As you hear the crack
And you hear the scream
you open your eyes and focus
until you hear the bell
and you hear the laughs
when doesn’t the little lamb smile?
When she is chased by the bear
The fellow lamb tells a joke
Can you pretend to listen and laugh?
You must fear for the bear
If his game of tag is found out,
what left of the lamb will there be?
Don’t go into the really dark woods
She can’t explain the forceful game of hide and seek
he brakes down the wood and the tree’s to find her
the little lamb grows a mouth and screams in pain
the bird with the feathers pure and white
come to save the lamb in the night
– Michelle Smith
If I write a song,
Will it become a hit?
If I write a novel,
Will anyone read it?
I pour out my heart and soul
onto a page,
that no one will read,
my blurred vision conflates the words,
my hand is numb,
my heart is pained
all for your entertainment.
Sometimes I look up at the sky with hope and wonder in me,
just wishing that the day be good and beautiful.
And then the pain throbs at the back of my head where I swear I have a concussion,
and the world begins to spin like a swooshing tornado.
I feel like I’m in a washing machine being rinsed, washed, and dried until I die.
And then a bomb explodes and suddenly everything before me is obliterated into pitch black nothingness,
where only stars dare to roam.
Pushed to the breaking point, how dare I? How dare you?
Knife cut my wrist, oh why am I so afraid?
You’re gone, oh yes.
You’ve left me, I’m damaged goods now.
Want to see me for the holidays? Talk to the person’s whose heart you broke.
Sometimes I look up at the sky with hope and wonder,
just wishing that the day is better than yesterday.
Knife cut to my wrist? I can handle it.
You’re gone, not my fault.
You’ve left me, that was your choice.
Swooshing tornado is all I can handle anymore,
I’ll get through this bomb, oh yes.
“I’m the only swooshing tornado here.”
By: Hallee Ward
What are we looking for?
What are we all looking for?
A place to fit in and feel like we belong
A place where teamwork is always the key ingredient
Perfection has never been the key
But can be accomplished by hard work and effort
New friends and new people around every corner
Where do we belong?
Everyone is different
And with the differences come new ideas
Every year new projects are made
Some fail but others succeed
Working together to achieve common goals
The goal to help our community
To help the ones in need
All working to make our community a better place to be
And working to help the cause
Through every problem and every set-back
Finding a way to solve it
What do we stand for?
We stand for solving the cause with a helping hand
Searching for a resolution
Searching for a conclusion
Searching to find the find the answers
Who are we?
By: Lanitra Webb
We’re told to be ourselves
How do we know who to be?
Or how to be?
We need guidance
Where do we fit in?
We aren’t rich
We aren’t perfect
We don’t even know who to be
The one place to hide at in school
Yet we’re still learning here
We meet people just like us
We work with others
We learn not just about them
But we learn about ourselves
We learn what we’re capable of
What we are yet to do
Everyday is different
Everyday we learn something new
We learn about others
But more importantly
We learn about ourselves
By: Ashney Hawkins
Failure and Success
I will never be successful.
It’s a lie when I think,
“I can do this!”
I have to tell myself,
I am worthless.
People spill lies, they say
I can make something of myself.
They are wrong.
I can’t be proud of myself. It will not work
They tell me
I will make something of myself,
They are wrong
No one knows who I am.
Only I can reverse the path that I am on.
By: Samantha Lake
You live in a Jail.
Its not a physical cell, but
With the help of society,
You put yourself through agony.
I’ve been there.
I’ve looked in the mirror jut to see
flaws and imperfections,
worthlessness and unimportance.
I’ve questioned my existence.
We feel the need to fit this mold
that media has laid out for us.
We’ve gotten ta a place where
it’s okay to skip a meal
or gag ourselves
We’ve been given a set of rules that nobody can truly follow.
But I know a book that everyone can follow.
It doesn’t give physical restrictions.
It says that we should be clothed
in strength and dignity
rather than Uggs and Miss Me’s.
I see the scars on your wrist.
Take that pain to Jesus.
He had nails driven through his hands,
thorns pierced his head.
His blood spilled out so yours doesn’t have to!
He died so you could live!
You wake up everyday hurting,
wondering how much longer this will last.
When will it pass?
As soon as you hear God.
He sees no flaws.
He says you are beautiful.
You were created in His image.
By hurting ourselves,
we are hurting Him.
He’s already went through that pain.
he didn’t deserve it though.
But He took the beatings,
the nails, and the thorns for me,
and for you.
When I realized this I was set free.
I escaped from that jail cell.
I realized that those, “Flaws”
are NOT faults.
They make me who I am.
Perfect in my own way.
You can be set free too.
As soon as you see that God created you.
And he doesn’t make mistakes.
“Your beauty should not come from outward adornment,
such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes.
Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit,
which is great worth in God’s sight.” (1 Peter 3:3-4)
By: Kalie Kendrick
An Original Poem
High school in a Nutshell
Walking through these halls
Seeing faces I’ve seen, not known
Grades take their leaps and falls
Wishing I would get taught, not shown
Get a paper and take my time
Numbers determine my fate
The higher the number, the brighter I shine
To others, success is served on a plate.
It scares me to think out loud
I keep thoughts inside but speak clearly
Thinking they won’t be proud
My ideas I hold dearly
My obligations at school aren’t new
Wake up, sit down, sponge up information
Go home. Study. Sleep. No time to redo
We stay in a corrupted nation
This place is filled with greed
Lets stand and rejoice
We need to show them what we need.
Now get up. Walk out. And make some noise!
By: Amber Halpin
I’m not 8 I’m 18
I’m not going to cry
I’m kind of excited to say good-bye!
Summer is drawing near
Indecisive about my career
I don’t know what I’m going to do
Ebola is here, and I’m still worried about the flu
I’m running out of time
Everyone keeps saying, “You’ll be fine”
I guess people see me as an adult now
I honestly don’t know how
6 a.m. comes I still barely can get out of bed
Entire body feels heavy as lead
My parents expect me to get a job
But I still ask, “Mom, I can be in the mob.”
They don’t think it’s funny
I usually make the situation worse when I scream bunny
I feel like I’m eight
Still confused about world hate
Dreaming about unicorns and rainbows
Dreading waking up to the lawn I must mow
I’m getting older; and a whole lot dumber
Shoot fire….that really is a bummer
I miss the good ole’ days
Eating that big bag of lays
Yelling at my bother
Because believe it or not he’s just like my mother
But I’m not eight; I’m eighteen
And I’ve finally realized people are really obscene
I’m gonna miss what the teacher’s teach
But I’m ready to be on the golden beach
Maybe I’ll figure out what I want to do
…Or I’ll catch ebola too
Who knows? Maybe I’ll never be happy
We all know the world is pretty crappy
But for now I’ll be eighteen
And I’ll act like I’m eight. I’ll be queen
By: Misty Rhymer
It’s a warm summer Sunday. My dad and I are driving through town, the only town I’ve ever been able to call home. We drive and drive doing our daily errands. We’ve just rolled up to a stoplight when an old, classic familiar song slips through the radio static. “I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day,” sings my dad as he drums his ringed fingers on the steering wheel. Caught up in the moment, I slip out of reality into my own thoughts as memories flood my mind.
My mind wonders and shifts through memories until I’ve found the ones that I want. I flashback to watching home movies of me as a child. I’m twenty two months old, about to reach the terrible twos. A wide image of a slouching baby dressed in a pink dress fills the screen. Out of the corner comes a very tan man, singing “I’ve got sunshine.” He grabs me and begins to tickle me as I scream in delight, until you hear a click and the screen goes black.
Now I’m sitting at my kitchen table waiting for breakfast at eight years old. I watch as my dad attempts to flip a fried egg, which he ultimately fails at. It’s a rainy Monday and I’m supposed to be getting dressed for school. Before I can slip away from my dad I’m already engulfed in a bear hug. He starts to sing those same words,”I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way? My girl. Talkin’ bout my girl.”
Flashforward and I am now we’re riding in the Chevy homeward bound from town. I’m only twelve years old at the time but my driving already surpasses half of the elderly in our town. Of course it was illegal, but when you live on a farm you learn to drive early. The song comes on, our song. The all too familiar song is blaring as I drive towards home. I look over and he’s still singing away to our tune.
I blink my eyes and reality comes flooding back to me. The car accelerates as we leave the stop light behind in our tracks, our song is still playing, only halfway through. I even decide to join in on the chorus when it comes around, “Well, I’d guess you’d say. What can make me feel this way? My girl, talkin’ ‘bout my
I glance at my dad, and how unchanging the times have been. He is still the man I’ve always known him to be, the man I’ve grown up with.
By: J. Smith
Letter to Him.
Am I the only one in this? Am I the only one who really cares? What exactly do you expect from me? I am who I am. No one will change me. I am intelligent. I am outgoing. What do you want me to change into? Someone who doesn’t care about you or what you think? Maybe you should open your eyes and realize all the things I do for you. I am always there for you. Always supportive yet you think of it as a “responsibility” that I have. I am always worried about you and your feelings. You have treated me as if I don’t matter to you. Is that the vibe you want to give off? You are practically part of my family already. You always have been, ever since we were little. If I am out of line or care too much you need to tell me, because I am tired of putting forth more effort than you are willing to give. If being around me is painful for you, maybe you need to distance yourself from me and my family. They are my blood relatives. They are not yours, you have been accepted into the family because you’ve always been around us. Just because one thing changed, doesn’t mean you treat me differently. You are 16 now, act like it. You have to understand that we will be around each other and we will have to deal with it. It can’t be awkward, it can’t be weird. We have to act as if we have always been practically family. I am the only one who knows. Calm down and listen to me. Everything is going to be okay. Alright? So cool down. Understand that you need to fix your mistakes. We are family and I will stick up for you. I am stubborn and so are you and you know I am a tough nut to crack so when I say I won’t say anything I won’t. I care way too much about you. I know this is a hard time in your life but you’re going to have to get through it. Everyone is counting on you. Even though I am the only one who truly gets you, you have to make them believe that you are normal and that you don’t have anything to hide. You are like me just different. You’re not weird, or abnormal. Just different just think of it that way. I know it’s hard to think of it that way but it’s true. Okay? Promise me that you will do your best to act normal and not paranoid around them? Deep breath. I love you. Forever and Always. Nothing will separate us. You know how people always say “your secret is safe with me”? Well with me it is true. I would never put you in danger. You have to understand that. I promise you are the most important thing to me. Believe me and let me help you in any way possible. I will not tell anyone about it, it stays between us. Pinky Promise.
The only one who really loves you for you and nothing will change that…
By: Aleksei Smith
When you’re feeling down
Just look to the sky
Just look around
I’ll be there
I’ll be in the trees
As the wind whispers
Through their branches
I’ll be in the children’s
As they play in the park
But most of all
I’ll be in your heart
That is my final resting place
All I ask is that
You don’t let my light dull
Let it shine through you
In your days of weakness
Because I will always be
By: MaKenzie Whiteley
My roots have been woven
Into this green grass ground
My roots longing to be set free
And my arms branching out
At heavens flowing tears
Reaching for the stars
Hoping one day to be free
Among the stars
Among the Heavens
Among places where only freedom runs
And where happiness shines
With only one thing left on my mind
My roots will break free
And my scarred arms will reach
Never to be bound again
By these mortal chains called Earth
By: Emily L.
Stop yelling at me for the things that I haven’t done right. Stop barking item after time at me. I will only take your order, not make your food. Why can’t you remember what you don’t want on your burger? Seriously, if I can remember to do my homework on time, I think you can remember that don’t want pickles. Stop yelling at me through drive thru because you can’t get your one sandwich, because the five people in front of you ordered everything on the menu. It is not my fault.
Stop talking to me like I am your child. I only have one mother and father on this earth, and you are not them. So stop yelling at me like some animal. I am human why can’t you talk to me in a normal tone. You are not a mouse or a lion. So don’t tell or whisper. Talk normal.
Ew. why do you have to hand my a wet dollar? I have no idea where this has been and I don’t really want to know. Why can’t you just keep your money straight and nicely organized? Do you really have to fold up the coins in the money? That just makes it so much more difficult. I don’t have mind reading powers! Hand it to me like I am a normal person. Change, then money.
Happy Meals. The only person is happy about those are the kids. Not me. So much stuff goes into the tiny box. And trust me, making those baby fries, you will be lucky if I just tell me you want a happy meal. We have five different kinds. And decide to just tell me you want a happy meal. Well don’t be surprised if I just stop and wait there for you to elaborate on what you just told me. And yes they all come with fries.
Evil Stepmother, huh? That’s not very fair. Now I know most children don’t take to well to the person who “replaces” their parent, but Evil? That’s a bit drastic don’t you think?
Now Cinderella was a rebellious child. She was always sneaking out, she never cleaned her room, and to make matters worse, she stole the family carriage and decided to go for a joy ride. She crashed it. To pay for the damages she had to do chores around the house, this clearly exaggerated, into being a slave… The mind of a teenager is one I’ll never understand.
The night of the ball is a prime example of her rebellion. She was grounded, which is the natural consequence when a child does something wrong, therefore she was not aloud to go. Clearly she wasn’t happy about this and decided that she was once again, going to do whatever she wanted. So she went.
I don’t know how she thought I wouldn’t realize she was there. After all, she was in the middle of the room, dancing with the prince. Obviously I noticed. This was grounds for more punishment. So obviously when the prince sent someone to pick her up. I wasn’t going to let her go. But she made a scene and was whipped away to the castle where the story of her “Evil Stepmother” was created.
By: D. Stanley
The cold air pierces through your jacket
And the sound of bells fill your ears
The laughter of children all around
Christmas lights shine brightly down the row of houses
A white blanket of snow covers the ground
Snowmen stand alone in the winter wonderland
Christmas trees fill every window
Presents beneath the tree spark curiosity
Staying up late to wait for Santa to arrive
With cookies and milk placed on the table
Dreams of what Santa might bring fill every mind
Christmas stockings once empty
Now filled with presents long awaited for
Sleigh bells are heard from miles
And when morning comes
It brings happiness and joy to the hearts of all
By: Lanitra Webb