Journeys Magazine 2015 | Piece By Piece

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Piece B y

P I E C E Journey’s 2015


PIECE BY PIECE Journey’s 2015 Literary Art Magazine: Volume XXIX Crescenta Valley High School 2900 Community Avenue La Crescenta, CA 91214


Editor’s Statement

Piece by Piece expresses what lies in the very concept of an artistic collaborative. Every individual created their piece as their very own, but the pieces put together reflect an entire artistic community at Crescenta Valley High School that is, in it of itself, a piece of this unique time. Journeys Magazine has been publishing student art, prose, and poetry for 28 years and each of the 28 magazines work piece by piece to show a history that is devoted to celebrating the artistic expression of students. The editors of Journeys leave these pieces at your hands to take part in this year of artistic expression.


Art 01- Seventeen by Molly Spurgeon, 12 02- Knots by Morgan Beck, 12 03- Persephone by Molly Spurgeon, 12 05- Worn by Susanne Carpenter, 11 08- Untitled by Kathryn Szulc, 12 12- White as Snow, Red as Blood, Black as Ebony by Claire Wallace, 12 13- Untitled by Kathryn Szulc, 12 14- Wolf by Claire Wallace, 12 15- Untitled by Molly Spurgeon, 12 16- Life Beyond the Stars by Tatiana Ivanoff, 11 18- Walk by Molly Spurgeon, 12 23- Supreme x Any Warhol by Sung-Hyun Shin, 12 27- Goddess by Liezel Dignos, 12 30- Odile by Claire Wallace, 12 33- How to Self- Pierce by Molly Spurgeon, 12 35- Untitled by Kathryn Szulc, 12 37- Untitled by Kathryn Szulc, 12 40- Finch by Molly Spurgeon, 12 CONTEST WINNER 42- Odette by Claire Wallace, 12 43- Untitled by Ju Young Choi, 11 47- Endless Possibilities by Morgan Beck, 12 51- A Japanese Fairytale by Claire Wallace, 12

Table Of Contents

Photography 06- Tempest by Aryn Alanizi, 11 07- Silhouette des Fleurs by Jessica Shumate, 11 09- Freedom by Amber Mateer, 12 09- Octopus Sundress by Molly Spurgeon, 12 11- French Fries by Tristan Ganzon, 10 17- Footprints by Bella Magdaleno, 10 CONTEST WINNER 19- Serenity by Aryn Alanizi, 11 20- Mr. Bentonway by Tristan Ganzon, 10 25- Ms. Elissa Tan by Tristan Ganzon, 10 26- The Walk by Amber Mateer, 12 28- horse by Tristan Ganzon, 10 29- I have an idea by Tristan Ganzon, 10 32- Fruit loop by Bella Magdaleno , 10 36- The Woman by Tristan Ganzon, 10 45- Paris by Jacob Matthews, 11 49- Untitled by Suzanne Whifler, 10


Poetry 02- Where the Rain Goes by Jennifer Gorman, 10 02- Paper Heart by Amy Sara Lim, 11 CONTEST WINNER 06- The Bookshop by Amy Sara Lim, 11 06- The Combat of Adversaries by Micah Macasaet, 12 08- With the Rain by Titash Biswas, 09 12- About a Girl by Raya Derbedrossian, 09 13- Untitled by McKenna Middleton, 12 14- The Boy Who Never Left by Kevin Faeustle, 09 17- The Rain and the Sky by Madeline Heeg, 09 17- Untitled by Anonymous 19- Some Differences by Michael Chu, 11 20- Deadbeat by Abbey Mosman, 11 23- Untitled by Anonymous 24- Adventure is Out There by Lauren Harvey, 12 25- Mediocre by Jacob Matthews, 11 25- Time by McKenna Middleton, 12 28- The Man by Ian Comner, 09 31- Night by Amy Sara Lim, 11 32- Same Differences by Michael Chu, 11 34- Auxin by Anonymous 35- Untitled by Anonymous 36- Untitled by Jennifer Gorman, 10 37- Dear Anna by Jemma Kwak, 11 39- United in Reverence and Virtue by Titash Biswas, 09 39- Untitled by Abbey Mosman, 11 43- City of Hope by Raquel Ghougasian, 10 46- Hot Red Eyes by Suzzanne Whifler, 09 47- Reflection by Asma H. Karim, 09 48- Ode to Darkness by Justin Kang, 12 49- Reunion by Anonymous 50- Second Degree Burns by Madeline Heeg, 09 51- Untitled by Anonymous 52- A Short Forever by Raya Derbedrossian, 09


Prose 03- Imprisoned by Sayana Asadoryan, 09 04- The Gift of Perspective by Christine Kim, 11 07- Sad Sky, Smiling People by Kevin Rowe, 09 10- Untitled by Saya Linney, 09 15- Beneath the Eyes by Milan Sanchez-Welsh, 11 CONTEST WINNER 16- My Walden by Vanessa Young, 12 18- Roots in Once but Not the Other by Anonymous 19- The Sand and the Moon by Milan Sanchez-Welsh, 11 21- The Endless Blue by Carolyn Gruss, 11 26- Emma Jane by Mary Salmon, 09 29- Desert Flower by Milan Sanchez-Welsh, 11 33- It’s Unique by Hanna Alanizi, 09 38- Daze by Micah Macasaet, 12 41- Alcoholics Anonymous by Lea Hassakorzian, 11 42- View of the World by Jessica Edwards, 09 44- Drip Drop by Joel Chang, 09 44- The Universe, My Universe by Angel Ramos, 09 48- The Bully by Jennifer Gorman, 10 50- Waves of Time by Milan Sanchez-Welsh, 11


M o l l y s p u r g e o n

Seventeen

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Where the rain goes jennifer gorman

If you saw the paper stars shine their light on me, would we sail away today on the paper sea?

Sent from the vast sky unreachable to man. Warm, chubby cheeks pressed to a window frame. The world holding my short attention span. Rain rushing to land as if in a race. Embellishing this dreary winter night. Falling to earth in a chilly embrace, and switching the colors to black and white. I see millions of raindrops that shine

Paper Heart

A hint of rain, and colder it became.

like gorgeous shards of broken glass.

If you saw a paper rose would you stop to smell its saccharine petals just before they fell. Would you pick it up for me to fix with tape and glue, or realize it’s just paper; less than me or you. If you saw my paper heart, entranced with all your glee, you’d pick it up and cast away the reality of me.

All the sounds and sceneries intertwine. I truly believe nothing will surpass. Eyes wide and open mouthed I stood and yelled. From the fluffy clouds snowflakes were expelled.

Contest Winner

amy sara lim

k c e b n a Morg Knots

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Imprisoned Sayana Asadoryan

Molly Spurgeon

I screamed. I pleaded. I cried out for help. But it seemed as if no one could hear me. It seemed as if the world had turned a blind eye to me. My mom promised me everything would be okay, a promise neither one of us could believe. No one was able to put themselves in my situation. No one could imagine the pain I was in. Even in a world with more than seven billion people I still felt completely alone. I cried because of the pain but I also cried because I had no one. I had no one besides myself. One day, two days, a week, a month passed by and this monster inside of me would not let me go. No one knew why I was in so much pain. No one knew how to make it go away. New medication prescribed after each visit. More medication, more doctors yet it still won’t go away. The first time this happened, no one could tell what this monster inside of me was. He just finally decided to stop torturing me. Second time around I knew something was really wrong. After visiting the third hospital the doctors discovered what this monster is. I have a herniated disc in my lower back also causing sciatica. The pain starting in my lower back slowly began to take over my entire body. Controlling every move I make. I never understood why this happened to me. A question I will never find the answer to. I miss being able to do everything I loved. I miss having control over my own body. I am a prisoner to this medical condition. But I am also a fighter. A fighter who is going to fight the problem until it disappears. Until this day I am still searching for the key that will unlock the prison cell that holds me hostage.

Persephone

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The Gift of Perspective

Christine Kim

The deafening and incessant sound of the alarm clock filled my ears as I slowly dragged myself out of bed. I struggled to muster up the strength to get up, and I convinced myself that I could snuggle in my cozy bed for just a few more minutes, but my whimsical thoughts dissipated like a wisp of smoke when a loud and unpleasant voice resonated through my room. “Time to go to grandpa’s house!” my little sister Julia squealed. Unlike my sister, I did not feel a sense of elation in going to my grandfather’s house. To me, he was just an old and cranky man who was gradually becoming more senile. However, my mother insisted that my younger sister and I go to his house every Saturday in order to assist him with what my mother called “domestic chores”. After a deliberately long shower in hopes of shortening my visit to my grandfather’s house, Julia and I walked half a mile to his house, and he welcomed us with an aroma of strong candle scent that radiated from his clothes. We entered into our normal routines, first washing the dishes and then cleaning the bathroom. My grandfather followed us around, asking us about our week. I did not enjoy his pest-like presence when I was doing these dreadful tasks, so I intentionally ignored him, and Julia was left to respond to his inquiries. At the end of all our grueling chores, my grandfather gathered us around in his cramped living room and told us a story about his own life. Although I didn’t listen attentively, he seemed to be emphasizing that perspective can have a significant impact on our daily actions. He urged me to change my pessimistic attitude and to look at the world with a fresh perspective, as if looking through a new pair of glasses. When we arrived home, my younger sister took out a box covered in gaudy wrapping paper that looked as if it was haphazardly taped onto the box. “Grandpa told me to give this to you,” she simply said. “You know, you should be nicer to him… he really cares about you.” Without a word, I took the box from her hands and scurried into my room. When I opened the box, there was a new pair of glasses and a neatly-written note that read “perspective changes everything”. With that, I put on my new glasses. Surprisingly, these new glasses allowed me to have a clearer vision and enabled me to see the smallest details in my room. I noticed the little specks of dust on my desk and the mini spider webs in the corners of the walls. I did not realize how unclear my old glasses were until I wore these new ones. Just like grandfather had said, simply wearing a new pair of glasses opened up a new world that was free of murkiness. From that day on, I started to notice small changes in myself. I endeavored to keep a positive attitude towards my family and friends, and even towards the Saturday visits to my grandfather’s house. Exactly three Saturdays later, I woke up to the euphonious tune of my alarm clock. This time, I did not ponder about staying in the comfort of my bed; instead, I got up with an overwhelming sense of exuberance. “Time to go to grandpa’s house!” I shouted joyfully.

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Susanne Carpenter

Untitled

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Tempest The Bookshop Amy Sara Lim

The Combat of Adversaries

The elusive girl sat in the shadows, lost in a sea of memories, watching him behind elysian pages, her eyes catching the light that flooded his. Two pairs of eyes drinking in words on pages depicting mirrored stories that will repeat in the course of time. A shared haven, yet a silent place.

Oppression In the world, In the country, In the society mold, In the greed and money, In the mirror. A Light SHINES, A Soul, A Virtue, A Purpose, Filled with Love Filled with Grace Filled with Hope. A revived Spirit that illuminates and is infectious. A breath of Life that empowers and entitles an identity. A pulse of the Heart that senses and strengthens. Not merely resistance, but an enthusiastic existence. One becomes APOLAUSTIC and EMPOWERED.

Aryn Alanizi

Micah Macasaet

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Sad Sky, Smiling People Kevin Rowe Here they come. I see them tumbling in lazily. Those big, heavy clouds. Murky and thick like swamp water. Everything darkens and the world becomes lifeless, slow. Layers of clothing on everyone, the weight making them clumsy, robbing their nimbleness. Everyone is a walking zombie. The sky and the air are dark like tar, time moves slowly, dragging on like a spoon through pudding. Then, the rain. Making the world soggy. Making the world wet. Every surface covered with dark water. Overcast, stormy days, my favorite. I love the ominous, gloomy clouds. I am calmed by the darkness. I love how everyone is bundled up in thick coats and rain jackets. The world is sleepy. The rain is heavy and wet yet refreshing like the smell of a rose, like pink perfume. Rain, it cleans the air and the mind as brooms sweep up spider webs, quickly and all at once. The sound of rain, like sleigh bells on Christmas, like jazz, like a crackling fireplace. It is reviving, all of it. The noise, the thick skies, the tiptoeing rain. So peaceful, so gentle, so tranquil and soft. It sharpens my senses, making my mind a neon sign, clearly shining through a black night. Rain wakes me from my sun-induced sleep. It washes the aggravating sunlight out of my head. It makes me light, a feather, a fluffy white cloud. I am carried away in the rhythm of the rain, the soft drumbeat, the steady tapping, the hushed song.

Si

lh Jes ou s et ica te Sh de um Fle at ur e s

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Untitled

Kathryn Szulc turbulent waves shatter on the steady earth chuckling as they swell and recede dismantling their eternal companion the jagged shore, with harsh finesse twisted bolts of silvery light skitter along an intangible haze illuminating the heavens in a flash only to arrive again with the rain milky foam once lovingly caressed swells but even its love could not withstand the suffocating clutches of waste and debris created by the polished palms of humanity lightning once resided among the stars but the glimmering rays faded into black dulled by the electric glare of cities prowess of mankind blurring the azure

mahogany and emerald towers of life topple onto the parched soil both mourning over the deceit of the very beings they nourish she lay wounded and weeping for her children to cherish her anew her gnarled limbs and fissured skin souvenirs of the torment she bore at last, their eyes were unveiled observing this barren wasteland razed by the haste for false triumphs remorse reforming a bleak future her anguish came as swirling storms her tears trickled onto the bleak earth washing away the sins of humanity redemption came along with the rain

With the Rain Titash Biswas

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Amber Mateer Freedom

Molly Spurgeon

Octopus Sundress

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Untitled Saya Linney Very long ago, in a land called Ecia, people had the most extraordinary eyes. They had eyes of the deepest blue, the most vibrant purple, the most mesmerizing red, and so forth. With these remarkable eyes came remarkable powers such as telekinesis, invisibility, control of the weather, near invulnerability, and many others. However, a price came with these powers; the people of Ecia could not see colors. A cruel irony, is it not? But because the Ecians were unaware of their disability, they happily went along living their extraordinary lives until one momentous day. The sun rose on Ecia just like any typical day. The Ecians woke up and went about their daily activities, unknowing of the stranger about to cross their borders and change their lives forever. At noon, the stranger reached the busy town square. No one paid much attention to her until she shouted, “People of Ecia! Come closer and look into my eyes. They look different from yours, do they not?” The Ecians, being a naturally trusting people, obliged and came closer. Sure enough, her eyes were slightly different from any shade of gray, white, or black they had seen in someone’s eyes. “Why, it’s like the color of dirt our flowers and trees grow in!” exclaimed one man. “How can this be?” asked a woman. The stranger smiled mysteriously and said, “The real question is, what is my power?” The now-growing crowd came closer, eager to know the answer. The stranger leaned in and told them, “I can see.” The Ecians looked at her, confused. Their brows furrowed as they wondered, how could being able to see be a power? Everyone can see. One with such rare eyes must also possess a rare power, but seeing is not rare. It is ordinary. “Now now, before you start thinking I’m a lunatic, allow me to finish. Everyone can see, but I can see more; I can see every color there is. Let me show you what I mean. Is anyone here a power manipulator?” One man in the crowd raised his hand. “Excellent. Can you come up here please?” He made his way through the crowd to the stranger. When he got to her, she said, “For a couple of minutes, take my power and distribute it throughout the crowd.” The man closed his eyes, concentrated, and then did as she asked. Immediately, the crowd saw what they had been lacking from their world. They looked around wildly, trying to take in everything at once. Within a millisecond, their world had grown exponentially. Without a doubt, every Ecians knew they never wanted to live without color again.

...

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The stranger smiled at their wonder and bewilderment and began teaching them the names of every color. Once she had done so, she told the power manipulator, who was drained from sharing the stranger’s power with such a large group for so long, that he could stop broadcasting. Everyone’s vision returned to monochrome and straightaway, cries of protest rose up among the crowd. “Now that you fully understand what I mean by seeing, I’m going to offer you a choice; you can either keep the power you have now or you can see like I see for the rest of your life. To do so, you must drink this extract.” The stranger pulled out a bottle from the large bag she had brought into town with her. “Your eyes will become brown and you will be able to see. However, do not forget that to gain the power of sight, you must lose the power you have now. Are you willing to make this trade? If so, come and drink the extract.” Word had spread quickly throughout Ecia and by this time, every Ecian had heard of the stranger’s promises and had gathered in the square. They unanimously agreed to give up their powers for colors and drank the extract. Because of a genetic quirk, the Ecians with green and blue eyes retained their eye color but still gained the ability to see and lost their powers. As the Ecians rejoiced in their new eyesight, the stranger quietly began walking out of Ecia as the sun set with a smile on her face. She was off to wander among distant lands and meet foreign people again. Only one noticed her departure. Ania, the town scribe, caught up to her as she was about to cross the border. “Stranger, you have brought us such an amazing gift yet you ask nothing of us in return. Why so?” she asked. “You have given me happiness as payment for my gift. The wonder and delight on your faces is the greatest thing I could ask for,” answered the stranger. Ania smiled at the stranger’s words. “What is your name?” she asked. “I am Ecia’s scribe; I must know your name so I can write it down and it will be passed down for generations.” The stranger smiled and looked at Ania. She said, “My name is Iris,” then stepped over the border and continued on her way.

French Fries Tristan Ganzon

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Claire Wallace

White as Snow, Red as Blood, Black as Ebony

About a Girl she was all too much a rogue wave in the midst of water in its true serenity booming sounds from all over frightened the meek around her practicing their parts who was anyone to stand in her way? the bud blossomed in the cracks of the sidewalk

Raya DerBedrossian

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Untitled Untitled Apathetic Blase Placid Indifferent Detached Removed Emotionless Unmotivated Not much of a poem, But I don’t really care.

McKenna Middleton

Kathryn Szulc

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The Boy Who Never Left Kevin Faeustle He was born with a heart disease, But still he lived with ease. When his heart decided to cease, He dropped and fell to his knees. When I found out he died, I cried and cried and cried. I held my mom real tight With all of my ten year old might. As my mom hugged me back, Her arms felt as big as Shaq They were kind and warm and welcomed me, An unstable emotional little flea Still the sadness didn’t seem to go away, My pool of tears was Hudson Bay, But much better it got As I thought and thought and thought Though I’ll never forget his face, He’s in a better place This filled me with joy And I became a happier boy. This fact made me much stronger And my list of experiences much longer My mental toughness turned from a wilting flower petal Into a large, hardened sheet of metal Sometimes my head starts to unwind But I stitch it back together and keep myself aligned And sometimes when I look up in the night I know he’s up there shining bright He’s up there looking down at me Strengthening me, laughing with me, and learning with me In times of stress he cheers me on And in my heart, he’ll never be gone

Wolf

Claire Wallace

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Beneath the Eyes Milan Sanchez-Welsh

Contest Winner

d le tit Un

Mo

lly

Sp ur

ge on

In the whispers of the night, I awoke to a buzzing in the darkness. And then a hum that sounded like a thousand moths underneath the midnight air, beating heavy at the bedroom door. The air was hot in the smoldering darkness, so I oozed out from the sheets and reached for the door that was lit with an orange glow around the edges. Opening it, a swarm of locusts burst in and flew through me like rain. As the breath of air died down, I began to wander down the languid halls of my insanity. The forest colored walls began to speak in a lost language that echoed through the notes being played by a violin somewhere far down the hall. I looked down to find rivers of blood that were slithering beneath me like serpents. I could see my reflection trapped in its pools of liquid horror, and it is in this moment, I realized, that there is no going back. Turning a corner, I stood dead center in a ballroom of chairs, filled with sitting mannequins all holding out their hands to me. They all offered cherries that I unwillingly took. The lights around me began to fade. All brightness in the room was diluted by shadow. The depth of the vanilla colored walls was swallowed by warm shades of red. The frantic coyote eyes that were watching me shaking in despair glimmered all around in the falling darkness. The ground beneath me began to spin, and so did the watchful eyes that became spinning comets all around me in the blackness of the empty universe. The black hole that was consuming me vanquished all consciousness until my memories drowned in the descending room forever. In the darkness they sang, “He is here among us. A nameless fear that has no face, for he has the face of all who see. He is the fear in us all.” I cried to them, impaled by darkness, “If evil did not exist, there would be no good.” All shadow from the earth lifted and played like mad children, drunken with insanity. And then, as if speared through the heart, I awoke again in sheets damp with sweat. I was wrapped in their endless caverns of silk that knotted my grieving body. As the morning glistened through the window, shy with sunlit tears, I began to slip quietly out of a dream I did not forget.

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My Walden

Vanessa Young

For quite some time now, I have practiced meditation on my balcony, just outside my room. This stoop overlooks the much of the greenery on edge of our property, enabling me to explain the qualities that make it my “Walden”. I visited my haven on November 25, 2013 at just past noon. The sun occupies the right upper corner of my view, bestowing its life-giving light on all vegetation in sight. The trees’ branches reach up towards the sun and she reaches right back down. This relationship is founded not in the giving and getting we men are too familiar with, but rather in the solidarity and simplicity inherent in the laws of nature. In this spirit of authenticity, I have chosen to follow suit by neglecting to clean my balcony. For dust and cobwebs are just as much nature as are trees and sunlight. Spider webs humbly adorn the sparse rails of my balcony. The most elaborate of these cobwebs incites my curiosity as to how the intuition of spiders, deemed insignificant, could direct the creation of such a phenomenon. Beyond the minute miracle of conceiving the webs, the sun imparts her gift of brilliance on all the silver threads. In all her greatness and power over life, the sun does not distinguish between spider web and sycamore. And if you throw your head back to greet the sun, as too many of us forget to do, you will rediscover the splendidness of the cerulean skies, seemingly painted by none other than Van Gogh himself. All this, I have the opportunity to observe from my balcony, just four feet off of the ground, in my daily meditation. Here is my sanctuary, my temple. When you sit on the bare ground, with your natural self, you realize that each entity – each plant and animal – is independent and able to reach its fullest potential by being so, yet all entities intuitively recognize an connection to one another, to something greater than themselves. Nature knows not of differences or of discrimination. Nature knows of harmony and of coexistence. Nature is true and tells us of our own true nature; only there, in my little piece of nature, do I feel my unconditioned thoughts flow freely as though they were a stream of pure water. The purity of which possesses the perpetual ability to liberate oneself.

Life Beyond the Stars

Tatiana Ivanoff

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The Rain and the Sky Madeline Heeg

Footprints

Bella Magdalenot

Gaze up at the sky Let the cold rain sculpt your face Feel the freezing earth

Contest Winner

Untitled Loud as what a dead man hears Yet it shouts out loud and clear. As tangible as the air around us But the feeling is tremendous Formidable to regulations It does not move mountains, It moves nations. Not deterred by words or law It overpowers human flaw. Love is blind, but it can see It does not confine,no, It sets free

Anonymous

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Walk Molly Spurgeon

Roots in Once but Not the Other One house and one home. I am split between the two. Home. A place where a piece of me floats around while I can’t physically be there. Home is made up of grey walls and dark cold floors. And I love all of it. The clippings on the walls smile down at me and remind me of the memories where I too smiled. The random drawings clippings and leaves attached to the walls with tape look like trash. But they are far from it. They are treasure and are a part of me and make me feel like I am anchored somewhere. I am anchored by the tape. The candles burn bright and the books appear thicker. Luring me into its warm arms and never letting me go. It is an escape. Escape from the real world. Escape from everything bad. Too far away for silly problems to reach me. The dense, clustered trees surrounding shield me from evil. Safety. Safety in the looming darkness. It is the blanket that I hide under during a storm. It is home. The house. With warm lighting that is anything but. Sadness. Fear. Constant paranoia. Paranoid of memories that might repeat. Paranoid of waking up in the middle of the night to see people crying and screaming. Screaming or silence. I don’t know which is worse. The bedrooms are feet apart but they might as well be miles. Sometimes I feel the walls laughing. Laughing at me. Telling me I’m a fool. Telling me I don’t belong. I told them to tell me something new. The doors taunt me, telling me they can lock me in if they wanted to. Sometimes I’m afraid they might. In that house, I feel like a plant that has been replanted too many times to be able to let its roots grow. I wish I could have those roots there. But I don’t.

Anonymous

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Serenity Same Differences Michael Chu Different people, different lives a simple life is all that they desire ignorance acts as their illusory fuel and like a fire in a candle they flourish with a guide flower buds were meant to bloom but they resist changes like a butterfly that only walks following a worn path they value the blueness of the sky overlooking the beautiful complexion of the clouds... they start the same and end the same different people, same lives

Aryn Alanizi The Sand on the Moon Her skin is like the sand on the moon, floating between his fingers as he tried to grasp the edges of her soul. Her eyes, the only source of light in the grand darkness of space and time, linger like precious jewels in the stream of his subconscious. Her hair, brushing against his face like fire, consumed him as he descended into her heart like tar. She’s like a whip thrashing through the night like lightning to his heart, and how he loved to feel her sting. He wanted so much the passion that crippled his paper heart, and how he loved to feel it turn into starlight in the blackness of the empty universe.

Milan Sanchez-Welsh

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Mr. Bentonway

Tristan Ganzon

DeadBeat Abbey Mosman when i die Charon will welcome me row me across the Styx and give me a violin i will be welcomed to Hades and told to stand at his heavenly gates right at the door and to play my sweet violin even though my heart won’t be beating i’ll still have rhythm i am the daughter of a Muse and you can be sure that i’ll still have rhythm

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The Endless Blue The old man was haunted. Not by spirits, and definitely not by the ghost of Fred’s third wife (who many in the retirement home believed had taken up residence in the garden shed). But the man was harassed by something intangible all the same. He didn’t want to name it, because naming something gives it power over you, but the others perhaps would characterize it as regret. It crept into his mind at night and corrupted his dreams, shifting them into nightmares; it snuck into his heart when visitors ooh-ed and ahh-ed over his law degrees, his pictures with famous politicians; it poisoned his thoughts when he wanted nothing more than to be alone, physically and mentally. There was a time, however, when it was welcome – when it was pure, before it became dark and twisted. It had a different name back then. The first time he felt it, he was by the sea. He went out with his father and his uncles on their yacht, and with the winds at his back and the sea spray on his face, he felt an overwhelming sense of adventure that was the start of his determination to explore. The seemingly endlessness of the ocean didn’t scare him or make him feel isolated. It made him feel more determined to search and discover, because the sea was limitless, and so was opportunity. The infinite sapphire waves had taken hold of his imagination and magnified it. The adults had a different idea, though. When he asked about being an explorer, he was given a round of laughter from his uncles. “Look, kid, the age of exploration is over. There’s no being the next Columbus or Magellan; everything out there has already been discovered. There’s just nothing left for you.” His father, though attempting to be comforting, was no better. “Hey, it’s not that bad. If you want to go sailing, it’s a great hobby. But it’s not a viable career path, kiddo. You’ll want to do something else – something even better. You can be a lawyer, come work at my law firm with your uncles. Doesn’t that sound nice?” All the little boy could do was nod his head and try to convince himself that was true. He felt it again in college, 1957. It was the start of his first year of law school, and though he had put away his imaginative mind, as he was instructed to do as a child, it came back to him. He climbed up the side of his old dorm building and gazed up at the stars on the roof, marveling at the beauty of the universe. Soon, though, he saw what he had been waiting for – a small pearl making its way between the diamonds atop midnight velvet. The first man-made satellite was enough to raise goose bumps on his arms and send his blood coursing through his body – the endless blue of the sky was another frontier of exploration. That selfsame sense of adventure washed over him, and he felt an intense desire to be a part of that which explored space. Once again, his dreams were prematurely disposed of.

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His roommate found him “You were up all night staring at the stars?” the roommate inquired, incredulous. “At Sputnik. I wasn’t just watching the stars – I was witnessing the start of a new age of exploration.” His eyes were directly concentrated on the azure expanse of the sky. “We have class in an hour. You’re at law school, for Christ’s sake. You’ve worked hard all these years, you have just a couple more, and you’re willing to give that up to become some sort of space man?” his roommate asked with a laugh. The young man declined to answer, and, once again, internalized his aspirations and replaced his dreams of space with those of business suits and briefcases. So the man did as he was told – went to law school, completed his degree. Became a corporate lawyer, rubbed elbows with the elite in Washington. The midnight and cerulean tones of blue slowly faded into shades of graphite and slate and pinstripes. Slowly, that desire crept back in, but it was shoved down, deeper and deeper, until it gave up. It had been over half a century since he saw that satellite, enough time for city lights to crowd out the stars and for his eyesight to wither away. Enough time for his aspirations to become twisted and dark, to become a pit of writhing sorrow and self-loathing. Enough time for the large salary and accolades from his job to fade from his mind, and for regret to come back a haunting. Everything in the retirement home that he now inhabited was various shades of white and gray, a bland array of sanitized surfaces and drab people. The only colors were from outside – some green grass, Susan’s azaleas. Occasionally a jogger would run by in neon colored workout clothes. But there was always the sky. One evening, grunting with the effort, the old man slowly wheeled himself out onto his tiny balcony. Craning and contorting his neck as to see, he saw the brilliant lapis sky. And so, once again, he was haunted by the endless blue. “The sky’s the limit,” the old man said to himself, chuckling. But the lighthearted regret swiftly gave way to an overwhelming sorrow, and the corners of his mouth quickly dragged down his face. An interruption briefly pulled him out of his misery of sorts. “Sir, a Ms. Marquart-Prescott here. She said something about settling Mr. Prescott’s estate? Your college roommate?” So the old man left the balcony to go back inside, facing the steely daughter of his friend with her legal jargon that his brain had ceased to comprehend years ago. As the he sat there listening to his roommate’s young daughter, a lawyer just like he was at her age, the old man became keenly aware of just how odd his friends and family had come to regard him. “...he left the largest bulk of his fortune to the Yale Law School, but there is a sizable portion that before his passing he directly informed me was to go to you – he made some crack about buying you space suit, I can’t recall his exact words...” And all he wished for, in that moment, was the endless blue and its perpetual siren song.

Carolyn Gruss

22

Piece By Piece


Sung-Hyun Shin

Supreme x Andy Warhol

Loud as what a dead man hears Yet it shouts out loud and clear. As tangible as the air around us But the feeling is tremendous Formidable to regulations It does not move mountains, It moves nations. Not deterred by words or law It overpowers human flaw. Love is blind, but it can see It does not confine,no, It sets free

Untitled Anonymous

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Piece By Piece


Adventure is out there

Adventure, Adventure! Freedom from this daily indenture.

To follow the unexpected path traced before my feet.

Lofty mountains, swirling spires, The canyons ring in echoing choirs.

I yearn to grasp the stories of a new world, Where destinies and hopes are yet to be swirled.

From the deep, blue oceans to the surfaces of the I want to experience a land beyond the stars… Where I can escape my broken soul and jagged seas, scars. This realm alone can fell me to my knees. I look to be healed by the fire in my heart, I stop to touch the soft, silky hands, And look at the galaxies that lie within my hands. And follow the moving lines in songs of Mozart. The rush of the wind, the birds in the skies… The starlight twinkling begins in my eyes

Oh, how I wish to break the bands of this Earth! Where I am held back, restricted by birth.

And follows the rapids as they rush down the river. I feel it in my heart; this is the world’s greatest giver.

My soul takes flight, and I am bound. For ahead of me waits a new future unwound.

As I look beyond and see lands untold, The passion in my soul begins to unfold. And I breathe the unknown with each passing beat,

Because what I feel in my heart is not in my head, And my dreams take me away while I lie down in bed. The angels sing, and implore I be free. Because adventure is in you. And adventure is in me.

Lauren Harvey

24

Piece By Piece


Time

Mediocre Five syllables there Now seven syllables here Are you happy now?

Jacob Matthews

Quick! Throw out the clocks Before I become A Miss Havisham And you turn into That old white rabbit.

McKenna Middleton

Ms. Elissa Tan

Tristan Ganzon

25

Piece By Piece


Emma Jane

I’ve always looked up to her. Or, down to her, I guess. At just 4’11’’ tall, Emma sure has a lot to love. I often think about how lucky I am to have such a great sister. I definitely think my life would be different if it weren’t for her. “From day one,” my parents say. “You guys have loved each other since day one.” It’s no doubt we have a special connection. How could we not? Our personalities go together like peanut butter and jelly. Every time I’m with her I have a smile on my face. She lifts me up. She’s inspired me to be the best that I can be, because she is the best that she can be. I know can always count on her to be there for me, and I hope she knows I’ll always be there for her.

...

The Walk

Amber Mateer

I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone as simply wonderful as Emma. She smells like comfort, and looks like home. Her blonde hair falls stick straight in her shoulder-length layered cut, and her huge blue eyes shine brighter than a full moon. You can pretty much always find her in a sweatshirt, jeans, and a tiny pair of Vans. My mom says she’s a creature of habit, but I don’t mind because I have a habit of admiring everything she does. 7.125 billion people on Earth, but only one Emma Jane. My Emma Jane.

Mary Salmon

26

Piece By Piece


Liezel Dignos

Goddess

27

Piece By Piece


The Man Ian Comner We open as the man sits with his family the ones he loves the most he speaks making memories always honest, never lying they speak of happiness they speak of sadness they speak of love all of this done with great respect for one another the man sits pondering where are my children going in life? he speaks of morals he speaks of respect he speaks of vanity

Horse

Why? his children ask Well, It’s all part of the big conundrum we call life he speaks of friendship he speaks of relatives Is it bad to make mistakes in life? his children ask the man responds with great love no, children Don’t be afraid to make mistakes as long as you know what you did wrong Then their conversation is interrupted by a loud noise the bomb the family the man vaporized never to live again Lives personalities potential leaders potential reformers all gone the bomb Why? no answer

Tristan Ganzon

28

Piece By Piece


Desert Flower Milan Sanchez-Welsh

Tristan Ganzon

A thunderous storm drew its heart out of the beating chest of sky in fits of lightning. It called to the rider that came flashing down the mountain like a tear of fire in the rain. The muffling wind violently shook the edges of his leather cut that flashed a glimmering light against the serrated bolts of lightning overhead. Under him, the motorcycle roared through the long streak of night like a silver bullet shining under the shadow of the moon. Up ahead a desert flower sprouted, whipping the rain out of sight. Yet still, the sunken dreams above rolled around like malicious centipedes. By the time he had reached the border of her sadness under the pearl sky, she breathed fire out into the open air inflaming the rider’s cold soul. The two collided and embraced in a symphony of hurricanes, as the blithe wind broke through their sun scorched skin, alive with a fire burning within them.

I have an idea

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Piece By Piece


Odile Claire Wallace

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Piece By Piece


Night I get all my best ideas at night

I get all my best ideas at night. When the Universe sucuumbs to disorder and my mind can be ungoverned. When everything the day has built becomes undone.

When the sea calls to the wary wanderer and draws him to her black, lustrous depths of enigma.

When you can sit on the edge of this unmade bed and let my fingers dance across the fastenings of your shirt. And we can shed the skins of our civilized selves, as we sink beneath the covers and let our scars kiss.

When the waves of the wheat fields sway like an orchestra of violin bows held by people who have ceased to be.

When the anarchy of my mind cannot be contained as it touches you like a fever and spreads throughout your body.

They teach you in school that the Universe has a tendency towards chaos. And I’m starting to think it’s true. Because when the lights are out and the covers are pulled just below your chest on those warm summer nights when the sun is dimmed but never out, I am chaos. Oh god, if you could only put your ear next to mine and hear my thoughts; Darling, my mind is an anarchy of you. You are the sea that lures me to your depths. My hands are compelled by the whispers in the dark, and your eyes, I swear, those auburn eyes will be the ruin of me

...

When the flames in the hearth whisper your name like a mantra as they transform logs into cinders

When the chaos overcomes you and the blood in your veins turns into a wine of the soul that I can taste when you interrupt my nighttime prattle. And I know I am doomed from the way you look at me with those auburn eyes as if you know you can cause my destruction with the way you decorate my skin with goosebumps. When we give in to the mayhem and set fire the whiteness of our souls- our blank canvasses turn into a profusion of colors. Because amidst all the passion, the chaos… amidst our sheets now lying in disarray, there is Beauty. I get all my best ideas at night

Amy Sara Lim

31

Piece By Piece


Bella Magdaleno

Fruit loop Same Differences Michael Chu Different people, different lives a simple life is all that they desire ignorance acts as their illusory fuel and like a fire in a candle they flourish with a guide flower buds were meant to bloom but they resist changes like a butterfly that only walks

following a worn path they value the blueness of the sky overlooking the beautiful complexion of the clouds... they start the same and end the same different people, same lives

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Piece By Piece


How to Self-Pierce

Molly Spurgeon

Hanna. H-A-N-N-A. Five letters, two syllables. There’s nothing special about it, but I like it. It’s simple, and everybody can pronounce it. It’s not a name with z’s and x’s and silent letters that are screaming at you to pronounce them when you know you’re not supposed to. It does NOT have an ‘H’ at the end either. You can’t spell my name backwards the same way, otherwise it’s not unique. It’s simple, and I like it that way. My name doesn't come from a snake-like list of past generations or a hand-me-down shirt. My sister named me when I was born. She was dancing like her shoelaces were knotted together and shouting as if there was a rock in her pocket. Hanna! Hanna! Ha-Na. Hanna Hanna Hanna. Little did she know what she was doing. To her it was just another word learned; to me it is my identity. It’s funny how unexpected events happen. Like when a dolphin pops out of the sea, or when you accidentally squish a bug, or maybe when you find a penny on the ground and decide whether to pick it up or leave the coin for someone else. It could be good or bad. My name? It means hope and beauty in one language; it means prosperity in another... But in my language, Hanna simply means: Me.

It’s Unique Hanna Alanizi

33

Piece By Piece


AUXIN Anonymous I am deep, not at all shallow Shine a light and you'll see my shadow I lead, I do not follow Knock on my head, for it is hollow I am filled with thoughts, as I'm not a scarecrow Hold me down so I don't go I will stay and be a hero I look not to yesterday, but to tomorrow For I have happiness, not sorrow My ideas will flourish and...

F L O W My shouts will ring with an echo I will continue until I hear a bravo By writing this poem, we will grow Into the persons we have yet to know

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Piece By Piece


Untitled Anonymous

The tree hung over the lake with a crooked moaning-breath, Bark still quivering in flames that hovered over the dark blue in its great depth, Watch her burn, the embers dying a sweet death. Watch now as I walk across the pine, Fire eating away my steps, no mercy, Sweet specter of death knows this is divine. I know not if my path reaches across the lake to safer shores, But I walk with fire still, Listen to the vultures crying like man-eating boars, Remember me in ink if you will. Still I know not where I walk, But the woodened path has run out as I descend into the icy blue, I can barely continue this meaningless talk, My love where are you? I drift now into the abyss, My burns cooling with a hiss, But my suffering has just begun, For my mask of fire still breathes underwater far under the sun. Alone I am in this darkness, This fear and anger I can no longer harness, Save me my love, Covet my soul in your hands like sacred dove.

Kathryn Szulc Untitled

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Piece By Piece


Untitled Jennifer Gorman

An awful tragedy, our efforts were in vain. The depths of grief are a new terrain. Towards her we feel nothing but disdain. We are quick to judge her actions; Eager for the truth we must refrain. Her motives are difficult to ascertain. The truth is sacred and profane.

The Woman Tristan Ganzon

36

Piece By Piece


Dear Anna Dear Anna

It’s been roughly two years since the beginning of our friendship

Untitled

I know that soon you will be gone and I will remain in the small world that I have begun to call my home

Dear Anna You’re on your way to fill distant rooms with the comforting tones of your carefree laughter and warm another heart with the light in your eyes

Dear Anna I wonder if you’ll miss the adventures we had lit solely by the moon and the stars in the quiet night when the sun was fast asleep

Dear Anna I only hope our pictures gather nostalgia, not dust and crinkle at the corners because you remember far too often

Kathryn Szulc

And Anna Thank you for the time that would have otherwise evaporated lazily into the warm summer air without a second thought of friendship

Jemma Kwak

37

Piece By Piece


Three days. There were three days left in this beautiful place. The sea mist blowing through the air, the sunset kissing the end of the ocean, and him. I've been in Australia for the whole summer and he's been nothing, nothing but a cold shoulder. I never understood why. Not once did he speak more than a few words to me. But there was something about him. An aura that connected. I walked up and down the pier and the shore that day, pondering... A great load of disappointment fell upon my heart now. Nothing but "what if's and could've been's" filled my brain. But, I knew I couldn't let it phase me. There was nothing more regretful than leaving the summer with no memories. I knew these last few days I had to enjoy. Meaning blocking off any thoughts about him. I was missing a beautiful moment in life. I needed to be brought back to reality. All my friends knew how to surf. Literally everyone, except me. I didn't mind though. The sun was setting as everyone set out for the ocean. The view was great, and I felt nothing but good vibes. I closed my eyes and just absorbed my surroundings. I took a deep breathe and as I let it out, someone sat beside me. "You're not going out?" It was him. In his wet suit, all ready to go. "Into the water I mean." I was flabbergasted. I didn't know what to say. "You live in California, don't you know how to surf?" I spit out words without thinking. "No, I don't like going to the beach in California. It reminds me of this place, home, you." Crap. Why did I say that?! I'm such an idiot. There was a long silence that seemed like a lifetime... Then, the unexpected happened. Just like that he intertwined his hands into mine. I looked up and all I saw was a smile. He was staring at our hands and was just smiling. The type of smile that a person lets out only once or twice in a lifetime. Then he spoke, "I miss you." I couldn't believe it. After all this time. The words pierced my heart with the type of pain that you know will eventually make you a stronger person. I just rested my head on his shoulder and we watched the sun set together, hand in hand. I whispered, "I miss you." We didn't talk. We didn't need to. He kissed my head and hummed to our favorite song when we were kids. I was brought back in time. It was dark now. All our friends had already left. I made the first move. "We should go, it's late." "Huh? Oh yeah, I didn't even notice," he said. I stood up and reached my arm down. "I'm sorry. You got all dressed up for surfing and you didn't even get to go..." "It's alright. Today was definitely better than surfing" he said. He looked at me and his eyes just sparkled in the moonlight. I remember being able to stare at those eyes for hours. Slowly, but then all at once, he closed them and leaned in. We kissed. I felt like the whole world just stopped for this very moment. Then I opened my eyes. It was all a dream. I felt the morning sun on my face. I slowly opened my swollen eyes. My phone was in my hand and I read the text again. "I'm sorry. We can't be together."

Daze

Micah Macasaet

38

Piece By Piece


United in Reverence and Virtue Titash Biswas

Untitled Abbey Mosman when i fell from the sky

Firearms nestled in the crooks of arms

i had intended to fall tragically

Desolation charcoals their skin

and gracefully and beautifully

Eternities razed by munitions and malice

and when i landed i would be at peace

Shadows shroud the radiance within Brotherhoods of parallel beliefs roam unethical alleys

but when i fell i broke in the dirt i shattered completely

A trail of malevolence becomes favored

and the world looked on before me

Essence of peace enamors a bold mind

i got up i looked in the mirror Mere whispers forge an upsurge of defiance and washed my hands, the most sacred ritual Valiant souls kindle an uncharted path

brushed the dust from my sleeves

Moments elapse and gateways are unfastened To the future and other unknowns

i walked away, refusing to fail i faced a foreign smelling world

Impenetrable gloom fractures

that remembered the past

Reveries seep into their vitality

and only the past

Peace manifesting in the guise of hope For a dawn in the absence of strife Amity encompasses former foes

and when i was torn i chose the path covered with mist and covered with smoke and i knew that if i was defeated

Serenity cascades with the wind the world would have a story for their grandchildren An intangible accolade The entirety forever yearning

they would remember my name and the weight that i carried

39

Piece By Piece


Finch

Molly Spurgeon

Contest Winner

40

Piece By Piece


Alcoholics Anonymous Lea Hassakorzian You radiated positivity You would always tell me to look on the brightside Look at the glass half full and not half empty you said But regardless of your positive attitude life is life and things fall apart As i look down at my fingers intertwined to a glass half full of liquor i am reminded of you Maybe if i drink enough i wont be able to feel the words i want to say to you clenched in my throat Every shot of regret will serve as morphine slowly numbing every inch and centimeter in my body The poison will continue paralyze all of my organs to the point where i wont even remember your name I wont be able to feel my heart banging its head against the walls of my chest every time someone asks me how you've been My body will become afloat and out of tune to everything that relates to you Because ignoring my problems is what i do best Rather allow someone to pronounce my name wrong than to correct them Rather pretend that we will stay this alive forever than acknowledge that oblivion is inevitable Rather push someone away than let them in i let you in...but all you did was leave coldness in between my bones An unfamiliarity inside my own skin The taste of you between my lips A loss of appetite A loss energy I’ve lost myself So i will become the booze, i will become the river i will become the sea Until i am brave enough to come back ashore

41

Piece By Piece


The salt water crashed and fought violently. What did it want? I stood at the edge, Barely letting the sea touch me. Forwards, backwards, again and again, There was no end. A continuous pattern No breaks, no calmness, no peace.

... Claire Wallace

Odette

View of the World

There it was, The only thing standing between me and the rest of the world. Its waves endlessly reaching to take hold of something. Then suddenly, after no success, Succeeding back into nothingness

What if it didn’t have to be? What more did the water have to offer? The never ending blue wanted one thing. That no one could give. The inexhaustible mystery, Aquatic animals living simultaneously. Eels, jellyfish, stingrays, dolphins, everything, All just part of the mystery of the world.

Jessica Edwards

I looked up at the roar of another wave coming The elegance as it met the sand captured my attention. The fine rocks seemed to tell the truth. You have come so far, But this is the end.

42

Piece By Piece


City of Hope As they insert the IV, She closes her eyes and dreams of a city Where she can be a normal girl Happy and free, Playing all day without a worry. Somewhere that she can be scar-free With hair as long as can be. A place where her hardest struggle, Would be picking a favorite flavor of candy. A place where her heart can float like a butterfly And her imagination can blossom like a flower Making her feel like she has superpowers. Somewhere that she can jump without feeling faint, A place where she won’t get affected from the smell of paint. A place where she can ride a horse And own a puppy, Without worrying about an allergy. She dreams of this city. A city that brings hope and healing. A place where cancer does not exist. A special place for the struggling princesses And the battling princes, To explore a life outside of a hospital bed. She dreams of this city, And will keep dreaming until it becomes a reality.

Untitled

Ju Young Choi Raquel Ghougasian

43

Piece By Piece


Drip Drop Drip drop. The first of the raindrops fall from the sky. And within moments the shower of diamonds had begun. The light tapping of the rain starts to moisten the ground. Drip drop. The pleasant drizzle progresses into a steady stream of glittering crystals. The thick sheets of water give me a sense of cleansing and purification, The moist, chilly air gives me a sense of satisfaction from the long hot days of California. Drip drop. As sudden as the storm came, it faded away like a good dream. Drip drop. As the last of the rain fell onto the ground and the first rays of sunshine pierced the clouds, I breathed in the last of the cool air and looked forward to the next of the drips and drops.

Joel Chang

The Universe, My Universe I wonder if you look at the sun the way I do, how it shines for the world to make everyone happy. I wonder if you look at the moon the way I do, how it brightens even the darkest of nights to give everyone hope. I wonder if you look at the stars the way I do, how they spell out your name and scream how much I miss you. I wonder if you look at "us" the way I used to, how sad it is that I couldn't find the words to say, "I love you

Angel Ramos

44

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Paris

Jacob Matthews

45

Piece By Piece


There is a monster Yes A monster You can feel it Its eyes are on you Ready to tear you apart You have always felt it When you were little Too afraid to go to school It licked its chops And nipped at your shaking hands As you sobbed Forced to go You tried to hide But it snapped its jaws on your legs And dragged you out For everyone to see Defiled Disgraced It’s nothing You swat at it dismissively It doesn’t mean anything You ignore the hot red eyes Unblinking, always there It grows bored It springs And you fall without a noise It shakes your throat And rasps in your ear Such a miserable coward Pathetic stupid inconvenience They all hate you As they watch you And turn away

...

Hot Red Eyes The monster loves its game Calculating You talk It waits Then charges Knocking you into the dust You look into their eyes And you let the beast dig into you By now you understand Don’t talk Don’t look up Leave them be No connections No trust Because if you even dare The monster backs away And circles you Foaming at the mouth Clicking its deadly fangs If you try It’ll drag you down What’s the point if you can’t change it It’s routine Turning away Consoling yourself as the tears fall As you hide Because The Monster Will Swallow You Whole

And you let it

Suzzanne Whifler

46

Piece By Piece


Reflection What a pretty little thing, The one who greets me, Her eyes gleam like chocolate in accordance to the light, She strokes her ivory hair behind the lobe of her ear, Then she turns in inspection. I exist in many forms, I see her in many ways, I can have four corners, I can have no shape, I can be solid, or liquid with ripples. I am a one thing, but can turn into anything, I am her ally, her faithful friend, No thoughts, no judgment, My sole purpose is to humbly reflect truth, To show her the world in another perspective, Our relationship spans merely seconds, Then minutes, then hours. I am her enemy, the gruesome creature to her nightmare, She yells at me and throws her fists in air, Her eyes produce a stream of droplets down her cheek to chin, My truth is her lie, And society adheres to this lie, When she looks at me, She only sees her twin, Someone who she thinks is ugly, but I don’t tell lies, And she confides in me her insecurities, As if I existed as a person with brain and heart. It is a shame, She is blinded by the deception of her peers, She cannot she my unbiased truth, Such a shame, What a pretty little thing.

endless possibilities Morgan Beck

Asma H. Karim

47

Piece By Piece


The Bully Jennifer Gorman Your quiet demeanor makes you an easy target‌ She is persistent in trying to make you break. Her venomous words are hard to take. She hisses and slivers like a cold-blooded snake. Trusting that others would help was a huge mistake. The bystanders are not willing to pull the break. Adults stand by and do nothing; So in the taunting and teasing others soon partake. She wields her evil power leaving destruction in her wake. The school staff look away blindly, the bully they will not forsake. The bully’s words linger beyond the school walls They, with every unkind word, a piece of her soul take.

Ode To Darkness O, the fragile heart, How easy it breaks Under the will of man. Once broken it falls Into the deepest abyss. Light is a mere sliver. It becomes a faded construct, Its existence fades Darkness is all that remains The deepest confines of the heart Is where the monsters live Where the demons reside And where hate will arise. It is as deep as Tartarus, As wide as the Asphodel Meadows And as dark as the void known as the black hole itself Void of all emotions and feelings, aimless in purpose That is all there is left in the nothingness Nothing ...

Justin Kang

48

Piece By Piece


Reunion Anonymous Moonlight tends to gleam over in Every path you walk in. Rendering my thoughts my heart Ventures across the blank page. You look at me, blinking slowly-Never needing to say a single word. It's almost funny how loudly the past speaks. Laments of could-have and should-haves Oust my heart as you continue to stare. Vows and promises lay on the table. Euphoric memories start to collect dust. Drowning in regret of the mess we made. However, I begin, doubting my voice I can't keep chasing after dreams that leave More often than they stay.

Suzanne Whifler

Untitled

49

Piece By Piece


Waves of Time Milan Sanchez-Welsh Behind him was the fire, embers flying about like vicious fireflies bathed in screams of terror, echoing endlessly in the wild wind lapped up again and again against the current of time. Now here he was, a once polished stone, thrown back into the world only to relive its rawness. His soul has ultimately been broken in two, naked to the truths of life’s peril. He has known the waves that carried him through time, and only now has he anchored himself in the depths of the abyss, savoring that one precious moment with no beginning or end, forgotten by time. An insect of the scrupulous earth trapped in its beautiful simple amber forever.

Second Degree Burns Madeline Heeg Strikes hard and fast, quick as lighting You try to pull away from the pain. Raw and red, throbbing to the sound of your heart Seeming as if the pain will never stop. You touch and remember as a scab begins to form over. Then the pain is full, but refuses to be neglected. However, as the days go by you forget what the pain felt like, But there is no escaping the scar left behind, there for everyone to see.

50

Piece By Piece


Claire Wallace

A Japanese Fairytale

Untitled Anonymous do not tell me that I am not defined by the letter etched on the paper the college that says "we regret" the daunting cumulative score the deflated gpa the final ranking the numbers on the scale or the arm around me because if that was true you wouldn't have taught me otherwise.

51

Piece By Piece


A Short Forever I know we are no more but this is a thank-you letter not a goodbye. You taught me poetry not the way they did in class but its raw emotion and gentle rhythms that fill our mouths when we try to read while stifling back sobs. As the electric guitar screeched, you taught me music. I saw the purity in death metal and the pain in piano sonatas. We wandered through downtown when you taught me literature. Used books stores were never as enticing as when you dragged your hands over the spines of books that I do not remember. Hiding my affection got me nowhere, but showing them left me with nothing, except for the strength to create.

Raya Derbedrossian

52

Piece By Piece



Colophon Editors-in-Chief

Jemma Kwak, Chelsea Lee, Gina (Seo Jin) Lee

Advisor:

Jennifer Waters

Staff Editors

Megan Arnold, Morgan Beck, Amanda Burch, Gabriel Buzzelli, Susanne Carpenter, Tristan Ganzon, Zippy Hwang, Jennifer Kim, McKenna Middleton, Alice Mo, Molly Roman, Claire Wallace, Angie Yeon, Jacob Matthews, Nick Mayer, Christine Kim, Titash Biswas, Raya Derbedrossian, Abbey Mosman, Jennifer Gorman, Madeline Heeg, Carolyn Gruss, Ju Young Choi, Minji Kim Kim, Vanessa Young, Grace Oh, Michael Chu Journeys 2015: Piece by Piece is a compilation of the literary and artistic works of the talented students of Crescenta Valley High School. Throughout the course of the year, the magazine staff extensively reviewed hundreds of poetry, prose, photography, and artwork submissions in order to sift out the extraordinary pieces published in the magazine. We greatly appreciate all of the efforts of our staff editors in their dedication and commitment to helping make this year’s magazine a success. Layouts were designed by Amanda Burch on ISSUU’s Digital Publishing Platform. All text and bylines are written in Raleway Medium Italic and the titles are in Urban Jungle and Fonts Bomb Jigsaw . Journeys would like to first and foremost thank Mr. Herb Smith and the pupils of the Graphic Arts program for helping with the magazine throughout the years. We would also like to express our gratitude to Mr. Brent Beerman and Ms. Kathi Chaplar Beerman for allotting the underground theater to host Journeys Night and to the wonderful Mr. Mathew Schick and his Jazz Band for lending us their musical talents to make Journeys Night a wonderful success. The publication of this magazine would not have been made possible without all of the generous donations from our individual and business sponsors. On behalf of the entire staff, we would like to extend a special thanks to Mrs. Jennifer Waters for her unwavering support, encouragement, and guidance. Lastly, we would like to thank all of the students and faculty for bringing together the talents and skills of Crescenta Valley High School in this year’s Piece by Piece.


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