Eboni Maxwell, 13 (Boston, MA) What My America Looks Like Eboni Maxwell, 13 My America looks like chaos, a burning flame that cannot be put out and continues to grow. My America is dull and bland; I wake up everyday and ask myself ¨Why are most people cruel and mean, racist and unapologetic… What made them this way?” I get ready for school and go to learn, but my mind is constantly running. Thoughts of what would happen if I wasn’t black: could or would I be able to put more of an end to racism? I try to focus but all I hear in my head are the sounds of gunshots, people screaming for their lives and crying babies scared by the loud bangs. As a black female in this world that we live in, I am too afraid to walk anywhere alone with the fear of being shot, kidnapped, or murdered, or worse. MY world is not at all pretty. Life isn’t what everyone makes it out to be.
poetry
“World,” a poem by Kai, 10
Kai Gajilan Fowler, 10 (Leonia, NJ) World Kai Gajilan Fowler, 10 Bright, so bright But Lonely, and tired. Lonely Lonely from being isolated for so long Tired Tired of being bruised and battered and scarred And yet Bright, so bright, The fight is bright, Filled with light But stressed, and fretting. Stressed Stressed for surviving any longer with pain inflicted every touch Fretting Fretting for the sake of lives And yet Bright, so bright, Tonight is bright Filled with light But crying, and calling. Crying Crying from burns and scrapes Calling Calling for others, others alike, others who don’t hear And yet Bright, so bright The world is bright Filled with light And trying with all of its strength, Trying for us Trying for the others alike Trying with hope at heart Hope Hope for us Hope for them Hope, for all.
Frost (Portrait of Madame X): A Series in Ekphrasis by Ella Yamamura, 14
The Face of Winter She stands— a frozen flower; frostbitten. A gaze that could wither the sturdiest tree is aimed at the right. Bull’s eye. With skin fairer than Snow White, the Face of Winter ignores all else while being trapped within her dark restraints that weigh her down— the only thing keeping her from blowing away and snapping in half. What a brittle, frostbitten little flower. The Face of Winter she stands— a frozen flower frostbitten. Frost-covered frost living a dream.
