By Davonna Rodriguez -- I feel I always need to be doing a million things Or else I'm falling behind Or not doing enough My rock, my beach, my bean Comes and grounds me. Your curly hair Dark brown eyes Rough yet soft hands Hold me, secure me. The world can be so cruel Not understanding of where I belong But I always know I belong with you, You and orange, brown, and blue.

By Kyle Ethan Valla -- Drip… Drip… Drip… The rain. It had made its way down to the fourth floor, near our homeroom. What was left was the natural element breaching our artificial world in the form of a waterfall flowing down a flight of stairs, with its perpetrator being the doors to the rooftop, opened slightly enough to allow the rainstorm outside to make its entrance. Looking down, observing my now soaked sneakers, the realization of what caused this slight flooding sl

By Sophia Leat -- Written with the intensity of the Russian dialect, interact with the uncertainty of a calf's first steps. What suit to follow remains unbeknownst to me, so I lean into the desire of feeling. I blink and blink and blink, though I cannot seem to rid my eyes of the remnants of my emergence — it has managed to remain unwavering ambiguity. My presence as uncomfortable and unavoidable as gastrointestinal issues — as a concave mirror my focal point remains undis