YOULIT MAGAZINE
VOL. 3, ISSUE 1
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YOULIT MAGAZINE VOLUME 3, ISSUE 1, JULY 2013 EDITORS
MENTORS
Briana Matthews is a part of the National Chinese Honors Society at Westinghouse College Prep. She is the goalie on her school’s girls water polo team. She is also the chief editor of her school’s yearbook. She has met some extremely witty and well known scientists and political scientists. Her pet dog ate her scented lotion because she likes the smell of lavender.
Sekani Reed is an aspiring artist and a recent graduate from Lane Tech. She participates in YOUlit so she can be prepared for her future career as an illustrator and comic artist. Sekani contributes her own drawn and painted comic strips to YOUlit Magazine currently. She won 3rd place in the Young Authors contest in 7th grade, and 1st place in 8th grade.
Nadine Fields is a recent graduate of Kenwood Academy. She is an active member of the LGBT community. She has way too many books and sketchbooks for her own good. In her free time she journals and write fan fiction and fictionpress stories.
Sierra Roberts is a junior at Lane Tech high school. She has a completely normal obsession with monkeys.
CONTRIBUTORS
Marcus Lumpkin is the lead mentor of YOUlit magazine. This is the third issue he has helped create. His main job is to help harness teen creativity.
Matthew Byrd Naomi Clark Ruth Harvey-Turner Mekel Jackson Kendell Marshall John McNamara Caro Griffin is the Self Publish- Jamal Milsapp ing Mentor for the Digital Youth Network. She is a recent gradPhotography by King Maury uate of Columbia College and wants to be Wonder Woman Cover Art by Kendell Marshall when she grows up. Niq Tognoni is the Graphic Deisgn Mentor at YOUmedia. He works with YOUlit in the final editing and formatting and leads graphic design workshops and assists in the maker space at the Harold Washington Library Center. Taylor Bayless is a librarian at YOUmedia and is the leader of the Library of Games podcast and blog. She accompanies YOUlit on field trips and helps with the website. YOUlit / 3
table of contents YOUlit / 4
Writing 7
The Morality of Being a Football Fan by Matthew Byrd
10
YouLit Magazine at the Chicago Zine Fest 2013
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The Ligature of the Universe by John McNamara Artist Features
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Jamal Milsapp
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Ruth Harvey-Turner Poetry
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Untitled by Naomi Clark
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Morning Coffee by Mekel Jackson
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Hymns for the Dead Dancer by Mekel Jackson
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Oh Chet! by Mekel Jackson
Kenmanlookingthing by kendell marshall
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THE MORALITY OF BEING A FOOTBALL FAN BY MATTHEW BYRD
I am not a sports fan, I am a football fan. This is not to say that I do not take any interest in other sports or do not enjoy them, the opposite is true in fact. However, fan is not the right word to describe my affection towards the non-football related sports realm; enthusiast is a better fit as it demonstrates a strong interest without implying the more obsessive element connoted by the word fan. However, when it comes to describing my affinity for football, obsession is the perfect word.
fandom came of age in 2001. Jim Miller was the Bears quarterback, Anthony “A-Train” Thomas the running back and Brian Urlacher was dominating at linebacker as the Bears rolled to a 13-3 record. I remember jumping for joy at the Bears back-to-back comeback victories in overtime against the 49ers and the Browns (both capped off by Mike Brown interception returns, still the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in my football viewing life.) I remember watching 300-pound defensive tackle Keith Traylor intercept a pass I have loved football for as long as I can re- with one hand and rumble 60 yards down the member. The earlier memories are hazy, I field because fat defensive lineman running sort of remember chewing on a football at long distances is why life is worth living. three, I remember the glorious orange C of the Chicago Bears adorning many of my At the end of that season, I had the great forclothes, and I remember watching my dad tune of being able to go to the Bears divisit and watch the Bears games on Sunday sional playoff game against the Eagles; the afternoons, puzzled at his diverse display last game at the old Soldier Field, before the of emotions at, what to my toddler mind, spaceship that is the current Soldier Field seemed like a bunch of boring crap happen- landed by the lake. I was as excited for that ing on the television. However, my football game as I have been for any other event in YOUlit / 7
my life, I proudly wore my favorite Bears hat and Brian Urlacher jersey (despite the fact that it was buried underneath layers upon layers of clothing designed to protect me from the brutal January weather in Chicago. I seriously looked like Ralphie’s brother from A Christmas Story). I was so excited that I wouldn’t shut up about it to my father and uncle (although as they like to point out I wouldn’t shut up about anything in those days). It was a dream come true; I was able to see my heroes in person, just feet away from me. It didn’t matter that they lost that day, I saw them, I was in there presence, it was magic (as hackneyed as that sounds).
across my face and I would feel a great sense of wonder, awe, and discovery; if the Bears won the Super Bowl, I would bawl my eyes out and run up and down the street screaming like a lunatic.
FROM SEPTEMBER TO FEBRUARY, FOOTBALL IS LIFE AND LIFE IS FOOTBALL. Why the obsession? Part of it is the natural acceptance of something you grew up with, football has always been a part of my life. But part of it lies in the spectacle; the sport itself is mind-numbingly perfect. The entertainment value of athletes at the peak of physical prowess completing amazing feats of strength and strategy is unsurpassed. The long bomb touchdown pass, the explosive run, the athletic catch, the pylon dive, the clock-cleaning hit are all just hypnotically majestic in their execution, all done by people who (theoretically) represent your city, your home. There is a reason many football fans will say “we” when referring to their team of choice, when they win you feel the joy, when they lose you feel the pain, it becomes an inseparable part of you. From September to February football is life and life is football.
My affection for football has not been tempered one iota since that season. I descended into an angry toy-throwing, tearful rage when the Bears were defeated in the divisional playoffs in 2005 against the Panthers. I was in a moment of spiritual transcendence when the Bears made it to the Super Bowl in ’06, and their loss brought me to an equal level of abject despair (I still have a hard time watching footage of that game without getting sick). Even at seventeen, whereas in other aspects of my life I like to think of myself as being at least somewhat rational and calm, football brings out all my raw emotions, anger, elation, sadness, joy, in a way that no book, film, television show, or any of my other geeky interests could. If I saw I say this because it helps to explain my disthe best film ever made a smile would go gust at this next statement (and it’s absolute YOUlit / 8
validity). Football is filled with immorality, brutality, vileness, carnage, and just plain ugliness. It is a horrendously violent game that destroys its participants. Every year an NFL player spends on a roster he can expect three years shaved off his life expectancy. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a degenerative brain condition linked to multiple concussions, has been devastating the ranks of former players, many of who, such as Junior Seau and Dave Duerson, have committed suicide. Jim McMahon, the punky QB of the Bears 1985 Super Bowl triumph, if suffering from the early-stages of dementia at 53, almost certainly as a result of his playing days. McMahon, along with several other former players, is suing the NFL for negligence when it comes to the issue of concussions. I’ve thought a lot about what I would say if my child (if I have a child) asked me for permission to play football. I think I would say no. Football also has many assorted cultural problems that plague it. There is the known rampant homophobia and sexism that pervades the locker room (although athletes like Christ Kluwe, Brandon Ayenbadejo, and Scott Fujitia are bright lights for the future on that front) however a bigger problem has emerged in recent years, the cult of football. As the Penn State child rape scandal proved this past year, individuals will put the institution of football and football programs be-
YOU GET HAPPINESS, EXCITEMENT, ENTERTAINMENT AND GREAT MEMORIES, BUT YOU ALSO GET ALL THE PAIN, SUFFERING AND VILENESS THAT LIES UNDERNEATH.
fore the well being of children and the pun- the joy at seeing my team succeed, a joy ishment of monsters. The same emotions that found seldom elsewhere. I remember the lead me to cheer have led others to neglect. fantasy football league I participate in with my friends and how my countless hours I’ve Football has drained billions of dollars from spent with them in that have only enhanced local communities with taxpayer-funded sta- already great friendships. I remember going diums that are representative of everything to Bears games with my fun-loving Uncle, wrong with corporate welfare in this coun- thrilled almost as much by his comedic comtry. The NFL is run by Roger Goodell, a man pany as I am by the game. The appeal of this who put player safety and the outcomes of game is not just the excitement of the actugames in jeopardy with his idiotic ideologi- al competition, but the social connections it cal standoff with the referee’s union this past builds and fosters. It is a cultural phenomyear, as well as his two-faced “support” for enon like no other in this country. There is player safety reform while doing the worst good in this thing. thing possible in that regard by proposing a 18-game schedule. Does that justify all the bad? Not by a long shot. But it does make being a football fan The violence, the hypocrisy, the cultural a morally gray activity. You get happiness, problems, the corruption, the incompetence excitement, entertainment and great memohave all led me to question my fandom, a ries, but you also get the pain, suffering, and fandom that allows all this nastiness to exist. vileness that lie underneath. There is no cut Why should I support an institution that al- and dry answer to whether football is good lows all this to not only exist, but thrive? or evil. It is the dilemma of the modern football fan, or at least to the football fan that However, when my mind drifts towards this acknowledges it. thinking I remember the good. I remember the hours upon hours I have spent with my Football is too significant to my life for me to father watching games together, and the ad- advocate its abolition. It brings me too much ditional hours discussing them. I remember happiness, too much entertainment, too
much emotion for me to simply cast it aside. Things could be improved. The league could do more to protect player safety, through rule changes and educating players on the dangers of the game, as the country shifts left culturally so too will the NFL, cities could take a stand against publicly funded stadiums and Roger Goodell could be fired (that alone solving many problems). But it all comes down to the fact that football is inherently a violent sport, and the only way to make it truly “safe” would be to destroy the spectacle that makes it so great, the spectacle that makes me adore this sport. As a football fan, you must always accept the morally curious position of loving and supporting a sport that destroys. Is that immoral? That answer is left to a wiser individual than myself, preferably one not wearing a Chicago Bears hat at this moment.
Matthew Byrd is teen writer and blogger. He recently won the Scholasitic Art & Writing Award for his essay “Don’t Be Surprised By Newtown: Our Gun Problem”. He will be attending Univeristy of Iowa this fall. You can read more of his essays at thebyrdpapers.tumblr.org.
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youlit at the chicago zine fest
The Chicago Zine Fest could be a literary dream seeker’s fantasy. Hundreds of people, not just from the Chicagoland area gathered to see the works of amateur and professional ziners. The YOULit crew had the chance of snagging a table to trade zines with other ziners. Our zines were made by several students who frequent the library. We decided to name our hand made publication (wait for it..) SHABAM! We must give a shout out to Sierra, one of our fabulous editors, for coming up with the title. It was the first of many zines created by YOULIT magazine students. The zine genres range from indie, informational (and quite hilarious), humor, life, gender, teen issues, miscellaneous, and a variety of spoken word poetic works. Due to the generosity of many artists we were able to trade and score a bucket full of zines. Next year we hope to be back at trading and exploring the world of zines.
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THE LIGATURE OF THE UNIVERSE This past November, John McNamara successfully completed the National Novel Writing Month 50,000 word challenge. The following is the first two chpaters of his completed novel. BY JOHN MCNAMARA
CHAPTER ONE
andra Jones had given something to everyone who had come, whether they were in the room or not. Many had left the hall in which they had gathered, and the woman’s voice was now much quieter than before. The woman came to the end of a sentence before pausing for a long while.
A circle of men and women clad in black stood around a table, the rain present only accentuating the dark mood. The women held damp tissues near their eyes, and the men were still and stoic. However, the men were not looking at the women who mourned, but rather, the woman who was already moving “…Will that be all then, Adelaide?” The on. voice came from the woman’s right. A man had noted her pause in the text, and had “…I, Bernadette Alexandra Jones, of sound leaned forward with a curious gaze. mind and body…” The woman swallowed, trying her best to read the will without break- “…Not…quite.” Adelaide choked out, ading down into tears. Slowly, she moved down justing her graying brown hair before placthe list, reading off what was left to whom. ing the will on the table. The paper made Over time, the crowd dispersed, some of a strange noise as it made contact with the those who had joined unable to bear anything wood. There, in the middle of the document, after their section of the will. was an address and two keys, held on with little more than tape. It came to the point where Bernadette AlexYOUlit / 12
“…Preposterous.” The man mumbled, his expression contorting into one of rage. “She cannot possibly do that--there must be some rule against it!” He slammed his fist on the table. “William, please…!” Adelaide frowned at his outburst. “You and I know very well that Bernadette has never been one to play by the rules.” She took the two keys off of the will as gently as she could, refusing to let the tape tear off any scraps of paper. “…Now if you would so kindly sit down, I will continue.” Adelaide did not show it, but she was afraid that this would become a large family quarrel. The next line she read only intensified her fears. “Well, go on then, Adelaide! Please, tell us what that nutcase has in store for us!” William snapped at Adelaide’s pausing. His wife
grabbed his arm gently, trying to calm him as The entire table was bickering and throwAdelaide prepared herself for the roars that ing threats at Adelaide, who, while receiving William was about to emit. said threats, decided she was a bit too old for this, and that she certainly wasn’t getting “…As for the entire estate that is being built paid enough to be a part of this family. on the shores of Ireland, I leave that to my “Please, please, everybody calm down!” two grandchildren, Nathan and Kristina She called over the crowd, smiling, as if she Jones.” Adelaide felt the air grow tense as had a way to make everybody happy. Adenot only William glared at her, but another laide knew, right as rain, that she had no such man beside her raised his voice. solution and that she was pushing her luck. “You’ve all received very nice things, have “Why do we get the short end of the stick?! you not? To deny these children of what their I got one lousy little candelabra!” The man grandmother was giving them…” She said questioned Adelaide intensely, gesturing to this with a slightly melodramatic tone, her the woman sitting behind him. “That should eyes narrowing as she attempted to create her be our summer getaway over there!” next line in this whole theatrical farce.
Inside of the mansion, the bronze key will open the lock to the Library. Likewise, the silver key will open the lock to the observatory.” Adelaide paused for a moment, trying to figure out what Bernadette could possibly be getting at from beyond the grave. William shot her a look, and at this point William’s face was so contorted with rage, it was almost a face that Adelaide could stick her tongue out at and still be in the right. “Give the bronze key to the boy. Do not let the girl in under any circumstances. Let the boy study among the vast wealth of knowledge I have left him in peace, and do your best not to disturb him for any frivolous reasons.
“Bernard,” Adelaide began, before another Adelaide hesitated a moment, raising a finger woman at the table stood up as well, firing so that it might look like she had something “Give the girl the silver key, and let her questions. to say. Suddenly, it came to her. watch the Earth spin as many have longed to. However, do not let the boy enter her room, “That’s right! If it should go to anyone it “To revoke their gift, we would also have either. Leave her to watch the heavens in as shouldn’t be some ratty kids! At least we’d to revoke everyone else’s. Now that doesn’t much peace as you leave the boy to underknow what to do with it!” sound very pleasant at all, does it? I’m sure stand them. nobody would like all of Bernadette’s pos“Lily, please,” Adelaide was, once again, cut sessions to go to waste.” Adelaide shifted “These are my wishes, that the children be off, this time by William. her eyes to William. Greedy, greedy William, given what I have mentioned, and that they who couldn’t stand losing anything, had are cared for as much as possible. I trust what “I refuse to accept this! I will not stand for gone quiet. “Precisely. Now, if you will let is left of my family and friends to help carry it!” William banged his fist against the table me read on…” Adelaide continued on with this out with the fortune I have left. Know once more, his wife standing up with him to the will, the beast of greed having been paci- that whether or not this goes unfulfilled, complain as well. fied for the time being. though the prior is preferable, I love each and every one of you. Farewell, from Bernadette “Neither will I!” “To the two children, I also leave these keys. Alexandra Jones.” YOUlit / 13
Adelaide lowered the will, placing it on the table with the two keys she had received. She looked up to a pair of empty seats, which despite the many people who came, had not been sat in. The chairs belonged to the parents of Kristina and Nathan, who had been unable to attend. Many of the heads in the room turned to stare at the chairs, and though they all knew the Jones had been unable to attend, they sent the chairs looks of anger and distaste. “…That concludes the reading, everybody.” Adelaide’s voice snapped the men and women back to attention. “I will thank you all very kindly to please…” William had begun to rise, staring right at Adelaide with wrath in his eyes. Adelaide shuddered, but did not back down. “…Return home with the knowledge that what Bernadette has given you will be delivered, no matter what it is.” The other men and women rose and made William’s action seem insignificant. Quickly, while she had the chance, Adelaide gathered up the will and the two keys. Questions buzzed through Adelaide’s mind as she put on her coat and hat, moving to the door that she entered the room from. As she navigated the twisted halls, aiming for the front door, she began to wonder just what Bernadette had in store for these children. As she reached the large, mahogany door, a hand held it shut. William had caught up YOUlit / 14
with her, staring her down.
“Yes, I understand.” He averted his eyes, looking past Adelaide. “It’s just I was in the “…This won’t end well for you, Adelaide.” middle of a good book, you know?” He hissed, taking his hand off of the door. “It won’t last, and I’ll make sure of it.” `”Ah, a Christie?” “Just you try.” Adelaide snapped back, open- ing the door, stepping through, and slamming `”An astrophysics textbook.” it shut behind her. “…Oh.” Adelaide cleared her throat, avertCHAPTER TWO ing her gaze as well. “Well…come on now, to the dining room with you. I’ll go get your “Nathan?” Adelaide knocked on a young sister.” Nathan turned to shut his door, lockman’s door sixteen years later, a door inside ing it with his key before shuffling down the of the very mansion that caused the family hallway to the dining room. riot during the will reading. As the years went on, the anger had increased, but she had Adelaide approached the observatory door, been able to fend them off. Concerned for the which she rapped on only three times before children who had inherited the mansion, she it was opened. had taken the role of their nanny in order to protect them directly. “Hello!” A voice called out from behind a large sheet of paper stretched across the “Nathan, dinner is ready. Put the book down doorframe. for a moment, would you?” Adelaide rapped at the library door again, her tone growing a “…Kristina.” Adelaide sighed, rubbing her slight bit irritated. She had been doing this temples. “How many times have I told you for eight years, it was only natural. As the that the doorframe is not a wall?” door creaked open, a bespectacled young man was revealed to her. “But how else am I supposed to see a largescale chart of the northern hemisphere?” “It’s about time, Nathan. Honestly, I under- Kristina carefully reached over, taking down stand the amount of volumes you were left, the chart and revealing herself. but you’re not required to read them all, you know.” Adelaide quirked a brow at the boy, “Preferably when nobody else needs you, and he gave way to a sheepish smile. Kristina. What if someone ran into and
ripped it?” “Oh, fine.” Kristina pouted, folding up the chart as neatly as she could, setting it off to the table on the side. “I’ll go eat.” She complained in a sarcastic tone. As Adelaide nodded and headed for the dining room, Kristina locked her door behind the both of them, speeding ahead of the older woman.
the man who had made her a promise sixteen “…You’re lying. You can’t just do that.” years ago. “Oh, but I can, Adelaide. I told you it “…William.” Adelaide said sharply. She wouldn’t last.” locked eyes with the slightly older gentleman, who leaned smugly on the doorframe. “…I’ll be protesting against this. You know very well we have more than enough re“Adelaide, it’s a pleasure. I was in the neigh- sources to turn them around.” borhood; I thought I’d drop by.” He smiled a smile that was all too fake to Adelaide, “But you don’t even have the blackmail necbut she made no comment. “I also felt like I essary, do you?” should inform you that I’m finally following up on that promise.” Adelaide’s eyes wid- “…I…no, we do not.” Adelaide pursed her ened slightly. lips, trying to steady her breathing.
“Well then,” Adelaide mumbled to herself, keeping her pace. No sooner had Kristina disappeared around the corridor, however, than had the doorbell rung. Slightly irritated at the fact that she had not even sat down to eat, she headed towards the door with a cer- “Which promise was that, might I ask?” Her tain kind of assertiveness. body slowly grew tense, and she found herself gripping the doorframe. When Adelaide approached the door, she found a maid had already answered it, and “Well, while I’ve been gone the past few was looking around with the kind of fright years, I’ve found myself doing a few…unand nervousness that suggested something der-the-table things, Adelaide. Simply hapunpleasant was there. Locking eyes with the penstance, I swear.” As William went on, maid, the other quickly moved over to make Adelaide’s fear and anger grew steadily. Oh, room for her. how she wanted to punch that smug face. Adelaide peeked through the crack of the door, and suddenly, the same terror that overtook the maid coursed through her. Peeking behind the door once more, the maid jerked her head towards the other side of the door, to which Adelaide responded with a wideeyed nod. Composing herself, she looked outside once more, to face none other than
“…You have a week, Adelaide. One week to empty everything and get out.” William stood straight, towering above the small woman in front of him. “…” Adelaide spoke no more words, but instead chose the ever-lovely option of slamming the door on the smug man. “…Are we going to be alright, miss?” The maid asked.
“Your point, William.” She snapped at the man, fed up with his faux-dramatics. “…No, dear.” Adelaide sighed, rubbing her temples. “No we are not.” “Well, in short, I’ve been able to strike a deal with some higher powers. Soon, there will John McNamara is an aspiring writer and be a nice, long stretch of highway built right actor from Chicago. He is a students at Jones through this mansion here.” College Prep and is an active member of theater productions at his school. YOUlit / 15
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the art of Jamal milsapp I started drawing in first grade. I’ve always drawn less detailed pictures of landscapes, cartoons, and fruit in my notebooks. Generally, I only drew when I was bored, or to express an idea to my friends. The older I got, the less interested I became in art. It wasn’t until fifth grade when I pushed myself to draw more detailed work. My grandfather has drawn his own cartoons for years, and he came across an old notebook of mine with my old drawings. He coached me to become a better artist. I get my inspiration from the people I meet throughout my life. Over time my closest friends became my characters and they continue to appear in my work. I base my cartoons in situations teens find themselves in. I work with about 20 characters of both male and female. If I draw a male character, I create a female character to balance the cast. As I got older, I began to gain inspiration from a variety of new environments; cities, parks, school, landscapes. I include a white bird in most of my pieces as a signature and to indicate that there is a message in the picture. I try to include a message in all of my work, which is not easy to figure out, but becomes clear when all the pieces are viewed together. YOUlit / 17
Ruth Harvey-Turner Q: What brought you to art? My dad is an artist, working in game design as a teacher at DePaul. Obviously I was influenced by him. Q: Are you looking into art as a career? Best case scenario, yes, but I have alternative interests like Psychology and History which I will likely study in the future. Q: Where do you turn for inspiration? Mostly music, as you can see from my pictures in this segment. Q: What mediums do you tend gravitate to? I prefer using pen and paper, and mixed media, but also use digital programs as well. I’ve also gotten interested in typography and pattern work recently which you can see in some of my work here. Ruth is a junior at Jones College Prep. You can find more of her art at: zombierufio.tumblr.com
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Based off the song, “The Plague”, from the movie Prince Of Egypt. This is my Alicorn character, Heatwave. YOUlit / 19
Ruth Harvey-Turner
Based off the song, “O Death,” by Jen Titus, and is another alicorn character. Her name is Frostbite and she is Heatwave’s sister. YOUlit / 20
“Unnatural Selection” made with Saipaint program YOUlit / 21
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Poetry
Untitled by Naomi Clark
Mornin’ Coffee by Mekel Jackson
Snowless grounds and biting winds, Featherless birds tucking back their wings to fly nowhere. Beautiful water rising to wash away The tainted souls of the world, grounds Pushing up against each other in vain Attempts to be anywhere but where they are. Fire burning down the hope of promise, Waste forever hiding the pretty flowers That blossom up from nowhere. And petals fall into the crack, floating All the way to the bottom of the ocean,
Come through my TV And love me and my mornin’ coffee. My wide, pie cookin’ hands. Take my child bearin’ hips to glory. Quiet! Hush, please! I’d love to hear him speak On his soapbox, In his holy socks. See me in the crowd, he’s callin’ my name. He’s lookin’ at me. I imagine I’m the only one here, Go on Mr.Politician, Give it to me dirty And firm. Tell me my ruby nail polish make My toes glisten While takin’ off my stockings. Clean me in the shower. I prefer hot water That burns off the sin. I love to see your bare chest. Take me to Church With your voice. Read the Word to me. Show me the truth. Tell me he’s real. Whip me in the night With your leather belt. Punish me with your rod Of correction. I’ll obey you Forever. Don’t tell nobody but God!
in peace.
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Hymns for the Dead Dancer by Mekel Jackson Please me for once. Give me deluging discussions About the wonderful, ponderous pits Of worry I have for our world. Or about deprived poor people who Dance whenever it rains. Then die Laughing at anyone Who falls for feelings. I believed I would find pulses Jump fearlessly through Your dying body. Excitement would paint Your skin. With the strength of dinner-time grace, And the divine touch from your god, YOUlit / 24
You could possibly enjoy A smile from childish folly. I wanted a blooming expression. You would float, fallin across a marley floor. Your body was a hurricane Dancing through a small-town, Destroying every parish it pleases. I begged for blushes that day We ran rebellious Down a basement bathroom, And touched for fun. Tempered every piece of anatomy We had. Lost In the slowest six minutes of my life, Creating sin out of ourselves, I thought I heard air. A breath of contempt. A sigh for peace. A prayer for hope. A white flag of submission.
I thought I heard A Human. I am Looking at your grave. Your lavish grave. Between us is the saddest six feet Of dirt, of distance. I am Belting hymns above Your dead body, The rhythms of redemption, The arias of the unrequited. You need to know The feeling of losing All the sounds In your resurrected throat. I am nothing But blasphemy When I breathe Through a dry, holy note.
Oh Chet! by Mekel Jackson
While leaving the sweaty, lost Souls that constantly move, looking For a home, I met CheckI mean Chet. A cute baritone From Bridgeport, Connecticut. He bought me Greasy, processed grub. He liked The fact that I was black, And my eyes weren’t. Green Floated from his free pockets, like Butterflies fly from oil Factories. Which, in a way, Morphed his skin into gold. Cold, Nostalgic. He appeals for me To visit his broken cocoon.I had nowhere To rest. I refused to refuse.
He stops his hard feet, freezes His stoned body. Focuses Enough to open his mouth, and give Me sound. Bravatto vibrates through Him, and captures me. All of my body. Shakes my stomach, heats my face. Handel brings me nothing, but this man Should. Let me keep this, this Feeling. I’ll lock it up! Poke holes in the cloudy jar. The house with holes In the wall. Color TV. He pours our first glass of nothingness. We watch cartoons.
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Did you know that YOUlit has a website? You can find past issues, blog posts, submission information and more at youlitmagazine.org YOUlit / 26
Acknowledgements YOUlit Magzine is contributed to, created by and edited by teens. We work to bring teen writers and artists together to promote both their work and identities. We would like to thank everyone who contributed to this issue of YOUlit Magazine, the Chicago Public Library, YOUmedia Chicago, Digital Youth Network, the Chicago Public Library Foundation and the MacArthur Foundation.
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youlit 3.1