HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS

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Honorable Mentions

 

ISLAND OF TEARS

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Miles away from the world

lies the weeping island of tears.

Miles away from the perilous earth

just inches away lie her fears.

​

The cold summers

and burning snow.

Around the island

lies the vast unknown.

​

The powerful sea reaches out

to the lonely island of tears.

Rejoin the world, I'll carry you.

I'll bring you far from here.

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The ocean waves carry the island

away across the tide.

Before they reach earth's shore,

the island turns and says, Goodbye.

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Miles away from the world

lies the grinning island of tears.

Miles away, the island whispers,

"I am not welcome there, my dear."

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Vivian Bortree

Bronx High School of Science

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THE SHINY CIRCLE

​

It sits there

Glistening

A shiny metallic circle sitting

Atop the counter

So beautifully milled

Impossibly smooth

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No one part is more bumpy

More shiny

More sleek

Than another

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It sits there taunting me

This strange circular dent on my kitchen countertop

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And when this agonizing metallic circle is lifted from

the surface It raises to reveal the beautifully tall pillar

Composed of receptacles and USB cables

With edges and corners constructed just as perfect as its circular cap

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What is this strange object?

It’s a pop-up outlet.

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And does it provide power?

Well, sure it does.

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And does it get used a lot?

Well, no it doesn’t.

​

Despite its beauty

Its weight

Its glow

Its utility

Its price

It is only ever lifted for inspection

Inspection of the mess of cables and wires below it

Inspection of the dark and dusty space inside the cabinets that it hides

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And why is it that people buy expensive things but can’t be satisfied? And why is it

that people waste their money instead of helping others? And why is it that some

manufacture these deceptive products designed to sell you a fake Promise that they

can never fulfill?

​

And why is it that people believe them and buy all these things?

Well, our minds fall very easily for shiny rocks

Especially if they are circles.

​

Steven Breger

Stuyvesant High School

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OH, MIGHTY MOUNTAIN

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I saw my father's youth first when I lived and

when I cried for the first time. Not knowing the words for it—

only the emotion. He was clean shaven and hair dusk to the touch.

I recall seeing kind eyes beneath the layer of worry from holding

his daughter for the first time. He didn't need to say it,

but we both knew a bond had been made between us.

I would look for him to ask for guidance, to seek protection,

and for humor that made me feel as if I was sharing a plate with another.

But over the years, I stopped seeing the front-facing youth;

instead he was turned away, and I watched my father

grow and change with time. Yet it was fine because he

was the bark, he was the leaves that changed as the seasons

went by, and he was standing tall every time I looked back at him.

Then the leaves became white, and the bark hardened.

I want my father to be forever, but he reminds me that

this is the wrong place to put my hope in.

How will I carry on when he goes? Does a mountain

still live on even if the life forms that used to reside on it go extinct?

Will you still stand tall before you leave me behind, Dad?

​

Jayla Hall Cabrera

High School of Fashion Industries

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​

BLONDE IN AUGUST

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she quickly learned her shade of red was not the same as theirs

the darkened red in leaves that fell from trees, crumbling under harsh

boots, splitting veins

or the red of leftover wine—wine that grew warm after deserted on the

cracking wooden table in meadows under trees, after staining plump lips

maroon with red lip gloss

there's something disorienting about the laughter of teens embracing at

the end of august, seemingly bathing in golden sunlight

something almost haunting like in abandoned fields of gold, synonymous

to glowing sun kissed skin littered with just a few more freckles than

before

with the tinge of scarlet left in dark eyes

ultimately, her blonde hair faded into the brown of the cracked mud on

the soles of her boots,

black hair grew in its place

​

there was a time she was happiest, a time when blue reached the depths of her soul,

and she smiled

perhaps it was numbing fingers pressed to flushed cheeks from cold biting

wind and the stuttering breaths warming and fanning noses

a sort of bitterness comes with puffs of white breath and the sliding on

ice, especially when fingertips laced with charcoal smudge over delicate

masterpieces

her hands always felt cold, with pensive silver rings adorning skeleton like

fingers–or maybe it was just the ghostlike tan lines of empty promises, of

course, always forgotten after planting roots in the sapphire of dreams

which turned into abyss

even with the excitement of sneaking out, pressing her cold back against

concrete and watching street lights changing from green to red

from red to green

and perhaps white, blinding train lights arose in the east, speeding along a

clattering railway

just maybe a hint of blue seeping through

only when snow fell from midnight skies–only when we fell apart

she missed it almost too soon

​

everything has changed, she swears in endless, pure, raw vernacular–everything has

changed except myself

but somehow, it’s warm again, warmer than the blunt of the cigarettes lit

and inhaled, black ash smothering lungs, imprinting into ashen fingers and

trembling lips

warmer than the cherries she sank her teeth into, red teardrops trickling

down fingernails, onto the sidewalks, with addicting sweetness and plush

she remembers sea salt eyelashes and the sand at the cracks of fingertips,

floating in turquoise waves, seeping under the skin in a cold shock

there's the muffled splashing into ears, seemingly miles, eons, away and a

feeling of falling, drowning or just maybe if she let herself dream long

enough, endless suffocating

so she laughed, wheezing, hands around the stomach, clutching her

tangled heartstrings with a toothy grin–one that would never reach the

crease of her eyes

she laughed because she could not cry

she would not cry over old habits, cursing them because she knows old

habits die hard

​

so when august comes rearing its ugly head once more, the seasons quietly slipping

underway beneath her feet, just as her love once did, she's platinum blonde again

​

Sophia Chi-Chen

Hunter College High School

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​

HOPE

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Hope, come stay by my side

just for tonight,

together under the moon.

A timely whisper and a sliver of light,

shone through the cracks of glass;

a dying sight

against the cold concrete.

​

Time, I beg,

another existence passed

and everything gone,

burned and buried; all memories lost.

far too early yet so late.

What's there left for me on this date?

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The dust that clouds my thoughts,

broken webs

that spin four

pennies.

​

Fate, weave me a lie,

ravel in the truths

that runs amok.

Sew me a life that determines the die,

six, five, four, three, two—one—

more

chance.

​

Flip on either tails or head,

and determine the price.

Mirror mirror on the wall,

shards and fragments scattered so far;

where does this path lead me to?

A question unanswered,

why—an echo long forgotten.

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Body and spirit

hear my cries.

Mind and soul

guide me to light.

​

Sing to me,

hear my voice,

see my thoughts.

​

Dawn arises,

stars twinkle and dim.

Have I lost all?

​

She whispers so quietly,

her presence soothing the rouge;

the lingering touch of

fresh sea breeze pushing

fury apart.

A near forgotten dream,

so far away. Bliss.

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The trail I choose to embark,

heed my courage and

journey along with Hope.

Worry not about Time

for Fate will abide by its line.

​

Take a Chance,

flip the coin

watch it fall,

and see it reflect the shadows

of my call.

​

Annie He

John Dewey High School

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SOMETHING NAMED "DEATH"

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in her eternal resting place she brushes

my scales, her touch fleetingly gentle

​

with tremors and aches; her eyes are

glazed like turtle shells, and she weeps

​

for something named death. by dawn

she holds me for the last time;

​

in the morning she placed me in a cold

tin, and it is then I knew to bid farewell.

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Yu Xin Hu

High School of Fashion Industries

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​

BEHIND THE DRAWERS

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an alluring room, crammed full of cabinets, cupboard engulfed walls

space occupied of remnants, faded into the nightfall of oblivion

in this drawer lies grandma's expired salted caramel taffy that i

never liked pinnacles of overdue bills spill over this one–

i dare not to open it

​

 im fooling around, pulling at every handle, peeking eagerly in

its vicinity like the psyched hands of a child tugging on the red

 ribbon of their birthday box quivering fingers of anticipation

hover over the next drawer—

but a thunderclap of ambivalence strikes me

​

in hesitancy, my fingertips intently drape on the handle

my larynx blossoms thorny flowers in an instinctive gasp and

i breathe of impending air, rich with the taste of the unraveling—

a looming pull; tender blisters form from tugging on the red ribbon

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   friendship bracelets, pieced with sparkly beads of serotonin, slither to me

   cider-scented pencils and grimy, chic keychains– i'm deliriously drunk on

innocence discounted drugstore lipstick, blush in the tenderest shade of pink

a wrinkled fragment of paper, hastily crumbled and stained in red marks

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      peeking beyond– the mind, of pleading defiance, conflicts body​

stumbling across a pitiful presence that i recognize–

a vestige of fingerprints; a chillingly familiar voice speaks to me

despicably tucked away; submerged in the murkiness of my humiliation

​

here lies a little girl with bangs that sleeve her large forehead

her eyes are slim and narrow and her ears are big and pronounced

bitten nails that bleed the same color as her sorrow tears

she's honeysweet and pure, a perpetual optimist society branded dumb

​

palms barricade the drawer with a slam; barbed wires clasp onto my frail ribs and

the red ribbon snaps; my hands sting from a box i wrapped for myself i leave

before i can puke from the birthday party that haunts me–

   gasping in between saltwater slowly plunging in raging waves behind the drawers

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Sabrina Liu

Brooklyn Technical High School

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​

IT

​

Larger than all,

yet impossible to see,

it follows you through life,

waiting for the moment,

when you let down your guard,

and open up your gates,

when you welcome it inside.

​

Once you welcome it inside,

it makes itself at home,

leaves a bit of it

in every room,

in every corner of your home.

​

Once you welcome it inside,

it will never leave,

it will stay with you forever.

​

And even if you dare to change your locks,

or move your life,

or lock it out again,

it will follow you through life,

waiting for the moment,

when you let down your guard,

and open up your gates,

when you welcome it inside.

​

Sofia Maller

Staten Island Technical High School

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​

MY THOUGHTS FROM A TO Z

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Answers wilt in the spaces between us,

Brittle as petals pressed between pages.

Chapters I never meant to write

Drag behind me like a torn veil.

​

Every door I knock on leads to silence.

Fingers trace old wounds that never learned to scar.

Ghosts don’t answer when called.

How cruel, to haunt without speaking.

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I keep searching for a final word,

Just one clean stitch to hold the wound shut.

Knowing better doesn’t stop the bleeding.

Last night, I dreamt you said sorry.

​

My voice is an echo in an empty house.

Nothing fills the space you left hollow.

Over and over, I rewrite the ending,

Paint it softer, make it kinder.

​

Quiet isn't peace, it's just the absence of sound.

Rest won't come when the past still breathes.

Some nights I dream of fire, and some of forgiveness.

Telling the truth feels like screaming underwater.

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Unfinished stories rot in my throat.

Violence does not vanish because it is quiet.

Wishing wells never take returns.

X marks the spot, but there is no treasure.

​

You are gone, but never far enough.

Zero answers. Zero apologies.

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Sand Morales

Susan E. Wagner High School

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​

UNREQUITED

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So kiss me with those delicate lips of tempered glass,

Gentle as gossamer silk,

With a fervor unmatched by any other stricken by passion

and desperate ache. Allow me to linger in that saccharine

embrace,

Till it rots my skin away;

The pregnable flesh,

Festering beneath those pristine fingers,

Formed of an inviolate porcelain,

Glimmering in the light as if made of white gold,

Untainted by the belligerent disease consuming my

being in its entirety. And maybe

Maybe…

If the God,

That resides in the velvet softness of the sky above, who claims to love

me so ardently, Truly meant it,

When He said:

Greater love has no one than this,

He'll allow me to perish,

A pile of brawn and bone,

Beginning to deliquesce.

The bloody mess,

Dripping through the cracks of your gentle hands,

Now befouled by my merciful demise.

The remnants of my person,

Will pool in a crimson puddle,

That crashes against the precious shores of your moonlit feet.

Standing above my gruesome guts,

You will look down,

A fiery flicker of something bestial,

Blossoming in those darkened galaxies;

The suns of my emptied sky,

Overshadowing the fallacious feelings in

my overburdened heart. Finally,

In that dreadful moment,

Your mind will be filled with sentiments,

More akin to love,

Than the apathetic emotions,

That you direct at me,

Every

Single

Day

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Zaina Rivera

High School of American Studies at Lehman

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​

THERE IS A RIVER THAT RUNS

​

there is a river that runs

half-past the half-split road

on the edge of town– water beating on stones

to drown out the guns.

​

a river runs

through the cracks of the concrete soil

drip drip dripping through the rusted drain

run run running by the bums.

​

there is a river that runs

in rivulets over sunburnt skin

in too-hot showers on too-hot nights

puffed steam in the air that curls around your mother’s gin and whispers go before it

is you who becomes.

​

still, a river runs

in the dead of night

infinite and unyielding

(it is not just your heart that drums.)

​

there is a river that runs

past you when you cross the bridge

orphic in its temptation, pleading in its flow

speaking in indecipherable tongues.

​

if you stay,

it hums

life will be familiar.

if you stay,

life will be none the wilier.

​

there was a river that ran

through my childhood town.

and perhaps it still does, winding through the mossy rocks

following long after you’ve started your van.

​

and yet it has been years since i saw that river

years since i saw my mother, too.

and i haven’t seen any more water–

so remember this as it fades in your cobwebbed rear view: if it

couldn’t swallow me, it can never swallow you.

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Krisha Soni

Bronx High School of Science

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​

LOVE(D)

​

I love

​

how i giggle

when I’m with you.

​

 i love

​

  how the sun prances

  on your amber Hair.

​

   i love

​

how your smile

is like A beacon of joy.

​

    i love

​

how you caress my hair

while i lay.

​

    i love

​

how you have a look

of love when you

see me.

​

    i love

​

how The comfort

you give me

feels like a warm hug.

​

    i love you.

​

    i loved

​

how i felt at peace

as you held me

in your arms

(from peace to conflict)

​

    i loved

​

how you called for me

out of pure love

(from love to indifference)

​

    i loved

​

how we talked

for what seemed like

Eternity

(from eternity to cessation)

​

    i loved

​

how You supported

my dreams

because you believed

in me

(from belief to doubt)

​

i loved

​

how the touch Of your skin

gave me the exhilaration

of a rollercoaster

(from exhilaration to dejection)

​

i loved Us

(from us to me).

​

Ellis Teano

Manhattan Hunter Science High School

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​

THIS IS MAN

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A sadness overwhelms and develops a clenched fist.

A pride conflicted, tested, and now an article for the masses.

You, an example, an emotional eclipse.

Foolish, gullible and deficit of discipline, your self-respect thrown out in a trash bag

​

A crow squawks confined in a lifeless metallic can.

Clashing against bars, it thinks itself a martyr.

Blood spills from its wings, its skull unfazed, stubborn as man.

A curiosity and urge, they grow only larger.

​

A crow speaks in tongue with no translation.

It speaks in desire, it speaks in necessity, it speaks with hunger.

A language spread with an almost constant mistranslation.

To free this bird or to lock oneself in with it.

​

Crow’s pride has been conflicted. Man can't accept any wrong.

And I know nothing greater than they.

And so I sit in my cage, a spectator no different than another.

And I too watch that flock fly free.

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Joseph Ulloa

Manhattan Center for Science and Math

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​

MAN YOU REALLY SHOULD’VE JUST PAID ME MY $230

- inspired by Hanif Abdurraqib

​

Young, so young were we that we didn't have

to care and feel and think we just

did and that doing did do me what

I thought was unique & 'on all the calls and servers and

Chats and game servers I felt

a part of the group & as one of the first four

I knew and saw the shuffling

of members in and out of this group like

a riffle shuffle and that was when I saw the shit and

I was through because needing proof and

missing payments for the homework I did

when you've always been good to

pay had me awake at night thinking

thinking about the disrespect and the bullying

and cackling like hyenas where we think everyone is

good-natured about it but

we're not

​

let it be known that I’ve known been known

I started this cycle against others in the group

I lord of the flies

wiped the grease from my hands

from the fries

we shared

and I chose my piggy

and the French Revolution didn't

stop until Robespierre's head

rolled

and when I saw you in the

park and beat you in front of

strangers and those alike

I didn't take my payment.

​

Zhi Han (Anthony) Yao

Stuyvesant High School

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​

ABSORBANCE

​

I was four years old when I began to explore my fear of the dark

Looking into the shadowed corners of my room, I realized

That even the silhouette of my fingers failed to exist. I had realized

I myself, had failed to exist.

​

I was no longer part of a body. My hands themselves felt only half real, as if this

whole time they were part of a carefully crafted mirage built to sustain the illusion

of living for a child that wasn't to be released into this harrowed world.

​

At least, not yet.

​

I was seven years old when my brother inherited my fear

And so we stayed close together when night came

And I would sing to him, my voice small and soft

My voice turned to a lighthouse. And me the ship.

Lost and Guiding.

​

I sang as if I could bribe the darkness into letting us sleep another night, as if the

darkness would stand over us, whispering the inevitable truths of our existence into

our ears and the only offering I could give him was the secrets I sang. And so I

did.

​

We learnt to ignore our fear.

​

I was nine years old when I first let darkness encompass me

My body still pulsed with pain, a well-deserved consequence for my actions

For once I did not shrink away from the darkness

​

It was me who turned off the lights and shrunk back into the dusty corner of the

closet we shared. It was me who waited till I could see nothing but the faint outline

of light that peered out from under the door and It was me who covered it up and

lay down.

​

I was nothing again.

​

I was eleven years old when I declared my dedication to the dark

I was sitting with him, silence ran through the air,

he pulled every whispered secret out of me and I sighed

​

Giving him all I could, I sat at the edge of my bed and whispered one more secret.

"You're my only friend." I would declare and he wouldn't respond yet I felt the

shivers run through every last vertebrae of my spine as if he agreed.

​

The absorbance of the dark is reflection

Of the light. The same light I no longer

Understand. Darkness is simply defined

The partial or total absence of light. Is

My dark reliant on how much I have turned

To fear the light? Is my dark reliant on

How much the light has turned itself

On me. Turned itself to the darkness

We had once known to fear.

​

Wania Zahid

Midwood High School