One Pen Literary Journal, Issue XXI, Winter 2017

One Pen Staff 2016-2017 Student Editors: ​Suly Alvarez, Yachi Bonilla, Shiann Brown, Norma Corchado, Tamara Dominguez Michelle Matto and Stephanie Porfil Writer in Residence and One Pen Advisor/Designer: Caits Meissner Cover art by ​Luis Campos Back cover art by ​Christian Morel Inside artists​ listed on back page Special thanks to​ Mr. Berns for curating the beautiful portraits, Ms. Lauren for her editorial eye and helping smooth out this copy, and our principal Brandon Cardet-Hernandez, who always says yes to the work we bring to the table — for allowing our students to shine their brightest in every way.

Special thanks to you for reading!

Table of Contents Introduction ​(Featuring ​What If​ by Shanice Tramble) Caits Meissner This used to be a forest and everything was free Suly Alvarez Touched Samantha Ramos Bulingualism Amera Attalah Him & You Moesae Sanders Father Jarlyn Martinez Who? Araceli Salazar I Miss You Norma Corchado GAP Elizabeth Sampson I Remember Shadey Ruiz I Do Not Love Michelle Matto 1

Why Norma Corchado Please Don’t Leave Edwin Soto Letter to My Unborn Child Suly Alvarez Your Voice Matters Christian Lee Rivera Middle Child Genie Santana Today Sucks Carlos Luna 59th Street on the 1 Train Caits Meissner this flesh.

Candice Iloh My Own Religion Michelle Matto Loss Shadey Ruiz World Fades Away Starlin Pimentel

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Eulogy Shania Russell He Changes Yachi Bonilla Dark Waters:​ The truth behind the demon Angel Spirit (Jasherah Nalls) Amnesia Leo Pagan Growing Up Suly Alvarez Where I'm From Ronnie Fladger Gangs Jarlyn Martinez Respect for a Hip Hop Legend Ronnie Fladger Black Power Edwin Soto

Special Feature:​ Poems For Haiti Introduction Samuel Hernandez & Caits Meissner

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I Won't Escape Jarlyn Martinez Haiti Poem Yachi Bonilla Untitled, Unmastered Diego Romero The Hands of Hope Shadey Ruiz When All Hope Is Lost‌ Araceli Salazar FEAR. Michele Matto Hurricane Matthew Stephanie Porfil The Hurricane’s blind eye Aaron Saldana Permission To Cry Alice Martinez Conversation Suly Alvarez When all is lost.

Melanie Lantigua Fears, Yet Hope

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Shanice Tramble Hope Poem Ronnie Fladger A/DIOS Eileen Valerio Helplessness: A Letter From Me To You Genie Santana Waiting.

Tamara Dominguez A Question Shadae Lanier I See Myself in You and I Survive Shiann Brown Thoughts Of A Haitian/ Of An American Samara M. Henry Heartbreaks Edwin Soto Haiti Poem Taylor Richmond In Too Deep Starlin Pimentel

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Introduction WHAT IF THIS POEM WAS NEVER WRITTEN. I have asked this question to myself silently many times over the years. Of course, in literal terms, life continues on as it will and we wouldn’t necessarily be any more worse for the wear as a humanity than we already are.

But to each of us, human expression becomes profoundly personal, and often times, even life saving.

Think about characters in a book or movie who have felt nearly like friends, or a song that comforts so deeply it must be played on repeat over and over and over…

In fact, now that I’m thinking of it, I’m changing my mind. Poetry can move the world! Of course it can!

Maybe not in massive waves, but in small steps, in our planted seeds. I remember this when reading Bronx Letters student Shanice Tramble’s poem, ​What If. In it, she writes...

What if Adam and Eve never disobeyed God? What if the Holocaust never happened?

What if WWI never began?

What if Martin Luther King never gave a speech?

What if Obama never ran for president?

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What if gun violence never occurred?

What if white people were the slaves of African Americans?

What if Trump running for president was only a joke?

What if Cancer never spread?

What if, what if, what if.

What if this poem was never written What Shanice reminded me is that as writers we hold the tremendous power to reflect another’s experience in our own, to hold space for the reader to feel at ease to cry, laugh, feel ​seen. We are tasked with witnessing and reporting on the human experience, both our own, and the lives of others. We build empathy and we speak out against injustice — both personal and communal.

And, perhaps most importantly, we have the imaginative ability to vision what this world will become.

Shanice’s questions urge us to ​imagine. What if terrible events had never occurred in our history? What if leaders had not called out racism? What if our past and privilege was flipped? What if we stopped killing each other? What if we never existed in the first place? What would the planet look like if we were never here at all?

This is what a great poem does. It inspires us to think with intention about our work as humans.

All of the poems in this collection are astonishing in their ability to question, reveal and move the human spirit. Our student team chose wisely — often groaning with recognition in the room as we read. They also

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decided which poem fell after the next, curating this issue for you to read.

The writing in this journal is intense. As a collection this book reminds that poems are also for us, the writer, to have the freedom to explore our private pains, then send them off into the world with wings, loosening their grip on our hearts. I think you will be amazed at what you find between these pages.

Thank you to all of our contributors, editors and readers. You, and your stories, are very important. I hope something in here inspires you to your notebook.

We need you — now in 2017 more than ever — to share them wildly and loudly with reckless, brilliant abandon.

They tried to bury us.

They didn’t know we were seeds.

— A proverb written by Greek poet Dinos Christianopoulos and adopted by the Zapatista movement in Mexico Write on, Ms. Caits

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This used to be a forest and everything was free Suly Alvarez I used to to be a bird and was able to spread my wings You see, my family used to be a flower and we were all able to blossom.

Relationships used to be real and they were able to prosper.

Now this forest has been burned And the trees no longer stand strong, and I'm still a bird but my wings are clipped on.

The flower’s roots haven't been watered and now we're weak.

And relationships aren't so real ‘cause everyone wants to cheat.

But I remember that this used to be a forest and everything was free

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Touched Samantha Ramos When She was 6, She was touched.

When She was 6, She was asked to touch.

When She was 6, She didn't understand the reason for touching, but was forced to anyway.

Her tiny body became a game of twister and She laid there, following the rules of the game.

Hands groped on her most colorful parts and She didn't know why.

She laid there like a preserved carcass, trisected; Legs; bisected The words "stop, please"; neglected, Innocence; collected.

She grew older, weary from the faintest stroke of a limb, wishing she could get out of the "touched" parts of her skin. Reluctant to things that seemed too good to be true, hard to pursue, so she walks away instead of telling you that her body was abused.

And you remain confused about why she might be distant, why she is resistant, and why so inconsistent, but she just waits to see how long you'll stay around to listen.

Fragmented, exhausted, similar to an ancient temple.

Immensely broken and eroded yet acts like she's assembled.

She requires the tender, the calm and the patient.

She may be found subtracting, tries to balance out the equation.

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She’s distracted, wait, her head isn't looking too adjacent, For she is always reminded of acidic sensations. .

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Bulingualism Amera Attalah I remember when it first started. I felt powerless and couldn't control anything around me. My broken family was officially breaking. My grades were going down.

My relationships were failing. I needed to feel like I had a purpose. So, I looked at what I could control. Which was myself.

I began to make goals. Looking in the mirror. Sort of breaking myself apart. “That is too fat”, “My thighs touch”, “My arms are huge”. The list just kept growing.

Longer and longer. And the longer it got, the more I realized that I wasn’t who I wanted to be.

Then, I began modifying my food. I memorized calories.

Sliced bread was 70 cal, and yogurt was 90. I spaced out my meals. Not soon after, I cut them out completely. It wasn't long until I cheated on myself. I went in the bathroom and took longer than usual. I remember how it felt. To be full one minute and empty the next. Emptiness became an addiction.

I learned a new language called bulingualism​. This was a combination of English and my developing eating disorder. My language didn’t have a dictionary. You translate it by instinct.

“You look great.”

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Translation: “You looked way better before, but you look fat now, and I’m trying to be nice.”

The road to pulling the verbal trigger is paved with intended compliments. Saying nothing would have been better than something.

“You’ve gotten so small.”

Translation: “Keep going.”

This, at the time made me happy. It made be feel like I was making a difference, regardless if it was the bad kind of difference.

Lying became an everyday thing. I started to lie. To my mother, telling her that I was just cleaning the toilet just because. Telling her I already ate, even though it'd been three days since. I lied to my sister, telling her I was already full as I gave her my lunch and dinner. I lied to my friends, showing them a bright and beautiful face that hid all of my secrets behind the smile I gave.

But, there is one person, who I've lied to that makes me guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Myself. I lied to myself, telling myself I was okay. Telling myself I was anything else but perfect. I lied when I told myself all I needed was time. I lied to myself when I fed my body and made it empty. When I fed my food to the toilet. I lied when I promised I would not do it again.

I had to confess. As if I’d committed a murder and guilt was eating me up slowly and painful everyday that passed since. Like a scream inside me that wanted to

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be free. That wanted to be loved. That wanted to be appreciated.

I wish I could say sorry to my body. If I could, I would have to say, ​I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry I mentally created the rhythm of bulingual repetition, self-translating self-destruction with an eating-disorder-to-English dictionary. I am sorry when I ignored your health. I am sorry I expected so much.

I love you. I love your strong legs that carry me everywhere I need to go. I love your beautiful arms and hands that give me independance. I love your stomach and how it protects my organs from falling out onto the cold sidewalk.

I promise to love you more and more everyday.

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Him & You Moesae Sanders You and him are two very significant parts of my life.

Two different time periods.

Two different versions of myself.

Him: You were me in every sense of the word, but it seems that the universe didn't see it that way.

You hurt me You hurt me Emotionally Mentally You made it so no matter where I went there was you, and you made sure of that.

No matter who was in the picture you never left the frame.

I love you I love you Yeah you mean that now and yeah you meant it then.

But where were you? when I needed you? When I wanted you?

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No, you were not there, you assumed and now that one simple word has changed our fate, changed our path.

Yes, always in my mind, but you could never still be in my life.

Why are you here?

Lingering in my head, taunting me like the phantom you are.

I DON'T WANT YOU. Yes, I say that to myself, but when you walk past me I can't help it when my heart begins to clench.

I can't help the flashbacks running through my head, as if they're trying to get to the finish line.

Yet you blame me, said I didn’t try, but you assumed.

And all the soon-to-be’s are now only what-ifs and you are the one to blame, so thanks for assuming.

You and him are two very significant parts of my life.

Two different time periods.

Two different versions of myself.

YOU: You are amazing in every sense of the word.

You came into my life in the blink of an eye

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and made me melt.

You’re caring You’re sweet You’re kind And you taught me that not every boy is the same.

You are me, and I am you In-love is not even the words to describe how I feel for you Nor can it be captured in simple words on a piece of paper and pen, I don't deserve you and I've come to realize that.

But I am learning to forgive myself ‘cause no matter what, you forgive me.

You look at me and I know you are where I belong.

But sooner rather than later, against my own will I will have to let you go.

So I apologize now for the way I must hurt you.

No, you are not my first love, but trust me you will be my last.

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Father Jarlyn Martinez No one will ever understand the unconditional love that I have for you, not even you'll understand.

I decided a long time ago that I love you more than anyone that I've ever known, that I ever encountered‌ including myself. I couldn't express the pain that I feel, even if tried‌ I'll break down. The last time you left me was at 6 years old. Last time I seen you was at 16 years old. A huge gap, but no gap big enough to reduce the love that is still there.

I cry once in awhile, I cry whenever someone gets me upset, I cry when I'm fed up. The reason why I cry might have nothing to do with you, but somehow it leads back to the day you left. It's like the missing piece to a puzzle, the last piece I need and it's gone, so how will the puzzle be complete? How will I be complete?

It's not like you left because you wanted to, you made a few decisions in life that put you in this position. And although nobody will ever forgive you for your mistakes, I will.

You can always count on me for loving and appreciating you, you and your imperfections. If you ever found out some of the choices that I've made, how low I've stooped, how I've forgotten my worth, you'd be disappointed. But I didn't have you to guide me, I didn't have you during each moment I've fallen, you weren't physically here to help me back up. I've helped myself up each time, so the next time you see me and you tell 20

me, “I have a strong beautiful daughter,” know that I've gotten here on my own. And I want you to know that before you left, the eye contact that was made between you and I… It left behind a note. A note saying, “Jarlyn, I didn't want to leave you like this, you know I'd kill for you, I want you to be a strong independent woman, don't do it for me do it for yourself.” And I remember you saying that to me years back when I texted you, saying that I needed you.

I was crying my eyes out, bloodshot red eyes. You know what hurts the most? Seeing a daughter with both her parents, enjoying the moment. I think about those moments everyday as if it were yesterday, it instantly puts a smile on my face, but then my eyes become watery, I put my head down and tears stream down my face dropping on my lap one by one. Will I ever have that again? Maybe not with my parents, but will I have that for me? I would never want to fall in love with a man like you, what you did to my mother was awful and I feel for her everyday. I wish to become half the woman she is, the strength to have dealt with all the times you walked out on her, during the toughest times in her life. But then again, you showed me the good in you. You might think you have failed as a son, as a husband, or as a friend. But not as a father.

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Who? Araceli Salazar Who in this world has you?

You’re are all you got In darkness and in light Family might be what you have But...

Not even your shadow had your back You are the realest on your team First lesson learned is never trust no one trust takes years to build But.... seconds to destroy and forever to repair But‌ will never be the same again

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I Miss You Norma Corchado Hey, it's been 6 Years since I last saw your face 6 years since I last held your hand 6 years since I last heard your voice 6 years since I last got to say I love you I miss you.

Mom still has trouble sleeping at night, she can't celebrate my birthday without thinking of you she can't look at your picture without crying you were her dad, as well as mine.

Now she's in Korea trying to get herself together.

Every year that's passed has been hard.

This year — the hardest.

Welo nearly drank himself to death last November.

As many times we tried to stop him from drinking, he never listened, stubborn as ever.

He's in a nursing home now, the one place he never wanted to be in.

Jacob, my ferret, I had 2 years after you passed.

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I no longer have him.

He reminded me of you, but I couldn't keep him He's still alive and he's probably better where he is now.

I miss him, too, though.

Daniel, he's gotten worse.

We've lost the apartment We've lost our home We've lost our memories of when we were once all happy with you My actual dad has to take care of us.

We live in Queens.

I stay out late with friends just so I won't have to be in what I have to consider "home."

He and his wife started having problems.

He's stressed and angry.

Nothing’s been the same since you left.

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GAP Elizabeth Sampson “Kiss me,” she said, wiping ketchup and grease from the corners of her mouth.

“Here?” I scanned the booths around us. She nodded quickly.

“If you want to.”

I didn't look at her as I leaned over the table to kiss her lower lip. At least I was eating a hamburger too.

“Thank you,” she said, “Although your aim was off.”

“I thought you liked it when I did it that way.”

She took a big bite of her burger and chewed it slowly. She took little sips of her soda in between chews and the way she shoved the straw in there with all that half-chewed food was vile. I watched her until she finished the thing and neatly put all of her trash into the paper cup and replaced the plastic lid.

“Some boyfriend you are. You only look at me when I'm chewing.” She looked down at the table and then up at me again. “But it could be worse, Jaime, you might have a girlfriend who didn't eat at all and only talked about being thin.”

“I like that you eat,” I said flatly.

She smiled. “Me too.”

Where are all these skinny, self-starved girls are that everyone is going out with?

“I can't believe I ate this,” I said, wadding up the wrapper and tossing it on the tray. It was true, but I mostly just wanted to have something to say.

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Amelia tossed her head and rolled her eyes.

Her long hair swept over the collar of her jacket and for a split second everything was in motion.

“You sound like one of those girls.”

“Sorry. Let me take you home.”

“Already? I thought you wanted to go ice skating.”

The heavy smell of grease made the room seem small, the air too close.

“I don't feel that well. Let's go later, okay?”

“Okay, but hold my hand all the way home.”

I was her first boyfriend, her first everything.

When I met her, I liked her size. Her face was pink and her elbows and knees were round, not pointy and hard.

I liked the warm softness around her waist, under her sweaters, because it made her feel different from me.

When I hugged myself, my hands almost met in back.

By summer we had been going out six months.

It was that time of year where each day is warmer than the last. Everyday I saw a new inch of Amelia's pink skin as her pants became capris became shorts and sweaters became t-shirts became tank tops. We sat at the Friendly’s on outer Congress St, while she slurped away at a dish of mint chocolate chip.

“When are you going to get tan? It's almost July,” I said. Her eyes got big and I worried for a moment that I had hurt her feelings, until she busted into a smile. There was a tiny piece of chocolate attached to her lower lip and her big pink tongue scooped it up like it was part of the smile.

“Jaime, look at me! I stay this color year round.

I'm going to be beautiful when I'm old. My

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grandmother's face has never seen the sun without protection and her cheeks feel like a baby's.”

She grabbed my hand and put hers over it and put them on her knee. I watched her short fingers squeeze in between my long, straight ones. Her nails were bitten down to the quick. Her legs were crossed, pushing the flesh of her leg outward and dimpling the skin. Like a baby's. Didn't she even notice?

“I know. I'm just saying that tans make people look thinner.”

Her eyes got wide again, but she didn't smile this time. I felt a twinge of guilt. Her shoulders slumped and she suddenly looked frail.

“I'm never going to be thinner, Jamie, not ever.”

Her eyes were huge now and did not move from my face. She would stare at me until I realized exactly what I had said. My eyes shifted back and forth.

“I don't think you're fat, but you sometimes say things about yourself, so I was just trying to help. I'm sorry.” I squeezed her knee to remind her that we were holding hands, right there in public. I was sorry, that I wanted to say that, sorry that I did think she was fat.

Everything would be simpler if I didn’t.

She giggled and I exhaled.

“Don't worry about it,” she said and puckered her lips into an air kiss, “You're so cute.”

I got my first job that summer at the Gap intown. Amelia came in all the time to hang on me and use my employee discount. A lot of the time she would just come in and try a bunch of stuff on and then not buy anything.

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“It will look like you're working, and then no one will mind if you talk to me for too long,” she explained.

“I have to fold up and put away everything you try on, so really, I will be working.”

“Except that you won't, because you'll be with me the whole time and we can steal kisses in the fitting room.” She smiled at me brightly. Little wisps of hair had fallen out of her ponytail and lay across her face.

“What do you say?” She blew air out of one side of her mouth, making one of the wisps shoot straight up and then fall over her ear. She could be pretty.

“Okay,” I said, “What do you want to try on?”

“Those wide leg sailor jeans. I love those. I'll go get a fitting room. Get me a size 14.”

“OK,” I lied. I had never thought before about what size she might wear. Did she have to say it so loudly? Did the whole world need to know that my girlfriend wore the next to the very largest size the company made? She turned around with a twist of her heels and headed for the fitting room. Her whole body seemed wide in a way it never had before. Her shoulders, her back, her hips. It was like a funhouse mirror.

I went to the rack with the wide leg sailor jeans and worked backwards. There was one 16, three 12's, a sea of 8's and 6's, then one of each of the smallest sizes: 4, 2, 0. No 14's. I grabbed the 2's and held them up, just to see what they looked like. Turning them around, I pressed them against my hips. They didn't quite touch, hipbone to hipbone. I held them like that for a moment and sort of closed my eyes. This is what a girl should feel like. The truth of it made my whole body go cold

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for a second. I straightened up my back, though, and pulled myself out if it. I found that I was smiling.

As a good salesman, I should have apologized for not having her size and taken her a 12 and 16. As a good boyfriend, too. She would think that I brought her the 12 because I think she's thinner than she really is because I'm blinded by love or something. Then, when she put on the 16's, I could make a really big show about how they were ​hanging off her, even if they weren't. She would love that.

But I didn't bring them. I just went back to the fitting room and stood outside the door, empty-handed.

“Sorry, honey,” I said. “They didn't have a 14.

Would a 12 do it?”

She didn't answer me right away. I had embarrassed her.

“No.” “Okay, well, is there anything else you like?

What about one of those ribbed shirts?”

“They're striped. I'm not built for stripes.”

I was smiling again. “Why not? Everyone wears stripes.”

“Yeah...Everyone skinny...” Her voice trailed off.

I couldn't tell if she had lost interest in the clothes or what. Then, “Come in. Here. For a minute,” she said through the door. She was slow and firm and serious.

I couldn't stop smiling though. “C'mon honey, you know I can't do that. I'll get in trouble.”

“Just for a minute. I want to show you something. It's slow today. No one is looking for you.” I heard her unlatch the door from the inside. I glanced around quickly and ducked in. I didn't know what else to do but comply.

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She was wearing a gray sports bra and purple cotton underwear. It was the first time I had ever really seen her with her clothes off. We had messed around a little, but in the dark and the rush, I never really looked at her. Her arms were at her sides and her legs were apart a little. Between the band of the bra and the band of her underwear there was a chunk of flesh just hanging there like an Easter ham. All that flesh just there, just for no reason.

She kept her face to the mirror without changing expressions. She had the chubby, hopeful face of a little girl, and the stern, dead serious look she wore didn't fit very well. I struggled to think of something to say. Whatever was going to happen, I wanted it to be over.

“What did you want to show me?”

“This. Me.” She still did not turn away from her reflection. It was like she was seeing it for the first time too.

“I know what you look like.” She turned her face to me at last. A big puff of air went into her nose and then out again. It was such a deep breath that I could see her shoulders and her whole chest moving.

“Kiss me,” she said. Her eyes blinked rapidly.

My lungs deflated and my pulse raced. I was terrified.

“Sweetie, I'm at work, I can't stay here with you. You know that.” My voice was shaking and my face would not smile. The idea of moving one inch closer to her brought on a wave of sickness, then guilt, then terror again. The white walls were pressing against the sides of my head. The pink beast was too close.

Everything was too close. Wordlessly, I lifted the latch on the door and slid out sideways. I ran down the row of fitting rooms back to the retail floor, back to

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freedom and safety. The faceless tiny mannequins beamed back at me and I didn't think about what I had done.

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I Remember Shadey Ruiz I remember the time I gave you my trust, you thought it wasn't enough.

Sinking in the lies you put, keeping all the mistakes I took Couldn't help but to think that you only cared about how you looked.

But only with me‌ The fear of me wanting this to be love, confused as to whether or not this is just lust.

Knowing what I feel.

Knowing how to react.

You will always say I'm too quick to just leave, just cause you'll start forgetting about me‌ I just wanna be happy; That I know this love could have been true.

You just didn't understand: I WAS AFRAID TO LOSE YOU. Wanted to wake up to you telling me you loved me

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Asking if I slept okay, telling me that you will always be here for me Never let go.

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I Do Not Love Michelle Matto I do not love.

I do not “catch feelings,” and I will definitely not “fall hard” for you.

I don't believe in that crap.

I'm not going to sit around waiting for you like sleeping beauty waiting for her knight in shining armor.

Love is just a lie to me.

A fairytale.

It's made up, not real.

Like Snow White and the seven dwarfs.

There's no “Prince Charming” in this world.

And there is definitely no happy ending.

You can tell me you love me all you want, But you don't mean it, you never will.

I hate that I love you.

But somehow you’ll always make me love you.

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Why Norma Corchado Sometimes I wonder why am I here?

Why am I alive?

Blame myself for making them mad, when in actuality I'm not the reason...

Sometimes I wonder, why didn't my mom have an abortion?

She never wanted a daughter, so why did she keep me?

Why’d she keep me if I made her life miserable?

Why’d she keep me if whenever she looked into my eyes she saw him.

Him who left before I was even a year old.

The man that should be in every child's life.

The one who's supposed to treat you better than any other male.

Well, he actually wanted a daughter But me, I wasn't good enough.

I wasn't good enough and so he left.

Left before I learned to speak sentences.

Left before I first said I love you to someone other than family.

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Left before all those small moments you have with a child as they learn and grow, and now he's come back.

For the first time in my life I'm living with my dad.

I wished I didn't keep my hopes up for one day living with this man who was rarely in my life.

But you have to learn, don't you?

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Please Don’t Leave Edwin Soto In the agency she's like, please don't leave jumping from house to house, I just couldn't breathe.

I saw the tears coming down her face.

Goddamn, I'm like I really hate this place.

Jumping from house to house, my heart turned to ice, ain’t nobody really there for you, I had to open my eyes.

Ain't nobody got me like I got me.

Goddamn, I hate it when my sister cries.

I grew up living life with a fake smile, saw things that I should have never seen as a child.

I don't understand why life has to be this way at all.

All I ever wanted was to put a smile on her face.

I was three years old when I first joined foster care.

Seeing kids with their dad, I'm just like​ that's not fair.

Carrying these feelings, yeah, they get type heavy, never thought my mom ready, always wanted to end life, always kept the knife steady.

Always wondered how life

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would be with my dad.

Wondered if mama lost her mind when he left.

Maybe that's why mama started drinking when she had a seed in her.

Yea, and that brought me pain, mama drinking probably messed with my little sister's brain.

My little sister screaming, please don't leave is like a stain.

If I ever see my father, respect is something he will never, ever gain.

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Letter to My Unborn Child Suly Alvarez I never thought I'd be scared to one day bring a child into this world, realizing that authority doesn't care if you're a boy or a girl.

Well, if you're a boy, listen up.

You don't have to gangbang, and you can get straight A's but the NYPD won't give a ​f... ugh, forget it.

They look at that one thing and it's that you’re black, so rule number 1: until a question is asked, don't talk back.

Rule number 2: don't reach into your back pocket because you want to find your wallet.

You see, they see that as a threat, so when they say freeze don't, please don't take another step.

You see that right there is a cop's tactic.

Just place your hand on your chest and remember that Joshua Bennett said, we're no longer target practice.

Because cops talk about the hood, but they get trigger happy, too, so I'm confused.

And if I even get that call that you're locked behind bars, don't panic, sit up with your head strong, ‘cause I'm already grabbing my keys to get in the car.

And as your mother, you won't be there for long.

And that's my promise to my unborn child.

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Your Voice Matters Christian Lee Rivera I can hear your voice shouting in the streets holding up signs saying, DON’T SHOOT, words of defense.

I can feel the pain you endured turning on the news learning about the shooting of an unarmed black man.

Hurt‌ hurt is what you feel now.

Hurt is what a community feels right now.

Pain, so hard to overcome, your anger becomes a will of fire burning inside of you, demanding answers.

Questions that are unanswered.

Actions that were not charged.

And the suffering of a family whose son they raised is no longer alive...

He was only going to the pharmacy for his mother, breathing.

Passing by the trees, breathing.

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He was stopped because he was wearing a hood, breathing.

Then he was held at gunpoint, shaking...

The wounded is still breathing but only has a few words left that their breath can spare.

He struggled in school but finally made it, breathing.

He fought through the discrimination, and was still breathing But he is wounded by a gunshot and is no longer breathing...

Your voice matters.

Your life matters.

And it is time you demand answers.

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Middle Child Genie Santana Being the middle child isn't the best, you don’t feel like you fit in with the rest.

Suffering everyday because they don’t listen to what you want to say.

The oldest is always right and the youngest wins the fight.

Hoping you can be like the rest, you can't deal with the stress.

It tastes like burnt bread, sometimes it tastes like candy but not all candy is good.

Making you sick to your stomach as it rots your teeth.

One minute you feel happy, the next you sad.

It's like dancing to trap music, you feel so into the beat, you start moving your feet As it changes from slow to happy music.

Me, as a child, I know I’m not going to always fit in, one day things will change.

I won't have to be told what to do as if I was three.

I know I’m going to grow up one day and take control, I'm going to feel free until I’m old.

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Today Sucks Carlos Luna Today it sucks.

It's been raining all day, hard as bricks.

It makes me think about stuff I don’t like… some of those things I don’t want to say or else my heart or feelings are going to turn the color of the sky today… gray.

Gray as a wolf attacking a poor baby deer.

All I got is me, I will only trust me, I might only fall in love with me, and if I do something Wrong, I’ll be happy ‘cause I'll only hurt me.

Rather hurt myself then hurt others.

Today I woke up and I thought my day was going to be good, I looked outside and the sky was the color of the ocean.

I walked to the bus stop and saw someone that I did not want to see, someone that I hurt.

I felt like a dry piece of shit on the side of the road.

That ruined my day, and now my heart hurts

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like the colors outside which right now — it’s gray.

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59th Street on the 1 Train, 2015 Caits Meissner After Aracelis & Naomi

The train car is packed to its teeth, crawling on it’s long belly.

We know it’s wrong, but compare it to desert combat, unbearable heat rising from thick-perfumed bodies, sweating the pressure of shared air.

We are known for our camaraderie in black clouds, black coats, black coffee, our complaints.

I am drinking brown bodega water trying not to spill it onto the bald head below me.

I am trying to think of someone less fortunate than myself, but cannot come up with anyone so unlucky as me today on the face of this blemished earth, no, this morning I am trying not to kill anybody, or be killed.

Second stop, a gaggle of teenagers board.

Lanky bodies goose-step wide to keep pants from ankles, shooting off siren mouths — mouths fit for a scrubbing if you ask most mama’s and god, are they calling all attention to themselves.

Teenagers can be so forgettable in their sameness, so boring in their striving towards cool.

The ring leader is Dominican-tomboy-fly coded in a “swag team” sweatshirt, do-rag wrapped under flat brim, baggy jeans.

I admire her Elmo boxers.

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I usually love kids like these when their voices spill out, breaking open over a poem in my classroom, when they forget how to define their own shape for just a moment and expand — but today, I am not interested in their rigidity or lack of it, I am wishing for a cover to dive back under or a knife to slash through this crowd and carve out my own throne.

It is my seventh stop, which I know because I am counting, holding my breath, I am a wasp suspending his wings mid-tornado, I am dying slowly, I’m thinking, this city is finally doing me in, I am writing my obituary while wondering how many pennies it would take to buy a house deep in the woods somewhere I could live life in pajamas and give up the human race instead of just offing myself — when a white woman well past middle-aged sneaks by the kids towards an open seat.

Cropped gray hair and a bright orange scarf, it’s the kind of face I’d be happy to grow into should the world have me for a longer spell than I am currently barreling towards on this train, and the girls turn too, drawn to this strange trickless magician with her funky brooch.

They say hello, and though not cruel, they do not smooth the edges, still bouncing on the volcano’s crater of curses, still boiling hot.

The woman, she reads the sweatshirt aloud, holds it in her mouth like soft bread.

There is a 4 where the A should be in SW4G.

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What does it mean, she asks.

The ringleader’s decision is quick, but I see it, she is searching for the greatest coin of shock, coils back as if switching on a ghastly mask, as if to say, ​I am the scariest thing coming and if you wanna go, I’m ready. Puffing up her chest like a comic hero it comes out curt, a popped balloon it mean, I’M GAY! And the collective breath draws close.

I am waiting for the woman’s response, because though I am sure she is not dangerous, I also know this girl has been collecting hate in a paper bag, ready to swing for the pinata head of whatever ignorance is sitting on a ready lip and who could blame her. I’ve got my own bag.

I am suddenly protective of these kids, want to pull them close, and even though we are nearly riding through Chelsea and then Christopher Street and even though our city has a parade every year that stops traffic with its proclamation of love across bodies and kink and colors, there is still a record number of homicides in 2015 for these kind of people, my kind of people and now I see her, I see the facade that is safety, that is ​I’ll fuck with you before you fuck with me and then suddenly, a light cuts through the car, it comes in a sucker punch of breathable air, comes in like Spring — Me too, says the woman. And they fist bump.

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The questions fire between street slang and buttoned-up speech, ​Really? You got a girlfriend?

(She has a wife! Shows off wedding ring.)

So, like, Is your wife butch or femme?

(A little of both, too old to call it anything.)

The woman looks at me, winks, sees the thawing of my spirit. I realize I am sitting, the train has emptied, a possibility has been unfolding like a tiny ballerina in my palm and easy as that, the world, again, is green.

— *Originally published in Ms. Caits’ book, Let It Die Hungry

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this flesh.

Candice Iloh 1 Listen. i only wanted to get to work.

And i just got out of the dollar cab. i was fortunate enough to grab the passenger seat, beside the driver.

The driver says i think i’m special.

2 Already the men see something they like. Something they assume they can have. All 10 voices offer me a ride. Today, all of them have decided to be cab drivers, will take me wherever i want to go. Letting out indiscreet howls when my back was turned to them, crossing the street to catch the train.

3 It hasn’t even been 20 minutes after conceding to leave the safety of my home and their want is perched loudly at the curb, can not avoid the tunneled eyes, the panting breath too close. can feel their skin on mine, reach for my bag, my phone, my wallet, my own hands.

Need to know i am something other than meat.

4 How not to be sold in a perpetual display case.

Someone has told these men they can afford me, that i am easily attainable. Somehow i am responsible for this insatiable hunger. i cross my arms over my body. Or. clench my fists. Or stuff them into pockets. Have to

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make sure i am still here.

5 What is choice, even? It is either i dangle before the wolves or am left to starve.

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My Own Religion Michelle Matto I was always told by my mom how to dress and how to act: “don’t wear that, they’ll look at you like a slut.”

But I am not a sitting duck waiting for my religion to tell me what to do.

I won’t be in an arranged marriage.

I am human and I make mistakes.

I’m constantly having my heart broken, but it’s better than being with someone I don’t truly love.

I am a female who is quiet but an observer of the world.

Who is blunt, I say things the way things are.

I have boiling water under my surface.

I protect other people from the anger I get from my father.

Which could also be turned into passion.

I am not pure. I have been touched in places not to be spoken of.

There are burn marks on my body in places where they shouldn’t be.

And my heart has turned to ash.

The one belief I do honor is to always be kind to someone in need, that could always be you in another life.

I am not some kind of art project that you can paint a perfect picture of.

My colors consists of black, grey, red and blue.

Being a woman means to always

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be kind to yourself no matter what.

Look at yourself as a goddess, like a star that shines bright in the night sky, like rainbows after a rain storm, the aftermath of a snowstorm.

Just live the life you been given because it can end in just a blink of an eye.

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Loss Shadey Ruiz To believe you would be here through it all.

To only wish life gave us more time.

Made sure that I was to blind to see, you were dying right in front of me Wishing you would walk through those doors, Gordita, it was a dream, estoy aqui contigo What I feared the most punched my face.

You left me with nothing, not even a goodbye.

The pain, as if it was just yesterday that I lost you, walks with me.

The memory of you laying down cold, everyone is trying to close your brown eyes.

Not me‌ Papi, all I wanted was to wake you I moved you, I hugged you.

Of course nothing worked.

My mind and heart couldn't take it.

All I wanted was to make sure you stopped drinking the poison.

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I still had hope.

I'm sorry I let you suffer alone.

Sleep tight.

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World Fades Away Starlin Pimentel I look up at the sky and I see my grandparents looking at me, just waiting for me to change the world I think it's impossible but God is always by my side and I want to do a million things ‘till one of those things gets me a million dollars but even if I get a million dollars, there are some things that money can't buy, like throwing Trump out of the system, like getting the 2.3 million people out of prison it won't even be enough to get the innocent people out money can't save my friends from getting deported money can't save the people from dying in a superstorm dying from a virus, dying because of racist cops

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money can't buy a visit to heaven so I can say my last goodbye to my grandparents

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Eulogy Shania Russell “Matthew was his own thing from the moment we met.

See, it was at a party, and I think we were both loosened up a bit, because — ya know. We were college freshmen, and I’d just started, um... selling. So I was showing off, flashing the product, trying to get idiots drunker than I was so I could empty their wallets- and he was just curious. That was him — curious, always curious. So he was pestering me for a bit, saying shit like, ​how do I know it’s any good if I don’t get a sample first. And I was trying to hush him up, because it would’ve been bad for business if people got the idea of free samples in their heads. I figured, to get him off my back, I’d just let him have it. So we were in the hallway, pretty alone besides some people making out in the doorway. And I told him he could try one pill. And when I said that, I shit you not, he paused, and consideredas if what I offered wasn’t already ridiculous. So then he asked if he could try a couple more — two maybe, and I, being the sane one, looked at him like he’d just sprouted another head. I told him he could take the one, or none at all. He looked me dead in the eye, the absolute idiot, and said ​how about three? I should’ve known right there that I was dealing with an absolute nutcase, and maybe I did, but he still stayed around. He ended up trying the sample and buying nothing, but I wasn't too pissed off. It was a pretty good night because the chatty bastard talked my product up to everyone who walked passed us in that hall. I made a

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shit ton without even moving from my spot against the wall-” “You can not get up there and talk about selling drugs with him for ten minutes.” Jennifer cut in, an exasperated look on her face.

Griffin looked away from her face immediately, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. “His family will be there, and that’s not what they want to hear when they’re mourning their son.” She tried, tone softening.

“I’m trying to be honest,” he replied defensively.

He tugged at his tie like it was choking him and glared at a spot on the floor.

“I get that — but it’s important, okay? All of that crap they don’t want to hear- it’s part of our story. That’s where it started- and how half of it continues — like when I dragged his drunk ass home after a party went sideways, and when he convinced me to quit cutting my classes after that time my dad visited with all his crap on my doorstep, and when we powered through a whole 48 hours on red bull and cold pizza, prepping for finals, and when we made plans to room together — all of that goes in, okay? I can’t just go in there and talk about going to classes and interning at the firm without the other parts. That grit’s our entire relationship, for christ sake! And I’m not fluffing it up for them. He wouldn’t have asked me to.” He finished, sounding short of breath by the end.

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Watching him breathe out heavily while he gripped his tie tightly, she couldn’t argue with him. She pushed away what common sense told her and nodded.

“Yeah. Okay, keep going. I wanna hear the rest.”

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He Changes Yachi Bonilla He’s like a joyful dog that is always playing.

Sometimes it feels like he’s the weather, one day it's sunny the next day is thunder.

But you need to understand that you love him no matter what.

The way he makes you feel is warm and loved, but also unwanted since he hurts your feelings.

When it starts to rain, it's like he running away.

Always sweet when you’re near him in school, thinking the wonderland is perfect and complete.

But it is actually broken.

He is two faced when no one is around.

He treats you like shit.

Every time he gets mad, it's like he’s getting spicy.

When you are together it is like a slow dance where you don't want to let go.

Sometimes he goes wild like a twerking song, then is soft as cotton candy, then mean like a tiger.

There are times when he scares you like a lion.

He changes character, changes moods and emotions.

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He used to make you forget about the pain you have but now you have that pain again.

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Dark Waters: The truth behind the demon Angel Spirit (Jasherah Nalls) I was just chilling with him like we often do together.

We were having lots of fun. But the only difference is what he said before had happened in my dream. He had gotten a text, and sighed afterwards. But he put his phone away without texting that person back, leaving them unseen. I asked him what was wrong, but he told me not to worry about it because it wasn't important.

We started walking around together in peace, just enjoying the day, and then he got a phone call. He sucked his teeth, and told me to sit and wait, and he walked further ahead so that I wouldn't hear him. I was looking at him, and occasionally he would turn around and look at me, scratching his head while pacing back and forth. I was walking toward him, feeling worried that something serious had happened, but when he saw me coming, he panicked and hung up the phone. I found it weird, and wanted to question it, but he didn't give me the time to.

He grabbed me by the hand, and practically pulled me over to the river. There was a random bench that looked inviting, so I sat with my back facing the river, and he was standing resting on the rail facing the water. After a few minutes he squatted in front of me and just stared at me. I started to blush because he just had this serious face, that made him look very

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handsome. When he finally said something, everything around me felt numb and turned dark.

He said, "You’re an amazing person, but I think you've gotten too attached to me. I can't see you anymore, it'll just cause problems for the both of us if I do. So this is the last time we will be hanging out like this. I don't mean to upset you but that's just how it is. We both knew this was gonna happen eventually.�

Next thing I know I was just sitting in the darkness and I got this intense chill up my spine. I felt as if I was submerged in water. I couldn't breathe for a while, but then it got easier. Something was behind me, talking to me. It sounded like my voice, but I wasn't talking. I couldn't turn around to see what it was. Then I heard footsteps coming toward me and the voice got louder. Fear took over my whole body and I was trying to move, but my body didn't respond.

A black, fuzzy figure was standing before me and I started crying. Her eyes were bleeding and she just smiled at me as she bent down with her face just inches to mine.

She told me to run and my body finally responded. I was running in the darkness and literally wherever I turned she was always there. She touched my back and her hands felt cold, like she was ice touching my skin. I was scared and my sanity went to zero. I fell to my knees and turned into a ball and started screaming.

I woke up in class like nothing happened and the bell had rung, signaling it was lunch time. I was gonna sit

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with the people that I normally hang out with and they just questioned me.

They said, ​Who said we were your friends? Or, ​You have no right to hang out with us. As I walked away, I hear them talking. ​She’s so weird. What a loser.She’s so annoying. The list goes on and on. I walk around until find a place to sit. I close my eyes holding back my tears and then everything goes silent. I open them and look around my surroundings… The place is empty. I run outside to find nothing but an empty world.

I’m engulfed in darkness again and she appears in front of me.

“Do you understand yet, or do you need to endure more pain?” she says.

I just stood there in silence. Her face was unidentifiable at first, but as my vision cleared up, it was sort of easier to see what she looks like. I wasn't as scared as before of face her this time.

I blinked and instead of being in complete darkness, I appeared in the middle of a living room. I hear my name being called and rush over to the room where I was beckoned to go to. I walk in and a lady of high status was lying down on the bed entertaining herself with games on her tablet.

When she notices that I have entered, she sits up and says, “The way I see it is that your main purpose in life is to serve my every need. If you don't, then I have no need of you and will throw you out into the streets like the mut you are. You were a stray pup that needed an owner because you were abandoned, so I 70

am here to fill that roll. You are only to speak when you are asked to, and you may not talk back. You can not have your own opinions or ideas. Everything must happen the way I want them to. If it doesn’t, you will always be the one to blame. Is that clear?”

I stand up straight and nod my head to show that I understand. I clean the dishes, mop the floors, and make sure every room is tidy. For every little thing she wants me to do, I hear my name being called and if I don’t respond, I get in trouble. Her dog gets more respect than me! Once all of my chores are done, I sit by the window and watch the world move on without me. Once I feel relaxed, a firm hand lands on the back of my head and pulls at my hair.

“Who said that you can relax!?” the lady says with eyes wide open as if they were ready to pop out of her skull.

I let out a sound of pain. In the struggle, I ended up laying on the floor beaten and bruised. I curled up into a ball and started to cry.

When I stopped crying and opened my eyes, I was back in the darkness, only instead it felt very warm and inviting. I started to walk around to see if I can find the girl, but she was nowhere to be found. I continue to walk and found a reflection of myself. As I walked closer, it walked closer but somehow there was a difference between us. Her eyes were bleeding...

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Amnesia Leo Pagan When the sun breaks through the clouds to signify the new day I lie in bed with burning eyes and pray that I can forget yesterday and since we're forgetting, why stop at yesterday?

I want to forget the days before my method sadness I want to forget those days where I'd welcome sleep's cousin, where it felt I was paralyzed, crushed under the weight of depression.

And I wouldn't mind if I could erase the memories of those other day either, when I couldn't stop trembling on the cold floor, not due to the temperature at the slightest, where the demons in my head finally demanded to be heard, their feet tapping impatiently.

When my heart would hit the floor in fragments, screaming in agony, and I felt confined in my own jail, where instead of bars, the walls were lined with foil which radiated my pain back to me over and over.

Those were the days I wished my soul would exit my body, claw out of my mouth and fly to Elsewhere so I could finally breathe.

Those were the days I wish I had amnesia.

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Growing Up Suly Alvarez Being seventeen is a ​bitc... big time.

People expect you to have everything together, without getting too ahead of yourself.

So, what you're telling me is that I need to grow up, but I'm not an adult.

That I'm supposed to have things down pat.

But if it's not how you want it, it's my fault.

Okay, so explain this: How am I supposed to grow up and I still haven't experienced a childhood?

Because growing up for me wasn't just playing in the park as a child would.

You see, I had to make sure that my mom was good, and when my dad was asleep, I had to make sure I poured out that bottle good ‘cause when my dad stumbled in, you knew it meant no good.

I made an excuse that made my mom sleep in my room.

But those excuses turned into the truth.

I was scared and I was young and I didn't finish my homework in second grade, not because I was dumb I was seven afraid that one day I'll hear it was accident

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and mommy would be with grandpa in heaven.

So explain this: how am I supposed to grow up if I haven't even experienced a childhood?

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Where I'm From Ronnie Fladger Where I'm from you hear firecrackers, but it's not the Fourth of July.

Where I’m from most of the time people like to get high.

Where I'm from you dodge the bullet — or die.

I'm from where children lie, disrespect and make their parents cry.

I come from not a lot, but still satisfied.

Where I’m from gangs battle, it's a cop scaffold I had enough.

Why is the police is rough?

So quick to put a black male in handcuffs.

Just waiting for the day my people could stand up, ‘cause I'm from where you can't be scared, always have to be prepared ‘cause on my street the police is always there.

They will shoot quick, they don't care.

They killing mine, but they fine over there.

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Where I’m from family mostly comes first.

And I still smile because it could be worst.

I’m from the east side of the earth, from deep inside dirt, I'm from where my mom gave birth.

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Gangs Jarlyn Martinez Why, why must you put your life at risk?

Don’t you see that you have so much potential?

Don’t you see that you can be something great if you just try?

So, you’re saying that I’m not great?

Wrong, I’m saying you should show how great you are, but you’re not.

But this is the only place I feel like myself.

Killing people? Trying to get killed?

Eventually you’ll get arrested, eventually you won’t like your life.

I don’t like my life now.

I hate everything in it, everything around it.

But doing what I do makes me feel in control, and that I have such power.

All the people who say they want to help or take me off the streets just put me down.

How about you’ll just help, and that’s it?

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We will help.

No, go judge someone else for the hole they’ve been put in.

I want to stay in mine.

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Respect for a Hip Hop Legend Ronnie Fladger All I have for the real rap artist is respect. In my opinion when it comes to rap, I think Tupac was the best. He tried to make a change and wanted to spread love but the critics gave an opposite story, labeled him a thug. I like what Tupac said, They say the darker the flesh and the deeper the roots, I say the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.

I give a holler to my sister's on welfare, Tupac cares but don't nobody else care.

Please don't cry, dry your eyes, never let up, forgive but don't forget to keep your head up.

Tupac motivated a lot of people, and gave hope to the black community coming from the ghetto. Some people think he's a thug, just because the way he walks, the way he looks, the way he speaks, but coming from the ghetto, telling stories is going to be 90% about the ghetto. You can't blame him.

Another reason why Tupac is my favorite is because he was educated. The way he spoke put fear into the hearts of the people that judged him. Tupac said,

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I would rather be stricken blind, than to live without expression of my mind.

This line motivated me because if I have something to say, I should speak my mind. Lastly, why I think Tupac is the best is because another lyric he said, They got money for wars but can't feed the poor.

This is true. I feel if Tupac were still alive, he would've changed minds. If he didn't change the world, he would change the way people think. Sadly, on September 13, 1996 Shakur died from internal bleeding, shot 9 times total. I find it sad he was killed, but through success you come across haters.

Tupac, even though you're dead, or maybe faked your death like others say, just know even though you're gone, your music lives on.

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Black Power Edwin Soto Growing up I never thought I was brilliant.

People in this world are so belligerent.

Cops want to destroy God’s beautiful creation our beautiful black brothers and sisters skin so immaculate, black power, us black people crumbling down like the twin towers.

I’m tired of black parents going to funerals, bringing flowers, black people dying.

Behind bars he says,​ mama I’m trying.

Freedom Riders, Black Panthers, Black Power, we should have a black freedom tower.

I tell God to put a wet sign on the floor for all my tears, this year is our year, our blackness is greatness scream with me: ​we don't die, we multiply!

If we learn to love ourselves, we’ll have the time of our life.

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Community Poem Bronx Letters Writers *This poem was created with lines written from many students in The Raven and Poetry As Activism classes and assembled into a poem by the One Pen staff.

I worry that my sister makes it home safe at night when I hear gunshots that sound as familiar as oil popping in a pan, as familiar as the beat to our favorite song.

The brawls across the streets in the projects raise your adrenaline to the clouds, they are a movie everyone wants to see.

See, the hood is a maze of people just trying to make it out alive, and poverty is humanity’s failure.

Sometimes I feel like the mouse the cat chases.

When I walk through these doors, I know this is my only way out.

In this life I struggle with constant emotions, sometimes I feel like a rose whose petals got peeled away.

Or a painter without a canvas. Like dust falling.

Sometimes I feel like the penny people don’t bother to pick up.

If you’re not careful, being a teenager can make you a puppet the media wants to control, it can be as confusing as not knowing if it will rain or snow,

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as hard as solving a rubik’s cube.

But I walk through these doors and it feels like coming home to a puppy bursting with unconditional love.

We laugh until we can’t breathe, happy like a kid after eating candy.

Good vibes follow like a person you’re always bumping into.

Being here is like that feeling when you’re so tired you lay in bed after a long day and it’s so comfortable and cozy, yeah, like putting cold feet into warm socks, or the quiet when the ball cuts through the air before making the hoop.

I feel safe to see myself clearly.

I see myself as a person who gets amazing grades, who makes sure they do what they have to, I strive to be better, to make my momma proud.

When I’m here I see myself as a smart person, I feel smart, and I am treated as such.

Hardworking, I’m Malcolm X speaking power, I see myself as more than a student.

I am a family member.

I am the most beautiful trophy.

I’m a lion in this concrete jungle, full of pride.

I am positivity and kindness.

I am an activist. I am the future.

Charismatic and endearing teachers fill an empty building with love.

A teacher once told me if I work hard, I can achieve anything I want.

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A teacher once told me never try to please everyone, to be true to myself.

A teacher once told me to never give up.

Your future comes from hard work.

No matter how much you regret something, never try to take it back because things happen for a reason.

Nobody is perfect.

A teacher once told me that the story I wrote could become a book.

And then a story I wrote was in a magazine, and people got to read it.

When I write poetry it’s like I’m drunk off the words, I’m lost in the universe and invisible scars fade away.

I felt proud spittin’ poems to the crowd.

I was once scared of the dark but now I shout into the void and charcoal disperses the air into a cloud of stars.

Look around, the hallways are empty ‘cause we’re in our books.

The books craving to be read, the covers want to be touched, to be felt.

Lessons learned here make me both book smart and street smart.

Expression is in our core values, you’ll rarely see us give up.

This place is like an earthquake, it changes your world and opens your mind.

We write knowledge on the walls, we embrace our culture, where we came from, our roots, we sing our era in our songs.

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We break stereotypes, we break boundaries, we won’t settle for “it’s just ignorance.”

We stick together like a family of wolves, our community fights for what’s right.

When we end the violence, tears form to laughter.

Obstacles are nothing, fear is not in our vocabulary.

See the bravery in our smiles, ready for what the future wants to throw.

Our ambition flies above to a place so high not even the sky can reach you, where the water is pure and dreams turn to reality.

Some of us may have started as a pack of late bloomers but now we are rocks skipping water, we are the bees buzzing in your ears, we will not leave this world alone to die.

When I graduate, I will be a better person than when I first entered these halls.

When I graduate, I will take my mom out of debt.

When I graduate, I will make sure my fellow students graduate, too, ‘cause we are lit as wildfire. And we will spread.

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Special Feature: Poems for Haiti

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Introduction Samuel Hernandez The photo I’m looking at shows two men carrying a wooden casket. In it is their fellow family member who has passed. Around them, they are surrounded by rubble and broken houses. Under those broken houses is also the bodies of others who had passed due to this disaster.

On January 12, 2010, it was a devastating day for the Haitian people, and other Haitians living all over the world. Almost half of their population was lost due to this massive and powerful earthquake. Many kids lost their parents, and many parents lost their children. Of those who survived this earthquake many were injured, most injuries had to be dealt with as amputations.

There was children as young as 11 months who had to get a limb removed at such a young age.

Six years later on October 4, 2016, Haiti and it’s civilians got struck by yet another natural disaster, this disaster was known as Hurricane Matthew. Hurricane Matthew killed at least 887 civilians in Haiti. This has caused them to lose more families and children. Now in Haiti there are homeless children who has either lost their parents or siblings. In this world there are plenty of devastating things that happens to countries. Haiti is one of those countries, they are a small island that is shared with Dominican Republic. Nothing else in this world compares to what Haiti has gone through within these 6 years.

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* A Note From Ms. Caits Sammie is right, nothing can compare to the kind of loss Haiti has experienced. Which brings us, as artists, the question: how can we respectfully, and with honor, connect our personal loss to the loss of others in a way that uplifts a shared experience, comforts, offers hope or praises the strength of a people? If you’ve ever tried it, you know it is not an easy task to get it right. In fact, it is ​really, really hard.

This is the very question we grappled with in our classroom. We looked at four models of poems from a book New York City poets created in 2010 as a fundraiser for Haiti after the earthquake. They each took a different entry point into their task, writing from the stances of hope, praise, overwhelm/upset and persona — where the writer steps into the voice of a person in Haiti and imagines the world through their eyes and pen.

The poems in this portfolio are moving, beautifully written and accomplish the task at hand as well as any published poet I’ve read. Our students have answered the question by bringing their full heart, vibrating empathy and a commitment to — even though we can never fully — begin to understand how the spirit survives in the face of tremendous loss.

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I Won't Escape Jarlyn Martinez Praying with a dose of entreatment, I need my savior now more than ever.

I echo the words of all my people each day for as long as we drown in the biggest body of water, which is agony.

Suffering is all that I know, all that I am.

I am a lot, but not enough to rise up from the anchor holding me so far down, deep as the Mariana Trench, the darkest part of the ocean.

You’d think I wouldn't have a bit of comfort or maybe that it doesn't even exist.

That is where you’ll contradict yourself.

That is where you'll neglect a belief in hope and what I am certainly grateful for.

I have my daughter, I have my brother, I have soldiers behind, front, right and left of me that attained every ounce of blood sweat and tears, they are my family.

We coexist on this feeling, this pressure.

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NO, we don't want your lavish lifestyles.

NO, we don't want to be the richest, most arrogant of them all.

I simply want a home, safe and sound, comfortable and my own.

A place to bathe, eat, and sleep without being reminded of this hellish aura.

You’d be shocked if I said I wanted to stay in Haiti, but I most certainly do.

I don't want to leave my home, my disastrous home.

I say this with wind blowing each strand of hair away from my face, the sun as bright as the diamonds wealthy people flaunt.

Toes in the grass, my mind wandering far, the little things in life keep me sane, keep me at peace.

It feels great.

I might not feel this in an hour, but for now I sense paradise.

I know that where I'm from has more to offer,

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has the greatest potential and that is why I won't escape.

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Haiti Poem Yachi Bonilla Part One: How I Survive What does it feel losing someone?

Losing someone is like tripping off a mountain or walking down a lonely road with no signs.

Your heart starts to feel like whole cultures falling apart.

Now you end up having a motivation to be happy.

To save your beliefs, your food, your pride.

Carlos is the reason why I have my head up.

He is my best friend, he inspires me to be a survivor of these broken wounds.

Like people trying to survive in a war, the world you live in starts to feel endless where you wouldn't be able to move on.

That happy girl died when the world felt apart.

But then — that little girl learn how to express herself through poetry — I shout myself into the dark world.

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Part Two: The Girl in Haiti Survives I look down to my feet to look for food Everytime I walk I feel depressed since I see kids with family, with food I’m in need, I say, I tell the world I need food Wishing I could be like those kids, one day to be blessed with a family and food The heart continues to pump blood like the cats fighting for food Always thinking no matter how hard the roads get I will still have love and hope, which is food

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Untitled, Unmastered Diego Romero I am a cop and I can't do a lot for my people since me and my people’s feelings are see through I lost my wife and my only son I couldn't provide priorities to my only loved ones I'm sad to be living but I'm blessed to be alive and I can't tell you how much I cry and think to myself why why me why them why we we live in a world full of lies and whys and even the government can't deny my life compared to the middle class isn't fair people reading this is considered rare ‘cause society looks at us like If we were clear glass it's not okay but that's how we are seen as your life is quick like sugar my life is slow like quicksand but I deal with it, ‘cause I learned to appeal to it I can't contradict God but my life is a bit odd and of lately my people are becoming extinct daily people will pay to help me, but not really

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The Hands of Hope Shadey Ruiz Watching as your loved ones are cold, as they say, “he's just taking a nap.”

A walking disaster runs with the children.

Fear is the sharp and shiny rock they pick up that will leave nothing but cuts and bruises.

The pain of losing one is harder than smashing your head towards the dirt floor.

Try to lie to you and say it'll be okay.

That can never be easy.

Can't even lie to myself.

I still cry and yell through the cold night about the death of my own father.

But you…

You are the true survivors of life.

You listen to the heartbeat of the drums.

Just know — don't let the rhythm of your life pause.

Don't stop — dance with your friend.

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Survival — helping you keeping your hands up high.

As if the hearts of your lost loved ones were right there.

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When All Hope Is Lost…

Araceli Salazar When all hope is lost what is there is there to be grateful for?

It’s like losing a part of yourself Like being alone in a dark world Like you’re drowning in a 12 foot pool and can’t be saved Why? Because there is no hope No one to reach out to Nowhere to go Wanting to crawl into a ball and Hide for the rest of your life But you can’t and won’t Because you are still here For a reason To fight To stand up again To help To rise To start again The people who were once with you Must be above guiding you Remember you are not alone And not all is lost When you are given a second chance You have angels watching you And your job in this world isn’t over It’s just the beginning

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FEAR. Michele Matto Losing someone you love is the worst thing that can happen.

It’s like losing a part of yourself, not knowing where to go from that point in your life.

It hurts like hell, as if you’re being shot in the heart, not knowing if you should go forwards or backwards.

Time is frozen still, not one object moving.

There’s something in your way.

You try to let it go but you can’t.

It starts to go downhill from there.

But here's how you treat it.

First you disinfect and remove the dirt, this is where the door opens up.

You surround yourself with people you feel safe with, to control the bleeding and swelling.

Surround yourself with a blanket of comfort to conceal the wound.

And lastly, to keep the wound clean and dry, stay away from the people that hurt you.

Day by day, time will start to heal itself.

Even if help doesn't come, you can always try to fix yourself slow and steadily.

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Hurricane Matthew Stephanie Porfill the hurricane spoke words by itself, it had no clue that it would be pulling things apart that didn’t need glue he was so scared but he was prepared for the worst, as a mother is when she gives birth, he stopped caring and hurt as much as he could and can, that was the plan for him to hurt others and get the upper hand he took the souls of others and did it like a cop undercover please hurricane, think and rethink how these kids can't afford a new life, how the pain you brought cuts deeper than a knife you're hurting everything in sight, moving faster than a car when it sees a green light, you can't say sorry for what you have done just know you formed something that didn't end fun, so all my sisters and brothers run and hide and try to save everything that didn't die

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The Hurricane’s blind eye Aaron Saldana Can they say they understand?

As me and my family watched the destruction of our land just wishing I could still hold my dad’s hand the taste of joy as of now, is so bland Can they say they understand?

The sight of hope seems transparent as nature obliviously strolls by the feeling of loss is no lie no time to try, no time to sigh, seems to me that hope is shy just waiting for fear to tell me goodbye hoping the saturation in my heart never drys Can they actually say they understand?

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Permission To Cry Alice Martinez I cry when there's nothing else to do I cry until I feel happy again I cry when my heart feels heartless I don't even cry when I get hurt physically I cry when I’m hurt mentally I cry when I'm hurt emotionally I cry to express myself I cry to show I've been hurt I cry for the pity of others I cry when there’s no one there I cry when I'm as alone as the moon I cry like the moon who has stars around it but can’t interact I don't cry for those who have hurt me but to understand what they’ve done I cry when something is bothering me I cry for everything I cry when I feel as lost as a unknown planet in the solar system I cry like a lost planet who hasn't been as known as others yet I cry when I am devastated, for relief I cry when I am devastated, for love you can just consider me a cry baby

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Conversation Suly Alvarez Part I My baby sister still thinks everything is okay You see she's six so there's not really much I can say I continue to walk these Haitian streets Holding her hand Trying to keep her childhood intact In our destroyed land You see I'm old enough to understand That there's barely enough to eat There's not that much space to sleep But to her The rest of us aren't hungry And we sleep so close ‘cause we want to get comfy And she can't go school because she's " on break" I can't tell her the truth because then she'll break She won't be a child Life won't be so desirable And everything in her mind will now be questionable Nothing else in her childhood would be memorable But for her Just her I'll keep her thinking Everything is okay Part II My sister takes me hand Like she does so every other day

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We walk down these streets And frankly I don't know what to say I don't think she knows that I know what's going on But she'll sit there and continue to smile as if nothing's wrong So I do same Like it's our own little game of Simon says But I do wonder Why they're not eating And I think she’s sleeping with me to get comfy But I know something's not right The streets are so quiet And it hasn't even hit midnight But I think it's because I'm a child And my childhood doesn't need to get deprived So for me she'll keep that smile on her face Just for me

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When all is lost.

Melanie Lantigua When all is lost, one can’t find hope.

When all is lost, one is devastated to find relief like reuniting with a family we never knew.

When all is lost, one is afraid of the society that buries us but we have the muscle of lions and we roar.

When all is lost, one must find a way to grieve so we write poems about the ocean of our sadness.

When all is lost, one feels hopeless like a fish alone in the sea.

When all is lost, one can’t find happiness but we still swim, we find a way to keep living day to day.

When we wake up, we know we’ll find our own feet.

When all is lost, one finds a way to survive.

When all is lost, one is thankful to be alive.

When all is lost, one finds strength.

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Fears, Yet Hope Shanice Tramble I am afraid that my blood will stop circulating around my heart.

I am afraid that the working class will become poor.

Or the brave will become cowards.

Or the faithful will become faithless.

Or the lovers will become heartbreakers.

But whenever I see the morning, my faith rises as high as the flaming face of the sun.

There are so many things to be thankful for, my eyes are open and all my organs are functioning.

My heart is speaking fluent French to my lungs, and my lungs are translating it to my brain.

I praise you not because of your strength, endurance or bravery, your love or faith or hope but the fact that you are alive, yet not broken.

(And if you are reading) this is not a poem.

This is an ode to Haiti.

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Hope Poem Ronnie Fladger Something you have in life that can get lost.

An invisible feeling that can get tossed from person to person, it is the cousin of faith, what you tend to grasp on before it's too late.

People pray for the better to get through the worst.

Being poor is trying to seek treasure in dirt.

It is something that you should have regardless, being able to see better days through the hardest.

It is not a person, it can't be your friend.

But hope stands for: Hold On, Pain Ends.

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A/DIOS Eileen Valerio Dear God, No wait, come back Sit with me.

Let’s have a conversation.

No matter what time of the day it feels like the silent night between 2 and 3 in the morning.

Without you how can I go on?

I mean you haven’t left physically, I see you in the rainbow that stretches across the sky.

I want to run to its end to find you in the pot of gold.

But emotionally and mentally you're never here.

Sometimes I wish the world would just crack it’s bitter mouth and swallow me in as I wish your heart and arms would, too.

For you, I must be doing something wrong.

I wonder if you hate me.

Don't you see I just want your attention and love?

Be my friend and lend me your shoulder to cry on.

Be my sister and let me hold your hand through this storm that never seems to end.

Be my teacher and guide me by clearing, the path removing the bricks and dust.

Many say you are a king

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and as your daughter I am a princess.

But how can I be a princess when my temple in and out is broken down?

My spirit is no longer apart of me, a 5 year old waiting on her mother to pick her up from school but she never shows up.

I won't go anywhere.

I'll be here waiting like the child in front of an ice cream truck.

I'll be waiting for the celebration.

I pray that soon you'll show up and the kids will jump for joy.

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Helplessness: A Letter From Me To You Genie Santana Knowing how hard it is to speak to someone, not knowing what they can possibly do, it's hard to look someone in the face.

They say you look traumatized, scared everyday, your eyes as wide as the earth, your mouth as quiet as the street at midnight when everyone is home, dreaming.

You lay in your bed thinking, will I wake up tomorrow?

You're asking yourself, what do they think of me?

Do they understand my everyday life?

Different people try helping, but you don’t understand their language.

People ask you questions, but you look at them in confusion.

You're just a child, you don't understand.

The things going on, it's still hard for you to comprehend.

Most people can relate to the things you're going, through it's crazy what you're going through.

Nobody can relate to what you have actually been through.

You know you can get through this.

You’re important and deserve to live.

You have a chance to show it, 116

how you pulled life from death, now take a chance to embrace it.

Live the life you planned on living.

Keep reaching for your goal.

Show everyone they can get through it like you did.

You’re stronger than what you believe.

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Waiting.

Tamara Dominguez

mommy, i lay here waiting. everything's dark. it feels as if i'm being hugged so tight and it won't let g o. it's trapping me. caging me. i'm captive in it's dark space. a grip tangling me, taking me in its hold. the world began shaking underneath me, rambling about something the moon has done to it. but now it's dark. and quiet. mommy, i wait for you to come look for me, i promise you i'm not playing hide and seek this time. it's dark but I feel my eyes blink, they burn. i'm not sure if it's tears, i'm not sure if it’s the drip of water leaking through broken pipes slowly sliding down my face. i'm not sure mommy, but i've longed for the light now like a thirst that's ready to swallow a whole city up. i've forgotten. i have forgotten how it felt when you held me tightly.

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now all i feel is pain all over my body. a heavy weight suffocates my limbs. i'm enclosed and i can't anymore. my lungs cry out, mommy! remove my body from this hell. from under this rubble i rise in your arms, a broken doll with it's missing pieces. from under this rubble, release me.

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A Question Shadae Lanier When they say it is okay, is it really okay?

You lost your home and everything valuable to you.

Why isn't anyone helping.

You're crying out ​help me, but who's helping?

Why can't we help these people?

They are suffering.

They are telling us they wish we would help and stop being on the outside.

What are we doing when they telling us that?

We’re buying Jordans or getting loans from the bank to buy ourselves the newest cars.

Continuing to live our lives while they are losing theirs.

What can we do as Americans to help these people who are suffering?

They need us the most, just like one day we might need them.

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I See Myself in You and I Survive Shiann Brown As I lay down at night looking at my ceiling I see children with dust on their faces, broken arms and legs, people just seeking for help.

I think to myself why did those people have to go through that?

The hurt. The pain.

How are they continuing life?

Just think how scared they might be right now.

Maybe they just stay positive and say to themselves that they are grateful to have eyes that help to see the good in all of this bad.

And maybe, just maybe they think to themselves that things will get better.

And maybe, just maybe they fight with their hearts.

But you see with me when my dad passed away I felt like giving up.

I mean I lost a whole part of me.

I mean I feel like I’m sitting in an empty room by myself.

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I mean I still feel broken.

To see these people still have faith my reaction is, wow because they are just so brave.

I mean a lot of people might not truly understand.

What I mean is I see myself in you and I survive.

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Thoughts Of A Haitian/ Of An American Samara M. Henry Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice — Robert Frost

For some the world has already ended in Haiti.

No hope, no faith, no light, no future.

Our world is done… thought by a Haitian refugee.

I wonder do they look up to the sky the way we looked up to God when we found out who our new President elect was?

A shame, isn't it?

But somehow this is OUR new reality: How I Used To Live Vs. How I Live Now. Silence shakes that part of the world — or our entire world?

We ponder upon the question, Will the disasters ever end?

It not just a case of natural disaster, it’s also a case of political disaster.

Silence walks the street of Haiti every second, every moment, every day, and every night of each 24 hour, 86400 second day.

What’s your disaster? What’s ours?

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Heartbreaks Edwin Soto You’ve been through two heartbreaks earthquakes and hurricanes I get it, you don't wanna see another birthday cake.

I get it, you've lost everything so you start to question if there's a God. I get it, you start to question if you're worthy enough.

You start to ask am i really gonna make it?

I get it, I know how it feels to lose.

I’ve lost too, I lost my moms, the one who was supposed to hold me when I came into this world kicking and hollering like a firetruck in the Bronx.

Don't think they care anymore, leaving us abandoned like an indicted block.

I get it, you don't think you have what it takes and all everyone is worried about is that debate while you chew your knuckles because there is nothing to eat.

You’ve been through 2 heart breaks.

Everything you create, it breaks.

And the floors you walk shake.

You start to question if there's a God, you start to hate.

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You've lost your family, all you feel is agony.

In your dreams, your mom says be brave. to build your walls strong as a cave.

I get it, you’re going to have to go through it by yourself.

I wish I could tell you how. I can't.

I don’t know how I survived, but I have.

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Haiti Poem Taylor Richmond When I’m hurt I think about the positive until I reached my boiling point Losing someone feels like a train just ran over you and you’re crushed I’m scared of having to experience this disaster happening again I need the comfort of people who love me to bring me back up I just need a change of environment to lift me up I’m grateful for family and friends who still keep my hopes high Thankful to still have my hands and feet to clap and cheer when a change does happen

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In Too Deep Starlin Pimentel I am scared to sleep.

I dream about a blind giant with no emotions taking over Haiti.

He told me he wanted to put everybody out of their misery, he don't want nobody to suffer, but I told him he's wrong because the people are still going to suffer, either way.

He grabbed me and told me he don't want nobody to wrong him, and so he killed me.

But I woke up alive to the hurricane hitting, and it really killed lots of people.

I cried again knowing I was outnumbered in strength, and length and size.

I didn't realize I wasn't wise enough and when I came face to face with him,

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I couldn't sleep again.

I am scared to sleep.

Inside my house I see the same thing: a little bed in the corner, a big pot on the floor where I cook my food.

Then I always realize that my parents ain't with me, I don't got nobody to eat with me, no other family to visit me, I get depressed knowing I'm by myself, like I'm nothing to this world, I feel like love was never meant for me, but I know that God brought me to this world for a reason, so I still feel grateful, alive and well but at night, that's when the deep feelings start to take over my mind, it plays tricks on me making me remember all the things I want to forget.

It's like a permanent scar.

I am scared to sleep.

I am scarred.

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Featured Artists: Pg 6, Self Portrait by​ Jackie Kosta

Pg 16, Self Portrait by​ Richard Klu

Pg 25, Blind Contour of Ricardo by ​Carlos Villa Garcia Pg 33, Self Portrait by ​Paula Rodriguez

Pg 40, Blind Contour of Miranda by ​Linda Adorno

Pg 48, Self Portrait by ​Diego Romero

Pg 55, Blind Contour of Mr. Berns by ​Shanieya Seda Pg 65, Self Portrait by ​Tatiana King

Pg 72, Blind Contour of Ricardo by ​Shanieya Seda Pg 78, Self Portrait by ​Samuel Hernandez

Pg 89, Self Portrait by ​Lenice Armstrong Pg 99, Self Portrait by​ Linda Adorno

Pg 106, Self Portrait by​ Leslie Gutierrez