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FGHS Literary Magazine
Contents
Our Team
- Pricilla Trejo, Rosalva Cholula, Fernando Torres Tapia, Fernando Gonzalez Rodriguez, Alondra Chaez Gonzalez, Ailene Dominguez, America Gutierrez, Jonathan Goana-Garcia
1
- Rebekah Bernhardt
- José Moreno Valdovinos
- Makayla Verant
- Jonathan Herrera
- Ava Barnes
- Sindy Espinoza Aguilar
- Alex Villarruel-Zarate
- Brithany Lopez Valdez
- Audrey Phuong
- Katheryn Chaley Martin
- Theresa Echeverria Garfias
- Kaelyn Garnica
2
- Olivia Talent-Alonso
- James Moore
- Eva-May Fog
- Alex Villarruel-Zarate
- Theresa Echeverria Garfias
3
- Yamil Gaona Miranda
- Azure Riehl
- Grace Shaw
- June Smith
4
- Mr. Chin
- Audrey Phuong
- Mari C.
- Anonymous
- Anonymous 2
5
- Katlyn Terrell
- Jaylynn Hinton
- Zachary Fitzgerald
- It was a group effort
6
- Jacob Connell
- Emelia Oppenlander
- Morgan Westby
- Zachary Fitzgerald
7
- Jace McNeil
- Daniel Stapp
- Kari Bloomquist
- Terri Jones
- Sabrina Witt
8
- Daniela Aguilar Gonzalez
- Danielle Harvey
- Emeraude Ortiz Duarte
- Emelia Oppenlander
9
- OTA
- Ava Barnes
- Shane Glenn
10
- Parker Botes
- Derik Gaspar Garcia
- Jaylynn Hinton
11
- Brigette Ellis
- Jasmin Garcia Reynoso
- Carlos Weimann
- Selenia Share
- Zachary Fitzgerald
- Payton Edwards
- Emeraude Ortiz Duarte
- Parker Botes
16
17
18
12
- Maria
- Kale
- Brayan
- Madi
- Aydan
13
- Angel Gonzalez
- Zombie Goo
- Jackson Rigamonti
- Melah Davis
14
38th Annual Oregon Writing Festival
- Audrey Phuong
- Jacob Finch
- Morgan Westby
15
- Rodrigo Mejia Celedonio
- Mateo Bernabe
- Juan Alexander Diego Pedro
- Estephanie Acosta Gomez
- Evelyn Echeverria
- Alondra Lara
- Yurecxy Salinas
- Brenda Cristobal
- Julieth Pantoja
- Maricarmen Alfaro Jimenez
- Yamil Gaona-Miranda
- Grace Shaw
- Azure Ri
About us
is a Forest Grove High School literary magazine committed to the belief that publishing students' work empowers them to think, create and grow as content creators.
The Writers' Locker
Think
Create
Grow
Editor's Note
I
firmly believe writing can be used as a tool for positive social change. When used mindfully, writing can help heal the soul of the writer, and it can also help console the mind of the reader.
Writing, and more specifically, spelling and grammar, have been the most significant challenges I have been learning to overcome for the past 22 years. In 1999, I arrived in Forest Grove, Oregon, after living in Guatemala for over four years, where I only spoke Spanish. At Neil Armstong, I was placed in the ESL program to help regain my English skills. After two years, my conversational English was good enough to converse with a native speaker. But my writing abilities, on the other hand, didn't come back as quickly. Throughout high school, I struggled with writing. I was lucky enough to have a Language Arts teacher who saw beyond my spelling and grammar to focus on my ideas,
and together we were able to publish my first story, "My Trial of Tears."
My confidence in my ability to create a story soared, but I still struggled with spelling and grammar. In college, I always visited the writing center and my professors to get feedback on my written work. Unfortunately, I had Creative Writing professors who questioned my ability to write my own stories because they could not believe that someone that looked and sounded like I do could have the ability to write powerful stories. On several occasions, I was accused of cheating, and I was even asked to drop a Creative Writing class because my professor did not believe in me—that class became the only class I failed in college.
Luckily, many other professors saw my writing potential. To this day, many of them are still my mentors and friends. It took me about seven years to be confident enough with my writing to the point where I no longer needed the writing center. The only way I could improve my writing was by practicing, making mistakes, practicing more, making more mistakes, and learning from all
those experiences.
Now in 2023, I want to empower my students. I want them to see the power that writing has to create positive social change, and because of this, "The Writers' Locker" exists. It will provide a safe space for my students to showcase their work to a greater audience than just myself.
Sincerely,
BYRON JOSÉ SUN, Editor in Chief
Editorial Team
Grace Shaw
Poetry Editor
She is a junior at FGHS who strongly advocates for women's rights, sexuality/gender rights, and mental health. Her prominent writing type is non-fiction and poetry. She enjoys photography, traveling, and writing. She hopes to be a journalist someday and bring awareness to many issues surrounding gender rights and mental health. She has one dog that she adores and spoils. Her all-time favorite music artists are $uicideBoy$, she listens to them 95% of the time, and the other 5% would be indie music.
Azure Riehl
Prose Editor
Being a senior at FGHS, Azure is a poet, fiction writer, and lover of anything creative. She's been drawing and painting ever since she can remember. Although she loves to write fictional stories, Azure is a very versatile writer and can work with various genres people throw at her. In her work, especially poetry, she fights for human rights and emphasizes equity. In Azure's free time, she loves to listen to music, dance, and practice mindfulness, like journaling and going on walks. After high school, she plans to major in the arts at Portland State and study abroad.
Yamil Goana-Miranda
Prose Editor
Yamil Gaona-Miranda is a senior at FGHS. She likes to use her creativity, which sometimes looks like writing short stories or poems. One of Yamil’s favorite genres to write is fiction because she can use her creativity to make something out of nothing. However, she also likes the way she can express herself through poetry. Yamil enjoys trying different things and can often be seen dancing, running, and playing music. She hopes that whatever she creates and/or does can positively impact at least one person.
Creative Team
Fernando Gonzalez
Design Director
During his short 17 years of life, Fernando has briefly discovered who he is and what he believes in. He’s a senior at FGHS and is not always too social but has extroverted moments. He enjoys doing his make-up and listening to music in the halls because it makes him feel like the main character. Some real-life topics he feels passionate about are the equal treatment of people no matter their race, religion, sexuality, or sexual orientation because we are all human and equal. He is used to being independent but has discovered that working with others is not so bad. I hope you enjoy his work. If not, he was never here.
Fernando Tapia
Copy Director
He is a junior at FGHS and 16 years old. Ever since he was little, he always sat with a book in his hands. He enjoys writing, reading, and biking around town. He is learning to love and feel passionate about his writing skills. He often writes about fictional tellings or hardened debates on political or communal matters. He always indulges in challenging feats to outperform his past works. Striving for greatness is what he admires in himself and others. Moving forward, he wants to become a firefighter; however, if that doesn't come to fruition, writing has always been his next step.
Alan Calderon
Photography Director
Alan is a freshman at FGHS and is 15 years old. He started photography as just a little hobby but later started using it as a tool to show off the things within his community that might get overlooked. Photography has helped him see the world differently. He can now spot the beauty of the most mundane things surrounding people and capture the moment for others to enjoy. He often mixes music and creativity to bring out an image that stands out from the rest. Alan has recently become a city council member and is trying to improve his community in all aspects.
Join the
If you join Latinos in Action (LIA), you will learn to develop the six elements Quetzakuauhtli embodies. Watch her story now!!!
Contest
Winners FGHS 1st, 2nd & 3rd
NAMS 1st, 2nd & 3rd
Both had English and Spanish winners
A Public Drowning
by Rebekah Bernhardt
1
st
She was drowning on her own spit.
Her eyes bulged unnaturally like milky-white tumors laced and threaded with red veins protruding off her skull, painfully accumulating for the overabundance of saliva.
Her tongue atrophied and crowned the roof of her mouth like a wrecked lifeboat scarcely held together by chance.
Her lips, shriveled and lifeless, fell like a curtain into a small frown trapping everything together as a final form of security.
She never said anything.
Some speculated that you would have to pry her jaw open with your own hands if you wanted to hear her vocal chords scratch together to assemble a sound.
Others claimed she was dramatically drawing in crowds to feed her own agenda for attention.
They were all equally disgusted by her, ensnared by her foul appearance that they didn’t even notice she was dying.
They watched her tremble and claw at her own mouth, her face flashed in fear and alarm as her skin became painted into an array of purples, reds, and blues. They watched surpluses of spit spill from her large eyes in the form of sticky tears, clinging off her cheeks in strands collecting dirt and grime. They watched in a sick fascination as she choked and sputtered and gasped and finally drowned.
They were silent.
Then they left.
Despertar de la oscuridad: Sanando de un amor narcisista
by José Moreno Valdovinos
1
st
E
Enredado en un lazo de mentiras,
sumido en un mar de dolor,
se encuentra una joven alma,
que busca salir de un amor opresor.
Un amor que parecía perfecto,
pero que pronto se volvió un infierno,
un amor egoísta y narcisista,
que le hizo perder el rumbo del sendero.
Ella siempre hablaba de símisma,
de su grandeza y superioridad,
mientras el se consumía,
en su sombra de oscuridad.
Las críticas y humillaciones,
eran su forma de expresión,
y el se creyó sus mentiras,
que lo llevaron a la desesperación.
Pero la llama de su fuerza interior,
no se apagó por completo,
y poco a poco fue despertando,
para salir del laberinto.
Con valentía y determinación,
comenzó a sanar su corazón,
a recuperar su autoestima,
y a descubrir su verdadera razón.
Ahora se encuentra en un camino nuevo,
con la frente en alto y la mirada al sol,
libre de cadenas y ataduras,
y con la certeza de que merece un amor verdadero.
Remember
by Makayla Verant
1
st
H
Haven’t you learned?
When you look back at what happened…
Do you ever think about changing your decisions?
Oh, you don’t remember…
That’s okay
Because I remember
I remember the red bin full of bottles
The hospital visits
The IV’s
Their jaundiced skin
They told us it was liver failure…
And your admonitions…
Reciting ‘you need to learn from their mistake’
Over and over
Up to that harrowing night…
I still remember that night
I acted like I was fine but I was not ‘fine’
Instead of comforting me, you chose to tell me not to make the same mistake
…
Yet here you are.
You haven’t made it there yet
But you will…
…I’m trying to stop you before that happens
Even the loveliest Lotus can be tainted by sullied soil…
Do you remember now?
No…
Of course not…
You are blind and deaf
Blinded by your repetition
And deafened by your pertinacious routine
There is no end to how many times I’ve cried out!
…Begging you to stop
My mistake after all
It seems I too ignored that you did not have the ability to hear me
See me!
My rage and pain could burn like an uncontrolled inferno
But you can’t see it!
You can’t even comprehend it!
You will never perceive if I am in pain!
…And if you did
Would you accept it?
But,
That’s okay…
It’s okay if you don’t remember because I…
Remember.
Mi dulce primavera
by Jonathan Herrera
1
st
D
Dulce y alegre primavera
Me haces ignorar la tristeza que me dejo el frío invierno
Ahora junto a ti y las flores yo vuelvo a llenarme de esperanza
Más iluminado y colorido de ideas como las flores que adornan mi jardin
Brillando más fuerte que el mismo sol
El pasado y el frío me deja recuerdos dolorosos
Pero tu primavera me motiva a salir y levantarme fuertemente junto a ti.
Es tan acogedor estar en tu temporada
Porque se que para mi después de la lluvia siempre habrá un arcoiris.
Mi dulce alegria…
my mother instead of me
by Ava Barnes
2
nd
i
i want to go back in time and meet my mother as a child
i want to see her with her knotted hair and grass stained clothes
i want to see her standing barefoot in the kitchen wondering what she will eat for dinner
i want to see her silently begging for her big brother's attention
i want to see how many tears she cries compared to now
i want to hear about her dreams before they were tainted with the responsibility of children
i want to see how stubborn she is, if she’s as stubborn as she is now
i want to tell her about her future and see how she reacts
i want to see how innocent she is
i want to see if i got that from my mother
i want to warn her, to show her a picture of the boy who never acted like man
who never will
run
i want to show her a picture of my father
keep running
i wonder if she sees my father when she stares into my brown eyes as i swim in her blue ones
i will be her guardian angel
i will let her keep that childish giggle and those juvenile dreams
i will cease to exist so that my mother will be immortal
i will never meet the world so that my mother can walk it
i will bring my mother rainbows so that she can bring the storm
i wish i could go back in time and protect my mother from the world
but the world is what made my mother the way she is now
the mother who has known me all my life but i’ve only known for a fraction of hers
she is a part of me and i am all of her
Mi Sueño
by Sindy Espinoza Aguilar
2
nd
T
Triste y alegre el momento en el que recibí la noticia
Llego ese dia…
Las ideas y los miedos atormentaban mi mente.
Pero en cambio la alegría del encuentro se apoderaba de mi alma
Sentí la voluntad y la fuerza de tomar el riesgo hacia el siguiente paso
Comenzar la partida diciendole adios a lo conocido,
Decirle adiós a las tardes en el parque,
Tardes en las cuales me hacían sentir los frescos besos del aire en mi cara,
En el que mi pelo volaba a la ruta que el viento viajaba.
Donde observaba a la gente salir de la iglesia,
a los pájaros cantar, y a los niños a jugar.
Para poder encontrar lo desconocido con la esperanza de un sueño
El Sueño Americano…
Mi sueño provocó lágrimas de tristeza a los que se quedaron
En este sueño se pierde y se gana
Gracias a dios he ganado más de lo que perdido
Al llegar a mi destino he tenido que crecer y aprender lecciones
Y valorar cada esfuerzo y lágrima derramada
He tenido que pasar muchos desafíos
más grandes de lo que es pasar fronteras entre países
Sin olvidar las culturas y de donde soy
Estoy orgullosa de donde vengo y quien soy
Decidida a llegar más allá de lo que las fronteras pueden limitar
Fuerte y preparada para lo que venga`
Soy yo contra el mundo
Persiguiendo mis sueños
Como mi Sueño Americano
The Figure
by Alex Villarruel-Zarate
2
nd
W
When she was born, her parents fell in love with her Chocolate brown eyes and soft hair.
She was the definition of exquisite. Everywhere she went, she was always the center of attention.
By the age of 4, her parents started noticing an odd figure following her around. They viewed nothing of it at first.
Slowly, as she grew, they noticed their daughter letting the figure decide what she would do and say.
The figure made her play with monster trucks and never let her wear dresses.
By the age of 8, she started to get made fun of because of the figure.
No matter what she did, the figure wouldn't leave her alone.
It never left.
This figure made them feel different.
When they would look at the figure, they would envision themselves as a different person.
The person they wanted to be.
At the age of 11 they couldn't bear the feeling deep down inside.
They were confused and mad. What they were feeling wasn't normal.
They were trapped in themselves, trying to figure out how to get out.
Till they searched on the web, “Transgender”.
Someone whose gender identity or gender expression does not correspond with the sex they were assigned at birth.
This was it. This is what they have been feeling for years.
It all made sense. They felt a sense of happiness wash over them.
He was nervous to tell anyone; he didn't want them to think differently from him.
When he built up the courage, he went and told everyone he knew. He was a guy.
Some people supported his decision, but others were truly against it.
They would say it's against god's beliefs and that he was turning to the dark side, but he didn't care.
He felt like himself, and it wouldn't matter what anyone else says.
At the age of 14, he realized what that figure was trying to say.
He finally understood why it was there. Why it was helping him.
Without that figure, he wouldn't have been able to find out who he, genuinely, truly was.
El gran amor que siento por ti
by Brithany Lopez Valdez
2
nd
T
Te amo. Dentro de mil años lo seguiré haciendo porque aunque sé que no somos eternos este sentimiento nunca dejará de existir
Tu eres mi luz, eres mi aliento mi vida.
Me imagino una vida junto a ti sin que nada ni nadie nos separe. Tu y yo vamos contra el fin y el mundo; nunca nos detendrá.
Nunca te dejaré sola sin importar lo que pase ni quien quiera separarnos yo siempre pensaré en ti y nadie me hará cambiar de opinión.
Nadie podrá tomar tu lugar en mi corazón y siempre ganarás un lugar en mi corazon asi como te ganaste mi mirada, mi mente y asi te regalo mi corazón porque es todo tuyo porque nadie más podrá robarme la mirada una sonrisa o mi corazón como tu lo haz hecho.
Tu mereces mas que eso. Todo el mundo podrá sentir cuando estoy enojado pero no sentirá lo que yo siento por ti. No importa el camino que pasemos yo siempre estaré a tu lado y nunca te dejaré caer.
El día que apareciste en mi vida no me detuve porque estabas ahí. Me enamore de alguien que nunca creí enamorarme.
Eres la cosa mas linda del mundo De pronto el mundo te puso en mi camino y de repente camino mi suerte porque tu estabas ahi.
No importa donde estés ,a qué distancia esté pero siempre te seguiré amando de aquí hasta la muerte.
Me enseñaste a entender, a comprender todo; me enseñaste que no todo es malo siempre van haber personas que me darán la espalda y tu nunca lo harás porque siempre me apoyas.
Tu me haces reir , me sacas una sonrisa y por ti voy hasta la luna.
Se que soy tonta pero aun asi me elegiste a mi y siempre te protegeré de los que te hacen daño porque eres muy importante en mi vida y te amo mas que nada y sin importar lo que pase.
Prefiero morirme mañana a mil años sin ti.
The Last Time I Saw You
by Audrey Phuong
3
rd
W
We went to the Plaid together, me and him
He tried to pay for my things, but I was faster, whipping out bills before he could even open his wallet
Then we wandered around in the summer sun
My bag broke, and I had to carry everything
He offered to hold them, but again, I didn't let him
We do this every time
We won't talk for weeks
Then all of a sudden, we're meeting up at the store
We'll be on a call while I mix batter
Sometimes, we'll hunt down Susan
This time was different
It was the last time we did any of that
I still have some of those old lady candies from that trip
I decided not to eat them, they're too old and stale
La Ansiedad
by Katheryn Chaley Martin
3
rd
T
Tener ansiedad es como tener un acosador.
No importa a dónde vaya o con quién esté,
siempre tengo la sensación de que alguien me observa.
Me dísculpo por todo, incluso si no es mi culpa.
Nunca devuelvo comida porque tengo miedo de ser una carga,
sudo mucho y no manejo
bien las confrontaciones.
Me estreso hasta el punto de estar físicamente enferma,
me aterrorizan las primeras impresiones,
y a veces, soy la amiga que “no sabe cómo divertirse”
porque no puedo dejarla ir.
Y me preocupo demasiado por lo que la gente piensa de mí,
porque si es algo parecido a lo que yo pienso de mí misma,
no los culparİa por caerles mal.
Estoy cansada de mi ansiedad, pero, sinceramente,
tengo miedo de como serİa sin ella.
Tenemos esta relación tóxica
y la mayor parte del tiempo quero terminar,
pero me quedaré con ella
porque mi ansiedad es una de las pocas cosas
que aún no me ha dejado. Y creo que es
por eso que amo tan profundamente.
Por qué me importa tanto.
Y por qué quiero darle a la gente el tipo de amor
que temo nunca poder encontrar.
‘Till Death Do We Part
by Theresa Echeverria Garfias
3
rd
A
Amidst the battlefield across the dust,
Lay my lover, my Stardust.
She was the Sun to brighten my day,
Now a flower, withering in May.
I ran to her, unbelieving.
But there she lay, her heart stopped beating.
As I fought the monsters to preserve my love,
She lay so still, like a dead dove.
And when I held her in my arms, waiting for a sign,
Her breathing confirmed what I’d decline.
She was what I lived for and who I’d die for.
Once I realized the solution to be together forevermore, I grabbed
my weapon, prepared to see who I adore.
But when I looked down at her face, I put it back down, tears falling
from my eyes.
She would be sad that she was the reason I had died.
I lay next to her, holding her tightly.
I cried oceans of tears that shone so very brightly.
It wasn’t until the next life that we would restart,
For it is until death, do we part.
Me enamore de ti
by Kaelyn Garnica
3
rd
T
Tu sabes que te quiero
Pero tu no me quisistes
Yo nunca te dije q no te amaba
Porque me destruistes
La noche que te dije cuanto yo te amaba
Pero tu no me creistes
Pero tu no dijistes q tu no me amabas
El dia q dijistes q tu si me amabas
Yo no te creia
Por tantas pendejadas
Que decias todo el dia.
Recuerdo aquel dia que te conoci
Fue como ver un angel mandado para mi
Luego me dijistes que si podia ser tuya
Tu sabias bien claro que era para ti
Luego paso unos meses, que me enamore de ti
Tu me dijistes que si me enamore de ti
!!Porque pensabas que no era para ti!!
Tu bien sabes que te amaba q era para tii
Tu amor me prometiste,
tu corazon me diste.
como un loca enamorado
Te creí lo que dijistes
Aunque seamos different
nuestro amor es invencible Mi amor no le hagas caso
A La gente que no los dicen
Se que te hice sufrir
Todas las noches que te dije que me iría..
Tú me mandabas mensajes
Preocupando donde me iba
Llamando mi jefa
Para saber dónde iba
Después de varios meses
empezastes a cambiar
Fue de repente me dejastes de hablar
Porg eres asi
Porque estas aya
porque me haces sufrir.
tu sabes cuanto te quería te lo demostre
Tu sabes que te amo y necesito de ti
La neta ya me arte de tu estuperias
Luego cuando andábamos
De enamorados por el parque
Te vi en el teléfono y te pregunte que era
Tu me ignorastes
Luego fue cuando me di cuenta
QUE ANDABAS CON OTRA
Mi jefa me pregunto
Porque andaba de deprimida
Le dijet ama que me enamore de una estuperia)
Y ahora lo q encuentro es solo soledad
Todas las noches que me voy a dormir
La unica cosa q sueño es en ti
La neta me duele a pensar
Que no fui pa ti
Que hice amor
Te hice sufrir?.
Como voy a amar a otro o a volver a confiar
La neta te amaba estabas ahí por mi
El dia que te dije que extrañaba a mi hermanito
Que falleció hace años.
Tu me dijistes que el estará ahí
La neta que te extraño
extraño tu compañía
extraño tu aroma
La verdad que lo siento que lo nuestro no se arreglo
La neta que ya no puedo amar
Ya pasado 8 meses sin ti amor
Y no puedo para de pensar en ti
Todo el tiempo que pienso en ti
No puedo parar de hablar de ti
La neta que me enamore de ti
Y si tu no me amas por favor vete de aquí
Contest
Honorable Mentions
The stranger I call mother
by Olivia Talent-Alonso
I
I'll let you go into the night
But please
Please mother
Don't forget me
Don't become the stranger
The stranger that is somehow connected to my family tree
Don't forget my blood
Don't forget all your little ones
I will lie my head on this very night
And remember your sweet lullabies
I'll look out your window
Watching you walk beyond the trees
Farther than my heart could ever imagine
Farther than my head could ever grasp
Watching you forget your blood is within my roots
Seeped deep within the veins of my heart
As my mind slips away into the night sky
I'll let out my final goodbye mother
In hopes you will hear your babies cry
Goodbye, stranger.
-O.T.A.
The black
by James Moore
H
He’s scared and frightened
Don’t you see it on his face?
Teeth bared and grinding
The sweat on his brow
The stress in his stomach
And the bloodshot bespectacled eyes?
He quivers in the fetal position
His chin comforts his knees
Don’t you hear his silent pleas?
OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE
HEAR ME HEAR ME HERE
I HAVEN'T SAID A WORD
BUT I NEED EXTROVERTED AND PROACTIVE ASSISTANCE
AS SOON AS POSSIBLE
Oh man
Poor guy
So depressed
Or vitamin D deficient
He’s a ginger after all
Man could get sun-kissed in a snowstorm
Look he’s getting up now
I think I’ll light a candle
And turn in for tonight
Is life worth living?
I do not know
Who cares
I am no Nietzsche
The only truth I know
That campfire candle smells great
And look how pretty the crackling orange is!
Everett, Wa
by Eva-May Fog
B
Back to my life in the fields of stones
Where souls rest in boxes brimming with bones
One heart on my level the other 6 down
I still can't help but miss that old town
Oh town where I started oh town where I'll end
How I long for you in each letter I send
You knew me before and you'll know me again
The only problem is that I'm not sure when
Unwanted hurt
by Alex Villarruel-Zarate
D
Days are dark and numb
I need to feel something, anything
I scratch and bite and cut, but it doesn't work
I feel a sense of hopelessness. Not only that, but I was never complete
No one wants me. All these awful thoughts drown me
These words and mistakes haunt me. I wish it could all die
I never felt in control. Furthermore, I will never be in control
It feels if life has no meaning. There's nothing to live for
Tonight is the night I move and leave this place behind
it would be best for everyone…
The cuts turn white, everything gets blurry
I feel nothing anymore; I hope they won't miss me
The pills in the cabinet look so tempting
I starve myself to try to feel something that's missing
I wish I could cut out the pieces that I don't like
I make excuses when people ask why I have scars
And I say everything is fine
I never wanted it to be like this, I just wanted to be happy
These thoughts strangle me, I need someone to cut me free
Everything is too overwhelming, I can't do it anymore
I took half a bottle of pills, I feel a sense of calm
A sense of sleepiness washes over me. I close my eyes
I opened my eyes to see all my friends and family crying
What's going on? Why are they sad?
They were all standing around a coffin
I was inside
They were hurt, because of me
I didn't want that, I didn't want to hurt them;
I woke up again in the hospital, I don't want to see them hurt like that
I'm going to reach out, I can't keep living like this
Sometimes a helping hand is better than living in agony.
Ordinary
by Theresa Echeverria Garfias
I
I lead a life so unextraordinary,
For even death takes pity on me, and I have nobody. I have no talent, yet I try to stand out.
There’s nothing to live for, but like a seed, I try to sprout. The ones I call friends are too good for me,
For I am a coward, it is them I want to be.
This life has tortured me enough.
I will get nowhere if I try to be tough.
My friends create art, they use ideas or find inspiration. I huddle in the corner, unable to create strokes of beautiful colors from my imagination.
My friends have beautiful personalities like they were blessed before they were given life.
I am a torn, white sheet of paper, blank, bland. Like my creator never bothered and sliced me with a knife.
The poetry contest would not have been possible without the support of Forest Grove High School, CLC, Poetry Club, and all the judges below. We also want to thank every student that submitted a poem to the contest—you are very brave and we thank you. FGHS and NAMS each had different prices, but the same criteria were used for judging. English and Spanish entries were evaluated separately; because of this, each one has its own prices. The first place prize is a Chromebook, second place are Apple Airpods, third place a notebook and a fountain pen—plus publication in Volume 2 of the Writers' Locker.
Ms. Murtaugh
Managing Poetry Editor
Ms. Murtaugh is the advisor of the Poetry Club, and she has taught English at Forest Grove High School for the last 15 years. She feels privileged to work with students whose creativity continually inspires her. She believes writing is one of the best ways to know yourself and others better.
Melah Davis
Senior Poetry Editor
Melah is a Sophomore. She loves her four cats very much and would do anything for a good picture on her really awesome Instagram. She is also in band despite spending all her time writing in her notes app during the games. She is a grammy nominee in her dreams, a big lover of her friends, and a gossiper at heart. She entertains herself by joining clubs involving writing, which turns her away from getting a job.
Angel Gonzalez
Senior Poetry Editor
He was born in the worst state ever: California. He enjoys writing fantasy stories and playing Splatoon 3 in his free time—that's all he does. He likes marine life and Ghibli movies because that's totally interesting. After graduating from high school, he will move away to Spain to become a mandarin farmer with his cat Gordu. (Please note that this picture does not depict his full handsomeness.)
Alyssa Nguyen
Poetry Editor
Alyssa is a senior at FGHS. They have loved creative writing for as long as they remember. They especially love how easily writing can be used to express their emotions and those around them. They choose to write in their free time, pet their cats, listen to music, play video games, and take long runs in the rain. They dream of sharing art that makes people feel heard and less alone. They plan to major in psychology at Western Oregon University this fall.
Atticus Barnhart
Poetry Editor
Atticus is a sophomore at FGHS who spends most of his time advocating for human rights (like LGBTQ+, Women, & POC´s rights). He loves art, music, and poetry. He spends much of his time watching movies, horror being his favorite genre, and listening to music (ICP, Crass, Acid Bath). He started to write poetry to illustrate his feelings with words and art to illustrate them with images. As a Trans man, he finds much pride in his writing, hoping he can comfort those who have struggled in similar ways.
Jackson Rigamonti
Poetry Editor
Jackson likes poetry and creative writing and enjoys it for the same reasons he likes Oregon weather and math. As a senior, he plans to study biology at OSU next year. Right now, he’s having fun as the president of the FGHS Poetry Club and in band.
Pidge Ward
Poetry Editor
Pidge Ward is a Freshman at FGHS. Xe plays Tenor Saxophone in Wind Ensemble and is also the prop manager for Footloose. Xe also plays guitar with his friends and is trying to start a band. Xe loves drawing and painting and also loves making bracelets and roller skating.
Matteo Cenis
Poetry Editor
He is a freshman at FGHS. He loves his cat, poetry, and art. He participates in lacrosse, marching band, and ballet. Horror movies, dating game shows, and procedural dramas are his favorite things to watch. Most of his poems are about things he notices on walks, talking to people or his many superstitions. His proudest achievements include a 340+ Duolingo streak and planting the seeds of a lemon he peeled and ate to embrace the circle of life.
Aidan Johnson
Poetry Editor
Aidan is a junior at FGHS. He found his passion for creative writing through free writing. After joining the FGHS poetry club in the fall of 2022, he also found an interest in poetry and other forms of writing through the wonderful creativity of his peers. In his free time, he enjoys listening to music, bike rides, writing, and mini trips to various parts of Portland. Although still over a year out, he plans to attend a state school in Oregon and major in economics.
Hazel Smith
Poetry Editor
Hazel Smith is a senior at FGHS, and has been passionate about poetry and writing since she was little. She especially enjoys poetry club and being able to share her work with others, as well as hear her classmate’s work! In her free time, she is usually outside enjoying nature, listening to music, or hanging out with her three cats. She plans to go to Oregon State University in the fall, where she will potentially study English.
Spanish Judges
Angie Reyes
Editora
Andrea Reyes
Editora
Valeria Espino
Editora
Angie es una estudiante que está cursando su segundo año en FGHS, a ella le gusta pasar su tiempo leyendo, dibujando, escuchando música y algunas veces escribiendo sus propias historias. Ella será una abogada que luchará por la justicia y la equidad. Su música favorita es el K-Pop, pero también disfruta de muchos tipos de música. Es una persona con gustos muy definidos pero sabe adaptarse a todas las cosas nuevas. Ella espera un día poder viajar por el mundo y crear muchos recuerdos.
Andrea es una estudiante en su penúltimo año de FGHS. Ella ha vivido toda su vida en Chiapas, México. Acaba de mudarse a Oregon hace apenas un año. Aunque aprender el Inglés ha sido todo un reto para ella. Ella es alguien que está muy enfocada en sí misma ya que antes que nadie considera su felicidad y bienestar como su mayor prioridad. Es una persona algo introvertida aunque siempre trata de mostrarse amable con las personas. Ella es amante del arte, en especial del cine y la música. Una de sus más grandes metas es poder convertirse en una muy importante bióloga y activista. Aunque tiene un largo camino por recorrer, ella jamás perderá de vista todos sus sueños y metas sin olvidarse de sus valores y de quien es.
Valeria es una estudiante de décimo grado en FGHS. Le encantan los deportes. También le encantan las películas de ficción y suspenso. Le gusta leer y discutir con la gente sobre los libros que lee. Es una persona que siempre lucha por lo que quiere y no se rinde fácilmente. Su mayor inspiración para salir adelante es su madre y las lecciones que la vida le ha enseñado. Le gustaría escribir sobre su vida y ser una inspiración para que la gente luche por lo que quiere. Una de sus frases favoritas es "un por ciento de probabilidad y noventa y nueve por ciento de fé". Ella escucha todo tipo de música. Planea terminar la secundaria e ir a la universidad pero aun sigue pensando qué quiere estudiar.
Judging Criteria:
O
PL
IC
O
PL
IC
Originality
Show us the power of your creativity and way of looking at the world.
Precision of Language
Poetry is all about the power of words. Make sure to use words in your favor.
Impact of Content
Powerful poetry will stay with the reader long after they are done reading the poem.
Points | Originality | Precision of Language | Impact of Content |
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3 |
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2 |
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1 |
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Personal Narratives
The Masks We Wear
The Masks I Wear
by Yamil Gaona Miranda
T
The History
The plan was to go and come back. The stay would be quick. 27-year-old Maria walked onto the airplane that would take her to San Francisco, California. A little baby accompanied her in her womb as she left the only home she had ever known; Mexico. In Portland, Oregon, stood 32-year-old Jorge waiting for his wife, Maria, to arrive. The plan was to go and come back. The stay would be quick, just enough time to get some money to bring back home. However, like many others, a once-thought temporary change became permanent. Their little girl, Itchel, was soon born. The three moved from apartment to apartment, rooming with their siblings who had also immigrated to the U.S.. Jorge worked. Maria cared for Itchel. Both loved their child, and each other, deeply. By the time Itchel was a toddler, Jorge and Maria decided it was time to look for a house to settle in. Their eyes were drawn to a simple, homey, one-story house in Cornelius, Oregon. Tulips adorned the house's yard, which was shaded in a color not quite yellow and not quite white, but somewhere in between. After some inspection, Maria and Jorge took the house they would make home for the rest of their stay in the U.S.. Jorge settled on a job as a construction worker, and Maria took on the job as a child caretaker. The two adults had another child, Jorge, who was three years apart from Itchel. Then their third and last child was born. I, Yamil Gaona Miranda, was born into a family in Oregon on April 13th, 2005.
Struggles and Triumphs
I grew up surrounded by love and care. Going out to eat on Sundays, going to birthday parties almost every weekend, and playing ridiculous games with my siblings; were things my childhood was made up of. With my mom being a caretaker, I grew up around kids 24/7. It was a struggle at times, and it didn’t help that I was a jealous kid. I grew into it, though, and have become very grateful for it. I can’t imagine a childhood without someone to play with. I had my siblings, but my way of having fun wasn’t exactly the same as theirs. We spent less time together as they grew older, but I still had someone to be a kid with. Perhaps one of the greatest struggles in my life was the transition from elementary school to middle school. I went to Echo Shaw Elementary, where most of the student population was of Hispanic descent. The fact that we had known each other for years made it easy to get along with them. It was a tight community that would be torn apart when we left. Middle school,
meet new people, new environments, and new activities. New meant different and different meant change. I didn’t want that. It was hard to get used to the new way of things. I was no longer as comfortable expressing myself in class, which caused me to become much shyer than I already was. Though I am not yet as confident with self-expression as I was in elementary school, I have grown accustomed to it. Yet life continued being life, throwing obstacles in my way as it does. I struggled a lot with my identity, the idea of who I was and wanted to be. Questions like that then turned into anxiety. Anxiety was always there. I tried and tried to get rid of it, but it wouldn’t take the hint. It kept growing and growing. There was a moment in my life when I stood in what seemed like a pit of darkness. I didn’t know what came next, but I just stood there, afraid, hoping I might make it back out eventually. I now stand outside of that dark pit and thank God for it, for He brought me out of it.
The Mask I Wear
As a Mexican-American, I have felt the need to put on a mask many, many times. When around my Hispanic friends and family, I have often felt too white or “white-washed,” as people like to call it. Having that tendency to fit in, I tried to do so by becoming whom I thought they wanted me to be. I picked up various ways of speaking, slang, etc. I pretended I knew what they were discussing even when I didn’t. I wanted to feel a part of the community that looked like me, but it was a challenge when American culture also shaped me. No matter how much we had in common, I knew that I didn’t look the part of an American. It was hard, so I tried to be as American as possible in an attempt for them to see that and not anything else.
The Real Me
I, Yamil Gaona Miranda, was born into a family in Oregon on April 13th, 2005. Being from Mexico and America makes me unique, and it isn’t something to look down on. I like using my creativity, and despite being quite shy and reserved, I can get loud and become almost the opposite. Life isn’t supposed to be an easy road, it’s filled with bumps and imperfections, but that's what life has always been.
I am grateful for all of it.
The Journey to See A Star
by Azure Riehl
F
First Breath, First Cry
May 24th, 2005 in Salem, Oregon, at 3:14 PM, was where my life started. I didn’t cry when I was born. I’d like to think that it meant that maybe in a past life, coming into this one, I was at peace. But, medically, the doctors said otherwise. After getting fluid out of my lungs and crying out for the first time when I was just a few days old, I feel like the start of my own human experience happened. Of course, being born is the true start to our human lives, but being able to express emotion for the first time is like being reborn once again.
The History of Me
Both my mom and dad's side combined, I must have more than half German in me. Most of my family came from Europe. Without my great grandparents as children sailing over on my mom's side, or without my dad's side of the family coming over to Canada, just swept by local authorities because of mixed-up birth documents of their children, I wouldn’t be here. I marvel over the fact that I’m here because of them. I can’t imagine what it was like traveling over to start a whole new life in a new country. It’s all been done before. I know that, but… I simply can’t fathom it all. As of now, the things that have happened in my life so far have been extremely important in expanding my experience. Growing up in poverty, living off of food stamps and church funds, my parents divorcing when I had just started middle school, going through gender identity struggles, and mental health issues- all of it. Looking back, I look at it from a more positive angle, knowing that it’s essential for my growth to experience these things. But in those moments, it’s almost debilitating.
Determined To Try
Growing up poor was a blur because I didn’t really realize that it was happening to me. I’m glad I could have a good childhood without focusing on that. If I did, I would’ve grown up to be a completely different person. Nevertheless, I did become a different person in middle school. Quite literally. After my parents’ divorce when I was around 13, I felt like I needed to be the person whom I lost at that time in my life- my dad. It was a 75/25 situation with my mom and dad, only seeing my dad on the weekends, and I felt like I had been torn away from my support system- this masculine figure in my life that made me feel protected. So, I became the person to protect. I identified as a transgender man for about three years until my freshman year. I struggled to balance my masculine and feminine energies, dealing with a wounded feminine and forced masculine side. I couldn’t be weak, no matter what I did. I couldn’t be proven wrong. I couldn’t be told what to do. During this time, I was in a deep depression, dealing with being bullied for being “different,” aka being an LGBTQ+ student with mental health issues. What really pulled me out of the pit I dug myself was Annie, my dad's girlfriend at the time (now wife). She made me realize that I had some work to do. I started to get into mindfulness and spirituality at 14 years old after being gifted my first tarot deck, and that moment saved me completely. I was able to find myself more and more with the help that I received. I spoke up for myself and stood my ground. I could become confident in deciding to identify as a woman once again. I don’t know where I’d be without creating some discipline and learning from Annie. The journey has been difficult and long, and I have much more to learn, but these moments have been the most important for my growth.
To Put on a Show is to Kill Yourself Slowly
For a long time, I hid my true personality. When I was younger, I was afraid of the
response I’d get from my peers if I was truly myself. But, that’s the past; what about now? I do mask around people, but not as much as I did when I was younger. I can express myself now- both being comfortable with my inner self, like my mind and soul and my outer self, which would be my body and how I express it. I believe that everyone masks around people that they don’t feel comfortable with. Putting up a guard to protect themselves. Whenever I’m around extended family, I have to be putting on a show for them. Otherwise, they wouldn’t understand me as a true human in what I like because they’re quite closed-minded. Our religious values, social norms, and how we speak—all oppose each other. A part of it is protecting the other person from themselves, but another part of it might be fear of rejection. I understand that hiding my true self is not entirely beneficial, but sometimes, you might have to do it to protect yourself from a difficult situation. Yet, we do not know our true selves when we wear a mask around others for so long. It creeps up on us over time, as you cover up yourself to please others. To me, you’ll never be able to achieve true happiness if you are someone you’re not.
Holding True to Yourself: A Life “Unfathomable”
What would you do if you could hold a star? Even, touch a star? The thought seems unimaginable. Well, you’ve done it before. Holding a newborn, hugging a friend, shaking a stranger's hand, patting a coworker's back- it’s been done before. Your blood that streams through your veins that pumps to all of your vital organs, the iron in our bodies, the carbon in our muscles, all of it was created from stardust before Earth was created. Every graze on another person’s skin, are you touching stardust. Why is this important? Look at it from a different perspective. We are all made up of the same matter, yet everyone has a completely different experience. What we do with our experiences comes from what we’ve learned around the world. Our perception of the world comes from our own brain, which is made up of fat and, blood vessels and nerves. Our nerves are made of cells, those cells are made of the universe itself. And we, humans, have made it a social norm within our world to hide our true selves out of fear that a person who is made up of the same matter will disapprove. Why have we grown to care so much? Unlearning this can be extremely difficult for people because, oftentimes, it’s all that we know. Nonetheless, having a sense of individuality and finding our own identity within a sea of people is important. It brings purpose to some. I personally forget about the fact that we’re all the same down to our core. My identity matters so much to me, and I’m so grateful I get to express it daily, even if I am afraid of the response from others. So, who am I? I won’t say my name. I won’t say my age, where I live, or what I do.
Who am I?
I am love. I am free. I am someone to radiate the magnetic royal blue and purple energy around me- I am stardust living a human experience. The mind may swarm and swaddle me with limiting thoughts that we’ve all heard before, but once that belief- that thought- is taken away, I’m myself once again. Not to say I ever wasn’t before, but I could be truly myself if I wasn’t shielded by my own thoughts- by my own vessel. And I wouldn’t have to share every detail with absolutely everyone I know because I know. To our core, we all know who we truly are if we search deep enough.
The little girl in the trees
by Grace Shaw
I
I believe, throughout our lives, we women, are taught to live under a constant mask, projecting only the best of ourselves to society. Women are taught to sit pretty, stay quiet, and never speak up, this exact reason is why we women are much more susceptible to any danger. As a little girl, I was reckless, climbing the mightiest of trees that looked like the Eiffel tower, playing in the deepest of puddles telling myself it was a river, I was a wild child. Never held down, “bossy” as one could try and say, I would say, leader, I was a leader, leading my own life, my own dreams, and goals that made me the utmost infatuated with life.
I could’ve sworn she had learned to love everyone, she had friends upon friends, and she knew how to be happy and what she wanted in her life. She wanted to save every animal she could, and travel as far as her heart could lead her, she was a child created with only dreams and aspirations. Never just a normal girl walking around. Always a little girl with dreams that were too big to fit in the beautiful chaos of her mind, so they poured out like an overflowing glass of water. I believe she stayed this happy for a long time, holding onto dreams longer than most children, but at some point along the way she grew up. Grew to form her own opinions about who were good people and who weren't. Choosing to be friends with some people she wishes never stepped foot into her life, loving people that only crushed her generous heart.
I mourn for her, I mourn for the wild child I once was, she calls to me and I try to reach her as well as I can but she’s climbed that tree, far too tall, and can't come down; she's stuck. She aspires to be me now, a teenager with friends but I think she’d be disappointed and confused. Why don't I look and feel like she wanted, like she pictured. I’ve died my blonde hair dark, then cut it all off, and got more piercings than she would’ve imagined. Not to mention, she believed in loving a man, having kids, and getting married. Little did she know, we turned out to love girls, but I'm sure she’d think that’s badass now. She didn't care to please anyone who didn't give her the respect and love she deserved, she was stronger than ever, and I always envy that. I can't
help but believe I disappointed the wild child that climbs in the trees and embraces her aspirations without a second thought.
All she does now, years later, is try to satisfy the little girl inside her that used to climb in the trees, and do little things that she knows will feed that little fire inside that craves to be let go of and free, she's covered by a mask that is herself, in another form, grown up, and trying to make peace with the world and herself. I often wonder what I did to make her feel unwanted and unheard, the little girl in the tree, climbed too far and I can't help her anymore. I wonder if she got scared and kept climbing. Scared of all the men who have ruined my perspective of life, or maybe it was the people who’ve wholeheartedly crushed my heart or the fact that now it’s just me by myself and life consists of school, sleep, and work. The routine of my life now, couldn’t be any less than what she hoped it to be, she feared to live the life I live now, she craved to travel further than any car could drive her, be a leader for all of her friends, and keep loving nature as much as she can.
I hope to climb trees again and run in the wet grass barefoot and sing at the top of my lungs as if no one around could hear me. I want to find the softest gentlest of love, one that would embrace my wild dreams, and climb trees with me. Why do I envy this little girl so much? Sometimes I think it’s because I was already everything I aspired to be but society has made me mask it and turn into the very opposite of what I wished to be. One day I’ll save the girl in the trees, and become all that she ever hoped for until then I will keep trying to overcome this unruly feeling of not being everything the little girl dreamt of. She watches me from up in the tree up higher than I could ever reach, she smiles at times, but I can't help but notice and feel the times I've disappointed her, its like a branch of that tree is falling off every time I do; eventually it will crash down and there won't be any saving to do. I hope to save her before her disappointment of who I become weighs down the tree branches and causes her to come falling to the ground.
My History
by June Smith
M
My mom grew up in Atlanta, Georgia, with her three siblings, mom, and dad. My dad grew up in Newton, New Jersey, with his three siblings, mom, and dad. When my mom was my age, her family moved from Georgia to Denver, Colorado. My parents ended up going to the same college in Durango, Colorado. They met when my mom volunteered in the school library, and my dad would come in to check out books. They bonded over their love for nature. They dated all throughout college. My dad went to research geology in Alaska. For a year, they could only communicate through letters. But they stayed together, and when he returned, they started looking for a house together in a small town about an hour away from Durango. They both got teaching jobs.
A few years later, they had my older sister Hazel. I was born three years later, on February 8, 2008. I was born in a hospital in Durango. Hazel and I were inseparable when we were younger. We shared a room, and we did everything together. I hated being the youngest and wanted a little brother so badly. On my 8th birthday, I was lying in my mom's bed, and my dad brought me a little box wrapped in red wrapping paper. Inside was a positive pregnancy test. I was so excited to have a little sibling.
On October 12, 2015, my little sister Dorothy was born. She was born early and had a lot of health problems. She had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks after birth, and my mom stayed with her. I was scared that something bad would happen to one of them, and I hated being away from my mom for so long. We visited them as much as possible, but I never really got to see her, until one day when her nurse let me hold her for the first time. Even though I wanted a brother, she was adorable. I was excited either way. When she finally was able to come home, she had to be hooked up to oxygen, and she had to have regular doctor visits. She was allergic to many things, so we all had to be careful what she ate. As she got older, she got better and didn't need the oxygen anymore. She started to get over her allergies as well. Having a little sister took a lot of getting used to. But I loved to play with her because Hazel was getting too old to play with me.
By this time, I was in 4th grade. My elementary school was really small, just like the town of Dolores. There were about 60 kids in my grade. And most of them had already decided they didn't like me. I had some friends, but they started to make fun of me. They would always tell me how annoying I was. I thought something was wrong with me, and I told my mom. She decided to take me to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist diagnosed me with ADHD, depression, and anxiety. She recommended medication to my mom. So I started a few new medications, and they helped me talk less, and I felt less annoyed. The medication helped me to focus more in school. I kept taking it for a couple of months. But the medication took away my appetite and made it really hard for me to sleep. It got to the point where I refused to eat, and I was really underweight. My mom decided she was going to take me off the medication.
I quickly gained weight back, and when I started 5th grade, I was bullied for my weight. And with being off the medication, I still struggled with my ADHD. The school was hard for me, and I never got good grades. I hated going to school. I had a friend group, but they were all mean, and by the end of the year, I had stopped hanging out with anyone. I felt so bad about myself and my body. I felt like I was never going to have friends.
Until I met Rachel, she didn’t care how much I talked or what I looked like. We were always together. We would hang out every day after school. Her family was like my second family; she was my parents' extra daughter. She always stood up for me when I got bullied. Rachel and I were partners for National History Day in 6th grade, and we had made it into the regional competition. We made a little skit and spent so much time on it. It was about forensic science and fingertips. Two days before regionals, they announced over the intercom that it was canceled due to covid. We were both really disappointed.
Then they announced that we had two weeks off school. I was scared that we wouldn't be able to go back because of the pandemic. It caused me a lot of anxiety, not knowing what would happen. We didn’t end up going back to school. About two weeks into quarantine, I started to feel really lonely and depressed. Even Rachel didn’t hang out with me. My old friend group stopped inviting me to places, so I was always alone.
I got tired of being the way that I was, and I wanted to be well-liked and have friends. I decided that I wanted to have a “glow up” over the quarantine and go back to school as a new person. So I started to work out and go for runs, but I guess I
wasn't seeing the results fast enough. I started to eat less and less because I knew that would make me lose weight faster. I lost around 60 pounds over the quarantine period. I decided to go back on my ADHD medication before 7th grade started.
When I went back, it was good at first. People would always ask me how I lost so much weight, and they would tell me I looked a lot better now. But my weight continued to drop, and it wasn't long before people started to make fun of me for being too skinny. They would tell me I looked like a skeleton and that I needed to “go eat a burger.” It only made my depression worse because I still didn’t have friends like I had hoped I would.
7th grade was pretty lonely. Toward the end of the year, I started dating a boy named Bridger. I hung out with him almost every day, and he made me happy. When I had a few weeks left of school, my parents told me that we were going to move. I had mixed emotions about it initially because I didn’t want to leave Bridger and the town I grew up in. But as I thought about it more, I realized that I hated living in Dolores and that moving could be the fresh start that I'd been looking for.
My dad had applied for jobs all over Oregon. I missed the last week of school to take a trip to Oregon with my mom and older sister. We visited all the towns he got a job in. Forest Grove was one of the last places we visited, but when we did, we decided that Forest Grove was the best place for us. We started to look at some houses but we couldn't buy one while we were there because we kept getting outbid. When we got back to Dolores, I couldn’t wait to move. For a few days, we didn't think we were going to be able to get a house in Forest Grove because they were all so expensive. My mom was looking at houses on Zillow, and she found one on Juniper Street. I've always been called Juniper, even though my name is June.
We packed up our belongings and moved from Colorado to Oregon. We had to move 2 cats, 2 dogs, a family of 5, and all of our stuff. The trip was rough, but we eventually made it to Forest Grove. We moved into our new house on June 1st, 2021. This was our first time seeing the house in person. It was a pretty nice 4-bedroom house. I walked into the room designated to be my room. The ceiling had been painted bright red, and the closet neon pink.
The moving truck didn’t come until June 3rd, so I had a few days to repaint my room. Once the moving truck brought us all of our stuff, we started to unpack and get settled. Setting up my new room was definitely my favorite part of moving. I set up my new room, and I loved the way it looked. I collected tons of cool posters and stuff to hang on my walls.
The first summer here kinda sucked. I didn't know anyone because I hadn't gone to school yet. As bored as I was during the summer, I was terrified to start at Neil Armstrong Middle School. The night before my first day at school, I couldn't sleep because I was so nervous. I woke up and started to get ready for school. I put on a cute outfit and did my makeup. I had been getting my stuff together all week, so my bag was ready with everything I needed. I still didn't feel ready, though. I was so scared. I felt like I wasn't going to make any friends. As we were pulling into the school, I started to feel really overwhelmed. There were more kids there than there were people living in Dolores. I wasn't used to going to school with so many people. I started to cry, but I got myself together before walking inside.
The first day went all right, but I didn't talk to anyone all day. In fact, I didn't start talking to people there until the second week of school. I quickly made friends with a group of girls; we are still friends now. I was so happy to have met them and made friends. As the year went on, I made lots of friends, and by the end of the year, I finally felt like I was well-liked and fit in. I've kept many of the same friends from NAMS and still talk to most of them. But I’ve also made friends at the High School as well. I was nervous to start high school, but it has gone better than expected.
I’m doing much better now than I was when I lived in Colorado. I’m forever grateful for getting a fresh start and meeting the people I’ve met. If I had never moved here, I would never have met my boyfriend or friends. I like coming to school in Forest Grove much more than I used to. I recently went off all my medications to try to handle things independently. I decided I was doing well enough to stop taking them. Surprisingly it went pretty smoothly, and I’m managing everything better than I thought I could without medication.
HAAPI
Hawaiian Asian American Pacific Islander
American
by Mr. Chin, HAAPI Club Advisor
M
My grandpa became a good Christian,
Hoping to be an “American”.
He joined up to fight in the Army,
Hoping to be an “American”.
He went home without any thank you,
Lied to and still not “American”.
My uncle in ‘Nam fought for freedom,
Hoping to be an “American”.
Ordered to shoot when he sees them,
Serving our sacred America,
The cancer from chemicals killed him,
Died for but still not "American".
A price for this land my family has paid,
But still you can't see we're "American".
Model Minority
by Audrey Phuong
B
Being the "model minority" has its perks
It changes how people see me, for the better
For one, I don't need to try very hard, since I'm naturally gifted in academics
I don't even need to study to get 100% on my math test
It's in my blood
Second, I'm a master at the performing arts
Years of violin and piano, I'm even 1st chair
Lastly, I stay quiet about my issues
Nobody wants to hear them, so I keep to myself
They don't matter that much anyways
Except, what about that kid over there?
The one who studies every night to maybe get a B?
The one who spent hours practicing, just to pass an audition?
They're Asian, like me. Shouldn't they be able to do it all with a snap of their fingers?
What about the kid who barely passed their test?
They were relieved that their score wasn't lower.
Or the one who is terrible at their instrument?
They don't have a musical bone in their body, but they still do it because they love it.
And the kid who speaks out when something is wrong.
The racism they face, the bullying that happens to anyone, not like the others.
What about those kids?
Are they any less Asian because they aren't the best?
What about me?
Is all the hard work that I put into my accomplishments just amounted to my heritage?
Everyone assumes I don't try, they assume I don't struggle to pass
They actually think I'm naturally gifted with these things
They don't realize that I'm the kid who practices hours to not get failed
I'm the kid who's so overwhelmed by everything that they're fine
getting only a 70% on their test when everyone expected more
I burden people with my issues
Those issues cause me to cry in my mother's arms
They anger me, they make me hate this world
But none of it matters, because no one sees me that way
Because it comes down to the fact that I'm Asian
A model minority
Someone that everyone should try and be
Am I more one thing than the other?
by Mari C.
S
Should I be more this?
Less that?
Should I be proud?
Guilty?
Ashamed?
Where will the confusion lead me?
Will I know who I am?
Did my mother know who she was?
When she picked up her life?
Moving away?
While I am stuck?
Sitting here wondering who I am?
Never being enough?
Always ridiculed for being more?
Never excepted for being less?
When will I fit?
In the small box society has crafted?
For me?
Fetishized
by Anonymous
Y
You're so lucky to be Asian
Thanks I say
I wish I could be Asian
No you don't I say
Could I touch your hair?
That's weird I say
I want to be in an anime when I'm older
Ok? I say
Do you know Japanese?
Why would I? I say
You're not Japanese?
I'm Chinese I say
Oh she says
Goodbye, my Dear Culture
by Anonymous 2
N
Now I look outside,
And my father says goodbye.
Goodbye to my culture,
Goodbye to that side.
I cry and I cry.
My mother says it’s okay,
But I know I lost something.
Not just my dad, but
Half of me.
The girl who wants to learn tagalog.
The one who would eat rice with her hands,
Laughing while watching the evening Filipino comedy show.
Once my father left,
So did that young girl,
culture and all.
Goodbye, Isabella.
Goodbye.
Forever Entwined
by Katlyn Terrell & Classmates
F
The Earth slightly shook as a creature appeared forth in shining bright light, it had fur and scales ranging from various yellows, reds, and greens. Beautiful patterns of zig-zags and polka dots decorated its body. It had the head of a schnauzer with great ram horns atop its head, a long twisting body like a lizard, and its four legs were a mix of two front paws and two back hoofs. It had a snaking lizard tail with the tip tapering off into a shimmering betta fish tail. But, the most striking thing was the deep green opaque pair of butterfly wings sprouting from the back of the animal.
Peculiar enough it wasn’t a very large animal, it was only as large as an average house cat, but its energy made up for it as it bounced for joy as soon as it touched down on land. It wandered aimlessly, having somewhat of an idea in mind about where to go, though it couldn’t pinpoint exactly why it knew it was heading in the right direction. It finally found itself on a small farm on the outskirts of town. It felt familiar. As the alebrije stepped onto land, it realized nobody would acknowledge its existence, even as it tried to jump up excitedly in front of the person working. That is until it noticed a young girl staring at it.
She seemed scared as the Alebrije excitedly slinked towards her, but she didn’t move a muscle, “¡Mamá, mamá!” the young girl yelped and ran into the house. The Alebrije whimpered as it sat down with its tail between its legs. It didn’t understand why it felt so rejected in a place that felt so much like home.
As the girl opened the door to huddle herself in the safety of her mother’s arms, she turned to have one last look at the creature. It didn’t look so scary as it sat there hunched over and tiny like that. She felt a pang in her chest, and she probably hurt their feelings… besides, it was very pretty the longer she looked at it, especially its wings! She let go of the door handle to walk to the creature timidly. She didn’t want to scare it.
The Alebrije noticed her return as it
stared up at her, lizard tail rapidly wagging back and forth. The young girl introduced herself as Rosalía and invited the creature to play with her. The alebrije happily obliged, chasing her across the dirt driveway. When the alebrije caught up to Rosalía, nipping at her heels, she came to a giggling halt as she sat down to pet it.
The longer she sat with the Alebrije. She began to feel nostalgic as she realized something—each discombobulated part of the animal resembled a past pet she’s had—she remembers raising a caterpillar into a butterfly, the betta fish that lived for only a month, the elderly lizard her older brother took in, the ram that was lost after a coyote attack, and the family dog that was there for almost all of her life.
She felt overcome with joy! She never lost her beloved pets as they came back in one being to see her once again! The alebrije felt happy, too, as it realized she finally came to the conclusion that she knew the creature. Eventually, it got late, so Rosalía and the alebrije had to return to the house, have dinner, and sleep.
When Rosalía awoke the next day, she came to find the alebrije was nowhere to be seen. She could’ve sworn it was just sleeping at the foot of her bed. She checked the house, the farm, and the farmhouses, yet she couldn’t find anything but regular farm animals. After rigorous searching, eventually, she tired herself out and gave up.
Maybe it was all just a fantastical dream…or maybe the creature didn’t want to be her friend anymore? No matter the reason behind it, she was sad her new friend had gone missing. Two weeks later, Rosalía got over it, forgetting most about the whole ordeal. But that wouldn’t be the last time she would see the alebrije.
Every year after the incident, she’d get visited by the creature once a day without fail. Rosalía was right; her past pets will forever be with her to comfort her when she needs them most.
Butterfly-Chick
by Jaylynn Hinton & Classmates
T
The Butterfly-Chick came to be through mysterious circumstances. A young female bird had taken a stroll one day. On that very stroll, she came across something quite delectable—a something she thought was a piece of grain. What she didn't realize, was that it was, in fact, a Butterfly egg. She ate it and continued upon her stroll. Soon though, the Bird laid an egg. She cared for the egg with great persistence. But when the egg hatched, she could not believe her eyes…
Her newborn chick was born with a peculiar set of wings… Butterfly wings.
She had no idea why they were butterflies, but then she noticed some other key differences. Her chick had a different color of fur. A dark blue fuzz had covered the body of her new chick. She also noticed the wings had a pattern on them. She soon had to escape her hysteria and care for her newborn.
When others saw her chick, they were so stunned they couldn’t speak. They were too bewildered by the unusual beauty of the chick. The wings and colorful fur brought the eyes of many. Unfortunately, that includes the eyes of some rather unwanted people. The chick's mother, despite being proud of her luck and of her offspring, was not feeling very happy. She thinks that she has to please everyone, but she is not sure she can do it. “Maybe I’m not enough,” she says.
Another rather unfortunate fact about this abnormal family is where they live. They do not live somewhere particularly nice at all. They live in a small wooded park in a residential area plagued with gangs, drugs, and frequent gang firefights. Of course, they are not often disturbed in their small wooded park home. And the trees help to block some of the sounds.
The mother tries her best to keep her chick safe as it grows, and she is mostly successful. Until one day. It was early morning. Maybe around 5:00 AM. Unbeknownst to the Mother and Butterfly-Chick, a black van rolled up to the park’s entrance. The doors open, and three members of a nearby gang step out. They are all armed. One of which was armed with a cage. They walk into the forest. The Mother and the Chick were sleeping soundly in a nest built within the hollow trunk of a tall standing tree, courtesy of some termites, who agreed to help them.
The mother suddenly wakes up to the sound of loud footsteps and whispering. Then suddenly, they see a large gloved hand enter a tree trunk and grab her. She squeaks loudly as she is being dragged out.
The Chick wakes up.
“This one ain’t it,” one says.
“Keep searching. Put that one in the cage. Maybe if they are together, what we’re looking for won’t make as much noise,” Another says in rebuttal.
Soon the Chick is forced to witness what her Mother was forced to experience. The chick is dragged out, her wings almost being ripped off by the un-gentleness of the gloved hand. “I got it!” The gloved one says.
“Good, put it in the cage.”
They are both put in the cage, and the group walks out of the forest into the van. “Sir, we got the product,” said the other one.
“Good, I can sell it for millions to an exotic animal dealer,” the driver says.
“What now?” Says the other one.
“Back to the base.”
As they drive away, they overlook a
black D. Charger following them. The Mother and the Chick are both sobbing quietly, not letting go of each other. They are on a back road, driving on the edge of town. The Charger suddenly speeds up, coming around the corner at a high speed and intentionally hitting the van at a high speed. The cage went flying and hit the van wall.
Thankfully the Mother and Chick were fine but were unconscious. The other occupants of the van, however, were not so fine. They were all also unbuckled down. Who knows what became of them because the van was flipped on its side, and the van’s rear doors were soon open. The cage was taken to the Charger. The Charger quickly drove off. Soon the Charger reached a nearby forest. This forest did not have predators or many human trials or interactions.
As the Mother and Chick awoke, they realized the door to their cage was open, but they weren't in the van anymore. They knew it wasn't the Van who put them here, but they weren’t aware of who did it. And frankly, they didn’t care. They scuttled into the forest as fast as they could because they had to get away from there as fast as they could. Hopefully, their new lives will be better. They didn’t know what the Van people had in store for them, but they were thankful they got away. It didn’t take long to settle down. They found another nest of termites and asked if they knew of any hollowed-out trees to settle in. The termites directed them to a tree with a small hole for a nest.
The Chick quickly grew up, being known through the forest as a beautiful creature with no rivalry to compete with. She was just too stunning. She was not very athletic and never liked that type of activity anyway. She was good at flying, though, and was pretty energetic. She was also very smart and quickly learned much about the local animals and environment. She was a little self-centered, but how can you not be self-centered when you're the most beautiful thing in the forest.
It is difficult for her to listen because she likes to talk. But she tries to remain respectful to others because she is still a kind bird. She was so social, if she wasn’t talking to/about something/someone, it didn’t feel normal for everyone else. She had many friends in this new forest, unlike the last one.
What happened to the Mother? Well, she stopped feeling like she was forced to provide for everyone and stopped feeling like she wasn’t enough. Now she just lives her life, accompanying and protecting her child. But the Butterfly-Chick’s tale doesn’t end there. After a full lifetime, of course, the Chick and Mother have passed. But the Chick left many offspring to take her place, and now the forest is full of colorful beasts and creatures. People think many of the Alebrije visits here due to how many colorful and exotic animals populate the forest.
The Chick, having passed, now accompanies new souls into the afterlife, still as beautiful as she was when she was alive. Many souls have said how nicely treated they were by her, and it isn’t long before she becomes beloved in the afterlife. So that is where the story of the Butterfly-Chick ends. Maybe you might see her when you pass after your lifetime is over.
Guess you will just have to wait, huh?
Pandakoalas
by Zachary Fitzgerald & Classmates
I
In a pleasant hidden valley in central Asia, the grass grows greener than anywhere else, and the water in the river is as clear as the crisp midsummer air it draws along its meandering path. The fruit on the trees ripens year-round, the Sun lays a blanket of warmth along the wandering fields and soaring mountainsides, and the weather is mild every day.
High on a mountain, obscured from view by a layer of fog, danger rarely finds its way to that serene realm. It had been so long since last a threat was made to the denizens of the isolated paradise that they had almost forgotten how to secure their future. Said inhabitants were playful, joyous, attuned to nature, sociable, wise, and adventurous. They were quick to try new ideas, easygoing, and kind, and they welcomed new friends with open arms.
They were the Pandakoalas. About 4-5 feet long, 3 feet tall on all fours, and weighing 150-200 pounds, they live off the land, taking what they need and giving what they can to maintain the delicate balance in their secluded gorge.
All day long, they devise new games to play, bask in the Sun’s warmth, splash around in the river, and eat the fruits that run wild across the hills and flatlands among the rocky bastions of the outside world. They sang all day until the light faded, and they stayed up to watch the stars until fatigue overtook them, and they fell unto sleep before the promise of a new day rose high with the sun above the valley's walls. They lived in peace and harmony until a new guest arrived at the entrance to the enchanted vale.
Three strange creatures, humans, talked in strange manners with sound indecipherable to the Pandakoalas. These new arrivals were quickly greeted by the Pandakoalas, who had brought fruits as gifts and who eagerly invited them to join that day's activity of throwing fruit into the air, and trying to catch them in your mouth. (Points were allocated for how high and how consistently you could throw and then catch the fruits. Granted, no one was keeping score, having become too focused on the game to officiate anymore).
One of the humans joined the festivities while another stood and watched from a few feet away. The third, however, paid their games no mind and merely trudged along the river's path toward its source. Observed from not so far away, it traced a path along the curves and eddies formed by the river, moving against the water's own adventure to the edge of the valley and down to whatever lies below.
Once the strange new guest had reached the source of the cool water and found it to well up from within the rocks at the head of the pleasant valley, it made some strange noises, took some pictures, and then headed back to the mouth of the valley, beckoning to those it had come with as it did. They stayed only an hour and left just as suddenly as they had arrived. After their strange guests had left, life returned to normal for the Pandakoalas. They played, ate, swam, sang, and danced under the stars in their fertile mountain valley. But their usual routine wouldn’t last long, as a new horde had climbed the mountain to their sanctuary.
The Pandakoalas welcomed their prospective friends with all the warmth of a midwinter campfire, but that made no difference. The new arrivals, with mysterious haste, walked towards the start of the river and began some construction there. Others went through the valley, taking handfuls of dirt, grass, rocks, and the fruits and berries that dotted the landscape.
As the days passed, the river's gentle meandering slowed, the waters no longer
rose up the banks on both sides, and what was once a calm, but powerful river, had become a trickle along smooth stones andfine sand. The grasses had begun to lose their luster, the green color seemed to creep into a dark brown, and the blades grew sharp and brittle. The fruits didn’t grow so plentifully now, and the patches and orchards they grew in began to recede. What was worse was that the guests didn’t want to play and chased the Pandakoalas through the valley, hitting them with sticks and forcing them into cages!
The Pandakoalas grew fearful of their new acquaintances and drew back into the far reaches of the hills on either side of the valley. The humans in the valley began to scale the sides, making their way to where the Pandakoalas were hiding. Something had to be done. So the Pandakoalas stayed up late one night, discussing and debating, they went back and forth on the course of action. They talked until the sun rose over the east ridge, and they acted. Flying down from the hills, the Pandakoalas stuck with vigor. They threw themselves at the monsters stealing the life from the valley. They tore through the tents, knocked over the tables and cabinets, barreled into their legs, and knocked them over.
The invaders were routed, sent scrambling down the slopes and into the thick jungle canopy below. The Pandakoalas were victorious and had reclaimed their home, but the problem arose; the river wasn’t flowing. Why? They traveled to the source and found the river was captured into a pipe and pumped along the valley down into the jungle below. They tried to move the pipe, but it wouldn’t budge. They tried to break the pipe open, but it was too strong. They tried to block it up, but they had nothing to use, no leaves, no sticks, no rocks they could use. They sat, for the second time, in sadness and disappointment.
All that effort for nothing. They had no will to strive, they didn’t play, they didn’t sing or dance or do any fun things. It didn’t matter to them, they had failed, and now there was nothing they could do. They didn’t notice when the creatures returned when caught in nets and placed in cages. They didn’t care. They had lost the valley. They were being carted away, down the mountain, out of the crisp air and into the heat and humidity of the jungle below, and as they were carried away, they sat in silence, too sad to cry. But all was not lost.
Halfway down the mountain, waiting, were more humans. These sought to stop the ones destroying the valley. The Pandakoalas had been made known to the world, and so had the valley. The river that had been blockaded had fed into the rest of the jungle, now starting to wilt too. Not only that, but the local farmers depended on the river, and now, the valley's inhabitants were being caged and taken away from their homes. This wouldn’t stand.
The Pandakoalas were brought back to the valley, the river was freed from its shackles, and the plants were returned. Soon life came back to the valley. The grass grew thick and green, the fruits and berries ran wild, and the Pandakoalas began to play again. At first, they walked aimlessly, then ate some fruits, berries, and a little grass. Then they began to talk again, then ran, and soon enough, they were back to tearing through the valley, throwing berries, and diving into the river. They found the air so much sweeter now, and all was well in the end. Except for the humans who had blocked off the river and piped it away. They went to prison.
The Test
by It was a group effort
T
The results are in, and the Spirit Guide Test said I wasn’t ready. I knew I wasn’t ready, but this was the only way to fulfill my purpose. “Are you ready to begin your test?”
Inhale…
“Yes.” I stepped through the door in the walls that I’d never been beyond, and it was quickly shut. It was dark and cold, and a light mist filled the air. Everything was still and crisp. Peaceful. Surprisingly nothing was frightening or evil, just the swirls of purple and black hues surrounding me. I wandered further away from the walls until the mist of colors surrounded me, and I could no longer see the faint glow of light at the door, although tethered at the ankle to the door. “Is this it?” I thought to myself.
From the still silence, a high-pitched scream that only lasted a second in the distance. I stopped in fear for a moment. I urged myself on, trying not to let my fear get the best. What seemed like a cloud of cinnamon entered my throat, burning and taking away my ability to breathe. I coughed and gulped for air, but the air around me now felt like solid walls closing in, not breathable. Panic rushed over me as my eyes watered and my lungs begged for breath. In a second, all was lifted. Air filled my lungs, and the light, gentle mist filled space again. I caught my breath momentarily and tried to stop my heart from racing before continuing. I was now very vigilant of my surroundings, scanning for any danger.
“Why are you here?”
“Who said that!”
“Shhh…” The voice seemed to be coming from my head.
“Answer the question.” the voice said. Its tone began quiet but grew to a deafening volume, all while keeping a calm demeanor. Then, multiple voices rang in my head as a choir of ununderstandable whispers.
“STOP!” I screamed. All the voices stopped. Extreme rage. Rage that felt uncontrollable suddenly filled me, though I didn’t know why. It was as though someone had injected me with anger.
Fear was the next arbitrary feeling that occupied me. Something seemed to be installing these emotions into me, and I had no control over them. My heart was racing, and I began to run. It felt like something grabbed my leg and tripped me, falling on my face. Still engulfed by fear, I kept pulling, trying to get away. I looked at my ankle to see the rope. I had reached the end.
“Go back.” the voice said in a loud hissing whisper. Fueled by fear and the desire to leave this nightmare, I ran back toward the door as fast as I could. Finally, I saw the glow of the city, the real world, through the small cracks of the door. Relief. Right in front of the door, I was falling. Falling through the purple and black. Solid ground. But the light was faint again. Running.
Once again, the door eluded me like a rainbow I was chasing. “LET ME OUT!” The door stood directly in front of me. I pulled it open as fast as I could, to more darkness.
I felt like I was going crazy, “I can’t get out!”
“Yes, you can,” faintly, “you're just not trying hard enough.”
Once again, I was far away from the door. This time I walked with no hope of actually making it. I reached the door and instinctually opened it. On the other side, there was light. I was inside the temple again. Realizing this, I quickly shut the door. My body was oddly calm, but my mind was racing.
“Congratulations, you have passed your test against the dark forces and are now a spirit guide. You have now learned of the great harm it can have on your mind and what to watch out for.” As I had just woken up, everything was normal, and all that had happened faded away.
“Thank you, Headmaster.”
As she walked away, I thought about my experience and thanked the gods. “If I can do that, I can make it as a spirit guide.”
100
Words
of
Heartbreak
&
Love
Dim Cafe
by Jacob Connell
A
As I walked by a dim cafe, I looked through the window and saw you sitting there. I kept on walking, but something made me stop. Old memories of our past raced through my mind. I decided to walk on in, but I saw you with another man as I approached you. It grieved me to see you with him, and I couldn't take it anymore,
so with a trembling hand, I drew my pistol from my hip and took the life of that good for nothing man. I know the things I've done wrong. They're hanging me tonight.
Sincerely,
A stranger who saw you in a dim cafe
Hello There
by Emelia Oppenlander
I
Hello there,
I walk past them every day, and every day, they take my breath away. In those few moments that I get a glimpse of them, my heart stops, and everything slows down, and it feels like it’s only us. I am in love with somebody whom I had one conversation with, years ago.
They probably don’t remember that one simple conversation or what it did for me, but they saved me by just talking to me. Ever since then, my heart has belonged to them, and only them. Maybe if I just said “Hello there,” then I would be theirs forever.
Love, Crescendo
by Morgan Westby
A
Love, Crescendo
Dear lover of mine,
I usually find mortal traditions to be unnecessary. Fleeting moments in time, only there to make their short lives more interesting. But I’ve found that I can’t help but be a little excited when it comes to you. Perhaps it’s just whatever’s in the air, that
Valentine's Day brings along. Anyways, I can’t believe you’ve actually made me want to ask this. I’d ask it in person, but I think you’d just laugh at me. Probably even make some stupid joke. Maybe I’m just a tiny bit smitten. Will you be my Valentine?
Yours for eternity,
Mikhail Crescendo.
Ferris Wheel
by Zachary Fitzgerald
I
I don’t know what to say. Words like these don’t come easily. I thought writing would prevent me from getting choked up, but I guess not. I just gotta put it out there; I love you. That night, by the ferris wheel, I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know. Seeing you from this new
perspective changed something. The thought was there, but I never paid attention to it. What a dumbass, right? I know I can’t change the past, and I don’t want to. Those days we had were amazing. Either way, I hope you never find this.
Advice Column
by Jace McNeil
T
To be a knowledge vessel,
not a college threshold,
and not call to fill potentials
that aren’t always all essential.
The pressure can cement you.
Vent, then commend and repent.
Receive, and take care,
to send what must be sent.
Seek wheels, don’t reinvent,
don’t only see a cent when
present is a dollar.
Wear collars to compare scholars,
and stare at their followers,
like bear swallowers.
To maintain sanity
is an aim of vanity,
give in to the fame,
change the game and save the manatees.
Can it be that these hands are handy?
Have to see.
Ask again in ten and a half please.
On Gardening Annuals
by Daniel Stapp
F
Flowers fall, new buds appear
so delicate and frail.
Everyone is Welcome here
The pattern holds every year.
Helping graduates set sail.
Flowers fall, new buds appear.
Go forth and face your fears
use knowledge and wisdom as your mail.
Everyone is welcome here
to find themselves, to intrapersonally peer.
To fail, to fail, to fail, to fail, to fail.
Flowers fall. New buds appear
blooming into fullness declaring we’re
proud of us, what we have become. They sail
on as everyone has done from here.
From the dock I can do naught but cry and cheer,
let forth my most devoted yell.
Flowers fall. More will appear.
Every one is welcome here.
Reminder
by Kari Bloomquist
The clouds are always
Present
They are not so
Consuming
if you get to know them
Beautiful in stages
If you read them right
Blankets settling
Wash clothes cleansing
Holders of breath
Needed quelling
Rising beautiful balloons
Processing perspectives
Returning,
Reflecting
Reliable,
Defying stereotypes
Only with time
Appreciation of
Clouds
T
I
In late August each year, a sort of State of the Union address takes place in high school auditoriums and junior high gyms around the nation. School staff meets to hear their executive branch give an address that I assume is intended to be inspirational.
Several years ago, at such an address, it was announced that the three R's were no longer reading, 'riting, and 'rithmatic. Those had been replaced by Rigor, Relevance, and Relationship.
After a gripping PowerPoint about this transformation, and the depressing delivery of data, teachers were sent forth, brows furrowed in concern because the latest brain research said the time they were using to take attendance—to get it to the office five minutes after the tardy bell rang—was the best time to be instructing students since most people only remember the first few things they hear.
Which proved to be true the next year as the three R's were only two--Rigor and Relevance. After the perfunctory presentation of the performance pie graphs and the assurance that “You are great teachers anyway!” The halls emptied with teachers muttering, reciting, hoping to remember all nine effective teaching strategies.
And the inevitable occurred in the third year when the three R's were only one.
Ranting on the 3 R's
by Terri Jones
Rigor. (Which was even more ironic since all that was being taught anymore was reading, 'riting and 'rithmetic.) And as they marched onward to teach with fidelity rigorous materials that had no relevance to over-crowded rooms of strangers with whom they had no relationship:
A single teacher fantasized that the one superpower she would write about—if the high school assigned that for her writing work sample—
Would the power be to turn back time and go to the international educational research laboratories located far, far away from public school rooms and implore them to reverse their very clever, alliterative phraseology to be:
First, Relationship because students don't care what you know if they don't know you care. Then
Relevance because they can't be expected to be engaged if the lesson is not engaging. And finally
Rigor (because when they know you know them and love them anyway,
and meaningful, important lessons are being taught), they're willing to do rigorous work.
The Art of Making Green Tea
by Sabrina Witt
W
Who knew that there is an exact right temperature for brewing green tea?
That a few degrees too hot would extract a bitter that would turn a stomach inside out, rejecting the liquid altogether.
Who knew that there was a right amount of leaves to water ratio?
Leaves unfurling from their dark, almost black crinkled dryness into oblong green veined plants,
Swimming, alive.
That brewing time was life or death to the extraction of delicate flavors,
Sweetness triumphing bitterness, tongue salivating gaily over a sip.
Who knew that there was complexity and complications hidden in a tin can, labeled with foreign characters,
A delicacy dependent on so many factors out of its control.
When brewed with care and precision, a cup of green tea is like drinking harmony, sunshine, and the earth–smooth, bitter, sweet.
Yet, how often do we have the patience to enjoy what is waiting for us?
For what could be should we care to know, should we even want to know?
There is a way to brew green tea,
But who really gives a damn?
L
Lavender Rose
by Daniela Aguilar Gonzalez
Living as a teen with anxiety is horrible, especially when just starting your first year of high school. My name is Emma. I am a freshman in high school, and I have horrible anxiety.
Every so often, I have an anxiety attack, and I can't seem to control it. I especially hate when I'm at school, and I start having an anxiety attack. It's the worst. Not only do I feel like people are looking at me, but I would also always be alone with a bunch of other people in a classroom, unable to compose myself.
Well, we’ll see how this year goes. It's the first day of my freshman year. I walked through the front doors and immediately heard the loud crowd of people talking to one another. People are hugging each other, laughing, talking to teachers, trying to figure out what classes they have together, and it's all so chaotic.
I decide to go on the hunt for my schedule and where my classes will be, so I make my way to the counseling office. There was a line, so I walked around and found my classes myself. This school was big compared to my middle school building, and many more people were there. I was honestly somewhat intimidated.
As I walk down the hallway, with the schedule I had pulled out of my backpack, I check off each classroom and make little notes beside the class number to remind me where I need to go to get to that class.
As I write down my notes and walk slowly to ensure I don't mess up, I see something on the ground from the corner of my eye. I get closer and see what the item on the ground is. It's a beautiful lavender rose. I stand there in confusion because I know that lavender roses aren't really common at all. But the rose is beautiful, so I pick it up and take it to my first block of the day.
I walk into my first block and sit in the back of the classroom, waiting for the classroom to fill up. As I sit there, I watch everyone come in. People from all different friend groups scatter themselves around the classroom.
The class begins to fill up, and I start to become anxious. My hands shook uncontrollably, and honestly, I don't remember why. I sit there holding my hands together, looking down at my feet, trying to compose myself. I then look at my desk and see the beautiful rose I had picked up off the ground. I decide to pick it up and hold it.
Knowing that I had a very delicate rose in my hands made my shaking settle down a bit. I eventually was composed again, and that was the end of that. I had gone to all my other blocks, which I had found with my notes, and eventually, I went home and did the same thing all over again the next day and for the rest of the year.
Solace in a Delicate Flower
by Danielle Harvey
I
I'm sitting in the center of the classroom
My hands tremble
My stomach turns
Is everyone looking at me?
Are they judging me?
I want to move
I want to leave
I'm anxious, and i need a distraction
Then I see it
A pretty flower
The window is open
The petals sway
Suddenly im calm
My heartbeat slows down
My body relaxes
The tiny flower calms my mind
O
Blossoming Friendship
by Emeraude Ortiz Duarte
Oliver walks into class, all the thoughts again start flooding into his brain. Is everyone looking at me? Are they judging me? What if someone in here has a gun? What if we all die? Until all these thoughts stop for a slight second. Someone was in Oliver's seat, a boy, a new boy, a new boy holding paper flowers. Oliver started having anxious thoughts again but asked the boy to move. I can do this, I think, but what if he thinks I’m weird? What if he hits me? Oliver was already by his desk but unable to say anything. The boy had his back on Oliver while talking to his classmates.
“Ugh, it’s the weird boy. He’s staring at you, Tim,” Oliver's rude classmate said to Tim, the new boy.
Oh no, he’s probably going to hit me. I should've just sat at a different desk.
“Hey, don’t be rude to him. I’m probably sitting in his seat,” Tim, the news said as he got up from Oliver's seat. “This is your seat, right?” Tim asked as he looked at Oliver. Oliver froze up. He didn’t know what to say. He was scared something bad would happen. “Hey, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Here's a paper flower. Maybe it will help you feel better since it looks like you like flowers,” Tim explained to Oliver as he looked at his flower sweater
and handed him a flower.
“Thank you,” Oliver said as he slowly glared at Tim.
“Yeah, no problem, do you mind if I sit next to you?” Tim asked.
“No, I don’t mind,” Oliver responded to Tim as he slowly turned his gaze down.
“Sooo, what’s your name?” Tim asked Oliver curiously, as he sat in the seat next to him.
“Um, my name is Oliver,” he replied quickly.
“Cool name, my name is Timothy, but you can call me Tim! I was trying to make new friends but then realized how mean those jerks were, so I was wondering if you wanted to be friends, you know since it’s the middle of 8th grade and I’m the new kid,” Tim explained to Oliver.
“Um yeah, that would be nice!” Oliver said excitedly, as he had never had a proper friend. Oliver and Tim talked, and they found out that they loved flowers and basketball. The next few weeks were exciting and fun for Oliver. He and Tim had gone to so many parks to play basketball and look at all the beautiful flowers. Oliver had made a friend, a true friend who could help him out at all times.
Lost in Tragedy
M
by Emelia Oppenlander
My alarms go off, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. I spring out of bed to the sound of it. Grab my nearest weapon and head out of my room. I feel the freezing ground beneath my feet, and cool air rushes by as I creep out into the hallway. As I turn the corner, I see him and immediately turn around, and I let out a sigh.
“Oh, come on, you know you love me.” He says, grinning.
“I will let you believe that.” I let out a quiet chuckle.
“I brought you one of your overpriced drinks from that place you swear is heaven.”
“It's called Starbucks, and thank you.”I take the drink and sip it right away, trying to use the cup to mask my blushing face.
Stan is an acquaintance, but he proposes we are best friends, so he always comes unannounced, which is inconvenient, especially since we are in an apocalypse. I have security set up, and he believes it’s hilarious to set it off at all times of the day. The alarms go off again, and I glare at him, assuming it's another part of his prank, but he shakes his head. I freeze for a second, and a chill rushes through my body. An actual intrusion has never happened. I pull out my phone and check the cameras, and there a creature stands in a hall that is on the other side of my house, so we have time to do something.
“There is one pretty far, but we need to move fast, okay?” I say as calmly as possible, trying to have my fear be seen.
He quickly nods and follows me. I try to be quiet, but with each step, I feel like an elephant walking. The steps pound through
my head. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it will burst out of my chest. I feel a hand gently nudge my shoulder, so I quickly turn around. Stan so gently grabs my hands and puts them on my heart and mouth “ You need to stay calm.”
I slowly nod, expecting him to release his hands from mine, but he doesn't. He continues to stand there and gaze into my eyes. The feeling of his hands is unfamiliar but nice, not amazing, just nice. They are warm but not to the point where they are sweating the comforting level of warmth. I slowly gaze up from staring at our hands and he is still staring at me. Not the creepy kind of staring, the caring kind. He slowly moves his hand from where my heart lays to the line of my jaw, and with each inch, he moves up, my heart quickens. It's beating so loud I bet he can hear it, which makes me so embarrassed. His eyes look at my lips, and he looks like a little kid staring at a pile of candy. Licks his own lips and takes slow and deep breaths. I am waiting for him to make the next move, but he doesn't move. For the next minute, we stand there just like that, not moving an inch. The he moths “May I?” I slowly nod. I close my eyes waiting for his lips to meet mine, and then I hear a scream. I gasp, but no sound comes out. My eyes open with a sense of urgency then he is gone, but something is on the ground, his t-shirt. I can’t move. He is gone just like that. All that is left is a bloodied t-shirt, evidence of complete manslaughter.
Creative Writing
Collab
A Mrs. Sturrock selection of poetry and stories.
Big Little Me
by OTA
I
I miss the monster under my bed
I miss hearing all the little laughter
I miss running under that tree
¨Tag, you're it!¨
I was it
I was it
Running through the wall ball rounds
Running
The cold air with my fingertips bright red
I miss hearing that whistle
¨Line up little ones¨
I miss the feeling of those bracelets against my skin
My little wrist
Believing it was the coolest thing I had ever seen
When all that had mattered was those little erasers
Even though I would lose all of their little pieces
Those sweet little creatures
I miss the squeaks of my little velcro shoes
Running through that gym floor
Feeling so big
Yet she…
I was so small
One day I'll be under that big rainbow tarp
That hugged me
Just like my grandmother
Like how the world
The world hugged little me
But until then
Sweet little me will be holding that tarp open
With her cherry-red hands
Waiting there
Staying there
Missing me
Big little me.
Watered Down Girl
by Ava Barnes
W
Watered down–
Not real
Not complete
Not true
Eyes aren’t as mocha
Skin isn’t as caramel
Hair isn’t as coal-colored
As my ancestors
Watered Down–
Not real
Not complete
Not true
Tongue isn’t as sharp
Limbs aren’t as fluid
Mind isn’t as quick
As I’d like them to be–
Watered down
Not real
Not complete
Not true
Spanish speaker
who can’t speak Spanish
Dark features
that aren’t quite dark enough
Religious person
who isn’t devoted
Watered down girl
Not real
Not complete
Not true
A Dream I Frequently Have
by Shane Glenn
B
Between the school and the town stands the woods. All the trees stand hundreds of feet tall, shielding the sky. I stand before the trees, before the darkness. Staring into the thick woods makes me feel frightened. I think someone is next to me, I’m not entirely sure. Once inside the forest, all sound is lost to me. All feelings are lost. I am damp. I am cold. I am lost. Alas, I trek through the woods. As I reach deeper and deeper, the shrubbery seems to get larger; the trees get a little taller, a little thicker. The roots seem like blood vessels, and I have entered the gaping maw of some beast.
I continue on my journey until I can feel the rain soak through my bones. From there is when I stop. The roots of the trees are big enough to be trees themselves; I can barely climb over them to continue my journey. I’m as small as an ant—smaller than the ants that crawl beside me. Once I climb over the biggest root of all, I make eye contact with a deer. The deer is a skyscraper, reaching toward the heavens. The deer has glowing pale eyes, and it almost seems ethereal in nature. Not a single word is spoken during the staredown except that I understand that I am not welcome here.
Letter to self
Dear Older Me
by Parker Botes
D
Dear Older Parker
It’s Parker from 2023, first year of high school. We have an assignment in that Creative Writing class you took that involved writing a letter to ourselves from either the past or future. Remember that? Yeah, well, I’m writing it to the Future, like you did. The directions were to tell you about my expectations that I hope to meet and the things I want you to accomplish. So let me tell you about them.
Number one, I really hope you become a Pilot for the Air Force. I knew that’s what we planned on doing since we were very young, and I know how hard it is to become one. If you did, I wonder what you are flying? The other thing I hope you got, too, was a degree in some form of Physics. We both knew after Mr. Vickers had said we were good at Physics, that it was a path we would take. Maybe it was Aerospace Physics? Quantum Physics? Thermodynamics? Either way, I hope you got there. Did you ever lose weight during High School? I plan on losing weight, but not exactly getting a bunch of muscles or something. Just getting a size smaller in clothing. I hope we managed to do that. I was thinking of working for Haywire again during the Summer while I visited my
Grandparents. He probably still needs help clearing his property still. On top of him paying pretty well, it should also help burn some of those stored calories.I’ve wanted to save money to buy Airsoft Replicas on historical firearms and Replica uniforms so that money probably will go to that. I wonder if I’ll win that 200$ grand prize for attendance this year. Maybe I got that MP-40. What about relationships? Did you ever find that perfect girl with the medium-length brown hair you dreamed of? Did you ever make amends with Winter, when we broke our relationship with her almost 2 years ago (at the time of writing)? We never wanted to hurt her, but we knew the distance wouldn’t have worked. Plus, I wasn’t ready for a relationship yet, and the fact she started the relationship. And I miss hanging out with Salem, her Brother, who was really the only other dude our age there, so I hope you did. I expect you to succeed, but I can’t predict my future choices or the scenarios I’m forced into, so I won’t hold it against you.
That’s all I can think of. I hope everything I asked about was a yes. But like I said, I can’t predict the future, but I’ll try my best to make it happen, so Past me can be answered Yes to these questions.
Querido yo del futuro
by Derik Gaspar Garcia
E
Espero que cuando tu leas esto te encuentres en un buen momento de tu vida, espero que hayas vivido muchas experiencias y aprendido muchas cosas desde el momento que escribí esto. Y quiero decirte que eres una persona única y muy valiosa, con debilidades y fortalezas.
Recuerda que la vida es un lugar lleno de altibajos, pero cada experiencia te enseña algo nuevo y te hace más fuerte, aprende de tus errores y celebra tus logros, no tengas miedo a pedir ayuda porque \
siempre hay alguien que te apoya. No te compares con los demás y no te dejes llevarpor las expectativas de los demás.
Espero que hayas encontrado la felicidad, la paz interior y el amor, si no es así sigue buscando nunca pierdas la esperanza, sigue tus objetivos y tus sueños, y no te rindas ante los obstáculos. Nadie sabe el futuro, pero tú eres capaz de seguir tu propio camino y escribir tu propia historia.
Mi yo del pasado.
Dear Future Self
by Jaylynn Hinton
D
Dear Future self,
Today is Friday, May 5th, 2023. It is crazy to think that the day I open this I will be a senior. I mean freshman year has already gone by so quickly and it feels like it just started. I already miss being a little kid and playing with Barbies and riding bikes. I know people say senior year is one of the best years of your life, but I feel like it is also the saddest year of your life. I am not trying to make me cry, I’m just being honest. Anyways I have some questions for you. First of all, am I still Best Friends with Kheri, and if so is she dating Blake for the 9 millionth time? I wouldn’t be surprised if she was. Also, am I still dating Andwele, we have been dating for about 6 months now or something like that, I don’t really know to be honest. Another question I have is what college are we going to, if we are. The colleges I most want to go to play softball are Arizona, Florida, Texas, Hawaii, or Oregon. If we aren't going to any of those colleges I guess that's okay. But if I am going to college am I going with any of my friends or do I not have friends, because that would be sad if I didn’t. Right now I am on jv for softball and it’s kind of boring not going to lie. Most of the teams we play are
not very good at all but I get a lot of playing time at least. Am I on varsity this year, it would be sad if I wasn’t, but if I am, am I still pitching and playing short? Also is Jermey still the coach for varsity and if not who is? Is Reign still a thing, and if so, who is on the team? Right now Kheri, Kenley, Gracee, both Mia's, Maggy, Rylan, Hayden, and Alise are on the team. Well, Alise is leaving technically but she is still on the team at the moment. Today I have a game against Sherwood and this one girl keeps posting that they are undefeated and that no one can beat them, so I really want to beat them. Last time we played them we only lost by two runs and we didn’t even have our starters playing. I know most of the stuff I am saying is really random and cringy but I don’t really care because I already know I probably won’t read this but who knows? I don’t want to make this too long so I’ll end it right here. I hope you have a great senior year and do everything you can to make it a good experience. I love you no matter if you're going to college or if you're homeless.
Sincerely,
Jaylynn
Poetry
Poetry
in
in
Class
Class
First Place
by Brigette Ellis
I’m always first
In my own way
Not second
Always good enough
Always as good as her
Always as smart as her
But I don’t feel the need to be like her anymore
Maybe I’m not as normal as her
But that's okay
They were wrong
I do deserve first
And second
And third
And anything
I’m now glad I am not her
Now I am first
Now I am loved
I was given love by others
Others who understand I am only human
Others who know everyone deserves love
I am loved.
I
Dead now but once Alive
by Jasmin Garcia Reynoso
A
A tree so tall and big
Dead now but was once alive
Strong in some parts but weak in others
Breaking in some parts
And some parts hanging on only by a string
That tree is me
I once was alive too
But now I'm not
I once was strong in all places
Now im weak in most places
I’m hanging on only by a string
I'm like the tree
it seems like one touch, and it'll fall apart
One touch and I'll break apart
Trees can revive with the right amount of care
So can I
I just need the right amount of care
A tree can grow back stronger
And so can i
I am a dead tree
Who was once alive
Strong in some parts
And week in others
Breaking apart in some places
But just as that tree was once alive
So was I
I'll Miss
by Carlos Weimann
I
I’ll miss the blazing sun,
The waves crashing at my feet,
I’ll miss the crystal-clear water,
The hot and soft sand,
I’ll miss the smell of the amazing food,
The locations and birds,
I’ll miss my family from there,
The memories made along the way.
Till we meet again
by Selenia Share
N
No healing is complete without the other one,
The days have come and gone, broken am I still.
In a rut, in mud, in sinking sand; we can't be alone.
We must be alone, to heal, to mend, to grow,
But without him, I suffer, I suffocate, I mourn.
Without me he curses, he screams and cries.
And so like soulmates, we collide,
But like oil to fire,
we both must die.
The losing
by Zachary Fitzgerald
A
A loss,
A losing of many things,
A losing of goodness and light and joy,
A losing of friends and family,
An end,
An end of many
wonderful,
joyous,
good things.
An Ode To Memories
by Payton Edwards
I
In the past, the past must stay
All the good feelings have now gone away
But one place where the faint image still remains
Is on the withered canvas of my brain
Too fragile to touch
Though visible just enough
Delineation is not as clear
As the face I see in the mirror
The face that did not live those memories long ago
Now a new person shows
So in my mind, the memories must remain
Never to be lived or enjoyed again
The Life of a Balloon
by Emeraude Ortiz Duarte
I
I’m in the hand of a happy child
I’m blown away by the wind
I enjoy the breeze
I enjoy the clouds
I enjoy the birds
I appreciate the things around me
I make my way down
Land on a tree
A beautiful tree
So majestic
I now lay on a beautiful majestic tree
I slowly deflate and lay happily
In my last moments
Ladybug in a vent
by Parker Botes
I
It was a little Ladybug in a vent
Hoping to hide from the cold
It was so cold
It did not find refuge in that vent
Its fellow bugs met a similar fate
Freezing through the cold days
Deceased but still managing to be
As beautiful as it was when it was born
Its colors still so eye attracting
So pale, yet so vibrant
Pale but bright yellow skin
And black little holes
Ladybug in a vent
gra
Design
A selection by Mrs. Kirkman
hic
P
by Maria
by Brayan
by Aydan
by Kyle
by Madi
PC
club de poesia
FGHS
Poetry Club
Poetry Club is for writers who want to improve or share their work with like-minded people.
Dreaming
by Angel Gonzalez
I
I remember holding a piece of paper with a bright red 100 on it, I never got one of those when I was her age. I lower myself to her level and say I’m proud of her. Words I never heard when I was that young. I give her a soft warm hug, one with love, not like the cold empty looks I received in the past. Then, a blur. I wake up and find her sleeping on me. She’s adorable. But my mind is evil, it makes me wake again to no memory of her, I don’t know her name, I don’t know how old she is, I don’t know
where she’s run off to. Maybe somebody else knows? My memory has never been great but was it bad enough to forget the existence of my own daughter? I stand and try to run. Does she have a mother? Where is she? Where is MY mother? I trip on my own questions—another blur. My mind is evil, it wakes me up again, for real this time… Reality is evil, my daughter, my sweet daughter… never existed.
the other side
by Zombie Goo
i
I always thought things would just get better
like just one year would change everything
that I would cross over to the other side and suddenly everything would be perfect
or that something would end it
like there would be a zombie apocalypse and I died
getting my brain eaten by a zombie
now no longer having to worry about my homework
but I'm still here
no magic transportation
no bites out of my frontal lobe
but sometimes I still hope that maybe
just maybe
I'll get to the other side where all is perfect
or that zombie does get me
and it's finally over
To maintain my sanity
by Jackson Rigamonti
I
To maintain my sanity I eat a piece of the sidewalk,
chalky and igneous,
Ripping at my mouth
Filling the invisible world between closed lips with iron
uprooting teeth like trees.
To maintain my sanity I eat a piece of chocolate some days
Have a bar somewhere
Dark as an undeveloped picture
Sedimentary and acidic,
sharp and deep.
Planet Drool
by Melah Davis
I
You bleed in lies
And distinguish these thighs
From other guys'
And here I am,
Expecting you to digest this face
In the place of your worst enemy
Where I'm the ghost in your unhappy little arms
And you're begging for me to save
The caves you've paved in mistrust.
But alack,
Wherefore art thou a man?
A man with a gun,
Has eyes for barrels,
A man with a sleek instrument
Has hands of a warrior
And the lungs of a giraffe.
But a girl with a gun,
Has the brains of a maniac,
A girl with an instrument,
Has the paws of the softest kitten,
Lungs pink, and in the likeness of a bat.
You may want to
Carry my amp,
Fix the headlights on my car,
Put up the Christmas tree,
But you will never.
Be better than me.
38
th Annual
Oregon Writing festival
A Bathroom Sink
by Audrey Phuong
S
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. That's the sound the water makes when it runs from the faucet. You will be surprised how many times I DON’T hear that sound. You know the people who serve your food at Unnamed Restaurant Chain? Yeah, they don’t wash their hands.
Ten-year-old boys, who pee on the seat? They also do not wash their hands.
You know personal hygiene is bad across America when you, the sink in an Unnamed Restaurant Chain, is bone dry at 12 pm during lunch rush. Whatever you do when you’re at home alone is your own business. But when you’re in public or with company, please, love of God, wash your FUCKING
l hands.
If that sounds bad, let me remind you that this Unnamed Restaurant Chain is a 24-hour Unnamed Restaurant Chain. Lines of coke cover the perimeter of my opening, hairy noses rubbed up against me. The only thing worse than being me is being a gas station sink, where God knows what crawls. Or that tiny airplane sink, destined to travel the world, yet only to see the same four walls, not a single souvenir.
The day I long for is the day I inevitably get smashed with a hammer and replaced, my porcelain body scattered on the floor.
Boohoo Loo
by Jacob Finch - Heppner Jr./Sr. High School
P
People think they have it rough with uncomfortable clothes and bad cell service, but you should take a look at my life. You’ll be grateful.
Five kids. Two parents. And a baby. It doesn’t get much worse than that. Every morning, after running around like headless chickens and piling food into their bellies, many cram inside me to give me my daily punishment. First, they brush their teeth… yuck! They clean those pathetic white rocks mornings and nights without fail, but they don’t even bother to clean my toilet seat on a regular basis. And when they spit? It’s awful! I can taste that, you know! It’s like if someone saw you snoring with your mouth open and hawked up a loogie in it.
And then there’s the baby… oh no. 147. That’s the number of dirty diapers in the past month that I’ve had dumped in my pocket, which they think is a trash can.
And you know how they soil their clothes? Those parents fill my sink up with water and just let the clothes soak in there. Disgusting. And I can’t spit it out, either! Does it look like I have a tongue?
And don’t even get me started on the toilet. Remember that food from breakfast? Well… it’s got to go somewhere…
…
Yup.
And they don’t even bother being gentle! My luscious, long rolls of white hair? They just rip it out! And what’s worse is that they use it to WIPE. Seriously? And then I have to swallow it. Yuck! And when they’re done, they just slam the lid. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?
All in all, it’s a rough life but a noble cause, I suppose. It is definitely nice to get the occasional cleaning.
Your Totally Average Coffee Shop Date
by Morgan Westby
T
The door slammed shut, the bell above it ringing as the wood brushed against it, alerting the Starbucks to the two who had just entered. It was rather noisy, the voices of others on the street ringing through the glass windows of the Café.
“June. June. Juneeee,” The guy begged, asking for his partner’s attention as they were dragged to a booth near the back.
“What, Scarlet?” Juniper muttered, her head snapping towards the lavender-haired man with subtle irritation.
Scarlet’s lip curled downwards, pouting, as the two slid into the booth. “You’re not really upset with me, are you?” He inquired, reaching for one of Juniper’s hands.
A long sigh escaped Juniper’s throat, and she pinched the bridge of her nose with a shake of her head. “No, It’s kind of hard to stay upset with that stupid band t-shirt you have on.” The distant sound of glass being pounded on temporarily proved a distraction. Juniper squeezed Scarlet’s hand softly, before once again sliding out from the booth the two sat in. “Stay here, I’ll go get our drinks,” She smiled, before pivoting. Heading towards the front, she tugged her pink hair up into a ponytail.
Scarlet’s prosthetic arm clinked against the table as he used his hand to prop up his head. He observed Juniper behind the counter, her form moving back and forth as she brewed their drinks. The pounding on glass got louder, and Scarlet’s gaze shifted towards the door, where the crowd outside the Starbucks seemed to have grown a frustrating amount. You would’ve thought the two were celebrities, with the attention they were being demanded of.
“You know,” –Juniper’s voice cut through Scarlet’s thoughts– ”These zombies are really getting on my nerves.” A warmed mocha was placed down in front of Scarlet, and he swiped it up with his prosthetic hand, the heat not affecting its metal surface.
Scarlet snickered, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure they’re just admiring your beauty. Have you even seen how lovely you look right now?” He tipped his head back, taking a large gulp of the still-hot drink.
A flush flooded Juniper’s cheeks, and she scoffed, hiding her face in her hair. “Or, they’re trying to reach you to end your obnoxious flirting.” Juniper’s brown eyes were filled with smitten amusement, peering through her pink locks at Scarlet’s expression. She brought her latte to her lips, sipping at it before sticking her tongue out at its temperature.
Snorting, Scarlet set down his coffee. “We’re on a date,” he exasperated, “I will compliment you as I want.”
“Yes, yes. Alright, Scarlet,” Juniper hummed, waving her hand as if brushing off his words. She lay her head on her palm, bracing off the table.
Glass shattered, and so did the peace. The scene that played out before the couple brought them to their feet, as Juniper unholstered the gun at her hip.
Scarlet let out a scoff, the pointer finger of his prosthetic uncapping to reveal a black-flamed lighter. Screaming filled the room, desperate mortals weaving to get away from the undead that had broken through the window. Juniper made quick work of the zombie that had crawled its way toward the two. Scarlet lit its poor, rotting body aflame.
“Leave the coffee. We need to get out of here, June.” Scarlet called above the noise, reaching for Juniper’s free hand as they made their way through the panicked crowd.
Juniper gripped Scarlet’s arm, shaking her leg away from a crawler that had reached for her. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s.” Her tone was distressed, and Scarlet took that as a cue, rushing quickly toward the Starbucks door with his lover at his side.
English Language
Development
Level 100 & 150
A selection by Mrs. Witt
Whoosh
by Rodrigo Mejia Celedonio
A beautiful red rose,
is peaceful in a meadow.
Whoosh, the wind blows and the rosedies.
The Last Petal Falls
by Mateo Bernabe
The flower of time
that I cared for all my life...
The last petal falls.
The Hungry Dog
by Juan Alexander Diego Pedro
The hungry dog waits
for his owners to come home
after a long tim
Gray Baby Cat
by Estephanie Acosta Gomez
A gray baby cat
in the country next to my home
is sitting tenderly and happily.
Sweet Way
by Evelyn Echeverria
My dog is next to
my house; sitting in
a sweet way.
Black Butterfly
by Alondra Lara
A small black butterfly
behind the blue car
flutters very strongly.
Sing Again
by Yurecxy Salinas
Lonely whale
trying to sing again,
until this melody
without a response
reaches the morning...
Sleeping
by Brenda Cristobal
A small black cat
on top of a bed is
sleeping relaxed inside.
She Flies
by Julieth Pantoja
The blue bird flies
quickly next to
the brown
eagle.
The Baby Dog
by Maricarmen Alfaro Jimenez
The blue bird flies
quickly next to
the brown
eagle.
MEET THE
editors
Time
by Yamil Gaona-Miranda
I
Time
It travels at the speed of light
There isn’t one second I can hold onto,
Look at,
Settle in,
Not even for a moment
The moment my eyes land on it it vanishes
The moment I step into it, my other leg is already halfway into the next.
Go go go go
My body strains itself to keep up,
And so I end up bound to the rush
So then how does it also manage to be so painfully slow?
Every second that passes by taunts me,
Reminding me that it's a moment I will never get back
It passes by so slow,
It makes me think it must really hate me,
Giving me all the time in the world to remember all my mistakes
All my mess ups
All the things that went wrong
And if something ever was good,
It was gone now
And I could never get it back
So im kept with the torture of knowing that no matter how much time I have to really absorb the beauty, fun, and goodness of a moment,
It will disappear,
And just like every other second of my life,
Vanish into nothing but a memory
I Am Your Project.
by Grace Shaw
M
Mold me like clay.
You make me your project, working on me till I break.
Tangible, submissive.
You’ve made me your property.
Touching me, molding me when you please,
no regard for my weeping body, begging you to put a rest to the
continuous, violation, coming from your jagged hands.
Like sandpaper on a fresh canvas.
You have made me your property, a project,
your tangible happiness.
Something for you to use when you please.
My body never experienced a warranted touch.
You erased the existence of my personality,
making me who you longed for,
never considered my words.
I became a broken record, with the only thing being played was,
the word "No".
Could you not hear it?
Only ever playing in the back of your mind,
you knew what you were doing.
Yet you still played the record, molded the clay, made me,
the sole property of you.
Wilted Flowers
by Grace Shaw
T
Take these flowers from the grasp of my hands, holding them ever so tightly, frightened to let go of these fragile flowers, something I've held for so long. These wilting flowers, still full of life, if not life, then love. These flowers, I hold close to my heart, too scared to let go. Not knowing what would happen if they vacated that place in my heart, guarded by brick walls and barricades. This place holds my love, the wilted flowers, still beautiful as ever. Keeping up hope that the flowers make it somewhere safe. Once these flowers leave the everso-tight grasp of my sweaty, shaky hands, it means that my love has been given to someone who values the beauty in these wilting flowers, knowing they have lived the longest of life, always waiting to leave the brick walls and barricades. They left the tight grasp of my hands, given away, lost, for what I could only describe as forever, to someone who didn’t value my
flowers, someone who broke the brick walls, viciously stomped on my flowers, crushing delicate petals that were holding on as strong as they could, to a stem, just as delicate. The flowers left my grasp years ago. I fought to get them back, regrow the flowers that I knew were dead, crushed, pummeled to the ground by someone who didn’t appreciate them, disrespecting everything they kept so tightly sealed in the barricades and brick walls. I found my flowers broken into a million uncountable pieces, too many to piece back together. I managed to pick up all of my petals and repair the damage as well as I could, all alone, just me and my wilted, broken flowers, back in the grasp of my unsteady hands, holding them closer to my heart than ever before, almost piercing the delicate skin of my wilting heart.
Azure Riehl
W
when i think back to the history
ive had with my body
close to 18 years living in this vessel
ive learned so much
yet so little.
it feels like ive struggled tremendously
yet looking back, it didn't seem like anything at all.
i didn't care about how i looked at 5, because i was too
busy living life and laughing so loud the whole world might've heard me
i cared a little at 11 when i started to grow into my body
because i felt as though every girl would say all they
needed to with a glare, looking at my stomach rolls and
wide hips and my glasses that would cover my whole face
i cared too much at 13 because i didn't want to be in my own body anymore
i couldn't be a woman.
i need to be strong for my broken family.
i can't be feminine now
i can't be weak.
does being feminine mean im just weak?
15 was a wake up call
and i saw once again the young woman i was hiding from
she pulled me out of my comfort zone by my own hand,
i can't go back now,
after all,
she is me
i am her.
for the first time in years
i felt a dead weight fall off my shoulders
helping me stand up straight
and my chest wasn't so tight with fear
and my voice was heard and strong
i could speak
i could feel
i could love myself, others,
the old couple walking down the street
the trees swaying and the rain falling
and the kids erupting with laughter, chasing each other
i could be in the moment with my body instead of hating myself for what i didn't have.
it doesn't matter.
what if i told you it doesn't matter?
a little voice in my head told me: 18 years in and your life has just begun, why take it so seriously?
you have so much to learn, and you're just a couple steps in, why wait?
let your feet take you places you've never been before
let your eyes gaze at the beauty of people being people
and let your hands hold the key to your next journey,
whether it be a key to a new home or a new heart.
the time is now,
so lean into it.
Azure's AP Art Pieces
rise
This piece was one of the first pieces in my process where I started to get really comfortable with oil paints. I love the feeling of oil paints and playing with the texture of it all, when it comes to painting different fabrics and such in this one. I loooved painting that little corner with the moon and stars on the fabric there. This is probably one of my best pieces so far.
lovers lake
The vibe of this one makes me just want to do exactly what he's doing in this piece. It's sunny, warm, and you're just in a boat chilling in the river. What a life. No worries for right now, just peace. I find so much joy in moments like these where you don't have anything to do. The only thing on your to-do list is to live. The technique I used for this piece was to just create a very air-y, flowy feel to the nature around and add little details to the water later in the end. It all worked out and I love the way this piece came out.
Growing Up
This piece is of my brother and I when we were little. I loved this photo so much and the energt of it that I didn't want to draw our faces, just to let it speak for itself. I let my creativity flow and I cut out the ocean piece because that feels nostalgic to me. I also used mica powders and dry chalk pastels to create some air-y, flowy feel to it all.
AZR
I wanted to create a self portrait but approach it in a different way. I put on a filter that created this prismatic feel to it, and took the photo. The only thing I changed up was the colors. I wanted it to be colorful and bright to show that I could be comfortable with not just things around me, but myself (as a reference to my AP theme). I kind of envisioned myself as an alien in this piece and I like it that way. I used oil paints to create the highlights there as well.
Logros
Logros
Logros is a ceremony that honors students' achievements in English Language Development (ELD), the Migrant Program, Latinos in Action, seniros graduating and students who earned the Oregon bilingual seal on their diplomas.
Congratulations graduating seniors:
Ashley Aguilera-Hernandez
Armando Alcala-Villalobos
Vanessa Alvarez-Castro
Diana Andrade Lopez
Jessica Andrade-Gonzalez
Lizeth Andrade-Loeza
Luis Ascencion Yanez
Maricela Bedolla-Alvarado
Erik Bryan Bonilla-Vallejo
Abel Bucio Alfaro
Ariana Camacho-Arredondo
Amali Casillas
Jorge Castillo Gonzalez
Katheryn Chaley Martin
Alondra Chavez-Gonzalez
Carla Cornejo Pineda
Ashley Cruz
David Cruz Gonzalez
Miguel Cruz Gonzalez
Evelin Diaz Bravo
Cristian Diaz Reyes
Efrain Diego-Juan
William Escobar Alvarado
Sindy Espinoza Aguilar
Leslie Garcia
Celene Garcia Cervantes
Daniela Garcia Gonzalez
Monserrat Garcia Ortiz
Melinda Dennis Garcia Palencia
Brianna Garcia-Andrade
Raquel Gonzalez Lopez
Litzy Gonzalez Rosas
Jose Gonzalez Villaraldo
Fernando Gonzalez-Rodriguez
Daisy Guerrero Melchor
Victor Guzman-Ortiz
Jennifer Hernandez-Delgado
Jessica Huesca-Acevedo
Miguel Angel Izquierdo
Diego Loeza Garcia
Aaron Lopez-Campuzano
Atziri Lopez Pineda
Jonathan Lopez-Martinez
Ivan Luna- Larios
Alfredo Martinez
Consuelo Martinez Garcia
Enereo Martinez Perez
Luis Mata Mora
Martin Mecillas Trinidad
Kevin Miranda
Xictlaly Mojica Flores
Blanca Morales Estrada
Cristal Moreno Valdovinos
Monserrat Moreno-Lopez
Cytlalli Najera Banda
Zair Nogales Cuevas
Angelina Olayo Cerriteño
Noe Orozco-Contreras
Noe Ortiz
Katia Ortiz Lopez
Lizbeth Ortiz-Santos
Catarina Pablo Garcia
Diana Olinda Perez Garcia
Jose Perez Nieto
Dennyse Pineda Gonzalez
Angel Pineda Miranda
Jasmine Pineda-Lara
Angel Prado Pozo
Rosa Ramirez-Mata
Kassandra Ramos Garcia
Diana Reyes Garcia
Yuliana Reyes Ortiz
Jennyfer Rojas Lopez
Jose Romero Acero
Carolina Romero Garibay
Atzin Salgado
Guadalupe Sanchez Mendoza
Jessica Sanchez Pardo
Vianey Sayago
Brissia Sayago-Aguilar
Arlette Silva Velez
Sydney Timm
Asenet Torres Bravo
Priscilla Trejo
Emelin Trejo Martinez
Johana Vasquez Vega
Areli Vazquez-Delgado
Santiago Velasquez Lopez
Monserrat Villanueva Villanueva
Moncerrat Villanueva-Nava
Tenoch Zamorano-Venegas
Cindy Zepeda Rivera
class of
Happy Graduation!