By Joaquin Chavez -- When I'm dead; do not mourn for me. At my funeral, do not wear black. Do not bring white flowers, do not have any bad blood for anyone who will be there. Wear as much color as you can. Remember to laugh at the good times we had, the tragedies you and I endured, everything we have done for each other, remember the little things about me like the little things I remember you for. I wish for a world where people will not have to fear. Put that on my gravest

By Nikole Donahue -- Step... (Breathe.) Fear. Step... (Breathe.) Darkness. ​I step into darkness. I step into fear. Screams and cries are my lullabies. It’s cold. My bones... my soul... my courage... It’s about to be sold. ​What hatred has been brought down? Upon my crown. Different hues of blackness glisten from the blood. I can barely see the white of others’ eyes. Am I dead? Am I alive? What type of hell have I been delivered to by the Devil himself? ​Step..

By Jehan zain Bano -- When sun rays are sharp Protect the eyes Otherwise Losing the sight When sun comes Earth swings Joy is imminent Protect your eyes From sunlight Cover your head Wearing scarf Otherwise Protect your eyes From sunlight Cover your hands mm With Rubbermaid band Otherwise Protect your eyes From sunlight Removes your shoe Barefoot Otherwise Protect your eyes From sunlight Eating rice Break your fast Otherwise Protect your eyes From sunlight Walking around Talki

By Grace Sumabat Estrada -- Artistic and creative, your style is comfy chic Resolute in moving forward, you leave nothing incomplete Interested in growth, your path is bright and wide Athletic and persistent, your strength is from inside. Nearing a new stage with potential in the stars, All of us are proud of the young lady that you are!

By Grace Sumabat Estrada -- O my love is Amelia Rose, Who was newly born in March. O my love’s like a melody, That gently steals my heart. So fair you are, my darling girl Your tender smile commands With snowflake breath and rosebud lips Sweetly drifting into dreamland. As long as waves blanket the ocean, As long as stars brighten the night, My love for you will ne’er dim, My arms will be ready to hold you tight!

By Grace Sumabat Estrada -- How do I love thee? Let me count the ways I love thee with the bated breath of anticipation, Unburdened by shadows of doubt. I love thee with untethered confidence In your perfection and unquestioned clout. As the first of your generation, You’re the seed of unshakable faith. You’ll blaze your own path to glory, Setting your own tone and pace. I love thee with the peace of wisdom, Unbothered by storms that will pass. Trusting the stronghold

By Grace Sumabat Estrada -- Em’rald hills beckon Joyful return within reach Nerves beneath the scene Leaves crunch, trees asway Morning dew kiss greets the day Fresh role to glean Mem’ries cascading Friendly faces, welcome smiles Home at Evergreen!

By Yutzil Virgen -- Inside me, a fire burns– shadows whisper vengeance, fists of anger clenched around what once was sweet. My heart hides itself behind walls I built from fear, searching the echoes for the reflection of who I used to be. Once I was a warm river, a light that embraced, hands open to forgiveness, a voice that quieted storms. Now I walk among ruins, bitter like forgotten fruit, and I cry out to the heavens: “Do not let me fall.” I am the daughter of an eternal

By Yutzil Virgen -- I walk with both hands full– one cradling a flame, the other gripping darkness. The fire burns, a fragile warmth against the wind, reminding me I am still alive. The shadow pulls, a heavy tether to everything I've lost. I am both the lantern and the eclipse, both the hope and the wound. To love me is to hold both– the light I offer, the shadows I hide. And still, I keep walking with both hands full.

By Yutzil Virgen -- We build our temple from trembling hands, stone by stone, word by word, until it reached the sky. But you set fire to it, until even stone learned how to burn, dancing in the glow while I choked on the smoke. Every vow we whispered, cracked and crumbled, falling like prayers turned to dust. Now I carry the ruin– blood on my palms, ashes in my hair, a cathedral of grief where love once knelt. And still, my heart insists on beating in the silence, searching

By Yutzil Virgen -- A horn blares somewhere behind me. Metal against metal. Voices shouting across the street. The sound pulls me back into my body. The light has turned green, yet I remain still, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring down a street filled with places I once called love. Three restaurants sit on the same block. From where I’m parked, I can see each of them if I lean forward just enough. It’s strange how every time I pass this street, my mind returns to

By Robert Beveridge -- There is no way I do not love you but there are some ways I love you harder than others. On your hands and knees, nude, I feel as if I should be slow, deliberate, appreciate the depression of your spine, the tension in your deltoids, your adductors, the stark difference between the fired clay of my hands and the bone china of your hips. But I am not capable of simple appreciation when your eagerness shines from your eyes, radiates from your posture.

By Robert Beveridge -- She let her hair pile up put off the stylist once again looked in the mirror next morning found a chestnut mountain atop her head

By Robert Beveridge -- Legions of knitters work, furious, crank enough output to replace the soles of those whose feet are now bare because they’ve worn through every last thread, slap calloused toes on pavement, still shout, still brandish signs, still stare down riot shields, tear gas

By Charisse Smith -- I have walked through storms most people only read about. Foster care. Separation. Cancer. Silence. Each one tried to bend my spirit. But something stronger lived inside me. Faith. Not the kind spoken comfortably in bright rooms. The kind born on bathroom floors between tears and prayers. Every storm said “this will break you.” And every time I stood back up. Still breathing. Still believing. Still standing.

By Charisse Smith -- They tried to silence her with reports. They tried to label her with diagnoses. They tried to confine her inside other people’s definitions. But they misunderstood the nature of survival. Some women collapse under pressure. Others become steel. She carried pain without letting it poison her. She carried faith through every dark season. And when the storms passed the world saw something unexpected— A woman who refused to disappear. A woman still rising. Th

By Charisse Smith -- They wrote my childhood in ink and folders. Case numbers. Reports. Evaluations. A file thicker than the years I had lived. To them I was documentation. To me I was a child watching strangers decide my future. They studied my family like a problem to solve. But they never wrote down my strength. They never recorded how survival grows quietly inside a child who refuses to disappear. They gave me a number. But I became a voice.

By Charisse Smith -- They said I was crazy. Funny how people use that word when they don’t understand a mind that refuses to break. They saw rebellion where I saw survival. They saw anger where I saw truth. They saw resistance where I saw dignity. They tried to write my life in files and diagnoses as if a human soul could be summarized in paperwork. But here’s the truth. A crazy mind doesn’t keep fighting when the whole world expects it to collapse. A crazy mind d

By Charisse Smith -- Growing up inside the child welfare system meant learning early that not every authority figure saw me the same way I saw myself. As a child, I did not yet have the language to describe racism or systemic bias. What I understood instead was a feeling—an invisible distance between the people making decisions and the life they were deciding for me. Most of the caseworkers and supervisors who handled my file were white, and I was a Black girl whose family hi

By Brooklyn Porter -- Based on Crime and Punishment By Fyodor Dostoevsky What Have You Done? “Conscience is the inner voice that warns us that someone may be looking.” — H. L. Mencken Swirling blackness, All engulfing Struggling for air, To breathe Deepest darkness, Drowning me Overcome and Sinking down Never to rise Ever again But the spell Is broken I am free, awake, And alive I lay still, Eyes wide I draw in air, So sweet Everything so normal, And unchanged Yet a nagging,