Capital City PCS

Literary Magazine

EXIST

Volume 1
June 2015

EXIST
EDITOR IN CHIEF

Elder DeLeon

MANAGING EDITORS Chada Cooks

Emoni Lewis
COPY EDITOR
Antoinette Wimbish


BUSINESS MANAGERS Luchelle Jackson
Kydadah Alexander
ART EDITORS
Isaiah Dozier
Victor Ramos
Leideen Escobar
LITERARY EDITORS Meredith Mendoza
Cynthia Diaz
Sherida Magana Williams
LAYOUT DIRECTOR

Julia Penn

FACULTY SPONSORS Jill Weiler

Sarah Simmons
Capital City Public Charter School
100 Peabody Street NW
Washington DC 20011
Copyright 2015 by EXIST Literary
Magazine. All rights reserved. Reproduction
in whole or in part is prohibited without the
consent of EXIST Literary Magazine or the
individual authors or artists.

COVER ART: EXIST BY TAZ ROBINSON

editors note
To exist we must be willing to accept our own identity. People tend to conform to societal norms, obscuring our true origins to become more favorable to
the masses. If we reject who we are, we deny
everything that makes us alive, everything that
can be associated with us, everything that causes us to
exist. In Capital Citys first Literary Magazine, EXIST,
we explore our many identities through our poetry,
memoirs, short stories, paintings, drawings and photographs. Through our artistic expressions, we advocate
overcoming the adversities from stereotypic ideals
that cause us to question our ability to both exist and
co-exist.
EXIST was the product of Capital Citys Publication
and Design class, a semester-long class where students
experiment with a variety of forms of creative writing.
We would like to recognize those who helped contribute to the production of this magazine. First of all,
we are grateful to Julia Penn for her tireless efforts,
creativity and expertise in directing the layout and
design of EXIST. Next, we give thanks to Jose Cuevas who helped with the selection of art pieces from
students currently at Capital City and CCPCS alumni.
The 826DC writing mentors read countless drafts and
provided meaningful feedback both online and in the
classroom. Our principal, Belicia Reaves, along with the
CCPCS administrative team not only envisioned this
course (with the expectation of a literary magazine)
but also provided the support necessary to transform
her vision into a reality. Finally, to all those who submitted writing and art, we send our gratitude for
your interest, time and work, and wish that we
could have included all of the submissions. We hope
that everyone enjoys the beauty and power of the
pieces included in these pages.

Antoinette Wimbish, Chada Cooks,

Emoni Lewis and Elder DeLeon

table of contents
prose
Eagle Boy JaQuon Blandin
Summer Books Dona Anderson
Mirror Evadne Lewis
Finding Joy Emoni Lewis
Birds Deyna Rosales
Good Boy Kydadah Alexander
My Destination Was Made Aida Bonilla-Torres
Best Cookies Ever Made Brandy Suyderhaud

Lost and Found Elder Deleon

4
8
10
14
17
20
22
25
28

work on paper
Flower Owl Taz Robinson
Skyline Julia Penn
Eyes Edwin Zelaya
Hands Ana Nguyen
Man in Blue Shirt Tyler Rogers
Meditation Yanci Flores
Spirals Mesgana Dagnachew
Finger on the Button Yanci Flores
Untitled Forrest Penrod
Baby on Tracks Zari Ventura

5
6
8
10
11
15
17
20
27
29

mixed media
Facial Exchange Maria Aguirre
Melting Pot Jorge Ortez

2
23

poetry
3
6
9
11
12
16
16
16
18
19
21
26
28

Exist Cynthia Diaz

A Structure to Keep Meredith Mendoza
Beautiful World Marcus Perkins
Hands Antoinette Wimbish
Thus Spoke Nietzsche Sherida Magana-Williams
Ants Maria Jose Sanchez Carrasco
Power of Lead Cynthia Diaz
How the Letters Rose to Power Daniel Nguyen
Tierra Phong Le Nguyen
My Own Household Isaiah Dozier
Stop and Stare Ruth Fuentes
Its Complicated Chada Cooks
Confusion Ashley Carela

work on canvas
18
24

A Beautiful World Devondre Moore

Cookie Monster Devondre Moore

Exist
Cynthia Diaz
I am
The culture that shapes my identity
The experiences that have made my reality
I am
The loss, pain and failures
The lessons
I am
Too complex, too unique
To be understood by mere man
I cannot even begin to describe
Who I am
If I am not who I was in the past
But my past has made me who I am
Am I my past, present or future?
Am I all three?
Or am I none at all?
I am
Myself
A self that is constantly changing
Renewing
Adapting
Pursuing
Maturing
I am a self that has been built up from
Other people and experiences
I am a self that belongs to expectations and
Societys standards
I am a self that is not
My own.

MARIA AGUIRRE

June 2015 3

Eagle Boy
JaQuon Blandin
I always wished that I could fly. To feel the crisp too bad Im selling it on the black market. I screamed
cool air envelop my body as I soared through the air, internally! Hes going to sell me on the black market?
pure adrenaline and ecstasy through my veins. I always I said in my head. I couldnt let this happen.
wanted to escape the pain and suffering that I went
He walked out of the room and closed the door.This
through on the ground. The constant stress and fatigue was my chance. I picked the lock on the cage with my
of schoolwork, home responsibilities, feeling alone and beak and flew onto the floor. Then I waited for him to
in distress. I needed to get away.
come back, with my wings out, ready to fly through the
Then one day it happened. I was glancing over a cliff door when it opened. He opened the door, in shock
in the forest trails near my house when I slipped and of what he saw before him. How the hell did you get
got flung into the air. I started to
out of your cage?! he yelled
panic. I thought this was the end;
at the top of his lungs. He
I was going to die. I was halfway
attempted to scoop me up
For the first time in
between life and death when I felt
with is arms, but I wasnt hava metamorphosis happening in my
ing that. I flew up and poked
my
life,
I
felt
happy
body. I felt my arms growing feathone of his eyes out with my
ers, my mouth becoming a beak,
beak. Argh! He yelled, in inand free. I had no
and my legs becoming talons, until
tense pain.
more
restrictions
in
I transformed into a full-fledged
In blinding speeds I flew
eagle.
out of the door and out of
my life. I felt like
As if I were born with the abilhis cracked window of his
ity to fly, I began to soar through
10-story apartment. I was
I could accomplish
the air like a fighter jet through
still in my hometown, so I
anything.
the clouds. Gliding through the air
knew the way home, but I
with blinding speeds and swooping
realized that getting home
down on potential prey. I was in
wasnt going to be that simtotal bliss. For the first time in my
ple. My wings were still falife, I felt happy and free. I had no more restrictions in tigued from all the earlier flying I had done and I was
my life. I felt like I could accomplish anything.
losing air. I tried to glide through the air and onto the

I was having the time of my life, enjoying the ground safely, swaying left and right to avoid apartments
wondrous freedom of being an eagle with no worries and billboards. I was almost home. As soon as I was on
in the world, until I realized that when I wanted to turn my home street, I got hit by a car. Smack! was the
back into a human, I couldnt. I started to panic. I flung only thing I recall hearing until I woke up.
my wings open in a frenzy, imitating a chicken with its
What the hell were you dreaming about? asked my
head cut off. I couldnt believe this was happening to mom as I awoke from a cold sweat.
me. The fear of not being able to revert back to my
I had a dream that I turned into a eagle and I couldnt
initial form prompted me to pass out.
turn back. I said.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a cramped cage
That explains the bird noises you were making in
inside a dim room, barely able to spread my wings out. your sleep, she said. I was so confused; it had all felt
Then a man opened a door and walked in. He had a so real. I got up and looked through the window, still
crazy look in his eyes, like I was his dinner or some- wishing I was still an eagle.
thing. He walked up to my cage. Such a beautiful bird,

4 June 2015

TAZ ROBINSON
TAZ ROBINSON
June
2015 5

A Structure to Keep
Meredith Mendoza

In my case
Im a 53
slim
building,
built straight up
to stand tall
My identity isnt mine.
My struggles originated before my own story.
They sprouted from previous lives;
In fact,
they were generated
generations before mine.
It all started in an insignificant sized country
where the hunger is real
and the poverty is overpowering
where the smell of the sweat is bitter,
hands are stained with dirt from long days of
back breaking labor,
til backs hunched like an over worked horse,
where childrens torsos are the perfect reflection of
a stray dogs ribs.
In an insignificant sized country
In the country of
The Savior.
If I were allowed to choose what the structures of
my life were built from,
It wouldnt have been this one.
A weak foundation leads to nothing but hardship
and even the ruins of the building
6 June 2015

constructed over my ancestors shoulders,

my Salvadoran ancestors
The ones who grew up on dirt roads
raised by elders
while their parents were out hard at work
where having different blood didnt differ from the
respect and obedience you are to give
In the street where the neighbors were held in
higher respect than ones own mother
I was built on top of bodies of hard work
toiling over the boiling oil
I came from a line of food vendors
a line so thick
it runs through my blood
until it reaches the very first drop that first ran
through my veins
a line that touches every city in El Salvador
a line that stretches through Texas, California,
New York
And the District of Columbia
Walking across miles of
Deserts
sand

JULIA PENN

forest
and pavement
with huacales filled to their rims with a variety of
local appetizers
I came from the line of vendors
a line so thick
so thick with pride
a line unwilling to die from hunger or poverty
a line unwilling to sit and wait for a miracle
a line of do-ers,
action takers
a line standing tall when gravity gets heavier
Born into a family where poverty runs back to
my first ancestors
Where a cause-and-effect chain reaction makes it
almost impossible to step out of the
economically struggling life
But why?
Why would I ever,
want to do something as preposterous
as to step out of my deeply embedded family line
of prideful vendors
Money may never overflows my pockets
My stomach may never be completely full
after every meal
But a thick layer of cement
transported directly from El Salvador
fills my structure.
Cement built strong
from life
itself.
I was born into this line of venders
Im a vendor myself.

Ever since I could talk

I was selling typical Salvadoran appetizers
to strangers at the top of my pride filled lungs
As I became older I began to trade those items
for opinions
I stand building high,
taller than ever,
and debate my reasoning
until that prize medal is mine
the prize of leaving an opinionated opponent
speechless
even if only for a few seconds
Ive transformed from my ancestors
I used their life
to inspire mine
We started in the same spot;
as child vendors selling what fit in
our tiny growing hands
but I grew
I grew into a twenty-first generation student
living life in itself
to grow
to grow myself
to grow my family
to grow my ancestors
to grow
our
future.
If I were allowed to choose what the structure of
my life were built from
It would have been this one.

June 2015

Summer Books
Dona Anderson
Theres a difference between summer reading and
summer books. Summer reading shows up every year,
boring books that you dont want to read. In fact, you
would rather bury the offending text in some dark,
lonely corner, never to be seen again. Those books are
what put kids off reading. Occasionally, you may find
an interesting one, but that is not usually the case in
my experience.
Summer books, however, are an entirely different
story. They arent really required reading at all. A summer book is what you read on those midsummer days
when its too sunny to leave the house.The heat is thick
enough to spread on toast. You are home alone and
bored out of your mind. Since theres nothing better
to do, you pick up a random book on the shelf. Youve
never read it before, or maybe you did, but you dont

The heat is thick enough

to spread on toast... Since
theres nothing better
to do, you pick up
a random book...

remember. You dont exactly remember when or how

it got here, but you might as well check it out since its
here. So you sit down, read and the book sort of just
gets absorbed into you while your mind wanders. You
dont even notice the passage of time, the heat is clouding your brain so much. But you seem to understand
the book nonetheless. Perhaps you even enjoy it. Or
you dont. It doesnt matter to you at this point. By the
time you finish, it you are somewhat sleepy and alert
all at once; you realize that you spent the whole day
reading. One. Single. Book. And you dont remember
much else. A summer book is all of that. The difference,
is that summer reading is just a thing. Summer books
are an experience.
8 June 2015

Beautiful World
Marcus Perkins
Wow, its such a beautiful world
Red flowers
next to the tree
with red leaves.
The sun seems to be orange
a mixture of red and yellow.
I try to only think
about the redness in the sun
I dont like yellow.
The buildings are perfect
50 story towers everywhere
with a perfect diameter of 50.
Look at all the dogs
running around.
I really like dogs.
They are so fun to play with.
Look that street has a sign.
It says Highway 83.
Its a prime number so its
easier to remember.
I dont know why.
it just is.
This is a world
I could live in
If only it was real.

9 June
2015
EDWIN
ZEYLAYA

Mirror
Evadne Lewis
I cant.
Two words I was taught to never use no matter
what challenges I may face. I was tutoring my friend,
Jeanell, and we were sitting on the couch in my living
room. She had on a black unicorn shirt, pink shorts, and
her favorite purple, fuzzy house slippers. She had her
hair tied up, ready to go to bed. She threw the pencil
down and started to suck her teeth; her voice started
to crack; her eyes began to water. I could see she was
getting frustrated because she didnt really understand
the double-digit math homework her teacher assigned.
It was weird because Ive never seen her get so angry
at herself (or at anything for that matter) when she
got a problem incorrect.Tears started rolling down her
face; she balled up her fist, and shoved her face into her
lap, so I wouldnt see her cry.
Jeanell, whats wrong? I asked. If youre not getting
it, I can try another way. Her response nearly broke
my heart in two. I cant. Im special. I dont understand;
I dont know it because Im stupid! Its too hard! I
pushed the foldout table aside to clear the thick, tense
air. Jeanell had been diagnosed as Mentally Challenged,
and she told me the kids at school made fun of her because of it. They told her she didnt have any friends
because shes stupid or slow or special.
At that moment, something inside me burst into a
flame. I lifted her head up, so she could look me in the
eyes. Jeanell, if those kids at school call you stupid
just because you dont know something, that means
everyone in this world is stupid. Im stupid; theyre stupid; our parents are stupid; our teachers are stupid;
everybody is stupid. Because guess what? Nobody, and
I mean nobody, knows everything. They dont know everything about you.
You have friends; they may not be at school, but Im
sitting right here. Ill always be your friend no matter
what. You can call me anytime, no matter what the situation. Im your friend, your sister, your cousin, your
mentor, your tutor, your anything you want me to be.
And yeah, Jeanell, you are special, but not in the way
they tell you you are, and not in the way you have come
to believe you are.You are special because you are nev10 June 2015

er afraid to be yourself, and I love that about you. You

cant help it if you dont understand something. You
just work until you get it. You are the most genuine,
kind-hearted, soulful person I have ever met in my entire life. Youre special because you are you. Dont you
ever let anyone make you feel ashamed of who you are.
You cant change that.
My words to Jeanell came out not only because she
needed to hear them, but because I needed to hear
them, too. It took me a while to accept who I am.When
I did, I realized that people are jealous and intimidated by those who arent afraid to accept who they are.
They try to break you down if you try to be like them,
and they try to break you down if youre being genuine.
My words to Jeanell helped me see that being myself
is worth more than anything, even if Im not accepted.

ANA NGUYEN

Hands
Antoinette Wimbish
The hands that hold onto the oily
heart covered in self-hate
The mouths that try to cover the wounds
that reopen every day

Having been there and seen those wounds

those hands kept hold
strong and caring
they caressed in the darkest of times

The hands that hold on to faith that

the heart will get better
and not bitter
with the taste of loneliness

They were the ones that pulled

the heart from the abyss
what would have been lost forever
protected by those close

June 2015 11

Thus Spoke Nietzsche

Sherida Magana-Williams
So much depends upon desire
it empties our cups
brings man under
the desire
the love for man
possessing the want to possess
the soul longs to leave
to empty the body
and we abandon the world
for another
thus the cups empty
let go of desire
of man
of other worlds
and everything
will depend on nothing

122015
June2015
2015
12
June
12 June 2015

PHOTO BY TYLER ROGERS

COLLAGE BY CARONLINA
JuneESCALANTE
2015 11
13

June 2015 13

Finding Joy
Emoni Lewis
She stands in the elevator looking down in confusion at Facebook messages she doesnt recognize.
Who is this? she wonders. She scrolls to the top of
all the messages and begins to read until she gets to the
bottom. As she is reading, she begins to see a connection. Her vision is getting blurry, and she gets this thick
feeling in her throat.
Shes now in the main lobby pacing back and forth
with her mind bursting with questions. She goes to her
contacts and calls her uncle to see if he can answer all
those questions racing through her head. After a few
calls, there is still no answer.
She goes upstairs and notices that Ms. Regina is in
her office. So she goes inside. Shes trembling, with her
head facing down and begins to speak. Ms. Regina, if I
call a hospital would they be able to... Her voice becomes shaky, and she begins to cry.
Ms. Regina gets up quickly, closes the door, and asks,
Whats wrong?She tells her that shes confused;
someone told her shes adopted and she doesnt know
if it is true or false. Ms. Regina is speechless; she then
gives her a hug and some tissues. After she gets the tissues, she cries even more. Before she can complete her
question, her phone begins to ring. Its her sister. Shes
telling her to come outside because her dad is here to
pick her up.
She gets on the elevator and tries to make sure her
face doesnt look like she was just crying. She has this
mindset that when she gets in the car she is going to
act normal and funny like she always does. Unfortunately, that doesnt work.
As soon as she gets in the car, she puts the coat over
her head and lays her head down on the door. Tears
slowly make their way down her face all the way until
she gets home. Why didnt she tell me? Why didnt he
tell me? and more questions race through her head.
Shes home now, and her eyes are extremely
puffy and red. She runs to the upstairs bathroom and
tries to make it so her eyes arent so puffy. It doesnt
work, so when she goes downstairs she keeps her head
down while on her cell phone.
14 June 2015 June 2015

She sits there and makes a new Facebook as quickly as possible. Just to talk to Joy. She makes the page and
posts a most recent photograph of herself. Then she
searches the name Joy McRae. She adds her as a friend
and sends her a message. The message reads, Hi Joy.
Its Emoni. Is it true? She sits on the couch shaking her
leg waiting for a reply, trying not to cry. As she waits
for the reply, she becomes very dizzy.Why do I feel this
way? She asks herself.
After a few minutes, she receives a reply. It is from
Joy. Her message says, Yes, it is true. She is speechless.

YANCI FLORES

She goes to her room for a few minutes to think about

what should she do. She comes to the conclusion to go
talk to Joy and ask her, if it is true that she is her real
mom, then why isnt she with her now.
She asks her a whole lot of questions and gets
a whole lot of answers. Some of the answers she takes
in okay but some she does not. She is still confused.
Her mom who she has been living with her whole life
comes home and says that Joy is lying. She then begins
to second guess that Joy is her mom, but after she asks
for her Social Security number and gets it from Joy, she

knows that Joy is her real mother. She begins talking to

her mom every day and still does until this day. Even
though everyone else keeps telling her that its not
true. Shes told its not true, still to this day, by both her
parents who she lives with now and her sister.
The day she found Joy brought so much hurt to her.
She had never been so upset in her life. That day was
both good and bad for her: she found out the truth, but
the truth hurt. She is me: Emoni Lewis. And Joy McRae
is my birth mother. I love both my mothers dearly. I just
wish I was told the truth.
June 2015 15

How the Letters Rose to Power

Ants

Daniel Nguyen

Maria Jose
Sanchaez Carrasco

Letters, single by nature

Alone without a voice.
26 total not aware of their brothers and sisters.
Having only themselves, making distinct sounds.
Together, they make a difference.
Creating a plethora of words, so meticulously woven together.
Discovering that they have twins, triplets, it never ends!

So much depends
upon
an ant.
Tiny and miniscule
yet diligent and what not.
Trying to carry food
for their emperor queen.
All while, preventing to
be killed
by a stomp..

The Power of Lead

Cynthia Diaz
So much
depends on
a pencil
Both a tool
and a weapon
So small
ordinary
breakable
Yet so powerful.

16 June 2015

Some are troublemakers,

Banding together to create c-h-a-o-s
And a-n-a-r-c-h-y, wreaking havoc amongst the
vocabulary world.
Then there are the righteous letters that unite,
Having p-r-o-s-p-e-r-i-t-y and t-r-a-n-q-u-i-l-i-t-y.
The letters you want to have.
These little, small letters growing
Displaying their dominance at the start of a word.
Showing who's the leader, the capital letter.
When grown letters merge, it creates a voice so BIG THAT
YOU CAN HEAR IT THROUGH THIS SHEET OF PAPER.
Getting even crazier when these little letters get weapons
of their own.
The inquisitive letters pick the question mark.
Outspoken letters the exclamation mark.
And the letters that drone on and on, the comma.
With a punctual arsenal at their disposal,
They now control human speech,
A power once out of their little written hands reach.
Thats how the letters rose to power.

Collageby Carolina Escalante

Birds

MESGANA DAGNACHEW

Deyna Rosales
I heard the door slowly open, and my brother come
into the living room. In his hands he carried a rectangular shaped box covered with a gray blanket. I jumped
from my seat and ran to him and asked, Delmar, what
did you bring? He laid the box on the table in front of
me and said excitedly, You're gonna see.
He uncovered the mysterious item, and there were
three of them. Each one stared and looked at us in
wonder. They were each the size of a medium mango,
and their dark, black, oval-shaped eyes looked up with a
sense of intimacy. They each held tight to the cage with
their talons. Their feathers were beautiful, a blend of
gray, white and yellow. They had a little puff of feathers
at the tip of their heads. At that moment, the cage contained the most precious birds: Lola, Pepito and Ole.
My face lit up with happiness because I had never seen
such beauty in my entire life. There was nothing I could
compare them to; I fell immediately in love with them.
My entire family surrounded the cage and stared as
if our eyes couldnt believe what we were seeing. My
brother pulled out a bag of seeds that he had brought

in with him, and we began to feed them. They ate with

shyness. That day was such an exciting day that I would
never forget.
After a month, the birds began to adapt to us and
their new environment. Every morning we would allow
them to come out of their cage, but only Lola liked to
come out. Ole and Pepito were shy; they never wanted
to come out. They would bite our fingers if we tried
to touch them. Each morning as the sun rose, my eyes
would open to the sound of my birds chirping and singing exquisitely. Our mornings were never the same. I
would never forget how those birds turned my days
into reasons to appreciate life.
After about nine months, Pepito and Lola departed
this world along with two other parakeets we bought.
Only Ole was able to survive. Now I wake up feeling
empty without the sound of chirping filling my house.
Our days were never the same after their arrival, and
after their departure, our lives changed once more, but
now we appreciate life because we understand that
what we have today can be gone tomorrow.
June
June2015
2015 17

Tierra
Phong Le Nguyen
She, Tierra, Mother, took care of us,
for we were her children
Children, beginning from a few to seven billion
Billions of us on her shoulders
From lush grasslands to rocky boulders
She took care of us, for we were her children
She, Tierra, Mother, hurt herself to feed us,
for we were her kin
For us, she created forests protruding
from her very skin
Billions of us she fed with her own blood
From living leaf buds to a plant's flower bud
Hurt herself to feed us, for we were her kin
She loved us with her heart
But our love for her was naught
We, Tierra's children, are destroying
our sole mother, our very creator
We modify her plants
for there is no more lush
We abuse her animals
for there is a certain rush
We destroy her skin
till there's nothing but mush
We kill each other
till there's nothing left to crush
We, Tierra's children, failed to take care of
her creations
Kids are dying throughout nations
People are starving while growing
food from plantations
Food companies have
18 June 2015

estranged us in a foundation
For a very long duration
Corporations' motivations
stop blood circulations
which causes amputations
Chemical operations
lead to hospitalizations
We, Tierra's children, failed to keep
our promise and reputation

My Own Household
Isaiah Dozier
I am from fish fries
and cookouts
from ribs and Good Fridays
I am from PS2s and Xboxes
raised by Gameboys and DSs
educated by Nintendo 64s and
Sega Genesis
I am the embodiment
of the hopes of my mother and father
the ambitions of Che and MLK
I am from the household
of I know you aint talkin
We do it for this and that
Um, scuse you!
I am from the streets lined with cars
and buses going in multiple directions
crossing the intersections way too fast
I am from the kitchen which comes to
life with the smell of chicken, greens,
cornbread, and steak
DEVONDRE MOORE

Tierra, mother, I apologize

on behalf of humanity
We your children have reached greed
of a new degree
Mother, hear my plea
Send thy strength unto me
For only you there will be
When there's nothing left but a lifeless sea
Only then will we see
There is no hope for humanity.

I am from my own household,

with its own opinions and thoughts,
restricted by no one

June 2015 19

Good Boy
Kydadah Alexander
Michael sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry. The asphalt felt cold, and many orange and
brown leaves covered the road. Across the street, he
saw his red brick house. It was so close, but he wasnt
ready to go home; he still hadnt gotten what he wanted. He felt that his life was over. His mother began to
call out his name again and again.
Michael! Michael! she screamed. But Michael didnt
20 June 2015

care; he wanted a car to come and run him over. His

mother dropped her head into her hands and threw
her purse on the ground.
I hate you! Michael screamed back. All I wanted
was one thing, one teeny tiny thing, and you couldnt
even give me that! Michael rolled back and forth wailing out, Mommy doesnt love me! This is not fair! Im
moving in with dad! Michael crossed his arms and let
out a long, sad pout.
Michael Paul Jamison, come here this instant! his
mom said. Michaels mother was starting to get really

Stop & Stare

Ruth Fuentes
Tell me what you see
your mind expands
the journey just began
You apologize for the you see
Whos fault is that
why dont you look at me
am ugly and fat
Stop & Stare I hear again
Tell me what you see
the ugly I scream!
The ugly
Stop & Stare I hear again
Tell me what you see
stare deeper than the face
then what they want you to see
Stop & Stare
tell me what you see
I dont see ugly
Just see the beautiful me

YANCI FLORES

angry. She had half a mind to leave Michael right there.

Shut up! Michael cried. I want this car to come
and hit me so you can feel bad. Michael continued to
cry and cry.
His mother let out a little chuckle while looking at
her four-year-old son who was on the wrong side of
the road. Michael, we just got a toy for you last week!
Come on; its getting dark, and no cars can come on
this road.
Then Ill just stay out here forever! Michael sobbed.
Michaels mom then got an idea and knew exactly how

to get her son to get up. You know, I thought about

getting McDonalds for dinner, but now seeing the way
youre acting you can have nothing but asparagus for
dinner. As Michaels mom said that, she began to turn
around and walk away.
Michaels eyes shot up and said, McDonalds?!? He
jumped right up and ran to his mom. Ill be a good boy!
Im sorry! Who needs that stupid toy anyway? I got one
last week, Michael shouted.

June 2015 21

TH

My Destination Was Made

Aida Bonilla-Torres
Aida, look!
amputate my hand if any problems occurred. Finally, my
I turned around to the back of the classroom where mom decided to amputate my finger.
two boys were laughing and holding a piece of paper.
Not having my middle finger is not a problem at all.
I didnt know what to say, and I started crying. Having I can do everything that a person with all five fingers
seen the effigy that they drew appalled me. I ran out of can do. At times I feel uncomfortable while doing an
the classroom crying and went straight to the bath- activity that requires me to show my hand because
room. Five minutes later, I heard the bathroom door people are going to stare at me and judge me without
open. It was my teacher who was looking for me. She knowing what happened. Throughout the years, I have
started asking me many questions, and I didnt have any noticed that whenever someone asks me to use all my
type of answer or at least I couldnt answer them at five fingers, I end up using my left hand. When Im playthat moment. It was hard to speak after such an emo- ing soccer, as goalie, I feel weird using gloves, but then
tional event. I know you might be wondering what this again I remember that I have a left hand that has been
effigy was: it was a drawing of my middle finger.
useful for the past 16 years, and it has helped me save a
One day, my mom decided to go to my grandmothers lot of shots on the field. My left hand is my salvation to
house to help her cook. I was
any situation that would make
only a few months old, and
me feel less than everyone else.
she couldnt carry me around
People wonder how I write
The event made me
with her while she was cookor which hand I write with or
feel
proud
of
what
ing, so she decided to leave
if it is hard not having a midme by myself in a chair as she
dle finger. Those are the most
I have; it made me
went about her business. I
commons questions that I get.
feel
determined
was, as I am today, a curious
My answer is the same every
child, so I managed to crawl
time they ask. I tell them that
to never feel less
where my sister, Esmeralda
I write with my right hand, and
than
anyone
else...
was cutting a coconut.
it doesnt hurt at all when Im
That is when my mom told
writing. People also ask if I hate
me the story, that as I moved
my sister for doing what she did.
my hand closer and closer to the coconut, my sister My answer is always the same. Not at all; I dont hate
was getting ready to cut the coconut with a machete or blame her because both of us were small and didnt
in her hand. The machete, however, did not cut the co- know what we were doing; we were children.
conut. The machete cut my finger and left one of my
This earliest childhood memory hasnt affected me
other fingers damaged. My mom remembers me cry- at all. Well, just that day in middle school when the boy
ing and screaming my lungs out. She was horrified to laughed at me for not having a finger. But guess what?
see her little girls finger hanging off the last piece of The event made me feel proud of what I have; it made
skin. My moms clothes were covered with blood as me feel determined to never feel less than anyone else
she rocked her daughter trying to calm her and herself for not having a finger. I know someone out there might
down. She didnt know what to do, but with the help have it ten times worse than me. This situation made
of my grandmother, they took me to the hospital. The me into a person full of courage who is able to fight
doctors told my mom that it was too late to recover any battle and overcome any obstacle in life. Im lookmy finger because my veins were too small and very ing forward to growing up, graduating from college and
sensitive. They might have been able to recover my making a difference among my family and community.
finger, but in the future they probably would have to

22 June 2015

TH

The Melting Pot

Jorge Ortez
Through my senior expedition research I learned
there are about 11 million undocumented immigrants
in the US that come from all over the world.This painting shows a big melting pot because the United States
is filled with people of different races and cultures.

The government should not leave undocumented

immigrants out of the picture because the US was built
on immigrants. What if the immigrants who are here
are taken out of the United States? How will the US
economy function without them? Many undocumented
immgirants are the pillars that help the people at the
top become who they are.
June 2015 23

DEVONDRE MOORE

24 June 2015

Best Cookies Ever Made

Brandy Suyderhoud
Every year around Christmas time, my mother and are something that my mother and I work on together.
I have a special tradition of doing activities together. We turn on the movie How the Grinch Stole ChristWhen my parents got divorced I was five, so the years mas, and the house starts to smell of vanilla and pine.
after that it was just us putting up the Christmas deco- The cookies are not just made for us; they are also for
family and friends.This tradition started when my mom
rations at her house.
That first Christmas was difficult. I lived with my dad was in college and was not able to afford presents for
part of the time, but it was still not the same as when everyone. She would give Christmas tins as presents
we were all a family under one roof. Christmas be- instead. Now it is my mothers and my tradition.
During our ritual, the house comes alive with the
came a much different holiday for me. That is when we
holiday spirit! As the cookies are baking in the oven, the
started our tradition of baking cookies together.
Before we start making the cookies, there are sev- house heats up like a furnace, making us go outside for
eral tasks that have to be finished. First, we take the a few minutes just to soak up the cold winter air.
When the first batch
decorations out of the attic. This
comes out of the oven, I
now takes ten minutes; when I was
always volunteer to be the
small it could take an hour. My
The
best
part
of
making
first one to taste them.
arms were so small, and our attic
They are soft, and there are
was a pain in the neck. The floorthe cookies is that my
so many wonderful flavors
boards were broken so this would
mother
and
I
are
able
that are bottled up inside
make for some memorable events.
one little cookie. Because
Most of them involved my mothto spend this wonderful
they are so hot, I usually
er telling me to get the boxes
time
together
...
burn my mouth, but that
down before they fell. They have
does not stop me from
many breakable elements, and
enjoying the heavenly taste
she worries every time we take
them down. There are so many that she has collected of these homemade cookies. The sweet brown sugar,
over the years. My favorite decoration is one that I re- mixed with a dash of salt, flour, and chocolate pieces
ceived when I was around five years old; it is a statuette makes normal M&M cookies a divine treat.
When I bake these childhood cookies, I know that
of Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street holding a row of
Christmas popcorn. When I look at it, it makes me feel the outcome will be one of love and hard work. The
best part of making the cookies is that my mother and
like a child for just a split second.
My mother also has an entire nativity set made out I are able to spend this wonderful time together. Our
of Precious Memories statues. I laugh when I see the relationship is fantastic because I tell her everything
very detailed and little figures that look so genuine. Af- and that has brought us closer over the years. Mostly
ter the decorations come down, we put up the tree and we talk about family. My mother married my stepfather years ago, and with that I gained several new family
start to make the house look and feel like Christmas.
Next comes baking the best cookies in the entire members.
When I was younger, the cookies represented
world. They are literally like nothing you have ever
tasted before. The sweetness of sugar and chocolate Christmas and family time. They also represent the
together along with the delight of the vanilla work to- power of giving. They will be something that I will bake
gether pleasantly when anyone tastes these cookies. for years to come; I will hopefully pass on the tradition
They are the best part about Christmas because they to my children one day.

June 2015 25

Its Complicated
Chada Cook
Its complicated
when scars,
are not fully healed
there before you were even thought of,
picked at constantly in a family.
I am from weekly cook outs
To none.
I am from seeing family every day
To seeing them ever so rarely
I am from family drama
And pregnant cousins younger than me
I am from argumentative siblings
And misunderstanding
I am from Act first and think later
From speaking and bonding
To loathing and avoiding
I am from Being stuck in the middle
Not knowing whom to believe or trust
Family pulling you in every direction
I am from tough love
The kind you know is there deep down
But still question
I am from a place that can make your head spin
Not knowing whether to smile or frown
To laugh or cry
To live or die
Or remain stoic.

26 June 2015

FORREST PENROD

June 2015 27

Lost and Found

Elder DeLeon
I remember waking up to the sounds of an engine.
At first I thought our car broke down, but shortly after opening one eye, I saw that we continued to go
along the loopy road. Windows opened, the wind blew
through my hair. After opening my other eye and looking both ways, I saw a huge figure. This was the first
time I had seen such a presence in person; on TV and
in the movies, they seem small, but in person they are
just ENORMOUS! It was like six SUVs lined up back
to back. Shortly after I heard a huge boom, its engine
revved up. Now I was fully awake. Im not a morning
person, and it was 5 oclock. However, losing lovely
sleep was the least of my worries. I was more shocked
at the fact that I was leaving the States for the first
time. Especially knowing that I might not come back
for a while. I was going to Guatemala which in my mind
didnt have the best of living conditions: no running water and where I might just die of boredom from not
being able to use the internet or watch T.V.
This came after a rocky first half of my 7th grade
year. I wasnt really appreciating anything my parents
were doing for me. They would work their butts off,
and all I did was goof off in school and even almost
faced expulsion. So my mom had had enough and decided to take me to her homeland to teach me where
she came from and how to learn how to appreciate
what I have.

Confusion
Ashley Carela
In between
black white
pictures without sight
bravery without fear
wrong without right
complex world
unclear

28 June 2015

Although in middle school every staff member constantly reminded us to Know what you want to do
with your lives and education is the key to anything
you want to do, in all honesty, I hated school and felt
that I should just live in the moment. I just wasnt on
the right path, and I was lost.
Once we got our ticket for parking in the garage,
we paid two dollars for a carrying cart for our luggage.
We walked into the walkway connecting the parking

...in all honesty, I hated

school and felt I should
just live in the moment.
I just wasnt on the right
path, and I was lost.

garage and the airport. Bright white lights hit me as

if they were cop lights; any remaining drowsiness just
went away. Strolling into the check-in area, I saw people
hustling and rushing everywhere. Although it seemed
like chaos, I liked it. Once we checked in, we had our
goodbye hugs with my other family members, and then
my mother, my two sisters and I made our way through
security which was such a huge hassle.Finally, we made
it to the gate where our flight was gonna take off, and
I saw a plane up close for the first time. The lights just
popped and flashed, yellow and white lights. I fell in love
instantly.
Six years later, in my junior year of high school, the
excitement I receive from simply entering an airport
gets greater every time. Maybe its because I know every year, I am closer to being able to achieve my dream
of becoming an airplane pilot or maybe its just because
its my happy place.

ZARI VENTURA

June 2015 29

ROBINSON DIAZ MENDOZA ZELAYA SANCHEZ-CARRASCO

NGUYEN
WIMBISH MAGANA-WILLIAMS
ORTEZ
FUENTES
DAGNACHEW
DOZIER AGUIRRE CARELA MOORE SUYDERHAUD COOKS
PENN
PERKINS
LEWIS ALEXANDER NGUYEN
ANDERSON
PENROD
BLANDIN ROGERS
ROSALES
BONILLA-TORRES
VENTURA
DELEON FLORES
MENDOZA
WIMBISH
SANCHEZ-CARRASCO
DIAZ
NGUYEN
PENN
ZELAYA
MAGANA-WILLIAMS
ORTEZ FUENTES
DOZIER AGUIRRE CARELA MOORE
SUYDERHAUD COOKS PERKINS
LEWIS
DAGNACHEW ROBINSON
NGUYEN
PENROD
ANDERSON
BONILLA-TORRES
MENDOZA
PENN ROGERS
DELEON ORTEZ
DIAZ BLANDIN
ROBINSON
ROSALES
WIMBISH
ALEXANDER
FUENTES
VENTURA
DAGNACHEW
FLORES DELEON
MOORE FLORES
AGUIRRE
AGUIRRE
CARELA DIAZ
NGUYEN PENN
SUYDERHAUD
PERKINS
ANDERSON
COOKS DOZIER
LEWIS ZELAYA
ROSALES
PENROD
ALEXANDER
ROBINSON DIAZ MENDOZA ZELAYA SANCHEZ-CARRASCO
NGUYEN
WIMBISH MAGANA-WILLIAMS
ORTEZ
FUENTES
DAGNACHEW
DOZIER AGUIRRE CARELA MOORE SUYDERHAUD COOKS
PENN
PERKINS
LEWIS ALEXANDER NGUYEN
ANDERSON
PENROD
BLANDIN ROGERS
ROSALES
BONILLA-TORRES
VENTURA
DELEON FLORES
MENDOZA
WIMBISH
SANCHEZ-CARRASCO
DIAZ
NGUYEN
PENN
ZELAYA
MAGANA-WILLIAMS
ORTEZ FUENTES
DOZIER AGUIRRE CARELA MOORE
SUYDERHAUD COOKS PERKINS
LEWIS
DAGNACHEW ROBINSON NGUYEN PENROD
ANDERSON
ROBINSON DIAZ MENDOZA ZELAYA SANCHEZ-CARRASCO
NGUYEN
WIMBISH MAGANA-WILLIAMS
ORTEZ
FUENTES
DAGNACHEW
DOZIER AGUIRRE CARELA MOORE SUYDERHAUD COOKS
PENN
PERKINS
LEWIS ALEXANDER NGUYEN
ANDERSON
PENROD
BLANDIN ROGERS
ROSALES
BONILLA-TORRES
VENTURA
DELEON FLORES
MENDOZA
WIMBISH
SANCHEZ-CARRASCO
DIAZ
NGUYEN
PENN
ZELAYA
MAGANA-WILLIAMS
ORTEZ FUENTES
DOZIER AGUIRRE CARELA MOORE
SUYDERHAUD COOKS PERKINS
LEWIS
DAGNACHEW ROBINSON
NGUYEN
PENROD
ANDERSON
ROBINSON DIAZ
MENDOZA
ZELAYA
SANCHEZ-CARRASCO COOKS
NGUYEN
WIMBISH MAGANA-WILLIAMS
ORTEZ
PENN
FUENTES
DAGNACHEW
DOZIER
AGUIRRE
CARELA
MOORE
SUDERHAUD