Here is our courage...
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1:54am​
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1:54am
If my laugh fuels rocket ships
She'll be in another universe
If my warmth generates electricity
She'll be feeling alive
But if her words are bullets
I'll be dead
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Because what a shame
I am never enough
By Peina Chen
Tradition
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When I was about ten, I was an asshole. I was even more of a jackass than I am now, if that's possible. I needed to be the one who picked the Christmas tree. I don’t know why I cared so much, but for whatever reason, that year I just did not back down. I needed to pick the tree and that was that. Desperate, my dad decided that fine, I could pick the tree this year - as long as one of my brothers picked it the next, and the other the next after that. Just like that, we had someone in charge of Christmas, or at least a part of it. For some reason, we called him the Commissar of Christmas. Over the years, the power of this ‘Commissar’ grew - he got to choose what color the lights were (I always wanted white - my brother Dean prefers colored), how early in the month we got the tree, and if we got any poinsettias (which my brother Alec hates for some reason), and overall just run the season with an iron fist. That’s not all, since we offered to take a Russian family friend’s uniform off of him - he lives in a small apartment in St. Petersburg - the Commissar got a uniform, or at least a headdress. Now, during Christmas, one of us wears a huge peaked Russian colonel’s cap, with a brim that goes at least two inches out from the band. This is how a ten-year-old started a tradition.
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By Evan O'Dea
Alone on the Holidays
Christmas parties
And family holidays
Family gatherings, I wish that could’ve stayed.
From brothers feuding, to a sickness
We never knew the world would create.
As the fight goes on,
Gifts are delivered beneath my feet
Meanwhile, the others are exchanging gifts together
Under their tree.
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My parents and I are the black sheep of the family.
Instead, we’ll stay home, feast, and make new memories.
And maybe when I’m when I’m all alone in my room
I’ll write some songs or create a tune,
About how spending time with you,
Made me cry but didn’t make a difference to you.
So I’ll be at home, sitting at the window shades,
Playing board games.
I think that it will be a long time,
That I will be all alone,
During the holidays.
Ode to Egypt ​
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Oh Egypt, how I miss you so.
Your golden sands and silver clouds, so arid yet so supple.
Affluent in memories that bring tears to my dry eyes.
So filled with my own heritage, I feel a disconnect between us when I’m away.
Your Nile,that has given the land life for thousands of years, flows with grace even in doing so.
History surrounds you and creates fantastical stories of my ancestors.
Each time I visit, it’s as if I’m whisked away into your splendor.
Oh how disparate you are, full of the world's antiquities.
Who knows what other evanescent information you had lost to time.
Alas, we are past your nadir and have entered a new age of probity.
Oh Egypt, woe is me, for I have forgotten your importance in my life.
I have taken for granted my heritage and refused to learn your language.
I have taken for granted my roots and who I am as a result of them.
I have taken for granted the opportunity that you have given my family.
I have taken you for granted.
I now know I must repay my debt to you in pride.
Pride in who you ultimately molded me to be.
Pride in my nation, rich in history and Islamic belief.
Like a lizard in the sun, I will soak up information on my heritage.
All for the purpose of getting closer to you.
Oh Egypt, you are the home of all who originate from it, yet foreign to me.
I only wish I could visit you during this time but most wishes do not come true.
I shall cast aside my puerile ways in favor of acceptance.
I shall accept my proscribed situation in an attempt to get even a foot closer to you.
All memories I have when I am with you are ones of happiness.
Inspired by this thought, I have learned that the key to happiness,
Is not something you obtain by re-inventing yourself,
But it is something you gain by connecting with your roots.
Oh Egypt, in all of your beauties I have been so blind to realize,
That the bittersweet bliss I felt unknowing of your importance was in fact ignorance.
I celebrate what you have given me and only wish,
That I might be able to see you once more.
by
Ode to Happiness (1)​
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Isn’t it so pretty?
The way the heart feels and thinks for us
The way our actions are determined by the song of our heartbeat
The way the small muscle tugs against our chests when the warm arms of love hold us close
The way we cherish the smile of someone we love, and the way they cherish ours
The way our bodies submit to the comfort and affirmations of others
The way we could no longer distinguish the days because they became a blur of laughter and alacrity.
Oh, to feel the kiss of this multifarious emotion a thousand times more
Giving me purpose, reason, hope.
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Isn’t it so pretty?
How we no longer succumb to our vitriolic thoughts?

How we finally learned to rid ourselves of stolid expression?
How we recognized the beauty of vulnerability?
Beauty, beauty, beauty.
Beauty is so subjective, like a portrait of an ugly man.
So ubiquitous in life, in ourselves, and in our minds.
Happiness was true beauty.
Happiness had no definition, but was defined by how we chose to perceive ourselves
And what we chose to obtain from life.
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To simply be happy is so trite, yet so comforting
Just like two loners being alone together.
For the simplicity of life is happiness.
The privilege to love is happiness.
The ability to forgive ourselves is happiness.
To obtain peace from within is happiness.
To let our bodies express our needs is happiness.
To recognize the pattern of our heartbeat is happiness.
To be reborn every morning is happiness.
For waiting a hundred years to feel the euphoria of stability
And the hug of happiness
Will forever be worth it.
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By Sara K. Sarsour
Ode to Happiness (2)
Like a flower blooming near the coast of the shore
You’re simply difficult to describe in beauty and worth
Since the years of childhood the flower has wilted
But in our abnegation we continue to smell it’s scent; though it’s long gone
The world continues to throw wrenches in the machines of our hearts
The candor of our smiles waver, now, as the world ascends into chaos
The waves crash onto the now barren sand, the flower taken in with the tide
Happiness, the medicine with no price
What we know of how to find it, is that we don’t know how
We covet the concept of happiness without knowing truly what it is we’re wishing for
In the few years of our youth, happiness was easily defined to us
But I see now that our perception was false due to the lack of exposure to the world
The inexorable truth is that despair will inevitably overtake happiness
Happiness is as brittle as an eggshell
Despair weighing down on it with the force of a thousand suns
To shield ourselves from the truth we create a spurious hope
But I miss the times in our young age when we could find happiness in the smallest of things
In the insects that crawled on the soil; in the dew that rested on the leaves
The world has turned to technology and away from literature
Creating happiness from pixels upon a screen
Our minds are a database and our hearts the battery; converting codes to happiness
We are machines now, our human traits lost to the sea of hard drives and bytes
The flower of happiness lost among that sea
Our childhood pleasures are subjugated with the advancements of the world
But to close your eyes at night and dream of the past; remembering the happiness of long ago
I can still hope for the return of the joy we’d feel from basking in the a book, or walking outside
From seeing the sun smile and hearing the wind sing
The flower that was our happiness, grew strong by the sea
But to not acknowledge the death of that flower, is only denying the truth
That happiness has changed since then, when we were but children playing in school
Our world is built upon pixels, and outside it’s built upon corruption and spite
But if you close your eyes and breathe, the smell of the flower remains
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By Emma DiDonato
Ode to Motivation
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Oh Motivation, how I have missed you
You have left me almost a year ago now,
And yet I still miss you so.
Oh motivation, why did you leave? We were unstoppable together, just you and me
You helped me for so long, pushing me to do the things I wanted, no, needed, to do.
You helped me go that extra mile for each assignment, each club, each excursion
When we are together, I get the best grades. I felt happy and elated
Knowing that there’s a purpose to what I do.
You are the skip in my step, my perfect grades, my ecstasy, my toned muscles from hours of dance
With such preponderance of feeling, I’m surprised I can still drag my body around.
I try to summon back up your power, for you are like a dragon; you help me fight my enemies
With fire and power. You are like a drug, You put me on a high,
And if I don’t get my fill, I may as well die. Oh motivation, I have taken quite a penchant for you,
I can’t imagine how I’ve survived without you by my side.
Without you, I am so lost and alone, Stuck in a little bubble I call my home.
Help me break free, help me be me, help me care about what I do and tell me why I’m here.
You force me to be my best So I source my anger into getting you back and savor whenever I’m with you.
I praise you and love you, I thank you, I need you.
The whole world can hear me as I scream and wail, searching for you to no avail.
I covet your return, and know it will take time, but know I’ll still advocate for you until the end of time.
Without you, I feel lazy and energized, each day is now a challenge that I don’t have to despise.
You really made a fine mess when you left, teaching me to be independent shouldn't be this hard of a test.
Even so, thank you for what you’ve given me, and the lessons you’ve taught me
I now know you are a mighty force I can’t control, as strong as a mountain, and as forgiving as coal.
I will sing your praises since most people don’t know What it’s like to live without you
And I hope they never have to know. Thank you for not only me but for everyone
Who passionately works on a project, or comes to school with vigor, or gets up early in the morning.
Even after months, I am still sanguine at the prospect of you coming back.
Even if our last meeting as passed, I’d still thank you for the time we shared together
And I appreciate the work you do, the passion you instill in people.
Thank you for allowing me to be excited and happy about something, even if it didn’t last.
Thank you for the memories, although they are in the past.
by Keira Shear
Ode to my Yiayia
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Your strength is as apparent as your kind and loving soul.
If I could scream from a mountain of love.
The sound would be overwhelming and the world would hear my praise.
Life is often unkind, like a stubborn child.
However, it has granted me one unintentional wish of meeting you before you were unrecognizable. Every time I close my eyes I see your smile,
your never-ending gentle eyes, and wrinkles earned from laughter.
The loud silence of your smile could abate the world around us.
Although, I’m still left missing you. Your smile shines bright but your eyes feel empty.
Emptiness. Constant, unrelenting, emptiness is what you’re faced with.
A shell of the person you once were.
Your strong hands that were once used to raise children and work hard labor
Now hang uselessly by your side.
The sweet stench of smoke from the morning fire that followed you entranced me
Whenever I smell something similar your memory floods my mind.
The beautiful gray hair that curls and drapes below your shoulders dazzles all.
But your lonely confusion is visible to anyone who can perceive you.
My heart aches for you; you're stuck in your greatest fear.
I want you to come back, even though you're standing right in front of me
I don't recognize you.
Your meticulous blue eyes scanning for a sign or task
The anxiety of having no idea is unnerving, alone, silently in discord with yourself
Your demeanor has never changed and is one of the only things that seems to have stuck with you.
The courage and strength you have shown seems impossible to achieve
Yet, you’ve evaded the dreary cloud of grief
You no longer miss your sisters and you will never have to experience the loss of your husband
When you call out to them searching for their company.
It reminds me of your inescapable love that felt like a monsoon, drowning you in devotion
You never seem to stop influencing me to be a better person as you were the ultimate example
The smell of wildflowers and the sun no longer radiates off of you.
Although it reminds me of the days I would spend cuddled in your arms protected from the world
Although you can’t remember the impact you left on my life,
Alzheimer’s can never take my memories of you
by Helen Economakos
Ode to Self-Assurance
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I remember when I used to be confident and sanguine.
I was confident in my looks, grades, and personality.
Now, I find myself wondering what other people may think about things that don’t even involve them.
Now, I find myself second-guessing everything I do.
Now, I find myself expecting less from myself than I can truly achieve.
“I don’t think I’ll get a good grade”... “Maybe I should wear something else”
When is the last time I did something without thinking about how other people will perceive me?
They care but they don’t care enough to really care.
We have learned what it feels like to be embarrassed, judged, and made fun of by inimical people.
We try to avoid those things by trying to please others instead of ourselves.
I remember when I was little I would like to dress myself and go take pictures, I was full of alacrity.
Sometimes people would walk by and laugh a little but I didn’t care.
I thought it was because they thought I was cute and pretty.
That is what confidence does to you, It makes you optimistic.
I would never do that now, I’d be too embarrassed to.
I miss being that carefree ray of sunshine.
“It’s okay Sara! You got this!” turned into “This is too hard for me… There’s no point in trying.”
It’s odd… the decisions I once wished to make myself, I feel the need to ask people‘s advice on.
Like what to wear, what to eat, how to spend my money.
Everything I was once so sure of, I question daily now.
I wonder if this is just a phase of my life that I will eventually get over?
Will I get even half of the self-assurance I once had, it’s a definite possibility that it may be all gone now?
It’s been so long that I've forgotten how to not care.
If I try, I get an uneasy feeling and start to feel solicitous.
Do I fake it till I make it? Is that too apathetic of myself?
Some people are like predators waiting to find the right moment to pounce at their prey.
But still, some people do it, they express themselves without paying attention to others’ opinions of them.
I wish I could do the same…
Maybe it isn’t that they don’t care.
Maybe they do care what other people think but they just do it anyway.
An ode to self-assurance: I miss you. Please come back.
It’s been forever.
by Sara Halal
One Sight
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One sight you will see the world full of light
Given the image to see when on a flight
Trying to depict a scene full of joy.
With all the people being unemployed.
Tis’ season everybody quarantined
When you see workers as machines.
Drinking coffee to get some caffeines
Before you know it it’s made out of beans.
Days after days the disease proliferated
Many people want to be liberated.
Another sight you see the future in the hands of young people.
Together we will defeat the evil!
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By Ralph Liu
Ode to Masculinity
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Masculinity and femininity can be best described as antithetical.
Masculinity! Masculinity and femininity bark at each other, refusing to be
Heterogeneous, mixed together. My expression emends itself,
Going back and forth between feminine and adrogynous. Yet, no
Matter how much I wish I could, I cannot crack the code of the
Classified database titled ‘Masculinity’. Masculinity is to me as
Honor roll is to a mediocre student; close, but no cigar.
Masculinity is the strong arms uplifting many spirits .
It is around me constantly, engulfing me like a
Blanket, although it is a blanket which I must return to another.
I watch masculinity frolic in a garden, picking at flowers,
Smelling the roses. I watch masculinity throw on a leather
Jacket and toss a football around. I watch my femininity
Stare back at me in the mirror, seldom defunct. It’s
Bittersweet; I get to embrace the feminine side of myself, and
Though I can’t grasp it, I get to watch masculinity from afar,
Becoming sanguine as if I were its secret admirer. Masculinity
Promulgates its objectives to the world, and I listen intently.
Masculinity and I have nothing in common, and that makes
Us have everything in common.
Bright and serene, masculinity welcomes many.
Masculinity . It gargles the traits, the stereotypes,
The culture, before spitting it out into a bowl filled with
The desperate, the seeking. When a weight is lifted, when a socket or
A hook is forged in fire, the beast of masculinity grows stronger
And stronger, emboldening the timid, filling them with
Determination to take risks. An attitude, a lifestyle, a
Viewpoint, a way of behavior. Beer brewing in kegs,
Leather being scratched and stitched, motorcycles being
Revved up. Masculinity sprinkles confidence and comfort
Over many, motivating them, stimulating them to work harder
And stronger. Independence, strength, courage and kindness
All amalgamate into one multifarious expression, multifarious
Concept, multifarious idea. Masculinity takes in many, with
Open arms, becoming the caretaker and comforter of many.
by Madison Lopez
