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Grade
9

the phone rings, and I hang up without a single look, knowing who
it is and not wanting to talk to someone with drugs pumping
through their veins, death festering in their vision, clouding their
brain

and the bus keeps driving on, unaware that the world is slowly
tilting and I, without gravity to keep me under, am slipping out of
reality and the oxygen is depleting 

a fight breaks loose, two kids, playing turned menacing, but no one
sees except the two pictures. words travel though, faster than
truth, and the gossip spreads straight to the ego so god knows
what happens

caught in the middle, my heart torn apart, a rope separating me in
half, a dream still holding onto innocence but fact facing the
growing world. 

can I ever be the same? I don’t want to be drugged up, fake love
filled, but I’m glued to a screen and a hope that more often than
not leads to crumpled up soda can anguish. 

can you ever be the same?

Grade
8

The Extinction of Mankind

 

How foolish a species must be to think they can rescue themselves from the inevitable!

 

They think they have been here forever

But the birds of the sky 

And the reptiles of the earth

Watched them rise

And now they will watch them fall 

 

And did they ever realize

That the monsters they see within themselves 

Cannot possibly compare 

To the undiscovered beasts 

That survey the ocean’s floor?

Eleven thousand meters

Oh, if only they knew 

 

The mighty predator, the creatures whisper,

As the echoes of 

Gunshots ricochet through their ears

But they are prey to nature and its cosmos 

Their fate was predetermined 

Long before they came to be

 

But really,

What can they do?

When everything is collapsing,

Do they have nothing left to lose?

 

Their mortal pride is amusing 

The ancient ruins

Of immortal empires

Relics 

Of eternal civilizations

Prove a cruel reality

 

Cogito ergo sum

I think, therefore I am

But they never think anymore

So maybe it was destined

To be an unfortunate closure

By now they must have realized

That to be 

Is a gift

But to think 

Is a curse

 

The curse of a conscious 

Maybe apathy and indifference

Are our greatest assets

 

But really,

What can they do?

When everything is collapsing,

Do they have nothing left to lose?

 

How could they possibly question,

Why their bridges burn?

They have gotten too close to the fire, 

No wonder we all wish for their skin to smolder

Scorch

And fester

Down to the very ashes of their existence  

 

Such a species should not expect a soft epilogue 

But a rather bitter extinction 

 

(They practically murdered themselves

Wars fought over trivialities

I’ve heard them say that the future is now

Do they know 

That it’s also their finale?)

Grade
8

The beautiful golden haze glazed the mountains peaks 

The dry air made the tall green grass dance 

This was South Africa which was certainly not bleak 

The place of my family and romance

This is where my children used to laugh and play 

Where there was a happy ending to every day 

 

As the years grew to many 

So did the horrific government 

I didn’t feel free 

 

The mountains and bars where now coexistent   

My dresses that were once patterned with beauty 

Are now covered in desperate hand prints 

The hands of my children clinging for safety 

For if they let go they would be taken 

With four sets of hands infixed 

I had to be aware and unshaken 

I was never allowed to be transfixed 

After entering our home they could finally let go 

 

The wind kicked the dirt up into the sky it was like African snow 

As the sun retired and the moon came out to take its place 

The bars where there because of the dangers of people feeling numb 

As I tucked in my children and I went across the room to go to my resting space 

In the same room so that death is not the prime outcome

As I sat there trying to fall asleep every night I thought about how this could be my last day on earth 

I may only have twenty seconds more of a normal life before it’s over 

Does the world think I have no worth 

As I awoke I opened the curtains to see the wowing view 

As the sun poured light into the room I saw the mountains and their gorgeous hue 

And the bars where there too 

 

Grade
8

One button pressed

A moment of hesitation, a word spoken just a moment too late.

Wait-

But already, it’s headed down, down, down,

and the plane zips away in an effort to save itself

from the capsule of death it has released. 

 

10:34.

It hits.

By the time anybody realizes that something is wrong, it’s too late. 

80,000 souls depart this world almost instantly,

and thousands more 

suffer a slower death. 

 

We unchained the monster, released the beast

and watched as it destroyed everything in its path.

 

Whose idea was this? 

Who is guilty?

Everybody who stood by and let it happen - 

their blood is on your hands. 
 

Humans are excellent at removing the blame.

Nobody is as pure as they pretend they are. 

Grade
9

The ballads of her dream,

dance around her thoughts.

Pleading to flee from her mind.

Scraping at her temples,

she nicks her crown.

Metal melts down her neck,

creating a monophonic melody

with the drops of platinum. 

They create planets in her palms.

 

She screams down to her home.

Miami has stars too,

artificial objects.

They block out the real ones

like a drape masking rays of sunlight. 

The shores fall upon her,

pushing her deeper into the blankness.

 

Stars flicker through her tears,

rising up.

With no gravity to hold her,

she floats her in perspective. 

Her body hangs upside down,

the skin turns purple.

The destitution of air in space.

 

Grade
9

The Forte of the waves on the beach; 

the key to the sand is in the air.

Waves throw acid rain in my face

by the upbeat sand bar,

my feet adapting to the cool water;

the fish dance in Dolce,

The water absorbs my stress.

The cargo boat stares at me,

it washes off the melancholy,

helpful antibodies smiling at me, 

hoping he could catch a ride.

The cheer from the happiest people

on the beach catches my eye.

The Miami life is special:

I turn back around to the boat,

I see them pouring septic liquid.

It looks toxic,

the tides are green.

I’m frightened,

the fish flip over and pass,

the fish are dying because of us.

 

Grade
7

When will you realize,

That all the beauty you need,

Is right above you,

Waiting to be seen?

 

Millions and millions of them,

Light up the night sky,

Glowing brighter,

And brighter,

Feeding off of the beauty surrounding them.

 

And even when the stars dim,

Blocked out by the glow of the sun,

They’re still there,

Providing light,

To someone else,

Somewhere else.

 

But each night,

They still return,

To you,

Providing you with the light,

And the love,

That had always been there.

 

You had just refused to see it.

 

So now, 

Open your eyes,

And open them wide.

 

Grade
9

Living City

 

Sun-kissed fingertips trace her blueprints,

up the asphalt arteries to her crystalline heart.

Countless hidden dimples and wrinkles adorn her skin-

expected anomalies in a changing world.

Her hair pools lazily into the Atlantic,

each strand waltzing with the warm waves.

She rises with the sun, conducting the sky's symphony

by early morning-

a minuet of soft pinks and yellows, trills of orange racing past-

all come together above the horizon, all in

harmony.

 

She drinks the moon’s cold fingers come nightfall,

watching the ocean's gentle push and pull

mimicked by the movement of manta rays.

Her distant sister smiles, her shining face lined with 

gaping craters and deserted volcanoes-

one so alive and one so empty and pale,

they find solace in each other's differences.

The tide lovingly lulls Miami to sleep,

her darkened figure illuminated by 

streetlights and moonbeams.

 

Grade
10

inmigrantes

in a blue van

the wind tangles my hair 

with the smell of burned coffee

as my dad sing’s his Spanish songs.

 

you’re seatbelt! 

 

i hear the red and blue lights.

 

i close my eyes,

to feel the roots of my veins pump.

i repeat what papa says,

we are just tourists

we are just tourists.

 

papa is tourist with thick palms 

and tired eyes who wakes up at 3am

to move bricks and walls for america.

 

illegal 

 

we sit in silence

immigration detention services.

my caramel grasps to my warmth 

as the white walls wash me with cold. 

 

i hear the red and blue lights.

 

a hammer punishing, driving,

against my throat, as I hold 

my last breath to a number.

door clicks 

67

door opens 

      68

door closes 

             69

 

illegal 

 

america moves lips, tongue

and says,

illegal aliens weren’t born to dream.

 

i hear the red and blue lights

 

the sun in my skin,

the soil of my eyes,

the lines against my features.

tells on me. 

 

DEPORTED 

 

i hold papa’s hand,

under the sound of the air conditioner 

he gently sings 

ya llego la noche

cerrar los ojitos, 

el viento te arrulla. 

 

illegal.

 

Grade
10

We awoke in a haze

Immersed in our trepidation 

For the future

For truth

We relaxed 

We consoled ourselves 

The day is young

And yet our minds beckoned

The thoughts were sparse

Remaining in fragments

And yet

Without discipline 

Our animalistic rancor

Constricts our structured path

Dawn has passed into dusk

We all must sleep

Our minds adrift

No dilution 

No security 

Only truth remains 

Our dreams show all

If only we could remember