CHARM: For Your Inspiration by charmlitmag

A literary and arts magazine by Baltimore students.

FOR YOUR INSPIRATION

People are gonna know where I came from.

CHARM:

For Your Inspiration A litary and arts magazine featuring writing and art by Baltimore students

Foreword in-spi-ra-tion n. the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative. For the students on CHARM’s editorial board, inspiration comes in many ways. For us it can be from bouncing ideas off of each other, reading the work of another student, or just being in each other’s presence. Maybe you find inspiration from a birthday party you went to last week, a song you listened to, the time you learned how to drive, or, like the students featured in this volume, from the work of other poets and writers. This edition of CHARM is different from our usual anthology. We’ve put together a collection of pieces that were inspired by others. Our goal is that you use this as a guide and find inspiration of your own, especially when you may not feel like a writer. Our student editorial board has worked diligently and passionately on the format, content, and cover art. We collected submissions from students all around Baltimore City and even went back to pieces that were published in past volumes of CHARM. This collection includes a wide range of writing inspired by literary greats: Langston Hughes, George Ella Lyon, Sandra Cisneros, and Nikki Giovanni to name a few. As you will see in these pages, reading a favorite writer can spark ideas of your own, and inspire something entirely new and special and remarkable. We hope you enjoy what you read, and that you find inspiration of your own. – Madison Mattison, on behalf of CHARM’s Student Editorial Board

Table of Contents Art by Shantika Bhat

The following poems were inspired by Danez Smith’s “Alternate Names for Black Boys”

Alternate Names for Her by Kayah Calhoun

Alternate Names for Black Girls by Kobi Brown

Alternate Names for a Black Boy by Rashad Holloway

Alternate Names for People with Vitiligo by Emani Owens

Alternate Names for Light-Skinned Girls by Danae Johnson

The following pieces were inspired by Claudia Rankine’s “Citizen”

Three Familiar Digits by Emma Conn

Citizen Pastiche by Maddie Parsley

Quote by Rashad Hollowa

The following poems were inspired by Langston Hughes’ “Daybreak in Alabama”

Daybreak in Baltimore by Aiyana Thomas

Daybreak in Baltimore by Amaya Burke

The following poems are “Golden Shovel” poems, created by Terrence Hayes as an homage to Gwendolyn Brooks.

I Was Forced To Write This by Mary Alsamet

Forever Sometimes Is Just A Second by Daniela Bustillo-Ulloa

Quote by Aiyana Thomas

The following pieces were inspired by Sandra Cisneros’ “The House on Mango Street”

My House on Parkden Street by Alice Delanoy

My House by Shantika Bhat

My House on Clinton Street by Emani Owens

My House on Conkling Street by Jahda Owens

Art by Anisa Howell-Bey

The following poems were inspired by Langston Hughes’ “I, Too, Sing America”

I, Too, Just a Color by Aissata Sy

I, Too, Am Baltimore by Sha’bria Butler

I, Too, Sing America by Kobi Brown

We, Too, Sing America by Marian Tibrey

I, Too, Sing America by Amaya Burke

Quote by Marian Tibrey

The following poems were inspired by Nikki Giovanni’s “Knoxville, Tennessee”

Baltimore, Maryland by Kiyia Johnson

San Salvador, El Salvador by Kelly Velazquez-Gomez

Biscoe, North Carolina by Jose Betancourt-Vargas

Detroit, Michigan by Mary Alsamet

Atlanta, Georgia by Ana Aguilar-Chagala

Art by Christian Raysor

The following poems were inspired by Sherman Alexie’s “The Absolutely True Diary of a Parttime Indian”

My Tribes by Malaisha Rochester

My Tribes by Stacey Dunbar

My Tribes by Shantika Bhat

My Tribes by Ajuan McDaniel

The following poems were inspired by George Ella Lyon’s “Where I’m From”

Where I’m From by Kobi Brown

Where I’m From by Saniyah Larkins

Where I’m From by Danielle Bugglen

This is Me by Bishop Freeman

I Am From by Ayanna White

I’m From by Madison Mattison

Quote by Saniyah Larkins

The following poems were inspired by Langston Hughes’ “Mother to Son”

Father to Daughter by Joi Higgins

She Told Me by Morgan Hines

The following poems are pantoums inspired by Edward Hirsch’s poem “At Sixteen.”

At Thirteen by Manling Chen

At Fourteen by Dasani Brown

At Fifteen by Jacqueline Villano-Cano

Quote by Madison Mattison

The following poem was inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “Ode to French Fries”

Ribs! Ribs! Ribs! by Savannah Kemp

The following poem was inspired by Walt Whitman’s “O Me! O Life!”

O Me! O Life! by Madeleine Richard

The following poem was inspired by Emma Lazarus’ “The New Colossus”

The New Exiles by Jade Brown

The following poem was inspired by Shirley Goek-Lin’s “Learning to Love America”

Black by Popular Demand by Madison Mattison

Shantika Bhat | Inspired by “My Eyes” by Marian Tibrey

Alternate Names for Her Kayah Calhoun | 8th Grade 1. Four Eyes 2. The Bird With No Voice 3. Brownie-locks 4. Big Foot 5. Mean, Median, Mode 6. A Snowflake 7. Sleeping Beauty 8. Ugly Duckling 9. Dancing In The Wings 10. A Signal Fire 11. The Sun and The Moon 12. The Chocolate Chip In A Vanilla Ice Cream Topped Off With Caramel 13. The Cookie Monster 14. A Warrior Against The Ball Of Fire 15. A Beautiful Oriole Learning How To Fly

Alternate Names for Black Girls Kobi Brown | 8th Grade 1. Flexin my complexion 2. Strong 3. Powerful 4. Wild forest of hair 5. Sisterhood 6. A mother’s angel 7. The ashes that turn into a phoenix 8. Beautiful just the way you are 9. Flower flourishing through all the chaos 10. I’ll Rise, I’ll Rise, I’ll Rise

Alternate Names for a Black Boy Rashad Holloway | 8th Grade 1. Monster 2. Menace to society 3. Black toxic cloud 4. Red not black 5. It 6. Ingrate 7. Not-so-bad 8. A disgrace to Mom 9. White shell turned Black after an oil spill 10. Eyes carrying a heavy, dirty soul 11. A dark gray sky before your eyes 12. A Hershey chocolate bar with nothing inside 13. 2016 and still a Negro 14. Bad boy wishing for Dreamville 15. Still wanting to believe even if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all a lie 16. Translucent 17. A god of anger 18. Misunderstood 19. Mistake 20. The unwelcomed superhero 21. Blackened angel

Alternate Names for People with Vitiligo Emani Owens | 8th Grade 1. dalmatian 2. Are you wearing makeup? 3. splattered paint on a finished canvas 4. That’s the white coming out in you. 5. What’s on her mouth? 6. sun coming out from behind the clouds 7. You’re beautiful just the way you are. 8. permanent 9. no dermatologist needed 10. spreading, spreading, spreading... 11. fragile skin 12. a war of two tones 13. slowly fading away

Alternate Names for Light-Skinned Girls Danae Johnson | 8th Grade 1. We watch the sun rise 2. We watch the sun set 3. Caramel, vanilla, milk chocolate 4. Who are they to define our skin 5. We are not flavors we are people 6. “You’re a white girl” 7. Who are they to tell me who I am 8. I am African American 9. “You’re lying” 10. Who are they to tell me who I can’t be 11. I am me and no one else 12. I embrace my natural highlights 13. I walk freely like there is no other 14. They will accept 15. They will learn 16. I am not a flavor I am human 17. I am me

Three Familiar Digits Emma Conn | 11th Grade You are standing at your window, watching your neighbor’s yard. There is a man there pacing back and forth looking agitated as he talks into his phone. You reach for your own and dial three familiar numbers. The police promises to arrive in a few minutes. You find your neighbor’s number on the list of emergency contacts stuck to your refrigerator and punch the numbers in as you watch the man continue to walk across the grass. He looks vaguely familiar and you wonder where you’ve seen him before. Your neighbor picks up. You tell her about the man in her yard. You listen as she insists that it is her friend. It cannot be her friend. You know that nice young man, and that isn’t him. The man outside just isn’t and you don’t let yourself wonder if you are wrong. You tell her that you’ve already called the police. The police arrive and you leave your house to talk to them. They show you the man’s ID and in the picture is your neighbor’s friend. The assumptions you’ve made climb into your throat and suffocate you as the police drive away. Your neighbor arrives and you apologize and apologize until the words don’t sound like words anymore. Your neighbor looks embarrassed and tells her friend that next time, they should go to the backyard to talk on the phone. The friend looks at her strangely and says that he can talk on the phone anywhere he wants and you wonder why you didn’t believe the same.

Citizen Pastiche Maddie Parsley | 11th grade To make it through you talk like a child just learning to speak. You want to cry. They tell you to stop it. Another cry. Another stop it. Talking communicates solace, crying is not wanting to forget your discomfort. Maybe each cry makes your pain real, your suffering real, who can tell; the truth is you can’t stop, you couldn’t stop the source. The cry is what makes you survive; it allows surviving. That’s just perennating. It cannot be manufactured. You wake up, you cry. Drive to work, you cry. The crying is the only way to express your unease. You wouldn’t say it inhibits you from living; still it holds you just apart from freedom. What can stop you from feeling like an unknowing child, the simple minded kind?

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Take any emotion you feel and write it down so you can come back to it later and build off of it. Or just spill your thoughts onto the page right then and there.â&#x20AC;? -Rashad Holloway

Daybreak in Baltimore Aiyana Thomas | 8th Grade When I get to be a hero, I’m gonna tell stories about daybreak in Baltimore. And I’m gonna give my boy the violence, the words and the drugs so he can know; he can know what I came from. Rising out of my womb will be my baby, who will grow strong legs and touch the cosmos with brown understanding palms. They too will be given the violence, the words and the drugs from my stories so they can know. They can know what used to be. I’m gonna tell my boy and my kid about the spray painted back walls that once behind them, I the hero, spoke into her, “you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” And tell of the scent of the bakery down the street. And the smell of loud round the corner. And the different colored ankles jumping string. And homeless souls walkin’ streets. And blood creepin’ down the alley from that little boys nose. And the little girl I taught to push adversity away from her actions. Of dreams on dreams, nightmares on nightmares, dreams on nightmares and hope vs. faith. And I’m gonna put peace and love and struggle and resolution in it. Grasping my boy and kid with cold; hard truth in that dawn of my story when I get to be a hero for all and tell stories about daybreak in Baltimore.

Daybreak in Baltimore Amaya Burke | 7th Grade When I get to be a storyteller I’m gonna tell about daybreak in Baltimore I’m gonna tell about the hustle and bustle of this huge city of mine People are gonna know where I came from I’m gonna tell people about the colorful murals in the city and how they can bring a community together like a magnet The sound of dirt bikes on the rough city streets The yelling and screaming of the little kids playing in the streets The salty smell of the harbors dirty waters The drug dealer on every corner looking through the car window as we drive by I’m gonna tell people about the addicts waiting for their deals The sounds of gunshots noticing a new victim to gun violence or the newest Freddie Gray The sound of police cars and helicopters on the streets and overhead The sites of vacant house and buildings waiting to be knocked down When I’m done telling my story, I’m gonna put a happy ending in this sad story of mine There will be more sunny days and less rainy days when I’m done The sunny days will spread like wildfire from east to west and north to south When I get to be a storyteller, I’m gonna tell people about Daybreak in Baltimore

I Was Forced To Write This Mary Alsamet | 8th Grade This is a poem I have to write. It was invented by Terrance Hayes. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m forced to do this because I need to pass. My teacher said I have to write it. So I did, and I ended up with this.

Forever Is Sometimes Just A Second Dariela Bustillo-Ulloa | 8th Grade I looked for you forever. Now everything is just a lie. Sometimes I think of the past just to remember you a moment, and then it all concludes in a second.

“‘Daybreak in Baltimore was an imitation of Langston Hughes’s ‘Daybreak in Alabama.’ I wasn’t able to put myself in his shoes, so I put that frustration into my writing... I put that awe into my writing. My advice to young writers is to make your writing personal. Writing should never be impersonal.” -Aiyana Thomas

My House on Parkden Street Alice Delanoy | 5th grade I love the house on Parkden street. Small and white with a big personality. The garden with flowers and a diseased peach tree. The deer in the forest. The studio where mom and dad work on projects like photography and sewing. The inside is a mess with toys, books, and cat hair. Black cats laying anywhere and everywhere. The queens of the house. My violin with strings tuned to the pitch of a viola, the half green, half red harpsichord, and the little piano making music, a gift to my little sister from our neighbor’s cat, Dinah. The TV making noise. The downstairs bathroom with the haunted shower curtain. The mirror with someone on the other side. The ghost stories of the kid that snuggled my mom. The mischievous ghost that hates my dad. The ghost cats. Early in the morning I’ll wake up and have the feeling someone’s watching me, but there’s nobody there. I wish my house was a cookie, an oatmeal raisin cookie, so I could break off a piece of it and eat it anytime I wanted.

My House Shantika Bhat | 8th Grade I’ll always remember this house, the house filled with 12 years of memories. This house is a very organic house, we have a garden instead of a front lawn and plants all over our porch. Dirty red bricks and windows so long that they look like they were stretching. when you walk inside my house you’ll first see a tsunami of shoes, all mixed up like a bag of party chips. The kitchen reeks of masala. It’s small and cluttered with a bunch of things, when you walk through the kitchen it feels like you are walking through a crowd of people. We have no living room because my dad just refers all of that space as his bedroom. Then we go downstairs where it looks like the color green just threw up all over, the walls, carpet and tiles. I have a love and hate relationship with the basement, it’s like the arctic, where my brother and I have our rooms. Back then I would think downstairs was hell because I used to have the worst nightmares here. The top floor was changing like the seasons, my father would always reconstruct the upstairs for his liking. It was off limits. This house has its ups and downs like a roller coaster, but this roller coaster isn’t one I would get off of.

My House on Clinton Street Emani Owens | 8th Grade My previous house was like the arctic with the air constantly on. The stairless house me and my uncle lived in alone. So silent you could hear the children who played outside until 11 o’clock. A yard shared with a neighbor. No backyard. Fractured screen door. No railing leading up to the chipped blue door to get my head stuck in. I will always love the little welcome mat that greeted me home each day. A tiny forest out front under the windowsill. Smudged white carpet throughout the two bedroomed place. When you look out the door you could see the sun setting over the park. The house in which I got my first tiny companion. The place where I spent my first night alone in a room with no sister’s. In this house I learned to be independent. In this hollow house of mine I’ve felt my loneliest. I can remember how awful it felt to be alone with no one home but me. I also remember the first day we moved in and I took a nap on my new bedroom floor and I remember the last day I walked out of my house on Clinton Street and how it felt to leave that part of my life behind.

My House on Conkling Street Jahda Owens | 8th Grade I remember the extravagant party house on Conkling street. The house where the happiness of my childhood took root and grew the basic personality of what I have become. The person I am today will be forever etched on the chalk drawings that decorated the crooked stones of the stairs. The front lawn was the living room, as we shared it with the bums and hookers that spoke in tongues. They would dance among the smoggy stars of the night, exhaling the last bit of breath they had before the silver bullets put them to sleep forever. Past the dancers and colorful smoke, past the shoe shaped holes that littered our front door, laid the contents of a withered mind. Contorted to think the venomous bite of whiskey was the only thing that mattered. Beaten down by the claws of the fluffy rabbit in the fish tank. A name I wish not to speak, a past life I don’t live anymore. The views of a child differ from a teenager, and how I miss those sightless days of bliss. During the moon, the children ran up the long stairs to their heaven. Running past the freak show of rejected toys, the metal infused worlds of cookies, and long faced, selfish little demons appeared the Room. This Room was different from the rest that settled within the house. The Room had walls of dried blood, held laughter of a Siren’s song, and even taught me the importance of a wand when in a battle with another wizard. The Room was the place I spent most of my childhood at night. With my gems of dust glued to the ever-changing screen of magic, my nights were Joyful. Now, let’s backtrack. Down the stairs and flinging open the haunted door, led the basement. Taking out the ghosts and ghouls. The foul smelling floor was my coffin. I would often stay down here, as it was also my room, and spend hours disappearing into the pages of a book. One by one, the books would fall from my hands and in a tearful blink, I was anew. Brought up from mist, shifted into flesh and bone, the person I was no longer existed. I took on the face of someone else.

Anisa Howell-Bey | Inspired by “My House” by Alice Delanoy

I, Too, Just a Color Aissata Sy | 8th Grade I am a color, A color of big statements. A word that means so much, that it divides us. I sing, I dance and I laugh but does that make me happy? Maybe tomorrow, The color of one Would just be a color. People would not look at you up and down like you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t deserve to be in this world. But besides, We are much more alike than different. We speak our thoughts We make good and bad statements and choices. Maybe one day weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll all rise together as equal and make tomorrow better. I too, just a color.

I, Too, Am Baltimore Sha’bria Butler | 8th Grade I, too, am Baltimore. I am the timid girl speaking in front of an audience. Feels like I’m in the Matrix. Everyone is pointing and laughing like I’m some type of rare creature. People like to step on me like they would a bug. But I weather the storm to let my voice be heard, and I roar. This is a rare sight for everyone. They get a rude awakening. And I slay. I slay all of my haters as if they were demons. All of the dark clouds over my head clear out. I’m released from carrying all of this weight on my shoulders. I am free. Besides, They’ll see how strong I am And be ashamed I, too, am Baltimore.

I, Too, Sing America Kobi Brown | 8th Grade I, too, sing America I am the baby Told to leave the room When the adults have to talk Yet they don’t know I still have ears They sit at a table of maturity I sit in the kitchen They don’t notice But I listen Tell me to speak my mind But when I do, I get punished Freedom of Speech That doesn’t apply to you if you’re 13-14 years old “All they do is get on those phones” “Such millennials” They don’t know that I have thoughts Intelligent opinions Creative ideas They will never know Because I am a closed mouth

We, Too, Sing America Marian Tibrey | 7th Grade Yo tambien canto, America We are the underestimated people They forget us when they need someone, We are immigrants, But that’s all they think of us. When we hear them saying what they say, We smile. Tomorrow, We’ll be there when we are needed, And nobody will dare turn us down. Besides, They’ll see how great we are and be ashamed To ask They will see that our differences are the same And that Nosotros tambien cantamos, America

I, Too, Sing, America Amaya Burke | 8th Grade I, Too, Sing, America Not the America where the president has twitter fingers whenever he’s upset I sing the America where you can walk down the street wearing a hijab And not be afraid Where you can turn on the news and not hear something tragic The America where a woman can be president of the United States Where women have the right to do whatever they want with their bodies Where white men would wake up from the perfect dream That they think they are dreaming Where you don’t have to protect your land that you had for thousands of years From a senseless pipeline The America where love is love And gender doesn’t define you And the America where being different is ok I sing the America where I can walk into a store and not be followed around Where anyone from all backgrounds, countries, or race Can live without a problem The America where people don’t have to use bottled water to wash up Where little girls aren’t taken from their homes and filed as missing for decades And little boys aren’t taken from their mothers over stupid violence I, TOO, SING, AMERICA

“Langston Hughes’s poem inspired me to create [my poem], mostly because when I read it I could feel as if it related to my situation. I thought that I should put whatever I was feeling into my writing… In my opinion, the most interesting poems are the ones that make the reader “feel” something. ” -Marian Tibrey

Baltimore, Maryland Kiyia Johnson | 8th grade I always love summer mostly because of the crabs and snowballs and the pool and the chicken boxes and going to my grandmotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s trips to North Carolina dragging down da hill and going to block parties and vacation bible school and driving with the windows down and cleaning the house with the front door open and watching Disney movies with my sister late at night

San Salvador, El Salvador Kelly Velazquez-Gomez | 8th Grade Siempre me ha gustado el invierno Es mi estación del año favorita Aunque no puedo comer helado Me gusta tomar chocolate caliente Y pan dulce Y cafe caliente Y sopa Paso todo el dia en mi cama Veo la tele Comiendo palomitas Y pongo de excusa el frío para no bañarme Porque tengo pereza También me gusta porque no hay mosquitos Ni hormigas Y llueve Y me gusta el sonido de la lluvia Porque me relaja Escucho la musica que me gusta Y me quedo dormida Siempre espero con ansias El invierno.

Biscoe, North Carolina Jose Betancourt-Vargas | 8th Grade Summer is always the Best Everyone is outside Little kids running around the place Playing tag The older kids inside texting or Playing soccer in the field Las mujeres are inside spreading chismes Meanwhile Los borrachos are outside drinking beer and cooking the food Once the food is ready everyone sits down and you see tables Filled with food There’s arroz And frijoles And carne asada And chorizo And nopales And pollo And carne de rez And corn And a plate that contains cebolla, cilantro, rabano, and limón And they have like 40 different types of salsa To top it off there’s like a million tortillas When you’re done eating You sit outside on the porch And see Pine trees Tons of acorns on the ground Beautiful green grass And my favorite smell The smell of grass being mown By that time it’s probably time to go home All you hear is bye, gracias, and vengan mañana

Once everyone leaves I go by the window And look up at the stars Without Being disturbed by Cars, sirens, and shouting Unless my dad is drunk He snores really loud And when I say really loud And I mean itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worse than a dog and a baby crying At the same time.

Detroit, Michigan Mary Alsamet | 8th Grade I always like spring best you can sit by the window and watch the pouring rain and the empty street and the lazy trees and hear the raindrops and the thunder rumbling loud and the next day you wake up and hear a busy street and see trees full of life and a bright sunshine with the rainbow both promising you a happy long day.

Atlanta, Georgia Anakaren Aguilar-Chagala | 8th Grade I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like summer But there Summer is the best Hot days Longer days Sweaty faces Cheap garage sales And melted Ice cream More carne asada Less time at home And more Shopping bags And tans and hair With creases More TV time More family time And lots Of Cucumber water And watermelon And pineapple Y pepinos With chile y limon And A/C always on And Hating your brother For putting his hot heavy Feet on top Of you On hot hot nights

Christian Raysor | Inspired by “Baltimore, Maryland” by Kiyia Johnson

My Tribes Malaisha Rochester | 8th Grade I am from the tribe where it was okay to be yourself A tribe where sometimes you had to fit in A tribe where I had more white friends than black A tribe where my mom decided to move to the city A tribe where now everybody can not be trusted A tribe where my family is now more paranoid that I can get shot by walking on certain streets A tribe where I can never have a real friend that understands me A tribe where good grades is what makes me very successful A tribe where shy girls try to speak up but never really happens A tribe where I spend at least 30 minutes checking out myself in the mirror A tribe where pizza is the best thing to eat when chilling on the weekend with friends A tribe where your bed is the most easy hello but hardest goodbye because that’s the only time you really can rest. A tribe where talking to your crush can make you feel like the happiest girl in the world A tribe where candy can really make me hyper A tribe where being new to a school isn’t so bad A tribe where people try to take advantage of me because of my height A tribe where if you not acting disrespectful in class then you’re obviously a goody goody A tribe where having over 300 pictures on your phone because you know everyday you slaying with a style. A tribe where sometimes you feel that your friends care about you more than your own family A tribe where you spend more time on social media than anything else A tribe where even if I have one bad grade I am a dumb a** but truly, not everyone is perfect A tribe where my mother still tries to treat me like a 6 year old like I can’t make my own decision on different things A tribe where I can’t live no longer with out an iphone

My Tribes Stacey Dunbar | 8th Grade I belong to a family who’s just trying their best to make a living. And to the father I never see. And to the old school music lovers. And to the nerds. And to the shy people, who fears of what sometimes some people may think. To the people’s voices who have never been heard. To the smart people. To the people just trying to get a laugh out of folks. To the people who’s strong who can get through anything. And to the mother of hurt but when I look into her beautiful brown eyes I still see the beautiful black woman she is, from deep within the hurt. And to the group of 3 beautiful girls who’s judged for not being fast like the others. And to the sort of sensitive kind. And to the one who’s being judged for how she walks, talks, dress, just the way she is. And to the one who has lead paint poison (for no one knows). To the one who’s dying inside from so much pain and hurt but who smiles on the outside to hide. To the ongoing church people. To all mistakes. To the forgiving kind, who forgives everyone for every little thing they do or say even if it’s bad. To the kind who thinks love is beautiful. And to the ones who’re always told to have trust and faith upon God because he is the only one who can fix it to make it right. And to the ones who has trust issues like hell, because people lie & sometimes come to kill,steal and destroy. And to the people who still try. And the girl that’s broken hearted,who’s been cheated on by one not just anyone but someone who was special,who’s broken hearted by her father as well. 34

The one who used to cut herself because she thought she didn’t matter in the world. The one who thinks something is wrong with her body because she’s not fit like the others. The one who knows & has many secrets but never tell them (because it isn’t anyone’s business). The one who has a strong mind & good advice, but people never listen. The one who’s furious inside because she doesn’t know where she really fits in, or even where her life begins. The girl who knows that there’s someone out here willing to love them for all but she shuts them out and pushes them away like she doesn’t even want them there knowing that she does. The girl who locked herself up and threw away the key, but she’s just waiting on the one day where someone else finds it, and hopefully brings it back. But the one who always love to make her mommy & sister proud no matter what.

My Tribes Shantika Bhat | 8th Grade I belong to the second generation, and to the kids stuck between two walls, and to the kids who are called coconuts. I belong to the crazy fangirls that are in every fandom, and to the kpoppers who want to be something theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not, and to the people that get sucked into the black holes of lyrics. I belong to the crazy nerds that always want to be right, and to the teenagers whose life mottos are young forever, and to the people who always dream big, but end up with false hope. I belong to the people who eat white, brown and, red sticky rice, and to the weirdos that donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t eat meat, and to the people who consume more spices than we want to. I belong to all the people who make mistakes, and to the two-faced kids with happiness on one side and depressed on the other, and to the oldest sibling that struggles a lot. I belong to the group of people who are not perfect.

My Tribes Ajuan McDaniel | 8th Grade I realized that, sure, I was a African American. I belonged to that tribe. But I also belonged to the tribe of American welfarist. And to the tribe of lacrosse players. And to the tribe of chubby wubbies. And the tribe of poverty. And the tribe of Democrats. And the tribe of Baltimoreans. And the tribe of sensitivity. And the tribe of low self-esteem. And the tribe of high values. And the tribe of peer-pressured. And the tribe of imprisoned fathers. And the tribe of Section 8. And the tribe of fried-chicken lovers. And the tribe of forgiveness. And the tribe of long-hungry nights. And the tribe of abandoned grandpas. And the tribe of on stormy nights, my family has movie night. And the tribe of giving mommy a kiss goodnight every night. And the tribe of on Saturday, mommyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s in the kitchen cooking breakfast. And the tribe of on Sunday, grandmaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s making dinner after church service. And the tribe of dreams, on top of dreams, on top of dreams.

Where I’m From Kobi Brown | 6th Grade I am from music, love, and pain From Kim and Albert, mom and dad. There’s a bullet in my heart, and it’s you. The people who make gunshot sounds at night I’m from the darkness In my home, Every time I walk in, From Our Heavenly Father, hallowed be your name. a prayer I say before bed some nights. From the cars taking all the parking spots Who don’t live there. I’m from the smelly shoes and socks In the den and kitchen. I’m from the people in drama and comedy shows On the television screen. I’m from pudding, cheesesteaks, and ginger ale— My family’s favorite foods. This is where I’m from.

Where I’m From Saniyah Z. Larkins | 6th Grade I am from the Milky Way to the earth To the continent of Africa To the country of Nigeria from whom my ancestors have been dragged I am from the country of the United States From my religion of being a Muslim From Ayesha Muhammad From Michael Larkins To my mother’s childhood to the nerdiness I have From the sunshine I am To the courage I have I am from a long line of ancestors who would fight for what’s right A line of ancestors who fought for freedom I am from the reason my grandfather didn’t fight in the war I am from the segregation my ancestors went through From what my grandparents did for me to be a Muslim today From very distinct personality From very unique people That’s where I’m from how about you?

Where I’m From Danielle Bugglen | 9th Grade Since I was born here, they thought I was from Baltimore. I’m from long dirt roads and hot summer sun beating on my face. Where I had no cares and every step taken was a new journey. I’m from playing pool with my dad in an old bar we walked to every Saturday. Where we hid underneath porches daring each other to smoke newspaper. And 8 year olds had fake weddings behind an abandoned trailer. I’m from going to a little white church every Sunday. Where kids automatically said Ma’am and Sir after everything. I’m from carrying a crush for 4 years and never, ever forgetting their name. Where we put soda cans on the wheels of our bikes to sound like Motorcycles. I’m from more bonfires and cookouts you could imagine. Where all the kids stood on top of a picnic table singing the same song. I’m from riding on a speedboat every weekend and getting a mega sunburn. Where we slid down a caved-in roof in the woods in a broken stop sign. I’m from a place where “going inside” wasn’t an option, nor a thought. Where I called my best friend’s brother my boyfriend so we could be sisters. I’m from a long dirt road in South Carolina, the place where I became me.

This Is Me Bishop Freeman | 6th Grade I’m from photos and paintings From fresh air in the living room. I am from plants in the backyard. Dark green like salad, It tasted like dirt. I am from trees on every side of the house. I am from houses near the alley ways, and cars moving for street cleaning. I am from fried, crispy chicken and mashed potatoes; from the guests and the politics I am from “NOOOOOO!” and “Oh my gosh!” From “Be QUIET!” and “Can we stay up longer?” I’m from Cosby Show phrases, And two phrases I can say myself. I’m from Bolton Hill and Midtown Academy. From mac-and-cheese and Crystal Light. From praising the Lord on Sunday morning, And from hand-me-down church clothes. I am from riding my bike and walking my dog Honeybee, a brown Chihuahua. From Michael Jackson and Mary J. Blige, singing in the car with Mom and Sis. From crying and whining, to laughing and playing, All of this is me and it’s plain I’m proud of who I am.

I Am From Ayanna White | 8th Grade I am from hair beads from Blue Magic and bushy hair I am from a concrete jungle hot, rough itchy from playing all day I am from the honeysuckles the thorny red roses whose teeth are not as welcoming as a smile I am from playing cards and comedians from Evans and Sutton I am from the quick-witted and overly dramatics From speak up and do the robot I am from I have not stopped my cars against the words ok right and truth and 4 2 principles to live by Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m from Pigtown and the Carolinas sweet potato pie and Mac & Cheese From the fishing trip with Pop-Pop, the 4 fishing rods he tended to, and the long car rides we endured I am from countless photo albums dating back to black and white Those moments, the smiles, the laughter as we look through them, Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s where Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m from.

I’m From By Madison Mattison | 12th grade I’m from…. Music, passions, pet peeves Insecurities Praying down on my knees, And having to change a lot of keys I’m from spades, blackjack and 500 Run it again, I said 500 family members. I’m from all the people my mother knew Everyone that sat in the same pew. I’m from erasing my thoughts and writing new ones From learning from my mistakes From showing up to things late I’m from the roller coasters I’ve faced

â&#x20AC;&#x153;[I wanted] to express where I am from and how I become who I am.â&#x20AC;? -Saniyah Larkins

Father to Daughter Joi Higgins | 8th grade Well, Lulu, let me tell you You had it good, remember that, And you still do Life is a roller coaster, With turns and loops It takes you up but brings you back down, But something good always comes around And at the end it smooth sailingRelief. But your momma kept us stable, She’s been trying, She’s improved, she’s succeeded, She’s done her part in making you happy But giving you want you want isn’t easy I’m trying. I’m trying to be strong Trying to keep up with you and your things Trying to make you and mommy proud Trying to learn how to deal with you and your mood swings. I’m gonna get it. You will too, as long as you believe in me We’ll make it through Just me and you Mommy is still with us She’s rooting us on We’ll make her proud and be strong Mommy believes in you She said we’ll make it through!

She Told Me Morgan Hines | 6th Grade She told me to never give up, She told me to love the world, She told me to believe, And to make great decisions. She told me to be strong, She told me to be brave, She told me to worship the holy name, And to never let her down. She told me not to think everything will be perfect, But when things donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t go as planned, Come to her. She told me that when she closes her eyes, To be the same strong girl I was. Now I believe in my hopes and dreams. And now I take this advice, And Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be the best girl I can be.

At Thirteen Manling Chen | 8th Grade I walked past a house that was covered by a rainbow tree. I walked with the girl who’s always being crazy. So many birds sing with their beautiful voices. I got a job as a dishwasher at home. I always see a poor house that’s covered by a tree full of birds. My mother always tells me to clean up the mess. I am a dishwasher at home, but I’m always being lazy. My mother always tells me to clean up the mess. I speak English but falteringly, and I’m always being lazy. Everyone tells me I will become a fluent speaker. I might speak English but falteringly. The annoyance is killing me from my heart and soul. Everyone says I will become a fluent speaker. Music heals me from my fury. The annoyance is killing me from my heart and soul. I throw all my depression in the trash can. Music heals me from my fury. I like the way I smile. It’s better than frowning. I throw all my depression in the trash can. I walked past a house that was covered by a rainbow tree. I like the way I smile. It’s better than frowning. So many birds sing with their beautiful voices.

At Fourteen Dasani Brown | 8th Grade I walked past the liquor store where most the men start their day I walked past the mural of a black man reading a book While the birds on the beach were watching him. I slept in the bed that has one direction sheets on the mattress I walked past the mural of a black man reading a book My sister calls me every night to say goodnight I slept in the bed that has one direction sheets on the mattress I got them as a christmas present My father doesn’t call me at night There’s an empty lot across from my house I got them as a Christmas present One year ago from my aunt There’s an empty lot across from my house that I fear because Some of the men that start their day at the liquor store are there One year ago today the painting of the black man reading the book While the birds on the beach were watching him was created

At Fifteen Jacqueline Villano-Cano | 8th Grade I walked past a burned wall next to a house. I walked past a pole with teddy bears and black balloons where I imagine a boy burned to death. I took care of my baby-sister after school. I walked past a pole with teddy bears and black balloons. My father always tells me to make good choices. I was supposed to watch my baby sister after school but she was playing with my sister so I went to sleep instead. My father always tells me to take the right path. I took home a kitty without his permission. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m tired and I just want to go to sleep. My mother comes into my room and watches me sleep. Someone gave me a cat and I took it with me. I walked past a burned wall next to an abandoned house. My mother sees the cat and stares at me sleeping while I dream about a boy burning to death.

“Just get out of your head. If you aren’t sure what to write, do something that inspires you or that’s fun, then write whatever is in your head unfiltered.” -Madison Mattison

RIBS, RIBS, RIBS! Savannah Kemp | 6th Grade RIBS, RIBS, RIBS! My favorites are from TGI Fridays I pick up the menu The waitress announces “What would you like?” I burst out “RIBS!!!!!” It’s like I’m waiting for months. Then at last There go my babies! My juicy, hot, sticky ribs, Coated in brown sauce. I’m thinking Which side should I bite? As soon as I bite it Angels started flying Around my head, Saying, “Ribs were the right decision.” Then they were all gone, The ribs and the angels, too. All I have left is my empty plate And a full stomach. Even though I’m full, I’m still hungry for more.

O Me! O Life! Madeleine Richard | 8th Grade Oh me! O life! Am I needed here? The endless trains of darkness chase me. I feel dumb, useless, like a piece of garbage lying alone on the sidewalk. Please! Why canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t I just disappear into the darkness thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s trying to swallow me whole? Oh me! Oh life! Why? Answer: The darkness is not chasing you. You are the one who is giving up and not trying. You need to push yourself and try to accomplish those goals. Life will accept you if you accept yourself.

The New Exiles Jade Brown | 8th Grade Here, in our land of the not-so-free, Abandon your name, if it sounds like Gonzalez or Li, If your pigment is darker than tan, If you fear the hatred of the Klan, Then come, come! To the land of the not-so-free, Leave behind your war-torn country, Come to where those who swore to protect, Will beat you, kill you, and will neglect, Those who they swore to protect, Flee out of a lack of choice, To the land where the government cannot hear the peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice, In this land that spreads for miles We are the New Exiles.

Black By Popular Demand Madison Mattison | 12th grade Learn to love that nappy hair That we don’t care That ghettofied That dramatized That brotherhood That divided hood Learn to love them gold teeth That crooked speech That “Imma be a baller” talk That ‘no fear’ in my walk Learn to love that black magic Honey dripping down the walls That majestic beauty standing real tall Learn to love those family gatherings that keep you up at night That kind of music you don’t like That hustle game that stays real strong That face we make like you did something wrong Learn to love that.. We are Unchanged Unchained Unapologetic Don’t you ever forget it We are black by popular demand.

Student Editorial Board CHARM magazine is curated and produced by a dynamic student editorial board, which consists of a team of middle and high school students. The following students were part of this volumeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s editorial board: Shantika Bhat

Baltimore Polytechnic High School

Kobi Brown

Baltimore Polytechnic High School

Rashad Holloway Madison Mattison

Baltimore City College BARD High School Early College

Isabelle Richard

Baltimore Polytechnic High School

Ariel Stevenson

Commodore John Rodgers Elementary Middle

Tehle Ross Jasmine Scott Kristiana Smith Jonathan Veale

Roland Park Elementary Middle Baltimore City College Baltimore Polytechnic High School Baltimore School for the Arts

Acknowledgements CHARM: For Your Inspiration was created to showcase pieces that were inspired by famous authors. While we don’t have the rights to reprint the original pieces, we highly encourage you to explore them and learn about the diverse writers who created them. Most of the poems are just a simple Google search away. Many of the pieces printed in this volume are reprints from past volumes of CHARM. Instead of listing the writer’s current grade, we’ve included the grade they were in when we first published the poem. The cover art was created by student editor, Kristiana Smith, and is comprised of cover letters from past volumes of CHARM. Since this collection features pieces from older volumes, Kristiana and the editorial board wanted to repurpose the letters, too. The art featured before the Table of Contents and on the back cover is and will always be Emperor Tamarin by the artist, the myth, the legend: Ben Swimmer of the Baltimore Montessori Public Charter School. The art pieces featured in this volume were created at one of CHARM’s Young Writers Workshops, at a special art session led by artist and teacher Charlie Greenawalt. Student artists took poems from CHARM magazine, and created mixed media collages with a message inspired by the poems. Over the course of six years now, we’ve received hundreds of submissions from students from all over Baltimore. We are always humbled and flabbergasted and inspired by the enormous talent we see in our city, and we are grateful to have the honor to publish your work. Thanks to Shannon Light Hadley for leading the graphic design process and for sharing her expertise with our student editors. Thanks to Rob from Work Printing and Graphics for his continued support of student voices. Great writers deserve a great publication, and, Rob, you always provide that for us. To everybody who has donated time, talent, or money along the way in helping shape CHARM into the burgeoning literary giant it is: you inspire us!

About CHARM CHARM: Voices of Baltimore Youth is literary-arts organization founded on the belief that kidsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; voices matter. We are on a mission to support young people as they develop as writers, and provide a platform to amplify their voices. CHARM magazine was founded by a group of teachers and their students in 2013, and has since published seven literary journals that feature the poetry, fiction, essays, and artwork of 450 students from more than 35 public schools in Baltimore City. CHARM magazine is curated and produced by a dynamic student editorial board, which consists of middle and high schoolers from across Baltimore City. We also offer a host of other programming designed to inspire and amplify student voices, including Young Writers Workshops on Saturdays throughout the school year, Class Book Projects at partner schools, and after school creative writing clubs. Want to get published? Want to get involved? Want to support our work? We welcome any contribution, and your gift is tax deductible! Check us out at www.charmlitmag.org for more information, and follow us on social media @charmlitmag. As we seek to grow our impact, we are committed to offering meaningful programming in the literary arts that Baltimoreâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s young people want and deserve.