been nine now. It was like 10PM and we were getting ready to sleep. My brother had fallen asleep. I was to sleep next to him. She came in and said hi and I hugged her right away. He didn’t recognize her. He was one when she had left and I was three. I remembered her so well though. We were to go to America by three in the morning. When we came, it was perfect. Houses fixed. Streets paved. Cars undamaged unlike my country. It was summer. Heated weather. Nice warm breeze. Just like back home. I felt happy for a while. My stepfather seemed nice. Apparently he had eyes for his daughter. He hurts anything that hurts her. We were siblings, and siblings may fight. Take note that I was still nine. I hit her once. Just once and she cried. She ran to him and he yelled at me. “If you hit my daughter ever again, I will do the same to you!” I did not know it counted as illegal and took it to heart. She always did something to anger me. He spoiled her and now she was cold hearted like him. She knew I couldn’t hit her. She took that to her advantage. She would tease me and hit me. My constant tattle taling made my mom mad. I couldn’t speak to her dad because he would defend her. I started to lose it. They said she was just a little girl being a little girl. I would’ve never felt jealous of her if I didn’t hate her then. She was just five but she knew how to use your weakness against you. Soon enough, her dad began trying to find excuses to get me into trouble. “She didn’t do the dishes right” “She’s failing this class” “She forgot this homework at school” “Stop saying stupid things!” He would make fun of my mistakes. I was just a little girl and an adult was picking on me. My mom didn’t see it. When I started school, I tried to speak to the Spanish kids in my class. RD was the best girl I ever met back then. Fourth grade with her was nice. She soon enough became my best friend. She translated everything for me. She helped me when I needed it. I also met SMN She was in my ESL class. We did not speak english well so this class taught us. Although there were good times in school, there were also bad. I had tried to make more spanish friends from my classes. Most of the spanish boys were jerks to me. They would say I spoke too fast and that I was annoying. I was being super sweet and they ended up judging. I saw them as my enemies right away because they never stopped. I was laughed at in the halls and they avoided me in class. I felt unwanted but I chose to keep smiling. I chose happiness. I was ten then since my birthday had been in the start of the year. September 22nd. Fifth great is the forgotten year. I don’t remember anything during the first year of my new school. SGS school. I remember the second year in that school, however. I had to sit next to my hispanic enemies. His name was Alex. He was always one to laugh at me and watch me. I sometimes wondered if he bothered me because he liked me. He told me he wanted to date me and that weirded me out. I was at the age where I’d look at cute boys from afar. But, I was the shy girl who also didn’t have a sex drive. I didn’t desire them. I never would have. Gentherly is an 11th grade student. She is currently a Poetry Today student. "Where I'm From"
by Yeni Baez I am from the sweet glistening river waters. Those of which trickle down rocks at the river by home. Containing relaxation that gives you a moment for thinking peacefully. I am from the kitchen. Where mamá and her house workers make dinner. Fried salty goodness of plantains, sour delicate crispy onions, soft delicious pork that comes apart as you pull it, and refreshing tangy salad on half of my plate. Overfilling me as I reach for seconds, simultaneously drinking homemade bitter, acidic, pleasing lemonade. I am from the colored tones of the leaves on the family tree. Bare feet of those who run down the streets as we fly authentic kites made from plastic bags which came along with the crispy, crunchy chips we bought at the corner store. Traveling towards the unique palms that touch upon others as we play tag. To the cooling waters that run from the bathtubs. Leading towards the darkness at home as a candle was lit creating a path of fiery brightness for others to see. I am from the lost generation of today’s society. Confused, Stressed, Lost, Puzzled, Frightened. To the extra pair of eyes on my dress cabinet. Belonging to the papers full of equations laid out on the floor. I am from the pictures out of mamá’s photo albums. To the moments of happiness. Cartoons, Naptime, Barbies, Play dough, and Playgrounds. Slowly fading away, becoming a world of depression. Consisting of nothing else but black and white. Wishing to go back to the sweet glistening waters which trickle down rocks during the silence of the night. As mamá rocks back and forth on her rocking chair telling me a story before bed. Sadly I block her voice out and pay attention to the creaking sound coming from her chair instead. Falling asleep, I leave the world that used to be full of sunshine, smiles, and laughs to slowly rotate into a world of confusing darkness. Without fiery brightness to clear the path for others. Yeni is an eleventh grader. She is a regular high school student focusing on aspiring a military career who secretly uses writing and art to escape from reality. |
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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