breakthrough 2011
DESCRIPTION
Literary and Art magazine of Heritage High School.TRANSCRIPT
II ss ss uu ee :: TT hh ee FF ii rr ss tt
H e r i t a g e H i g h S c h o o l
L i t e r a r y a n d A r t J o u r n a l
B r e a k t h r o u g h
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B r e a k t h r o u g h
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Title Author Page
Concrete poetry Kathryn Pharis 4
The Struggle Akeem Christian 4
I Wish To Make-Out with Your Face
(Before The Tide Comes)
Elaina Nicholson 5
Concrete poetry Emily Dixon 5
Initials in a Tree Adam Green 6
Historical Fiction Alexis Pernal 7
Art Nathaniel Farrell 11
Photo Nathaniel Farrell 12
Art Casey Malloy 13
Where I’m From Sean Conway 13
Father Andrew Ramos 13
Untitled Valeria Martinez 14
Art Alexis Shapiro 14
But What If Keri Zubek 15
Art Diamond Cockrell 15
Stubborn Grandmother Shane Fransz 16
Fear Thomas Ferguson 16
Untitled Thomas Ferguson 17
Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca Luis Antunez Leon 17
Art Diamond Cockrell 17
Heaven’s Gate Stephanie Taylor 18
Art Diamond Cockrell 19
Art Sydney Shea 20
Blue Eyes Morgan Kupec 21
Art Nathaniel Farrell 22
A Beat Jayden Cromier 22
Untitled anonymous 23
Besos Que Encarnan Valeria Martinez 23
Trouble-Some Gary Walsh 24
Untitled Valeria Martinez 25
Highway 36 Alexis Shapiro 25
Art Anthony Arredondo 25
Home Jacqueline Sinnott 26
Blood is not Thicker Morgan Kupec 27
Colors of Us Morgan Kupec 28
Art Nathaniel Farrell 28
Where I’m From Cassandra Lee 29
art Pongsri Phokamon 29
I Remember… Miai Jones 30
Art Nathaniel Farrell 30
That is why we lost… Miai Jones 31
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My Life Story Kassandra Paz 31
My Name Patrika Simmonds 32
A Woman Like Me Lyndsie Wood 32
Art by Crystal Cockling 32
Piojos and Patitas Sybil Deriso 33
Art Diamond Cockrell 33
Concrete poetry Nicole Torres 34
I Am From… Cortize Dismuke 34
Art Nathaniel Farrell 35
Where I’m From Peter Puiles 36
You Move Me (a collaborative poem by
many students)
37
Abuse by Kitrina Nelson 38
Art Diamond Cockrell 38
We Stand Kayla Daynea Saboor 39
Tough Henry Schmidt 39
Art Anthony Arredondo 40
Notice by Jessica Romero 40
Summer Time Kaitlynn Santiago 41
Art Diamond Cockrell 41
Untitled David Gray Taylor 42
Art Josh Stidham 42
Art Timothy Holland 43
Moving Megan Warner 44
Art Frank Shaffroth 44
Hero Vernie Wade 45
Art Akaina Willa 45
A Song Suzette Desty 46
A-Z Story Lyndsie Wood 47
Concrete poetry Hannah Kendrick 47
Saturday Morning Cartoons Stephanie Taylor 48
We All Make Mistakes Jamiqua Willett 49
Art Nathaniel Farrell 49
Art Emily Dixon 50
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The Struggle
by Akeem Christian
If I pull, you pull harder
Whenever I mess up you’re there to tell me things are alright
If I’m wrong you’ll still have my back
That’s why it hurts when I lie in your face
Over and over again
You’re like a kung fu teacher watching my every move
So when I’m not doing what I need to help you
You’re like the police in my rear view mirror
That warns me when I’m speeding
It seem that every time I’m down your right beside me to pick me up
Telling me about how great I am and how much talent I have
I mean to say what we have is a bundle and without you mom it’s a big struggle.
Concrete poetry by Kathryn Pharis
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I Wish To Make-Out with Your Face (Before The Tide Comes)
by Elaina Nicholson
I want to kiss you here on this beach, with the golden grains scorching the undersides of our tan feet. I want to kiss you before the tide comes and the cool saltwater envelopes our hot limbs as it reaches our bodies. I want to kiss you before the tide has a chance to return to its home once more, but not before seizing your inhibitions in a firm hold within the confines of its beautifully crafted waves.
Concrete poetry by Emily Dixon
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Initials in a Tree
by Adam Green
She is walking away
When there is still too much to say
Why do I fall for it every time
This can’t be happening to me
She cut me to ribbons and taught me to drown
Have her name tattooed on top of my heart
I keep running into the fire
when there’s nothing left to save
My whole world is falling apart
I’m trying to fly with broken wings
Unable to see a world unseen
Falling into the shadow of death
I can’t find something that isn’t real
Since love is a fantasy meant for those
who cannot see
Never you and me
Just wanna go home today
To the place our dreams were laid
Chop down that old oak tree
It still has the initials of you and me
Who knew a tree could lie
Unless tonight was forever
It’s always one step forward
and two steps back
Up all night with insomniac
Don’t wanna sleep, then I’ll see her eyes
The ones which hypnotize
It’s one step forward two steps back
Can’t feel a thing but ice in my soul
They said there’d be a light
She was my first love
And first to go
Which means she was my worst love
And worst to walk away
Chop down that old oak tree
With the initials of you and me
Who’d know that a tree would lie
I’ve opened my eyes for the first time
No longer deceived by the lies
Need someone to tie the ribbons together
And teach me to breathe
She cut me to ribbons
and taught me to drown
Have her name tattooed
on top of my heart
I need a lover
who won’t drive me crazy
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Historical Fiction
by Alexis Pernal
On the day of June 30, 1944 my entire family was ripped apart. My parents,
and sweet baby sister were murdered on this day by the German SS guards. They
spared my life to send me to work in a concentration camp named Auschwitz. They
took everything from me. My family, my clothes, my life, and even my name. Since I
wasn't too young or too old the people there had decided I would be a good worker.
I was made into a slave at the simple age of 16. I had been refused even the dignity
of being called by my birth name, Anastazia, they called me Anne. I hated that name
more than almost anything. Thankfully others in the camp understood and called me
by my true name.
At first it took me weeks to utter a word to anyone outside from needed
conversation. It wasn't some sort of protest; I just simply could find no reason to
speak. I was depressed. My family had been killed. I had been forced to leave my
lovely home in Poland to come here and work as a slave to the savage people who
had murdered my family, along with thousands of others I guessed. Not only did I
not want to speak, I did not want to live. I knew that an escape attempt would surely
cost me my life, and I could not even tell you how many times the thoughts crossed
my mind. To just run through the camp, try to jump the fence, and then be shot
down ending everything. I would be free from this hell on earth, from this prison,
this depression. Free to join my family again.
On my third week of life at the camp my sister had came to me in a dream.
“Be a survivor. You can get through this Anastazia. Do not injure yourself my
dear sister. Stay there and you can be freed one day. Stay there so when you make it
home to Poland. Tell the people around the world: neighbors, friends, even
strangers, explain to them the horror here. Expose the German people. Do not take
our death sitting down. I love you big sister. Stay strong.”
That was all she had said to me before she turned to mist. I awoke in a sweat.
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Could I do that? Could I stay here, and be strong? It didn't matter if I could or could
not. I knew that I would.
The next day a boy that looked about my age was stationed next to me in the
work farm. He had smiled at me when the guard led him next to me. I just held his
gaze. Finally when the guard walked off to the distance he spoke.
“You are Anastazia?” He said smoothly. I just nodded.
“You are young. I am 16. You are the same?” He said again. I just nodded this
time making eye contact.
“Are you the only one of your family here?” He asked with a bit of caution.
This had been the straw that broke the camel's back.
“What do you want with me?” I snarled at him threw my teeth. He looked as
if he expected this reaction, and then his face switched to being apologetic.
“ I did not mean to offend you. I simply am trying to get to know you. I think
you are the most beautiful girl here. Seeing you from time to time simply puts a
smile on my face. I am Aleksander. I just simply wanted to see if you would open up
to me. I want to help you make your time here well. Time here can pass quickly if
you have a friend.” He stated looking up at me with the most genuine smile I think I
have ever seen. That smile made my heart jump. I smiled in return.
“We are friends then. I apologize for snapping at you Aleksander.” I said
grinning. Little did I know that just then began my first true love.
At first we would only see each other maybe once a week, then it progressed
to a few times a week, and currently we were trying to find excuses to be near each
other every minute of every day. We talked about everything, past, present, future,
family, friends, home. Over time feelings started to develop. Then when we shared
our first kiss, and something electrifying went through my body. Feelings flooded my
veins, my nervous system was at its height. I never knew how people could tell if
they were in love, but if I had to guess, I would say it had something to do with that
feeling from true love's kiss.
More and more time had passed and I found myself completely head over
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heels in love with Aleksander. Then as fate would have it, he fell ill. The depression
returned, and this time it had felt even worse than before. It was October when he
was sent to the sick barracks. I fell back into my original patter of silence. Then I broke
my silence to take a girl there. I needed someone to confide in, all these emotions
inside of me dying to be let out were going to cause me to commit suicide.
Her name was Suzel. She lived in the same barrack as I, and she was a year
older than me. We became fast friends. Then one day, after months of forming our
friendship I decided to tell her everything about Aleksander and I. Her response shook
me.
“You'll get to see him soon. I have heard word from other camps of
liberation!” Her eyes lit up and then she continued, glancing around to see if anyone
was listening in.
“The allies are going to rescue us. They have been taking over death camps all
over, and freed all the prisoners. They have even given them food, clothing, water,
and returned each to their home land. I heard that they are to arrive in Auschwitz any
day now! We will be free soon Anastazia! You and Aleksander can live out your own
happy life. Everything will be okay!” She finished out of breath, since the excitement
of her story had caused her to speak faster than ever. It took a few minutes to form a
reply in my head.
“We will be free. We can live our lives. Aleksander and I shall be married!”
Then with that, we went to sleep. I like to think that she was dreaming of life as a free
person, because that is what I was dreaming of that very night.
A week passed and we had come to January. One night after we had all
gathered ourselves for bed inside the barrack I was startled by screaming and loud
bangs. Some were yelling in German, and others were yelling in Polish.
“You cannot take her! She did nothing wrong! Oh please leave her be! She is
just a young girl!” I heard a woman yelling from near the entrance to the barrack.
“We will not take her anywhere. We will dispose of her right here to teach you
filth a lesson!” A SS officer shouted. We were all to gather outside the barrack.
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“This girl here has spoken of foolish things, she has spoken against the Third
Reich! It is a unforgivable crime! Let this stupid girls foolishness be a warning to all!”
The German officer yelled while another held a girl by her short, curly blonde hair.
This is when I realized it was Suzel they had in their grasps.
“No! You cannot do this to her! Leave her! Please!” I heard myself scream. An
officer came to approach me.
“You would want to join this girl? Fine then. You can.” He said while grabbing
me.
“NO! Leave her. She knows nothing of me, or who I am. She knows nothing of
the crimes I’ve committed. Leave her please.” Suzel yelled probably using the last bit
of energy.
“Fine then. Kill the blonde.” The officer said while releasing me. Then right
there in the middle of the night, in front of most of the camp they shot Suzel in the
head. She dropped down with a great thud. I vowed that I would make it out of
there alive. The liberation was coming, and I would not let the story f my family and
Suzel go untold.
It was January 25, 1945 when the released Aleksander from the sick ward. He
was completely healthy again, and I was beyond happy to see him. For the next two
nights he slept by my side. Then on the morning of January 27, 1945 our lives were
changed forever.
We awoke to the sounds of shots being fired, and screaming. Some English,
some French, some German. Different languages being used all over the camp. It
was a frenzy. German officers hiding, or fighting to the death. Prisoners being loaded
onto buses by the allies. While some weren't being released by the officers. It was
there last acts of defending their beliefs I suppose.
This was it. Liberation. I looked at Aleksander, having explained everything
about Suzel and what she told me in the past two days he knew it too. We were free.
We broke into a sprint towards the nearest bus that was taking prisoners. I was
grabbed from Aleksander's arms, and into the grip of the German officer that had
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murder Suzel in the previous weeks. He held me in front of him with a gun to my
head.
“IF ANYONE COMES NEAR ME, I KILL THE GIRL. NO QUESTIONS ASKED.” He
shouted towards the directions of the ally soldiers walking towards them. They all
froze. I started to cry. It was all I can do. I looked towards Aleksander and saw him
start to cry too. This was it, on the day of our supposed freedom, I would meet my
demise. I cried more than I ever cried in my life. With blurred vision I could see
Aleksander talking to an ally soldier trying to save me. Was it all a wasted effort? It
had to be, I thought to myself.
“I love you Aleksander! I love you more than I have ever loved anything. Go
from here! Save yourself. Just promise me to tell the stories of me, Anastazia and my
family! Don't let anyone forget about what had happened here. Don't let the story of
me, and Suzel go untold! Tell the world! I love you!” I yelled in between sobs.
“QUIET!” The SS officer yelled, while holding the gun to my temple. Then
came a loud bang. Then everything went black. I opened my eyes and when my
vision focused I awoke in the arms of Aleksander in the back of an ally bus heading
Art by Nathaniel Farrell
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somewhere that wasn't here.
“What happened? I'm not dead!” I yelled to Aleksander as he smiled.
“This United States soldier saved your life.” He said while motioning to a man
in uniform. He then continued.
“While you were speaking to me the officer released the trigger for a moment,
and the soldier, his name is James, seen that. He moved up behind him quickly and
shot him in the head. He killed him, and with the noise of the shot you fainted. I love
you.” Aleksander explained and then hugged me.
“Thank you.” I said to the soldier.
“Just doing my job.” He said with a smile.
"I am going to tell you my story,” I said to him, “It involves me, my family, my
dear Aleksander, and my dear friend Suzel. After I tell you this story you will promise
to bring it back with you to your home land. Let this story be heard, and let no one
ever forget what happened here.” I said to him.
“I'll tell it to the world miss.” He said honestly.
“It all started on the day of June 30, 1944. That was the day I was sent here,
and my life was forever altered.....”
As I finished my story, I was gripping Aleksander's hand. Every person on that bus that
hadn't been at Auschwitz was in tears. At that moment I knew that no one would ever
forget about us, the survivors of the German death camp at Auschwitz.
Photo by Nathaniel Farrell
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Father
by Andrew Ramos
F unny at times
A nnonying most of the time T aught me right H opes for my best E ncourages me R eminds of who I am in life
Where I’m From
by Sean Conway
I am from the north
from snowy winters and warm summers
I am from the water of the back yard river
blue, shining, and warm from a hot summer’s day
I am from the pine trees
the tall oak trees
whose branches are covered by fresh snow
as if the two were one
I’m from quads and snowmobiles
from Arctic Cat and Suzuki
I’m from the hard workers
and the do-it-alls
from don’t-quit and keep-trying
I’m from the one who watches us
with a big wooden cross
and the Sunday nights we would spend together
with a warm meal on the table
I’m from the Conway and Gerity branch
good food and strong beer
the many accomplishments they made
in their lives
from owning a business to being successful
leaving big shoes to fill for the following generations
In my house we’d always play
Monopoly on the weekends
having fun till the end of the day
I am from great memories
still fresh in my mind
everything leading to what I am today.
Art by Casey Malloy
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Art by Alexis
Shapiro
Untitled
by Valeria Martinez
Solo una Mirada y me encari~e , un beso y me enamore,los sue~os que me persigen por las
noches gritando tu nombre en voz alta. Contigo es cmo un alcoiriz ,al fin de el se encuentra
el amor guerdado que siempre me has tenido y mi amor ,te quiero decir que nunca abran
due~o de mis besos que no seas tu , ya que eres la luz de mi vivir.dejame seguir con esta
felicida antes que esta agonia me destruya./ poco a poco te vas a cercando ese perfume que
me va enloqueciendo…
Nunca seras mio pero ya me perteneces y en mis suenos eres el principe rojo de mi Corazon
ya que el azul lo tiene todo el mundo. Tu eres unico y eres perfecto sabes que no importa lo
que diga la gente siempre sere tu alma gemela y la media naranja de tu Corazon…te amo mi
amor!
By valeria y cindy
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But What If
by Keri Zubek
They say the eyes are the window to your soul
But what if -
the window is shut tight, with the curtains pulled
and the lights go dull?
Are you able to see something that's
closed off by boundaries?
They say those who are close at heart
know more from a desolate stare
than tear-streaked confessions
But what if -
you block out what you don't want,
you shut out those who bring you down?
How are you supposed to hear that
call for help, that is in desperate need of answers?
Stress, hatred, broken heart, confusion, depression
all rolled up into one huge blood-soaked cocoon
Wounds that go deep enough to scar -
with no one to bring a band aid
How are you supposed to remain sane,
when your cry for help remains out in
the open?
Emotions dance and prowl about in your
mind, hungry for sedation
Your soul becomes a jigsaw puzzle
the kind that you get from a garage sale
the most important pieces are missing
It doesn't matter if you know what
the finished picture is,
If no one's there to see it -
how will we know what's there?
Art by Diamond Cockrell
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Stubborn Grandmother
by Shane Fransz
She can have bad nights
She watches the news and how the world fights
These images pound in her head like a hammer on a nail.
She is even afraid to check her mail
But in the morning she wakes to find
All of last night’s memories clear from her mind
She gets in her car and heads to the grocery store
She's been going there for 20 years but still fry's to ente through the exit door
She comes to the checkout line
The cashier rings her up, and tells her the fine
The sweet old lady casually says
"I don't know where my money is"
The grocers assistant points "maybe in your bag"
As he reaches his hand over with slight lag
She has the flashbacks of last night’s acts
So She let out a yelp and said "get back"
She is frightened he might try to rob her
She grabs her scarf with a look of somber
She points it at the boy who was filled with terror
She pulls the trigger but doesn't remember.
Fear
by Thomas Ferguson
The feeling of insecurity
is definitely not a sign of being of peace at mind
you feel for your life, when you are out alone at night
When you are in fear, it is like walking beside Satan
and him leading the way to nothing but sorrow…
God has tried to make you have no fear but,
all you can feel is all your tears…
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Untitled
by Thomas Ferguson
They say that life is beautiful,
An everything is beautiful..
How can you believe that when you are watching people slowly die inside,
As they say they want to end their life..
How can it be so beautiful,
It’s only beautiful when you’re a heartless freak
All they see is every ones sorrow,
And they just can’t wait to see it again tomorrow…
Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca
by Luis Antunez Leon
Cultivo una rosa blanca,
En julio como en enero.
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franka .
Y para el cruel que me arranka
El corazon con que vivo
Caldos de orugas cultivo
Cultivo una rosa blanca.
Art by Diamond Cockrell
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Heaven’s Gate
by Stephanie Taylor
PLANET ABOUT TO BE RECYCLED YOUR ONLY CHANCE TO SURVIVE: LEAVE WITH US
verything is in its own cycle; from the water cycle and nitrogen cycle to the
cycle of life. Each day millions of babies are being born, just as millions of
people are dying. According to Heaven Gate, Earth is nearing the ending of its
cycle. The Earth is coming to an end and is about to be “refurbished”. You may think this
is another Mayan calendar, 2012, world ending paranoia, however the religion of
Heaven’s Gate will really throw you for a loop when you realize it has more of an
extraterrestrial, a.k.a “fallen angel” twist.
As opposed to the Mayan calendar confusion, this religion is not about the world
ending completely, just a fresh start for another set of civilization to form and grow.
Also, these Heaven’s Gate followers believe not that 2012 is the ending date for the
Earth and its inhabitants, but rather that in 1997, close to 2000 years after Christ came
to the Earth, that the ending was almost upon them. It seems that that idea was blown
out of the water as we still sit here today and the Earth has yet to be “refurbished”. That
is not the only point of this religion that I find fault with. There are also many ideas
mentioned that leave me with more questions than answers.
To me, this religion is closely connected with the Christian, Muslim, and Jewish
religions and this is also mentioned several times. They believe that there is one God
and He gave birth to everything, therefore He is known as the “Father”. They believe
that Jesus came to the Earth 2000 years ago and before leaving said that he would
return. Where Heaven’s Gate loses me is where “Do” claims to be Jesus’ reincarnate and
his fellow students are Jesus’s Disciples’ reincarnates from 2000 years ago. To add on to
this, Do claims that he did not come back to Earth alone to offer the “Truth” but that in
the early 1970’s God himself came back to Earth in the form of an adult female, called
“Ti”, to help both Do and his disciples lose their human attributes of their new bodies;
Then Ti returned to heaven in 1985. This leads me to the first of my many questions: If
E
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God could send Jesus to the Earth the first time without coming to Earth himself, why
the need to come the second time to “help” them into their new bodies? Are they
claiming God is not so powerful now, that he can’t do what needs to be done from
heaven? Also, Do claims that he cannot give names for both himself and God, yet did he
not just do so by calling himself Do and God Ti? This is just the tip of the iceberg; the
weirder, more confusing stuff is on its way.
The whole goal for this religion is to prepare for the Evolutionary Level above
humans, or the Kingdom of Heaven. In doing so, you must lose all human attributes such
as human desires, thinking, and behaviors. If
you do this you will be saved from the end of
this world as we know it. If you don’t quite
reach this goal yet believe and seek the
Evolutionary Level above humans, you will also
be saved from the refurbishing of the world.
This is where Heaven’s Gate loses me a second
time. When you leave this world you will be
issued a “Next Level Body”, which all in all, looks
like an extraterrestrial, or alien. Then you will be
put aboard a space craft to do experiments for
the Lord as he wishes along with other Next
Level, for lack of a better term, People that he
assigns to you. If the Lord is the God above all, why does he need you to do experiments
for him? Doesn’t he already know everything and the result that each experiment will
yield? In addition, if you’re automatically sent to a spaceship when you die or get your
Next Level Body, do you ever actually meet God or ever see Heaven? Why then is the
religion called “Heaven’s Gate”?
The clincher point that really just blows my mind is the idea that no one has
souls until they believe in this religion. You are there by rewarded a soul when you
become a believer. That’s too much for me; no one has souls but Heaven’s gate
Art by Diamond Cockrell
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followers? I have a soul, and yet I don’t believe in this phony religion. It sounds to me
like a bunch of anti-social, stoned men and women from the 70’s that mixed up their
Sunday school class lessons, the idea of aliens, and the ending of the world in 2000
paranoia, into an enormous Heaven’s Gate mess. Do mentions that both He and his
followers were ready for non-believers and critics of them and their beliefs. While I
would not like to be called a critic, I am most definitely not a believer of the Heaven’s
Gate religion.
Art by Sydney Shea
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Sometimes I wonder
why do I hold onto this invisible rope?
There is nothing left,
you left, dropt like a pair of old shoes,
I have been,
wishing, hoping, holding onto an invisible rope
like a mime
I create my own world to hide from
the truth
that is you’re gone.
Like the wind, a deep summer breeze
that burns my skin.
I, a mime
hold onto my invisible rope
for a glimpse of hope
when you come back,
I try not to blink
because if I do
you will be gone
once again, like you always are.
I hold onto the second I get
they give me hope and build
Blue Eyes
by Morgan Kupec
my invisible rope
but this rope cannot
catch me when I fall
when you leave I crash,
fall apart and burn.
I want you to come back
and I cannot understand why,
this invisible rope
keeps me filled with hope
that next time you will stay.
Stay with me ‘till the end of
time is up
I will be gone
in the blink of an eye,
like you were.
You are now the mime holding onto
this invisible rope with the hope
that I will return.
And I shall, but not for longer than a blink
of your pretty little
blue eyes.
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A Beat
by Jayden Cromier
A red velvet case With a heart beating a steady pace Inside it weeps Outside it beats With thorns wrapped in a heavy lace
Art by Nathaniel Farrell
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Untitled
by anonymous
I'm scared to move on because
I'm worried that the second
I'm happy with someone else,
you'll pop up and ruin it.
Ruin it by telling me that you want me,
and that you're sorry and the you like me
" kinda a lot "
and that you miss me
" kinda a lot "
I'm worried that I'll so confused because
I'll be happy with him, but of course I want you,
and that will make me start crying all the time,
end up losing the best relationship I ever had
just to have you get bored again and move onto some other girl
The worst part about all of this?
I can see you doing it, because you want me hooked
You want me to make you my priority
when I am only an option
an option you'll probably
never take
Besos Que Encarnan
by Valeria Martinez
Beso sobre beso
tu piel encarna la belleza
tu piel pide mil caricias
suave sobre suave
tu cuerpo para amar
tu alma para sentir
tierna sobre bella
¿cómo no desearte?
B r e a k t h r o u g h
24
Trouble-Some
by Gary Walsh
Through rough times we had
I surely didn’t mean to make you mad
Please if you give me one last chance
You’ll see I’ve been honest all along
So let’s have a dance
Because I’ll always be right and never wrong
Please, just take my hand
And let’s dance to the beat
Because this will make our friendship much more grand
As we sway our feet hand in hand
I will never let you go
Because without you, I shall not grow
Stay with me, in this bottomless never
Because you will always be my one and forever.
Untitled
by Valeria Martinez
En el paraíso de tus ojos,
me pierdo porque estoy perdido,
en la paz de tus labios,
me encuentro porque estoy contigo,
en el universo de tu alma,
vivo con mil sentidos,
en ti, vivo amándote.
B r e a k t h r o u g h
25
Highway 36
by Alexis Shapiro
Two lanes two west. We aren't in Kansas, anymore. Drosphilia buzzes, one inch long, across a field of one yard. Try your luck, roll the dice. Six and six, a fortunate pair. Torah says, the Light of Creation shines with the degree of a perfect star. Here comes the fly again, fast and dangerous like the Hindenberg, in NJ not NV. The NV that gave our flag another perfect star. Chug an entire barrel, become our leader, and become the kryptonite. Come experience Bill's collection and chug another barrel, for 216 hours, that feels like just nine.
Afterward, come cruise around the square of NV. Another barrel for double the drinking age. Now let's double back west and two lanes east. We aren't in Kansas, anymore.
Art by Anthony Arredondo
B r e a k t h r o u g h
26
Home
by Jacqueline Sinnott
It once was a beautiful place Filled with people, love and life Inspiration by inspiration, But now it’s sad to see it these days Death, violence, hearts filled with hate I really want to fix it but I am a bit too late
Poverty, everywhere you look Turned out to be a place of death It’s like a scary storybook
This is my background The place where I’m from For the first decade of my life
Death, Around every corner, People have died in my arms here, This place reminds me of so many bad memories
But it’s where my family lives their short lives Not being with them is a hard thing to do But going back is something I will never even think of Life as it is, is a constant reminder of my past life
The thing I truly hate the most My old house My old friends My old family My old life
That old inspiration, The good life... Torn from my heart, Cut out with a knife.
Detroit is still my home A place I can go, When I have nowhere else to go Though it’s hard to survive day-to-day life But it’s a choice Live or die?
B r e a k t h r o u g h
27
Blood is not Thicker
by Morgan Kupec
People ask me why I am so cold why the blood running through my veins runs as cold as the water under the ice sheets of lake Michigan on a deep winter day. I’ll tell you, blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker than ice cold water for the children left by their mother so she can be off on vacations with a stranger, late night dinners and hotel weekends with children left alone at home. Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker for the son and daughter waiting to watch a movie with their father, just one second, is all they ask for, but the draw of the plant is too strong. He sits outside in the garage, hours, hours pass by, they still wait. Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker for the daughter whose mother is so consumed with work and other problems that they barely even talk. Her brother calls from jail and her mom jumps to the phone. They talk very long, but the girl can’t even get a ‘Hi, how was your day?’ Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker for the son who is beaten and bruised, not my fists or throws into the walls, but by his father’s harsh stabbing drunken words. He calls him names, tells him he is not worthy, worthless. He doesn’t cry or wince, but scars build up from the inside out. His heart is becoming a stone. Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker, So ice cluttered water runs through my veins and makes me as cold as the world around me.
B r e a k t h r o u g h
28
Colors of Us
by Morgan Kupec
Red is for the danger I didn’t see in your eyes.
The beauty of the fire that burns in my mind.
Orange is for the desire I will always hold for you.
The endurance of my optimism hoping you see me the way I see you.
Yellow is for the cowardice you can’t seem to lose
to show me how you feel, that you love me too.
The electric curiosity I feel when we touch.
Green is for the youth I’ve spent waiting for you.
The nature of my hope that won’t allow me to let go.
Blue is for the cold mass my heart has turned into.
The true magic I find when I kiss you.
Purple is for the passion I hope we will one day find.
The rage and the sympathy I feel when you make me cry.
Gray is for the old feelings that return
when my mess of a mind can’t control my hearts burn.
Art by Nathaniel Farrell
B r e a k t h r o u g h
29
Where I’m From
by Cassandra Lee
I am from the fields of grass, from big backyards and small woods, I am from the grass in the backyard. (free, swaying, moving with the wind.) I am from the maple trees, the big oak trees, tall and graceful, climbing up the branches, till’ my arms are sore and I’m up high. I’m from home cooking and baseballs, from Faron and Cindi. I’m from the daddy’s girls, and the momma’s boys, from hush up and go play. I’m from now I lay me, Lord as my shepard, I shall not want and be thankful, reciting verses of the Word by heart. I’m from Lee and Hardison’s tree, mashed potatoes and barbeques, from the scar on my papa’s chest, from the bullet of childhood restlessness, to the scar on my daddy’s stomach from work. I am from memories surrounding me like air, of being in the big backyards of my families, sitting on the porch, having big country get-togethers on cool evenings, till’ the sun sets and a new chapter begins.
Art by Pongsri Phokamon
B r e a k t h r o u g h
30
I Remember…
by Miai Jones
I remember that morning That morning we were at the beach We wrote our initials in the sand In the sand with a heart around it.
The smiles we shared at the cook out The cook out where we first met My mind racing with thoughts I knew I was in danger trusting a stranger
A stranger with my heart My heart took a leap A leap of faith Are you willing to take the leap?
Art by Nathaniel Farrell
B r e a k t h r o u g h
31
That is why we lost…
by Miai Jones
…the war you really had to go They say " God Choose You" But why? Why were you chosen? Chosen to follow in the footsteps of death across enemy lines you fought for me my everyday freedom the freedom most take for granted? But why I still have to ask? Why were you chosen to fight for something that obviously doesn’t matter in our country Freedom... That is not lived to the fullest? The war might almost be over but now you’re gone with the tears I shed for you for what? People not to live life to the fullest? Not living our life to the fullest " That... That is why we lost."
My Life Story
by Kassandra Paz
My life story has been good so far.
It has also been bad.
It’s like a rollercoaster ride.
It goes up & down.
But why should I scream?
This is my theme park
B r e a k t h r o u g h
32
My Name
by Patrika Simmonds
Today, my name is Colorful
Yesterday, it was Dull
Tomorrow, it will be as lively as
The birds chirping in the morning
My family thinks my name is Unique
My friends think it Clueless like a fish
Surely, my name is anything…….
I want it to be.
A Woman Like Me
by Lyndsie Wood
Sensitive, Heart-felt and Brave
Loving, Playful and Well-Behaved
Insightful, Friendly, Never to Stray
Sure to stick by you Day-after-Day
Appreciative, Exciting, and very Nice
Confident and Honest, Never Shy
Mature, Clever, and Willing to Sacrifice
One Who Lives Life Right and always
Precise
Strong, Intelligent, and oh so Funny
Unique, Caring, with a mind set free
Outgoing, Selfless, and a Little silly
All the words to describe a woman like me
Art by Crystal Cockling
B r e a k t h r o u g h
33
Piojos and Patitas
by Sybil Deriso
“Ven pa’ca!
Let me check for piojos”
The familiar spanglish warms me
Like fresh eggs and chorizo in the morning.
Mi abuela spoils me
With her actions of love
Romantic love can be bough, but not love among family.
Like a mother robin shelters her pollitos,
So does la familia look out for one another
Without asking for anything in return.
The roots of this love run deep
Unconditional and not selfish
The love my grandmother shows me could fill los oceanos.
“Give me your patitas”
She loves it when I let her crack my toes
And so do I.
Art by Diamond Cockrell
B r e a k t h r o u g h
34
I Am From…
by Cortize Dismuke
I am from safety pins
from CO2 and carbon-dioxide
I am from the gum under the bleachers
I am from the coordinate bush,
the dance crew
whose swift movement arms I remember
as if they were my own
I’m from Vinella and WristWatch
from Bluebunny and Cassio,
I’m from the gossips-about-its
and the go-on-about-its
from take in and let out.
I’m from respect your elders
and one book I can read myself
I’m from wings and thinkgs,
fried chicken and strong beer,
from the leg my aunt lost
to the amputation
the breast my aunt gave to keep her life.
Under my dresser was a flower
spilling old memories
a bit of missed hearts
to swiftly hide mixed emotions
I am from these memories
captured as I wondered
creatively, from the family tree.
Concrete poetry by Nicole Torres
B r e a k t h r o u g h
35
Art by Nathaniel Farrell
B r e a k t h r o u g h
36
Where I’m From
by Peter Puiles
I am from projects
from marijuana and cancer sticks
I am from the wind that blows to destinations
Glistening, thick,
tastes like caramel syrup
I am from the big city, the Red Apple
whose annoying voices I remember like yesterday.
I’m from the Italian Icees and Ralph Lauren Polo
from Manhattan to Queens
I’m from the gang-banging to the drug addicts
I’m from he who just tries to survive in this world
and hundreds of kids in this lonely world with no direction
I’ from 6th Avenue D., Spanish foods and strong marijuana
from the trials that my grandparents went through with me
to the mature successful life I have now.
Under all the circumstance there is still
this kid that came from nothing and everything negative
now a positive feeling comes from all the accomplishments
from the streets to the young man I turned out to be
B r e a k t h r o u g h
37
You Move Me
(a collaborative poem by many students)
You move me like…
good friends on a Saturday night, like
classical music and learning to read
and when I was little
catching fireflies and telling ghost stories by bonfires
You move me like
sweet, cold lemonade on a hot summer day
like football games in the rain and
mama’s red velvet cake
licorice
One time you took a big breath and said three little words
when all the stuff didn’t matter and everyone was innocent
back when my parents were happily married
and time didn’t move
You move me like
Christmas morning
and Michael Jackson’s moonwalk
like my sister teaching me to tie my shoes
the love of the moon for the ocean
fire dancing across a field
wind moving a sailboat on the ocean
and God
That is how you move me.
I once stopped to look at you
cause I never did, never really saw you for you,
and you caught me…smiled, and carried on
You move me like that memory
of the first picture I colored that made the refrigerator door
like those afternoons watching Gunsmoke with my grandpa
You move me like
the bell ringing at 3:30, Hip hop that speaks, worship,
and the first note my 52 year old trumpet ever played,
like the strum of a guitar, tattoos, basketball, new shoes, silence,
lemon pepper chicken, sunrises and sunsets.
you most definitely move me
B r e a k t h r o u g h
38
Abuse
by Kitrina Nelson
when i see cropped ears on a dog i think about fighting when i see bones on a horse i think about starvation when i see cats pancaked to the road i think about neglect through the fighting, hunger and neglect i see nothing but abuse to the companions of life i hope and pray that one day the world will change its ways and stop all of this and let the animals find love and peace i would be happier than a lost leprechaun on a rainy day i wish i could be superman and save the day with a day with a swing of my hair and a smile on my face recognize all this hate and preach till its love to save the helpless animals and stop this abuse
Art by Diamond Cockrell
B r e a k t h r o u g h
39
We Stand
by Kayla Daynea Saboor
we stand not hand in hand
but face to face
exchanging expressions of anxiety
three times too long
you’ve missed me, I know
but second times the trickiest.
I’m not flirting with you,
I’m dancing with danger
and all of his marvelous mannerisms
and, love, I’m not all that you think I am
but if it makes you happy, I can fake it.
we stand not hand in hand
but face to face
exchanging words of worry
like two rocks in the desert
we sit and we wait
but patience
is not something we both possess
I need an answer
you need me to refocus
so we can stand not only
hand in hand
and face
to face
but also
heart to heart
Tough
by Henry Schmidt
What is tough? Life’s tough. Homework’s
tough. Your older bully of a brother—he’s
pretty tough. But the toughest thing is
growing up. To mature into an adult, to set
friend and material things aside and step
into the adult world. To deal with all of
life’s problems on your own, no more
asking mom and dad for the solution. As a
kid, we really don’t know what awaits us as
an adult. All we know is that someday we’ll
be the ones remembering the good ole
days and talking about the new episode of
Law and Order and all the problems our
parents and their generation created are
now are problems. To me—that’s tough.
B r e a k t h r o u g h
40
Notice
by Jessica Romero
Days can pass you by and you’ll never notice
notice the girl sitting alone, or the boy surrounded by his friends
you’ll never notice the sadness in her eyes or the force he uses just to smile
you’ll never notice the bruises on his back,
or the scars on her arm
you’ll never notice because you don’t care
Art by Anthony Arredondo
B r e a k t h r o u g h
41
Summer Time
by Kaitlynn Santiago
No school, summer time
Wild parties, late nights
Were on the beach, in our bikini's
With our crazy friends, soaking up the sun
Daisy dukes, and flipflops
Don't forget them tanktops
Joy riding, here we come Warped Tour
Dancing crazy, its hardcore!
Insane rides,
Amusement Parks
Fresh cookouts
Hot dogs, and Hamburgers,
Sweet tea too
It's 4th of July
Look at the fireworks
In the sky
Pretty flowers
Blooming out of dirt
Green hoses,
Use the cold water
Slipping slides and
Big sprinklers
Lay out on your
Lawn chair
Layout get tan
Rub tanning oil on your body
Holla at some shawties
It's Summer of 2011
Let’s live it up
And have a sweet,
fun time!
Art by Diamond Cockrell
B r e a k t h r o u g h
42
Art by Josh Stidham
Untitled
by David Gray Taylor
The respect deserved has turned into dust
She has won the race and persevered
But her hard work is nothing but a shadow
Like moss on a stone
Or rust on metal
Her life earnings are covered up
Hidden away, never to return…
She creates an image
Draws up a map
And finds a way to be loved again
If only she had a friend.
So she cries herself to sleep
Lets the warm side of the pillow comfort her….
B r e a k t h r o u g h
43
Art by Timothy Holland
B r e a k t h r o u g h
44 Art by Frank Shaffroth
Moving
by Megan Warner
Moving to a place where you don’t know anyone except for your relatives meeting new people and knowing you’re not going to see your old friends.
Moving everyone’s different they all sound different
Everyone’s looks at you like you’re strange While you look back at them thinking the same. Moving to a place where you feel isn’t home because you can’t always be yourself and deep down you just want to come out of your shell
Moving away from your friends that you spent the last two and half years with starting over fresh with a new set of people leaving all old memories behind like that last party you went to and had a really good time.
Moving Moving to a place where you’re alone.
B r e a k t h r o u g h
45
Hero
by Vernie Wade
You used to be my hero.
I wanted to be just like you:
funny and charismatic
and always able to lift me up
when I was sad,
but I was wrong.
When I had two paths to take,
you told me to take the opposite of left.
I said right?
you said wrong.
You said choose the path they don't
give you in school.
Then I realized what a monster you were,
a demon under your stupid lies.
You tried
to prove that drugs were good
that it would make me strong,
well, now look, you're gone.
You used to be my hero,
but you didn't believe in me.
I can be strong on my own.
I don't need to choose
your path.
You told me to go the opposite of left.
I said right?
you said wrong.
Well, I say wrong
'cause I can go
wherever I want.
I will be strong.
I want to be
just like me,
I want to be
the way I am,
I want to go
wherever I choose,
And I will because
I'm my own hero.
Art by Akaina Willa
B r e a k t h r o u g h
46
A Song
by Suzette Desty
when I was young
there used to be a song
my mother sand and took all the pain
away
scabbed knees, fearful dreams,
anything
tears streaked face,
she sang the tears away
and the swells died down in my eyes.
“I’ll always be there, whenever you’re scared…just hold my hand and believe”
her voice so calm, Sleeping Beauty could not compare
the song that silenced that world’s pain for just
a..second.
no hate in one’s heart could withstand
no pain could remain
no day would brighten
“I’ll always be there, whenever you’re scared…just hold my hand and believe”
the words collide
create this small, yet exploding passion inside
safety and comfort surrounds the words.
they settle warmly in the bottom of your soul
my children will know the meaning of these words
they will hear it when they’re scared
so they can know that no matter how cold the world is
they’re loved
no matter how lonely they get, they’ll know:
“I’ll always be there, whenever you’re scared…just hold my hand and believe”
no matter what, or where
just think of this song.
and I’ll be there
B r e a k t h r o u g h
47
A-Z Story
by Lyndsie Wood
Anytime I feel down, bored, or upset in anyway, I can pick up my guitar and
escape. Besides singing, my favorite thing to do is play guitar. Certain things inspire
me to write music and lyrics. Day by day I play. Everytime I pick up my guitar the
world around me disappears. First guitar: from my grandpa and mom on Christmas.
Granted, I was only twelve at the time, but I had ambition to learn how to play. He—
my grandpa—has been playing his whole life. I have been playing my Indiana Scout
for about six years. Just because a person is young doesn’t mean they don’t have
talent. Kids at that age can do a lot if they put their minds to it. Like I did, playing
guitar was a hidden talent of mine.
My most prized possession is my guitar “Bluie. No one is ever allowed to
touch him. People sometimes ask me to play but I have a little stage fright. Quitting
once I get started playing is impossible. Right after I put my guitar down I feel a
sudden relief. Sometimes I can sit for hours playing my guitar. Today I will probably
go home and play too. Undeniably , guitar is my passion. Very enjoyable .When I am
a little older I hope to do something with my guitar. Years in the future I will still be
playing Zeal state of mind is what I have when it comes to playing my guitar.
Concrete poetry by Hannah Kendrick
B r e a k t h r o u g h
48
Saturday Morning Cartoons
by Stephanie Taylor
Crawling out of my bed,
Donned in my favorite ten-sizes too large t-shirt,
My toes touch the cool floor.
I wander into the living room,
The floor occupied by many blankets,
Pillows, and my lump of a brother.
The couch is claimed by my father.
I stare at him with wide, adoring eyes,
Still clutching my soft, worn out teddy bear.
He tilts his head down to look at me
And his lips curve up at the ends.
He scoots back and lifts the warm blanket
And I crawl in, my back pressed to his chest,
Only my eyes peer above the blanket’s hem.
I see coyotes running off cliffs
After chasing too fast of a bird,
Ducks with lisps, and feuding cats and mice.
Slowly my eyes closed,
The last image being that of some silly rabbit.
Content, I sigh as the feel of soft
Laughter rocks me to sleep.
B r e a k t h r o u g h
49
We All Make Mistakes by Jamiqua Willett
I’ m happy living life everything is going right.
Then darkness comes and takes my sun away.
But I start to think that everybody makes mistakes.
Sometimes they say it’s a risk that you did not take.
But some risks are mistakes.
You can’t take it back
But mistakes are sometime the features you lack.
Then there comes that one word
What can I do? What should I say?
I then remember in my head that everybody makes mistakes.
Art by Nathaniel Farrell
B r e a k t h r o u g h
50
Art by Emily Dixon
B r e a k t h r o u g h
51
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