Perspective
/pərˈspektiv/
Noun
/pərˈspektiv/
Noun
- the art of drawing solid objects on a two-dimensional surface so as to give the right impression of their height, width, depth, and position in relation to each other when viewed from a particular point.
- a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view.
- an apparent spatial distribution in perceived sound.
Welcome to the sixth and final Spotlight of the year: Perspective. As the end of the school year comes closer, it gives us to the chance to reflect on ourselves and the world around us. We decided on our theme because we wanted to give our writers lots of freedom and flexibility, as there are infinite ways of interpreting perspective. We also wanted our writers to not feel limited by our theme; we simply wanted to showcase their thoughts and talent. We are incredibly proud of how they ran with our theme. Please enjoy the pieces and the photos and music accompanying them!
- May Spotlight Team
- May Spotlight Team
Perspective
By: Adrienne Vandenberg Beautiful. Fiery red hair pulled into a perfectly imperfect ponytail, something about her is so compelling. She has the most gorgeous porcelain skin dotted with paint-splatter freckles, and is short enough to appreciate my height. I can’t take my eyes off her, the way she reads her book unbothered by busy people getting on and off the bus. She’s perfect. I should go talk to her, I really should. Maybe if I can get her attention she’ll talk to me first. Cough. It worked! Bam, eye contact. Mesmerizing green eyes, just the way I thought they’d be. Okay, I lost it, she’s looking back down at her book. Damn, so close. She’s taking out her phone, maybe she’s texting a friend about me. Well, probably not. Chances are she’s texting a friend that she’s going to be late to some small coffee shop, that seems like the kind of thing she’d go to, somewhere quirky like that. I bet she’s got a cool name too, maybe she’s an Allison. No, too boring, she’s more of a Rose. Nevermind, too old, probably a Jessica. Or an Eleanor. Yeah, for sure, Eleanor. Hey, eye contact again. That’s a good sign. No! She pulled the cord for the next stop. I’m not supposed to get off the bus for another 4 blocks, but I guess I could get off early. Nah, too long a walk. Forget it. Maybe I’ll see Eleanor again some other time. He’s still watching me, isn’t he? Something about his stare, or should I say glare, is putting me on edge. Even if I pretend to concentrate on this book I can feel his beady eyes scanning me, like lasers burning through the pages. Analyzing. He’s bigger than me, too, at least 6” and muscular. Something about his face just feels aggressive, and the way he’s looming over me is making me feel smaller in this seat. Gross, he just straight up coughed on me. Okay, quickly look at him to see if he’s still watching. Oh god, eye contact, now he’s got this freaky smile. I should text Julie, just in case. “I’m on my way, but there’s this weird guy staring at me on the bus, it’s a little scary. He won’t break eye contact. Maybe I’m overreacting. I’ll text you if anything else pops up”. He can’t read my texts from here, can he? Oh, a reply. “Jess, get off the bus. I’ll save you a seat, I’d rather you be late than have something like last time happen again. Once you’re off the bus call me”. Can I get by him? Assess the situation. If I can push past him the rest of the aisle is clear, I can quickly get off the bus. Oh god, more eye contact. Make your escape, pull the cord. Open, doors, please open. Open! Go quickly! He looks like he’s about to get up as well. Just don’t look back, maybe he won’t follow. Good, I’m alone. God, I have to start taking a taxi instead. Photo By: Jackson Hunter
Inside The Bug
By: Brenna Hynes God I hate driving a punch buggy. I thought it was cute at first, that it would be fun to drive and easy to fit in small parking spaces. But then I started looking out my windows. Wars raged as I passed by- kids jumping on each other in the back of their cars, beating at each other with their fists, kids launching onto one another on the streets as I pass- busses full of the flying fists and bodies of children- two words echoing throughout each scene; “punch buggy”. I always drive as fast as I can away from these scenes- not wanting to be the one to provoke a murder… This is my warning, DON’T DRIVE A PUNCH BUGGY. |
Static
By: Alex Dolansky-Overland Imagine experiencing the world through radio. Volume sways, Dimmed for the duller moments, Blasted at the better ones. Connection’s constantly unclear. Static replaces words, sentences - But you’re good at bridging the gaps. Yet static still fills moments. Blink, and half a song has passed, Minutes have disappeared. You’ll never remember a second without the clamor. Focus. Static fills the background, Creeps into the foreground. Channels switch, Thoughts wander, Connection slips, So focused on focusing you lose your focus. Energy is trapped. You fidget, Can’t sit still. Time crawls. Boredom burrows like it's been shot from a bow, So easily, so quickly. Leg bounces, Fingers drum, Thoughts whirl, Static builds, A maelstrom forms. Surrounded, You stand in it's eye. Like a ship, a vessel, Focus is torn asunder, Memories, ideas, Scattered like planks of wood. Sometimes you let it take you. You drift in its current, See where it takes you. Don't bother grabbing on, Welcome its cool touch, Relinquish control, Give your mind a break. Yet some channels have no storm of static. These are your favorite channels, Channels clearer on your radio Than any channel on any other. You can focus on nothing else. A book, a movie, a game, Pushing yourself to your limits, Physically and mentally, You’re so focused you can’t focus on focusing. You can focus on nothing else. |
Spiders
By: Clara Demke I am trapped. They have cornered me, Surrounded me. I can feel the sound waves, They are screaming. What are they scared of? I have nowhere left to go to, To run. I am scared. This has happened a million times before. My mother. My siblings. My species. We are hated. Despised. And yet, A sliver of hope gleams inside me, A hope for someone to stop the fear between us. To tear down the border. I am done with hiding, Hiding will not get us anywhere. I bear my fangs. They are small, filled with a weak nerve poison that hardly affects them. My eight eyes flit around at the world one last time, I tense my legs and I spring up against the wall, Scurrying as fast as my legs can carry me. I almost thought I had made it, But then I noted a sudden breeze, heading towards me. Squish. When I hear Perspective
By: Rebecca Kempe When I hear perspective, I hear converging lines The point when an image is completely out of focus The terror of forgetting a straight edge Of not drawing a proper Perpendicular line Not knowing Which parts of buildings should be showing And where the shadows Should be falling I hear perspective and A gaggle of new art terms Things I don’t care to remember Massive headaches Cries of pain My brain is sick of math And line precision I simply want to draw. When I hear perspective I hear point of view The sometimes opposing opinions That no one wants to hear The everlasting arguments where no one gets along No one wants to step in Someone else’s shoes Because everyone thinks Their opinion has so much more weight Than it actually does I hear problem solving Without solutions because People refuse to look at every angle Because not as many people are telling their stories And they’re forgetting there are two sides to every story They are missing vital information So much for multiple perspectives Some are always missing anyway. A Child Pessimist
By: Victoria Noon Round cheeks, She's observant and hollow Unexpected for something younger than most homes An abundance of frowns are hidden in her pockets And she doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Disorder A mental state Or just her view on everything? The white coats don’t have the data to know. Her father told her if you fail, get out So sometimes she leaves the house Strolling down mainstreet Thinking about things that start with the letter L Because that’s always been Her favourite letter Was sent to her from a stranger from Asia One of those send, never to be found again kind of things. Now that stranger is one of the only people to speaks freely to Because she knows they don’t speak the same language so She’s safe. Pardon your assumptions. She’s no pessimist She’s the silence some people need. Photo By: Spotlight Team
|
Perspective? By: Gabriel Karasik Perspective is a hell of a concept. Every person’s perspective of a certain situation will be very different. For example; Scenario: Man and woman slept together. Perspectives: Husband of woman: You slept with my wife you dirty piece of- Man: I was wasted! She slept with me! Woman: I regret sleeping with either of you. Self-obsessed Bastard: I mean she should’ve slept with me but, whatever. Me: Some dude and a woman slept together. Not really sure what to make of it. Husband of Woman: Who are you and what are you doing in my house? Me: Notimetoexplaingottago,bye! Police: Okay, who slept with who while drunk? Child: Why do they care so much, maybe the lady just wanted a more comfortable bed? Mother of child: Come now dear, this isn’t our business. Bird: *Bird noise* Brick Wall: … See? Totally different! Now, there are different kinds of perspective, there’s the one above, and their is also “person”. First, second, and third. For example: First: I walked to school. Second: You walked to school. Third: He walked to school. Zero-th: Walked to school. Fourth: Him walked to school. Fifth: school. to He walked Those last few may have been fake, but you get the idea. Photo By: Sydney Orask
A Depressive Perspective
By: Tyler Champion Author Note: (Disclaimer: This piece is written by someone with diagnosed depression and delusional/intrusive thoughts. I cannot speak on behalf of all mentally ill people, including people with schizophrenia, psychosis, and the many other variations of neurodivergence that exist.) My brain is named Brenda. Let me explain. My brain is named Brenda for the simple reason that giving it a name makes it a lot easier for me to distance myself from my mind. To help myself come to terms with the fact that mental illness isn’t my fault. As corny as it sounds, mental illness is often a case of you against your own mind. This makes it hard to get better. A name antagonizes the illness, isolates it. And so, Brenda was born. Brenda /Bren-da/ Noun 1. A soccer mom who just got told her gluten-free brownies ain’t all that. “Leave your nasty brownies at home, Brenda.” Synonyms: Carol, Sharon, Linda, Susan 2. An ill, or otherwise annoying mind that twists your perspective and makes everyday life hell. “I hate you, Brenda.” Living with mental illness is not the best time. Along with the misconceptions of others, and physical symptoms that prevent you from living your life, it can be quite difficult to get yourself out of your own brain. This makes it an overwhelming condition for some people, Which is unfortunate considering most people are of the belief it’s a highly manageable thing. So I thought I’d compile a bit of a list of what a sick brain can do to your perspective. You see, with an illness, everyday situations and words don’t mean the same things as they might for neurotypical (or mentally healthy) people. And sometimes it’s difficult for healthy people to understand that, so here are some words, phrases, and situations, that can be very different for someone with depression. I just need a break→I literally hate you. I’m tired→It’s your fault. You’re a burden. It’s okay. You’re safe.→None of this is real. Panic. Leave me alone→Never speak to me again. I hate you. So you kind of get the idea. A mentally ill brain can twist things. Make you believe things that really aren’t true. Logically, these things aren’t true, and we know this, and yet, Brenda continues to be an asshole. I’d like to clarify that these are not thoughts that mentally ill people can help. Like intrusive thoughts, we can’t escape these. They stick, and they gnaw at us for months. Seriously, I can have a two-hour meditation session in which I try to convince myself my best friend doesn’t actually hate me, go on three mountain voyages with them, and live through an avalanche together, and still, if I try to convince myself the delusional or intrusive thoughts I’m having about my best friend are false, and that there’s no point in thinking them, my mental illness comes out of a shadowy alleyway, snapping, like: Photo By: Bill Wurtz, YouTube
So, as a conclusion, try not to assume what’s going on in people’s heads, or what their reasoning behind something might be. Because when it comes to actual illnesses, a lot of times there’s a lot going on under the surface. Talk to your friends, ask them how they’re feeling, and lastly, if you have your own Brenda, keep on keeping on. Every soccer mom has to die one day.
|
A Child's Perspective
By: Areeg In a field of innocence I would pick the flowers all around me The joy I got from each flower in my hand Would leave with each flower I’d give away. In a field of innocence I’d run so fast and laugh The excitement I got from playing Never seemed to last. In a field of innocence My heart was so big To all the children like me, the birds, all the animals I gave them all my love And ran out with the only thing. I had In a field of innocence The sun would shine so bright I felt it on my back I took too much in And on my chest Burned a hole. In a field of innocence I felt so pure The ignorance of a child Turned to feeling unsure. |
The Snowstorm of June
By: Samantha Muhlig What is this? Snow? Why is it snowing in june? I’m not sure, darling. Stand close Here, take my hand. Had i known it was going to snow I would of been more prepared … Is the world ending? Do not panic, darling The world won’t end As long as you walk this earth You’ll be fine Seems unlikely That my presence in this Big and expanding universe Relies on me Our expanding universe Doesn’t rely on anybody But my universe Relies on you How? … How could someone Be the anchor To your world? I’m asking you The same thing. |
Above and Below
By: Jasmine Hrynyk Seabrook I stand above all. With the birds who soar, and the planes which fly. In the clouds and in the sky. The winds are strong. It’s cold, but not only that it’s lonely. Everything will be fine. Everything is fine. For I stand above all. I stand below. On the ground where the people buzz, and where the breeze is light. It’s warm, and it’s social. With pleasant people, and joyful life. I am weak, but with the people I am strong. For we stand below but together. But I am always happy when I look down. But everything feels better when I look up. For the people always look like ants from here. Photo By: Spotlight Team
|
10:13
By: Kieran Sheehan
It’s 10:13 and I haven’t written anything for Spotlight yet. This was technically due yesterday, but the due date was extended, and me, an idiot, still waited till the very last moment to do it. In my defense, I forgot. I have a terrible memory. But, that’s not going to get me marks and I really don’t want to fail, so enjoy my random ramblings about perspectives, and maybe I will have an actual point to make. Maybe not though, I’m still not sure where this is going.
So what is perspective? The textbook definition says it’s a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view. Thank you Google. But what does that mean, exactly? Well, basically, we humans decided that because we can create our own “unique” thoughts, everyone must know about them. It was probably useful back when important things were being invented, or when we still figuring out how the world worked, “Groog thinks we not put body in fire, it bad.” Glad Groog figured that one out. But nowadays, people share their opinions and perspectives as if something terrible would happen if I didn’t know that Danny didn’t like the new Star Wars movie. Shut up Danny, no one cares. It’s great and all when you’re talking with your friends, but I met Danny once at the Baby Shower, of a family friend, and could not care less about his perspectives. I’m sure people have thought the same thing about ideas I’ve shared before, and others have had the same thought about them. The truth is, we all have had that moment where we thought, man, I wish this person would shut up, I just don’t care. This is mainly in classrooms, or if you work, at work. Everyone has also probably had someone think that about them.
But, why though? Why do we judge other people’s perspectives? I think, and I’m a ninth grader, so I’m totally qualified to say this, it’s because we are all extremely self-centered. We surround ourselves with people who think the exact same things as us, and shun those who have different perspectives. We enjoy being agreed with, and hate the feeling of someone telling us we’re wrong, and us humans, usually are. We argue to try and change other people’s perspectives into our own, instead of agreeing to disagree. And I know we say that we’re okay with them having a different opinion, and sure when it comes down to silly things like colours it’s easier to let go, but if I told you I’m a Trump supporter, would you still feel the same way? I’m not saying I am, in fact if someone told me they were, I wouldn’t be okay with that, but that’s just because I don’t like their perspective. Even movies or books can start heated debates about characters and plot points, because we regard our perspectives in the highest of light, whatever that means, and when were told that our favourite character isn’t the best, the one who has always been our favourite, you know we are going to defend them.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying all perspectives are stupid, in fact, none of them are. They are just opinions, and as much as I hate it, everyone is allowed to have them. I’m just saying not everyone has to listen, or care. If Sally starts spewing homophobic B.S. I know I’m not going to stick around to listen. We are never going to have everyone share our opinions, as much as we would like, the world isn’t perfect, and more often than not, we’re going to disagree. There is nothing anyone can do about that. Man, I don not know how to end this now. I was hoping some optimistic point would just fall upon me and I could change the world with it. But no, the world is a piece of sh*t and will remain a piece of sh*t forever. This is depressing. Well, it’s 10:45, I’ve spent 32 minutes on this garbage, and now I’m going to watch sense8 to distract myself from the fact that the world is falling apart, humans and terrible, Donald Trump is a thing, and I can do nothing to fix any of these. Goodnight, sweet readers, goodnight.
By: Kieran Sheehan
It’s 10:13 and I haven’t written anything for Spotlight yet. This was technically due yesterday, but the due date was extended, and me, an idiot, still waited till the very last moment to do it. In my defense, I forgot. I have a terrible memory. But, that’s not going to get me marks and I really don’t want to fail, so enjoy my random ramblings about perspectives, and maybe I will have an actual point to make. Maybe not though, I’m still not sure where this is going.
So what is perspective? The textbook definition says it’s a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view. Thank you Google. But what does that mean, exactly? Well, basically, we humans decided that because we can create our own “unique” thoughts, everyone must know about them. It was probably useful back when important things were being invented, or when we still figuring out how the world worked, “Groog thinks we not put body in fire, it bad.” Glad Groog figured that one out. But nowadays, people share their opinions and perspectives as if something terrible would happen if I didn’t know that Danny didn’t like the new Star Wars movie. Shut up Danny, no one cares. It’s great and all when you’re talking with your friends, but I met Danny once at the Baby Shower, of a family friend, and could not care less about his perspectives. I’m sure people have thought the same thing about ideas I’ve shared before, and others have had the same thought about them. The truth is, we all have had that moment where we thought, man, I wish this person would shut up, I just don’t care. This is mainly in classrooms, or if you work, at work. Everyone has also probably had someone think that about them.
But, why though? Why do we judge other people’s perspectives? I think, and I’m a ninth grader, so I’m totally qualified to say this, it’s because we are all extremely self-centered. We surround ourselves with people who think the exact same things as us, and shun those who have different perspectives. We enjoy being agreed with, and hate the feeling of someone telling us we’re wrong, and us humans, usually are. We argue to try and change other people’s perspectives into our own, instead of agreeing to disagree. And I know we say that we’re okay with them having a different opinion, and sure when it comes down to silly things like colours it’s easier to let go, but if I told you I’m a Trump supporter, would you still feel the same way? I’m not saying I am, in fact if someone told me they were, I wouldn’t be okay with that, but that’s just because I don’t like their perspective. Even movies or books can start heated debates about characters and plot points, because we regard our perspectives in the highest of light, whatever that means, and when were told that our favourite character isn’t the best, the one who has always been our favourite, you know we are going to defend them.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying all perspectives are stupid, in fact, none of them are. They are just opinions, and as much as I hate it, everyone is allowed to have them. I’m just saying not everyone has to listen, or care. If Sally starts spewing homophobic B.S. I know I’m not going to stick around to listen. We are never going to have everyone share our opinions, as much as we would like, the world isn’t perfect, and more often than not, we’re going to disagree. There is nothing anyone can do about that. Man, I don not know how to end this now. I was hoping some optimistic point would just fall upon me and I could change the world with it. But no, the world is a piece of sh*t and will remain a piece of sh*t forever. This is depressing. Well, it’s 10:45, I’ve spent 32 minutes on this garbage, and now I’m going to watch sense8 to distract myself from the fact that the world is falling apart, humans and terrible, Donald Trump is a thing, and I can do nothing to fix any of these. Goodnight, sweet readers, goodnight.
Untitled
By: Dylan Russell The sweet hardcover guy will break more than he’ll trust The dreams have turned to rust The bones are breaking dry The tough paperback chick will take more than she’ll sell The laughs have turned to hell The best of her is sick His mind darkens by nightfall His pulse echoes through his veins His white gloves are stains as he punches through the drywall Her poetry lays unspoken Her voice lays still unheard Her heart won’t beat a word until her loneliness stays unbroken You are tattooed to the back of my eyelids. |
La Perspectiva
By: Parker Ivie as a child, while reaching for a crayon, a fork, a hairbrush, my abuela would never fail to remove the object from my left hand, and place it, with love, into the grasp of my right. her attempt to flip over my dexterity, persistent as it may have been, proved to be unsuccessful as to this day, i remain left handed. although it sometimes frustrates me to think about how my abuela tried this, i push it aside to tradition, as my abuela was once left handed. |
Different
By: Laura Slabbert
No one understands.
It isn’t a phase, it’s not just “something all teenagers go through,” it’s who I am.
I’ve always known I’m not like other girls, I’m unique, one in seven billion.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be fully understood, and I’m okay with it.
I shouldn’t expect the normies of the world to be able to comprehend what I truly am.
“Edgy” they call me.
“Emo” I hear whispered behind my back as I stalk the halls of the school.
The world will never accept me, and I accept that.
No one understands how hard it is to be me.
They don’t know expensive Linkin Park vinyls can be.
How much time I spend putting on eyeliner and dyeing my hair.
They will never know the pain I went through getting all 15 face piercings and my MCR tattoo.
No one can comprehend the struggles I faced when my MySpace account got hacked.
Most people wouldn’t be able to bear the burden I live with, but know how to survive.
I open up my laptop to my tumblr account.
Here is where I finally find peace.
By: Laura Slabbert
No one understands.
It isn’t a phase, it’s not just “something all teenagers go through,” it’s who I am.
I’ve always known I’m not like other girls, I’m unique, one in seven billion.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be fully understood, and I’m okay with it.
I shouldn’t expect the normies of the world to be able to comprehend what I truly am.
“Edgy” they call me.
“Emo” I hear whispered behind my back as I stalk the halls of the school.
The world will never accept me, and I accept that.
No one understands how hard it is to be me.
They don’t know expensive Linkin Park vinyls can be.
How much time I spend putting on eyeliner and dyeing my hair.
They will never know the pain I went through getting all 15 face piercings and my MCR tattoo.
No one can comprehend the struggles I faced when my MySpace account got hacked.
Most people wouldn’t be able to bear the burden I live with, but know how to survive.
I open up my laptop to my tumblr account.
Here is where I finally find peace.
Untitled
By: Aiko Byrne and so i looked down through the branches of the old maple tree at the city lights flickering on and off as the sun set over the blue-grey hills. the sky. a horizon of pink, blue and purple hues, like tulips blooming by the river in May, unapologectically bursting with life. as we watched quietly, silhouettes of busy people walked down below us. walked where the growing grass met cement roads, and water beds met their freezing toes. they marched towards the city, ran towards the sun. as evening turned to dawn and the night had begun, leaving you and me to sit alone in our old maple tree. Photo By: Jackson Hunter
|
Untitled
By: Maddy Chinneck I watch the colours of the sky change Through the lines of my blinds There is no sun in the sky today No warmth on my sheets I am refreshed by the breeze I hear birds in the trees I can feel the spring air replacing the odour Of dishes I have yet to do I haven’t changed my shirt in 3 days It is warm and I like it the way it is Dirt and all. My shower feels far away I can imagine the hot water rinsing the grease The sweat that would disappear If I decided to pick up the weights At the foot of my bed And use them like I used to. I do not answer my phone anymore I can not talk to the people who were my favourite I pray that they wonder where I went That somebody is looking for me That I am absent, not gone. From pale blue to lilac Lilac to indigo Indigo to black I stare through my window Teeth unbrushed Hair tangled Face unwashed And I listen to the birds I hope that it will stay cold and dark And that the sun will not force me out of my bed. |
Untitled
By: Dula Deb Some see a sunrise, While others see a new start. Some see a bunch of clouds, While others see art. Some see rain, While others see tears. Some see hail, While others see fears. ~~~~~ You say you’ll fall, I say you’ll fly. You say you’re low, I say you’ll be high. You say you’re bad, I say you’re not. You say you won’t make it, I say you have a shot. ~~~~~ Perspective is everything, We see things in other ways. But those ways can change, As you develop day by day. We all have different visions, And outlooks on life. Some believe it’s a blessing, While others get stabbed with a knife. |
Untitled
By: Eva Lynch There he stands. His large figure towering over me. His round face close to mine. Hardly breathing, his eyes focus intently on me. I found it unsettling when I first arrived, but now I’m unfazed by the whole ordeal and actually find it quite comforting: Frank, the unflinching staring, it had all become very old. He spends day after day just watching me. I mean, I guess there’s not much else one can do to avoid the attention when stuck in a bowl such as mine. Don’t get me wrong, I love it here but it just needed some getting used to. I’d like to think of Frank as my protector: watching every move I make and always scaring off those weird fleshy beings. The smallest one who I’ve heard them call “Sweetie,” always tries to stick his hand in the water and grab me - heaven knows why - and in comes Frank, pawing away the hand, saving my scales for the nth time. What a great guy. If I could make any changes to my personal body guard, I’d probably tell him to just loosen up a bit. I love Frank, but he never laughs at my jokes. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever once seen him smile… Frankly, as a fish who’s funny by nature, I find it insulting that he doesn’t find my sea puns funny - and I’ve used some good jokes on him. Take this for example: Where do fish go when they want to be astronauts? Trouter Space. Hysterical, right? Well, I told him that if he could come up with a better fish joke, to let minnow. He didn’t find that one funny either… He can be quite a killjoy sometimes. Well I guess I can’t really complain, because without him here, I’d be left with only Kyle and Todd, the idiotic balls of wrinkled fur that do do nothing but bark and drool, and what a nightmare that would be. Everyday I sit in this bowl and listen to them yap at each other. EVERY SINGLE DAY. You wouldn’t believe it. The other day I saw Todd come into the room and bark at his own reflection. Kyle isn’t much better though. He sometimes tries to drink from my bowl. Yep, you heard that right, right from my bowl. Now you can understand why I’m thankful for Frank. My ever faithful and silent companion who never strays from my side. How did I get so lucky as to have Frank as a friend? |
Untitled
By: Zach Doyle I have these friends. They are smart and kind and strong. They make the nights feel short and the days feel long. I see them everyday, always, again and again and every day, they still greet me the same way. Brown hair and big green eyes, they're there when I laugh and they're there when I cry, I'd never say goodbye, say goodbye to these friends of mine, never even, should they cross the line. Tonight, even, they're here with me. They watch with love and listen as I speak. They matter to me more than it seems because If they leave that'd be the the end of me. I watch on my screen as my friends run around, They're voices and laughter are my only need for sound. They're there for me and to them I am bound. My world was brighter the day they were found. They follow me around, much to my liking. Ups and downs and swimming and hiking. When they are there my happiness is kiting. My parents don't question these friends that I put in a silver case. Nor do they question the smile on my face. And every night I try, not to let them go to waste. And maybe if I believe hard enough, These friends will be real in the first place. |
Photo By: Jackson Hunter
|
My Perspective on Transparency
By: Hayley Spenst The problem wasn’t long enough so I think you have no reason at this level. In addition there was some concern for others that were made from corn. Have we been the subject matter for their students and faculty members? Embrace their families for all those little things that aren’t going through your mind. Have they been used extensively? There was something wrong about how much they would never know. There were many reasons why this happened. Of course, no one could imagine that blue eyes weren’t as comparable to green onions. Over and under is the oversight of their children. Don’t forget that glass doors open up at the end. Tall houses fall asleep with their lives in California. The world isn’t going down without saying goodbye. So in conclusion, there was a purple bird. It took two months to complete its job. It is gone now. Author's Note: Do you understand? |
Celestial
By: Ella Blais our eyes are constellations each and every one unique, unrecognizable patterns. eruptions of light, flickers of hope, have faith in yours to never burn out. |
Untitled
By: Alicia Monteiro
Perspective is when the wall's built around yourself are seen as glass, when in reality they are mirrors.
By: Alicia Monteiro
Perspective is when the wall's built around yourself are seen as glass, when in reality they are mirrors.