+ Illustrations by Ila Davies
Where I’m from
First in Maine . . .
With carrot-nosed snowmen and missing mittens
Sidewalk chalk, grammy’s lake, and vanilla milkshakes
Saying goodbye for the first time
Smiling, laughing, and crying
Then to D.C. . . .
With crosswalks, sidewalks, and tall apartment buildings
Bullies and crushes
Friends that always seem to leave too soon
Sexism, mall sushi, and Legos
Smiling, laughing, and crying
And now in Maryland . . .
Boat rides, bikes, and salty air
Sticking up for myself
The pandemic
Therapy and mental health
Smiling, laughing, and crying
Place after place
I find a piece of myself
And leave one behind
Smiling, laughing, and crying.
Elizabeth Quintero, 14
Eleanor’s Dream
A DreAm of a unicorn
is All You Desire
it is in your heart
through mine
Eleanor Missimore, 6
Mind
Our
Mind
Is spectacular
Filled with thoughts
Constantly processing life
Always working to understand
Sending signals which cause our brains to wonder what is real and what is not
Is our sphere of life floating out in the universe as a lone golf ball forever
Never moving towards, but meaninglessly in a void of nothingness
Or, is Earth a dancer, spinning, twisting, twirling around the sun
Always in a rhythmic system, never stopping or halting
Our minds allow us to be in control, to understand
Then how do we know that it›s not all fake and wrong
How do we know that we don’t twist reality and our life
Could we tell if we created What If nothing was real
What if we made up worlds If you and I were fake
Simply, a figment of Someone’s imagination
If so, whose Mine, another’s
Maybe Maybe not
Time Will tell
Addison Johns, 15
Pencil
The pencil flew
Over three heads
And right into my lap.
I looked back to see who threw it,
Then put it in my pocket.
It was safer in my hands anyways
A pencil rolled
Down the hall
And right in front of my feet.
I looked back to see where it came from,
Then put it in my pocket.
It was safer in my hands anyways.
I used one pencil to write this poem,
And one to draw the doodle beside it.
To the owners of these stolen pencils,
They were safer in my hands anyways.
Ila Davies, 13
The Colors of Pride
Pink
The triangle that signified us and the pulse of forty-nine
Red
The color of plump lips and the fluid that stained the hospital steps
Orange
Healing, the color of pumpkins and the sweet smell of citrus
Yellow
Sunflowers and bees and for people outside of the binary
Green
The life being brought back into me and the fresh grass dancing in the yellow
Blue
The color of the sky, my cuffed jeans and the calmness of the ocean (and my soul)
Purple
The royal color, and the pride that I wear on my sleeve every single day I’m alive
Piper Langenfeld, 16
The Human Diagnosis
Your body talks to you
“I’m not good enough,” it says softly.
And you believe it.
Your mind confides in you
“I’m messed up,” it gently says.
And you believe it.
Your surroundings whisper to you.
“We’re trying to upset you.”
And you believe it.
These beliefs don’t make you gullible.
Questioning everything in your path doesn’t make you curious.
Feeling like every single atom that makes up the universe is trying to annoy you on purpose doesn’t make you dramatic.
It makes you human.
Karli Applestein, 17