Untitled by Danielle Nicolay

She was used to having everything

“No” was not in her dictionary.

He was proud of every penny that he earned.

She was the daughter of a CEO.

All of her problems could be solved with the help of daddy’s money.

He was the son of a janitor.

All of his problems were because of the money he did not have.

She was driven in her limo to and from the top private school in the nation.

He walked two miles every day to try to make it to class.

She flew in her private jet to glamorous destinations around the world,

Finding beauty in luxury.

He found beauty in the world around him, as simple as a sunrise.

He was down to earth because his feet actually touched the ground.

She had never felt the sand between her toes or the ocean run over her feet.

She had never walked on the hot cement of a summer day,

Or rolled down grassy hills a child.

He was down to Earth because he stood atop it each and every day.

She was oblivious to what the world could offer

Because she sat atop her mountain of material objects.

Draw "Ugly" by Gi Maroniene

Greed.

It’s inside each and every one of us,

It’s a force of nature that can overcome us.

It has the power to wipe out human existence,

Start wars,

turn good people bad,

and consume our humanity.

Greed is human kind's biggest enemy

It can only hurt us if we let it consume

the light in our souls

We can choose kindness

Love

compassion

hope

And ignore desire

jealousy

rage

Greed can never win as long as

humanity chooses good.

Untitled by Suzanna Fyodorov

The mind is incredibly ugly. Asides its wretched appearance, its nasty 

membranes, dull grey tissues, and the lumps and bumps that surround throughout, 

there are its capabilities, which are mainly what make it despicable. The mind is a 

creature of judgment, perceiving and distorting reality into a version that suits its 

own self-interests. Without the mind, the concept of “ugly” would not even exist. We 

feed on our brains’ compliments, self-pity, and ignorance. Without the mind, 

egocentrism would not even exist. 

When we emerge from the womb, our tiny brains immediately begin to 

absorb and grow. We don’t see ugly; we don’t feel hate. We see colors, shapes, 

smiles, and tears. We feel warmth; such as the vibrations from somebody’s soothing 

voice as they rock us against their chest. A picture of life is painted for us, and upon 

the first few glances, it is intriguing and beautiful. With time, however, the picture 

begins to fade and our infatuation recedes; we are left with a void where awe once 

resided. We start formulating opinions, tastes, dislikes—the picturesque wonder life 

that once was becomes a tarnished photo in an old family album that we seldom 

ever open. We taint our world with hate and disgust, forgetting that a mere few 

years ago, the world used to take our breath away.

This is why I refuse to accept our minds as chronically ugly. Ostensibly, they 

are hideous. But beneath the slime and goo lies an unlimited capacity to love. 

Through development and our upbringings, we have become desensitized and 

dehumanized. But, at birth, we arrive innately good. The mind is capable of endless 

beauty. It is time to let go of our misconceptions and deceptions, and open our 

minds to the masterpieces of life.

Untitled by Sterling Wertanzl

    I know that one day his hair will no longer need a hand of mine to run through it - perhaps it will be housed by his hoodie with the name of his new home on it, or maybe it will be cut or shaved or gelled into stature so it can withstand a finger’s touch. I know that he will be able to fix it on his own, that when wind blows or when fists nudge it may not be my fingertips that brush it back into place - nevertheless, it may not even be his. I know that it won’t be my hands that stroke though his brown and night shaded bristles while he sleeps. I know he may never come back, and that the parts of him that shed on my pillow whenever he falls asleep will be what’s left of him. The last token that I can keep for myself while the rest of him scatters in places beyond.

Love Letter to My Best Friend by Adri Perez

        I am a firm believer in the idea that soul mates do not have to be bound together by romantic feelings. Love is not something that only comes to those who are dating. Love manifests itself in more ways than anyone could imagine.

           So why can’t you and I be soulmates? Why is our relationship worth less than one built on dates and kisses on the lips? Though our love is completely platonic, I don’t see why it cannot be valued just the same.

           To me, a soulmate is someone whom you cannot live without. Someone you would do anything for. Someone who you would give your happiness for without a second thought. The more I think about it, the more sure I become; you are my soulmate. And whether or not you feel the same way does not change the fact that I love you more than anyone on this earth.

           And truth be told, it is a love that I did not ever imagine would spread so far. Far enough to fill my heart in even the most damaged places. I would have never known how much you would mean to me. I would have never guessed that you would someday give me a life worth fighting for. Because I never thought that a love built on video games and terrible movies would be so strong. But I see now how deep our roots have gone, how thick with memories they have grown. Maybe years of inside jokes and baking together has always been enough. Maybe a friendship as great as ours could be the next great love story. Because, although it is a different kind of love, it is a love just as grand. Just as strong. And I know that we were always meant to be best friends. Perhaps even soulmates.

Untitled by Alessia Buitano

My parents never have time for me;

I’d do anything to just make them see.

They say they’re making difficult decisions,

But all they seem to do is watch television.

Mom and Dad are always using their handy-dandy telephones

That when I try to get their attention, they tell me, “Watch your tone!”

Mom always seems to be preoccupied with her teleconference;

I mean I know she’s doing business,

But this all feels like nonsense.

Both are sitting down as usual,

Watching the news telecast.

They have no emotion, no expression;

They’re just vast.

It’s as if aliens had snatched their brains and left them hypnotized.

Maybe, hopefully, that’s the reason why I’m not recognized.

So obsessed with technology,

They tend to not acknowledge me.

Ignoring me, but concerned with their telecommunication,

They’re simply too busy connecting with the entire nation.

Screaming, screeching, silent cries;

Nothing seems to rip their eyes

Away from the screen they hold so dear,

Giving them a 24-hour disguise.

My parents are robots,

Slugging through life,

Never paying attention.

My life is now overrun by technology;

I’m barely to mention.

Untitled by Isabella Hardesty

On the soft, smooth waves,

You rock with rhythm.

Your back to the Sea-

And your eyes to the stars.

You ponder,

Let your fingertips graze the water

As you do with memories.

So vivid with color and life,

But if you look closely

They become blurry

And wash away.

Yet your fingertips remain stained...

Just Buzzin' Around by Brian Bosem

The bare necessities,

The simple bare necessities,

Just enough food, water… and bees?

Fearsome warriors with gentle hearts

Craving some sort of appreciation.

Though, capitalism does appreciate bees… Somewhat.

Big Honey’s fascination with liquid gold produces mass amounts

Of liquid gold.

The sweet taste of Benjamin leaf tea with a touch of honey

Produces a wonderful feeling.

Such a feeling of power that it is irresistible to many…

The corporate ignores the cries for help:

It suppresses bee unions globally

All in the chase for fortune.

Reaping the gifts of other’s virtues has costs:

The bee is almost extinct.

We too, inevitably face this fate.

We mustn’t let the spirit of the bee fade.

Together,

It is our duty to resist.

Affirm the life of a bee

Combining alluring self-sufficiency with efforts to enhance the world.

Buzz with your family,

Buzz with your friends,

Buzz every remaining day of your life,

And the Earth’s buzz will never end.

Love is Like Cake by Asher Michelson

Love is simply just a thought made for children,

And for those that are ditsy enough to fall under its spell.

Love…

Like an all-powerful tyrant, it brainwashes,

But not with guns,

Not with propaganda,

Or biological warfare,

But with roses, kissing, and bedtime activities.

With pink bubbles that pop with the smell of lavender,

And other essential oils that influence desire,

To numb the brain and break down its barriers.

With releases of frequent serotonin,

That will eventually end with an overdose of melatonin.

Love is like a cake.

Iced perfectly on the surface,

With elaborate designs that create awe,

And bring on thoughts in our minds of what it will taste like.

Flavors that are customizable to all likings.

Chocolate fudge, red velvet, extra moist,

Or maybe you’re more a vanilla person,

Not too extreme.

But the choice is all yours.

All you need to do is purchase the mix,

But every cake mix has its expiration,

And every baked cake will go stale.

With icing that hardens,

With a taste that sours.

So, next time, when you cut into that Betty Crocker,

Imagine that with every slice you take,

You’re taking another stab at your heart.

But it’s okay, it tastes so sweet,

Like drunk love under the sheets.

With everyone happy and sitting about,

Celebrating the pastry mother made about,

Remembering that sugar running through your veins,

So that when your heart attack hits,

It’ll melt your brain…

Love is like child’s play,

Love is like a cake.

Untitled by Aleksander Bruggen

Dreaming

I walk in this wonderful world of mine

Create only when I let my eyes rest

The world I enter is unlike anything on this Earth

The sky is pink

The sun is blue

There is nothing but joy in this world

I walk amongst the flamingos and other inhabitants of my world

Night is upon my world

The cheese moon comes out and shines a bright grey silver light into my room

Now I must rest in my world and forget what I went through to enter the otherworld

Known as Earth

Untitled by Natalie Nicholson

These thoughts crash into one another without a simple apology-

No pretenses in nerve endings,

No need for manners.

Politeness is reserved for the bored.

These thoughts crescendo with anger,

Pulse staccato with disgust.

These thoughts forgo their predetermined rhythms and set foot anew.

On a new moon,

These thoughts will harmonize over curiosity

And make me want to live eternal.

These thoughts weave their way into my hair without a permission slip.

They try to besiege my tongue.

They open my throat wide

And teach me perfect pitch.

These thoughts,

I realize,

Own bodies of their own.

They manifest in shades of blues,

And reds,

And yellows.

These thoughts have transformed kaleidoscope into a verb.

Untitled by Luisa Gama Rodriguez

It’s been a while since I last heard it.

The silence,

the tranquility,

the calmness.

But all I hear now is the

ticking of the clock.

I need you now

tears, doubts and fears

A good reason to cry?

Take my hand and run away

with me.

From all our doubts

and all our fears-

Together we’ll run

far, far till we reach the sun.

Then we’ll stop and drop to our knees

just to get back up,

and together we will slay

all our troubles away.

Untitled by Gaby Rodriguez

The words are flowing,

I had all these thoughts in me without knowing.

All these feelings spill on the page,

Whoever’s reading can’t tell my age.

But it’s too (forgot to write a word here) out there,

And I’m no risk taker.

Better play it safe,

Take the words back to my safe place.

Replace the phrases,

To fit all the different faces.

Maybe they won’t get it,

Says the voice that gives me headaches.

And maybe you make no sense,

Says my conscience.

Take back your original words,

Change your ideas for greater odds.

Forget what flows,

Go with what people follow.

I listened to the voice inside my head,

But tossed and turned all night in bed.

Knowing my writing was not my own,

It’s what people expect from everyone.

I didn’t change it back,

People like what they understand, it’s a simple fact.

I should’ve stuck to my truth,

Playing it safe took away my roof.

It made me forget my roots.

Hair by Khristy Thompson

At first it was nonexistent. Then blossoming white, blonde hairs started to splurge out of your head. Innocent hair--pure. As you grew, it became tinted as the world imprinted its lies on you. Dirty blonde. Dirty blonde hair that drove you insane, every time you looked in the mirror. Dirty blonde hair reminding you of the filth accumulating in you. Dirty blonde hair that held and accumulated the tears on your face. Each salon visit you left more and more of your locks there. As if cutting them away would make the guilt and the suffering go away. As if somehow it would provide relief or change from the circumstances you’re faced with. But it didn’t. So you changed its color. Dirty red hair now. You look at the mirror and smile, hoping, this is the answer. But you’re still the same. No change inside. If you want to look and see beauty, you won’t get it by changing your hair. Removing the filth and gunk inside yourself, that feeds your roots, has to happen. For now all you have is dirty-dead-dry hair as the symbol of what’s inside you. Hopefully you figure out the answer, my sister.

Story of My Life by Suzanna Fyodorov

I was born a lotus; unknowingly, but truly. I’m simply a flower, resting on the surface of a vast pool that is brimming with life. I am not sinking, but I am not swimming. I have spent all my days and all my nights immobile, for I am bound to my roots and fastened by my leaves. Most of the other lily pads and other pond buds don’t mind this fettered state, but I am not like them. I feel trapped by the anchoring sediment at the pool’s bottom. I want to leave my place.

    For most of my existence, I’ve dealt with waves weathering my skin and tossing me around. I’ve also coped with gnats gnawing on my petals and poisonous frogs seeking shelter in the shade I provide. Of course, I haven’t protested too much, but how can I bloom to my full potential, when I am constantly drowned by ripples the size of tsunamis, and rented out by unwanted guests even without the presence of a vacancy sign? I often ponder how much longer I can withstand these annoyances.

    The beautiful thing about lotuses, thought, is their resilience. At day’s break, the lotus emerges from the depths, spreads itself open, and absorbs the beauty of a new day. When night falls and darkness looms, the lotus reverses its rise and descends beneath the surface, finding sanctuary within the pool’s protective aqueous membrane. It takes in light, and ignores dark.

    With every setback, I am set forward. With every tidal wave that knocks me over or intruder that invades my home, with every ounce of pain and suffering, I am not defeated, but resurrected. Not in a Biblical or paranormal way, but in a pretty cool way, if I do say so myself.

Untitled: Aleksander Bruggen

Dreaming

I walk in this wonderful world of mine

Create only when I let my eyes rest

The world I enter is unlike anything on this Earth

The sky is pink

The sun is blue

There is nothing but joy in this world

I walk amongst the flamingos and other inhabitants of my world

Night is upon my world

The cheese moon comes out and shines a bright grey silver light into my room

Now I must rest in my world and forget what I went through to enter the otherworld

Known as Earth