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Mosaic Gagus Literary, and it Moagayine 2020

The Hor, of Orgs

According to Greek mythology, Argus was a giant with one hundred

eyes. While some of his eyes “slept,” he kept watch with the others. Hermes lulled Argus to sleep with his magic lyre and slew him with a

stone. Upon finding the dead Argus, Hera, queen of the Gods, placed

his eyes in the tail of a peacock. The cover of Argus traditionally rep-

resents this ancient legend handed down to us by the Greeks. The

title was chosen to represent the different views and opinions of

readers as though each perspective were an eye of the peacock.

EdKorvial He aff

Allie Atkinson Editor-in-Chief Lessie Walters Design Editor Paige Parks Copy Editor Emeri Manasco Assistant Editor Macala Broussard Junior Editor Alejandro Dager Junior Editor Krista Hanson Junior Editor

McKenzie Seastrunk Junior Editor

Uchnow bedgrnerAs

Every year, Argue serves as a creative outlet for students to express their thoughts, passions, and talent. Under Student Media and more specifically, the English Department, our art and literary magazine has been operating since its establish- ment in 1976. Without the students, our organization would

not have lasted 44 years, so thank you to those who have sub-

mitted their self-created art, photographs, and writing. Next, | would like to express my gratitude towards my staff mem- bers, each of whom has played a crucial part of the overall running of Argue. To our faculty advisor, Dr. Rebecca Macijeski, | greatly appreciate your gentle guidance and constructive ad- vice throughout this process. A warm thanks to the former Ed- itor-in-Chief, Katie Rayburn who has always happily answered my questions and offered direction. A special thank you to our judges: Jacob Hammer and Daniel Hoefler (co-judges, poetry), Erin Lillo (prose), Anna Macijeski (fine art), and Lene Gary (pho- tography) all of whom have been critical in determining our winners. Last but not least, thank you to the person reading this right now because your enthusiasm for literature and art

creates a space for us to keep producing these editions.

Editor 2 Wee

Emotions often color our thoughts and actions. Feelings can leak into other aspects of our life and have the potential to change how we see that person, event, or situation. But col- or is good for soul because it reminds us of the diversity that is the human condition. There is a line separating hatred and animosity, sadness and devastation, happiness and euphoria that must be acknowledged. The black outlining the shapes represents a silver lining, obscured by emotional turmoil but buried just below, so once the weight of your emotions Lifts, everything comes together in hindsight. It is only when we step back that we see the full picture, a mosaic of pieces comes to- gether, and we start to feel whole. In case no one has told you this, it is okay to get to know yourself in parts, for each reflect a side of you, a different beam of color on the spectrum, a differ-

ent shade of emotion.

The theme for this edition came to me as | was exploring the advice of one of my mentors and the former Editor-in-Chief of Argue, Katie Rayburn who explained how the theme should be broad enough for creative freedom but specific to you.

Through this line of advice, | came up with “Mosaic”. As a psy-

chology major and someone who finds interest in the com- plexity of humans, mosaic was on-brand for me. The intricacies of how humans think, feel, and behave can be reflected in the fragments that make up a mosaic. With the theme “Mosaic” in mind, my aim is for submissions to reflect the fragmentation of our human nature and the role of hindsight in seeing the big picture, for it is when we get to know these small parts of us

that we begin to truly understand the whole.

Corde CoA Winner


1st place - little dandelion / Krista Hanson

2nd place - Aortic Dissection 7 Catelyn Errington

3rd place - Potion: Drink Me! 7 Allie Atkinson

Pose: 1st place - The Things They Taught 7 Macala Broussard

2nd place - Holding onto Shattered Memories / Melissa Taylor

3rd place - Clothespin / Ruben Smith


1st place - Grow / Olivia Slayter 2nd place - French Quarter 7 Sean McGraw

3rd place - Gaudi's Mosaic / Madison Szekely

tine Apt

1st place - A Shattered Mirror's Reflection 7 Layla Easley

2nd place - Plant design 7 Emily Dawson

3rd place - Roller Skates / Tifphany McClinton

Table of Corde ends


Me and You, We Purple Heart

Veins of Gold

Inner Thoughts and... ForA

The Limitations of Wax Your Poetry

Atlas Shrugged Dumbshow

Broken Glass

| Am The Elephant Specimen


Potion: Drink Me!

your car smells like you...

Peaches and Lemons

The Islanders Falling off...

Window Shopping Aortic Dissection Fragments, Reborn

Forgetting (To Remember)

Allie Atkinson Mack Lacy Evander McQuilling Trinity Velazquez Garrett Ambrose Garrett Ambrose Catelyn Errington Garrett Ambrose Catelyn Errington Jada Boyd Catelyn Errington Chloe Blank Myjoycia Cezar Allie Atkinson Kirsten Sonnier Amira Moussa Ruben Smith Chloe Blank Catelyn Errington Carly Chandler Chelsea Beasley

Facade A Fickle Fire

Marilyn Brooks Allie Atkinson

12 16

17 19

21 24 26 29 31 33 35 37 40 42 44 46 48 50 53 55

Table of CorterAr (Cord. )

Portrait of Expression little dandelion



Garden Bench

A Call to Art

iam beauty

What If?

weaving colors



Piece by Broken Piece


Where | Should Have...

Loss is Loss

An Old Man and His Muse

Bodies of Water The Game Warden Holding onto Shattered...

Clothespin Pick Me

Macala Broussard Krista Hanson Myjoycia Cezar Kathleen Hilliard Krista Hanson Myjoycia Cezar Kristina Simon Myjoycia Cezar Kristina Simon Allie Atkinson Kathleen Hilliard

Emeri Manasco

Rhiannon Lee Alexus McDonald Savannah Thompson Cheramie Kravitz Hannah Worley Melissa Taylor Ruben Smith

Caleb Howell

56 58 62 64 66 68 70 pal 72 75 76 78

84 88 93


99 103 106 114

Table of CorterAr 4 Cord. )

The Things They Taught Macala Broussard 118 Cthulu Rises from the... Ruben Smith 123


Grow Olivia Slayter 127 French Quarter Sean McGraw 128 Guadi's Mosaic Madison Szekely 129 fine Avie

A Shattered Mirror's... Layla Easley 131 Plant Design Emily Dawson 132

Roller Skates Tifphany McClinton 133

Preface The poem you see to the right is by Shay Hope Church, the winner of a contest to be featured in Argue. This opportunity was presented to students through a creative writing summer camp held on campus for going on three years. The aim is to assist those between 10 to 17 years old in expressing them- selves through a variety of creative genres such as poetry and short stories. The two-week long camp focuses on the impor- tance of utilizing feedback and criticism to improve one's piece and is geared towards helping students discover their style of writing. Shay Hope Church is a 10th grader from Natchitoches Central High School who states her poem “takes you home,

whether you're already there or still looking for it.”

An Ocoan Full of Fars

Pray Church

Scents of lavender prickle the air,

lost in a forgotten world

The trees climb above the clouds

Freer than the salt in the ocean.

Homesick from a place that doesn't exist Lost in daydreams; forgotten in nightthinking A nostalgic longing to be near again,

A blank space.

The overwhelming feeling of wanderlust

To get lost in space, lose track of time

and escape reality.

Pursue the longing need to cover up with a blanket of stars and lose yourself in the wind.

To kiss the moon goodnight

and hug the sun too.

never know what to expect little one,

this journey is all for you.

Agee Me and You, We Mle Atkingon My troubles travel with the smoke Thin, wispy, and trailing behind me. | almost relinquished all hope, Nowadays, I'm glancing less at the past behind me.

It took a while for me to find me

People are kaleidoscopes, colors bleeding onto the eye Some bright, blinding, staining anything in contact,

Others more muted, blended, taking comfort in

Being one busy body among the bustle of people—

We are mosaics. It becomes hard to distinguish between the colors and cracks. No matter how you piece the fragments together,

A prism of colors, shades of emotion, dynamically You.

Mosaic Growth occurs in all directions

Outwards, inwards... even if the shards

Don't quite fit like they used to

Because of dull edges and unfamiliar scratches, In the morning, you are the warming glow people call sunrise

And when the night brings in the dark, you are your shadows


Still the moonlight gleams in a way that makes you want to

try again

Because you are inexplicably, indescribably You.

Argue Purple tleart Mfack, Ley

The walls of a hospital room are no longer painted in white


But his hands shake just the same.

It's his first day sitting up,

Five days of forced reclination, and

The stutter of Life is accentuated by the click of injected


The forced breathing remains consistent.

Sometimes he tries to speak:

Lips pursed, out, in, out, twisted against gums, tongue, the

roof of his maw,

Mosaic but the air chokes in his throat;

His words dissipate like

wisps of wind-swept steam

almost immediately after he hisses them out.

His eyes are blank, silver encroaching upon brown,

And | always thought that the silver lining was supposed to

be a Good Thing,

But he can barely see Me,

And he can't hear Me, either.

His heart jolts in his chest.

| count them by the seconds.

For five seconds, the pulse sits stagnant at 88.


On the sixth, it jumps to 122 and he wheezes,

claws clutching the arms of the leather recliner, and

His shoulders jostle because there's nothing else to do

but grab his Life by the throat and hang on, and

Death grows impatient with each defibrillation.

He doesn't know what to do with a wasted vessel.

He sits and waits and that's all he does and can do.

“This is what | was afraid of,” he says,

“I'm going to die here,” he says,

and | say nothing outside of “I'm sorry”

and He doesn't respond.

His Purple Heart sits on my dresser, collecting dust, His Red Heart doesn't pump correctly,

And They are one in the same.

Theres tope Past Goief and Teauna Kailyn Frederick


Veing of Gold

There are different ways

Of dealing with broken hearts


Some throw it away, Tired of shards and cuts Tired of the memory

Of being shattered.

Some hide it away, Dark corners, Dark drawers, Not willing to part,

But not willing to remember.

Mosaic Some fix the break, Using glue to piece it back together, Trying to hide the cracks, But always knowing

That faint line they tried to erase.

But there are some Who take what has been broken

And fix it with gold.

Kintsugi Golden Joinery Kintsukuroi

Golden Repair

Repairing a break

With lacquer and gold

Argue Silver and platinum, Showing the breaks

As the history of the object.

To take what was beautiful before And to make it beautiful again. This is the beauty

Of these people

Of this craft.

To take something

That would be thrown aside

And make it a work of art.

So when | give my broken pieces to you Once whole and since shattered,

| pray that you are the last,


The one to find the beauty in the breaks,

And fill in the spaces with the gold of your love



eauad WEzEa eae Late




Inner Toughif and Otter Noler T Hare Yared. or My Phone my ge

My heart is worth infinite honest love.

| will always offer the kind of love that is pure and uncondi-

tional, is that a bad thing?

In order to fall back in love with my life, | have to let go of cer-

tain things that I'm wasting my precious energy on.

| really need to learn when I'm being taken advantage of and

when to walk away from people who aren't appreciating me.

Trinity, Know when to walk away. You're getting yourself in

too deep.

You stop attracting certain people when you heal the parts of

you that once needed them.

Let them get a tree without you.

Remember to buy bread and cinnamon roll oatmeal.



Mosaic Stop stressing, don't think about it.

But fundamentally, you have the same problem: you don't

know how to make someone other

than yourself a priority.

| didn't realize that falling in love with you, meant falling out

of love with myself.

Love that we cannot have is the one that lasts the longest,

hurts the deepest, and feels the strongest.

My head and heart are constantly at odds. | am always fight-

ing between what | feel and what | know is reality.

How am | falling in love with you while my heart feels like it is

breaking? Stop telling parents things, just keep everything to yourself. Maybe it is time | harden my heart. It might do me some good.

God, | am so glad this is all over. It’s over, life can be peaceful

again. No more drama.

Argue Everything is gonna be okay, | can get through this.

Don't buy the toothpaste that tastes like washed-out mint.

Womans Face

Tphany MeChnten



Mosaic for A Gavrelt Ambroge If your past has held hardships Fraught struggles and choking breaths

| wish for your future to be kind

| would like for time to be gentle

If | could, | would smooth your past

Press gentle fingers to your history book

Rewrite every page to suit you

But that would change yew, and | adore you

If there is anyone in this world who deserves

A soft epilogue, an easy descent Itis you

Glorious, gorgeous you


| would be Joan of Arc for you | would tie your banner to my wrist And use your name as a battle cry

Though you need no champion, and | am not much of one

Devotion is a strange thing And my loyalty may waver some day But for now

(and ever, in any capacity)

You have me. Endlessly. Ardently.

You have me.



Mosaic the Limitattone of Wax Garret Ambrose lam tired of breaking my own heart Hopes and dreams pinned above my head As Icarus once looked to the sun If only that the last thing he saw before he sank to the sea

Was the bright, blue sky

lama hunter eyeing my own silhouette

Through the scope of a rifle of my own imagining Self-sabotage

In an overly complicated metaphor

And my hands do not tremble as | pull the trigger

If lwere a wiser, better man

| would admit to myself that self-hatred

Is the gasoline to fuel my engine

Argue But instead | wind myself up and watch me go Only to bring a hammer down

Scattering tin wreckage across my self-image

If | could learn

To run on ambition instead of frustration

| wonder how far into the sun | could fly Reaching and grasping the unattainable goal Or if the wax wings affixed to my spine

Would snap me in half like kindling

A memorial of man’s hubris

A parable for the limitations of wax.




Jour Feely

Catelyn Evringlen

| listen for meter in your speech And metaphor, like hard candy, Sitting beneath your tongue.

You are poetry to me.

What should poetry be,

Besides the warmth in your eyes

Or the calluses upon your palm? They tell the story much better than |, ILluminated only by fluorescent light And the thought of you

You are a simile—like or as

The universe—impossibly consequential,

Ever-present, enveloping, labyrinthine. And | am just the exclamation point,

Emphasizing all that you are, all that | wish to be

Age | have spent hours on your analysis, Studying your diction and your themes, Feeling your mood and tone, But | cannot assert your meaning to me | have read each line a thousand times, Only to draw a million different conclusions Perhaps this is what your poetry means to say: You are everything to be lost and gained, You are everything to be seen and heard, You are everything to be near and far, But beyond your everything-ness?

There lies a soul too infinite to be known



Mosaic Alar Sur Gavrel i Atlas bore the weight of the world Pressed his hands to the seas Cried effort into the mighty deserts Lifted mountains upon his shoulders

The sky above his head

|, thousands of years later, see a statue Aman, brass globe upon his back Stoic acceptance on his face

And my heart catches in my chest

For surely this man must be divine

| lift a miniscule world upon my back A population of one

Which is very hard to keep track of

Age lam in charge of shaky, ink-stained fingers And really quite terrible teeth Chewed up glasses A candy red my mother hates The scars of a tendency which has marked me A brain that does not process numbers

A heart that trods steadily along

lam the master of a million thousand aspects In the minutiae of a single citizen

Whom | really can't say | like

Whom | am certain

| do not love

But it is my burden to bear

A planet to curl my spine under



Mosaic And to ask me to surrender what pains me

Would be to ask me to kill myself

So | will Keep going steadily onward Regal under that crushing brass globe Carrying it on into the breathless future

Until one day the weight is a crown

And to bear myself is no burden



Calelyr Evvinglen

The curtain’s up, it's showtime!

The merry masquerade has commenced-- Complete with unconquered complacency,

Which knows no bounds from stage to crowd

You cannot sweat the makeup off once it's been applied And you cannot leave your seat until intermission. Your hands tremble, holding the playbill,

It's soaked through with sweat and doubt

Though the words inside advertise a comedy,

The lurching in your gut implies tragedy.

The actors laugh on stage, they hug and they kiss, But the tears running down their painted cheeks Shimmer, solemnly, in the shining stage lights. Cease your pretending, your pretentious play-acting!

Don't you know what's at stake?




If you make a funny face, it'll freeze like that

And if you tella lie, you can't take it back

Doesn't your costume itch?

Isn't your corset laced too tight?

Where is it that you've drawn the line?

Or has it blurred too much, beyond distinction?

Can you discern fact from fiction?

Or have you been cemented into an Elizabethan production, An infernal hell of your own design,

And when it finally descends into ember and ash,

Do you intend to let your patrons burn with you?


broken Glass Jide gd lam glass Cool and smooth on the surface Shining and gleaming brighter than a solar flare Glass is fragile, it should be protected with casing But this piece of glass is on its own now One fracture and everything shatters

Rocks as heavy as solid concrete and made of fears pile on

top of me | can handle 10 rocks, | can handle 50

But the pressure of 1,000 rocks on one slim, small piece of

glass can be too much

to bear

Tiny, ugly, black cracks in the surface Appear

Faint crunching sounds can be heard



Mosaic If you listen closely Crying out for help The cracks get bigger, making the surface Rough with their jagged lines all the way through my fingers and toes My once flawless face is reduced to slabs of crystal People tell me don't break

They tell me to hide the fractures

| break anyway

Sharp, broken pieces of glass scatter on the cold, hard floor They try to put the pieces back together They try to restore it to the perfect,

smooth glass they want it to be

Argue But no matter how many times they try to fix it on the surface

The glass will always be broken




T Am The Elephant

Calelyn Envinglen

lam the elephant

In the middle of the room.

You wouldn't dare say it

But | know the words are there, Precariously perched,

On the tip of your tongue, Seconds away from dropping Like the atom bomb.

A last resort for some,

But others are eager to pull the trigger And say the unthinkable,

But how unthinkable is it really?

| see the looks, the eyes, the stares Peeling back my layers.

Does she know?

Argue She does. A hand on my arm is a threat

To the secret beneath my skin.

No, please don't touch me there

You're not supposed to know.

And please don't feed me lies

| can't stomach them anymore.

Your words cannot straighten a funhouse mirror Nor can they tighten the buckle of my belt Tell me, which number on the scale Determines how much I'm worth?

Do | add or subtract my dress size?

Was that one X or three?

| suppose I'll take my pills and teas

And spend my days in shapewear

Begging for the love they told me | don't deserve.


Mosaic Srecimen Chlee Blank What defines me won't define anyone else So | guess that's why it’s so hard to see through This murky water from the bottom of a lake | guess that’s why living with myself Is a pill | must take and | guess that's why my family looks at me like an hourglass That's just been given a shake Like my time is running out Like I'm some temporary thing Like I'm a pest that needs to be stomped | guess that’s why when | look at my face

| get confused because the surface of who | am

Makes much more sense than the algae

| guess that’s why when my clothes don't fit again and again

| feel better because at least something is changing


Argue At least something notices I'm becoming anything at all At least something can take part in my process of being At least something doesn't yell at me for being too quiet

| guess it’s better to define myself as water

Or anything moving because I'm alone So, | guess that’s why the bottom of a murky lake Is much more appealing Than bobbing to the top and seeing





Kocovor Do you ever think about the things that have caused you to

get where you are? The turning points, the well-taken advices, the breakdowns?

They snowball into one mass making you appreciate the

struggles you have gone through. The tears... were worth it. The stress... was worth it.

The feeling of drowning under multitudes of problems

With no one to offer the life jacket of a solution, somehow...

was worth it.

And it all added up. The lessons were learned. But there is something more.

Now, what is the next step?


How do | recover?

Recover from the negative, angry thoughts that fueled me

for so long

And gwow..

Because if there was no growth, what was it for?

| must grow and surpass.

It is the only thing left to do.

It will be taxing,

But it will be worth it.

And soon, maybe | will realize... Zam worth it.




Petter: Drink Mel 8” place Mle Atkingon | get drunk off what ifs

And drink down to the last drop of dreams, But | become exhausted and sleep again While a wide-awake world passes by me.

| don't know why it seems

| was cursed to never be a part of both worlds. One is tugging, begging me upon the shore

As waves lap against the grains, the bits of memories

Sprinkled here just to be unsettled when | come back... | always come back. My knees kiss the sand, | exhale a shaky breath Salt rattles in my lungs, sand seeps between my fingers As | try to grasp what was never mine

This sand does not belong to me

These memories no longer do anything for me

So | turn them over to the shore.



Mosaic your car smell like you bul U algo kind of smelle like diet an unforeseen departure ripped away like flowers from a garden

only for them to rot on a forgotten windowsill

this is simply a new incarnation of a tale as old as time instead of a hermit-turned-husband

all you are left with are moths where your heart should be

a coffin of distance separates you from the ones you love this one is just the final nail to seal it shut somehow worse than the ultimate end

you know they are somewhere, existing where you are not

a selfish notion, but nonetheless

Argue imagine a grand reunion filled with golden warmth and beaming joy a time where everything will fall back into place

and the static in your mind becomes clear again

refrain from harboring trivial sentiments

for out of these feelings, resentment emerges

poisoning the image of the very person you mourn turning your head against a fabricated enemy

surging from a place deep in your heart

spreading a current of darkness where there once was light

the universe is your opposition sorrow its devoted companion time is your only solace

smoothing out the sharp edges of your pain


until it can finally be grasped and hurled far away

making ripples in a pond of stagnant memories

Fnnley Plaster



Poacher and Lemeng Amiva, Mowesa | was a lemon,

Sour and bitter

She was a peach,

Warm and sweet,

| was bright and fun at first,

She fell in love and | strung her along,

She fell hard,

| did too,

But lemons don't bruise,

Like peaches do,



She was warm,

| was sour,

She didn't care,

For she loved me better.



The Itlandere Falling off the Edge of the Werld and No One Caring Kuberv Gmiltc

all claws that dig deep into the marsh,

the white man came with his oil drills, his tankers, his digging

machines, that rusty metal biting a hole in the lush green. all destruction is elemental and natural,

they dug deep channels for no fish to swim, except their

pipes of sludge, chaotic clusters of forgotten freshwater pools. all swirling gray masses that move fast,

the white man came to decimate the land with as much force

as hurricanes, diluted orange water and wishful prayers. all fingers scraping up the world below,

they shaped land with their own hands, their own devices of

energy and mass,



Mosaic not even the gods would be proud of the work.

all decaying houses on stilts silently rest,

the white man came to move the people who remained to a

new plot of land,

yet nothing moves at night except the murky water.

these are the native people,

humble homes of togetherness and shadows and boards,

yet they are threatened by man-made nature.

they should cling to the vines that they have climbed for so


feel the tide against their coarse, dry skin, and know that their land is stolen away by anything

that walks.

Chlee Blank Today | don't know but tomorrow I'll find a chance to understand how Or why it is when | dance in this room

With no one to watch and nothing to lose

| feel infinitely free

This need to breathe deeply

An undeniable language between me

And my aching feet

| hope for a day when someone sees Through the window out by the beach That they feel just as carefree

Whether or not they laugh at me



Mosaic | wonder if maybe that day Or perhaps that night, when | walk away From that window they see

Where they watch me pretend to be free

| wonder if maybe the person Would remember that | do it for them That | dance to make them smile

| wonder if they'll dance with me


Aortic Dissection 2 rave Calelyn Evvinglen

| paint my hands in glue, Tracing the divets and whorls With thin layers,

Sticky, milky lines.

| watch it dry, slowly.

The white fades clear And gives my fingertips

A dull sheen.

Nails beneath the edge, Anxious to pull, to peel, To tear away the film Veiling my blushing palm Like a band-aid.

But, the funny thing about

A band-aid is that



Mosaic Even though it covers And hides the hurt It does not dull the pain. Perhaps, if | sink my heart in glue, And let it dry clear, |can rip it off, And maybe, The ache will come with it And | will wrap it in tissue And toss it in the trash. But camouflage is not a cure Nor is heartbreak a gash That can be sewn shut And slathered with ointment

So that it won't leave a scar.

Agee Fragmenlf, Koborn Carly Chandler Shards of me Strewn ‘round the room Pick myself up and hide it away

Broken and lost and fragmented FPugments

Fragments of what | was, Who | used to be A pile of glass,

of personality

Shards of a smile Crack across my face

All the pieces | hide away




Chip away at what | was


A new day, a new life

Asmile made new

Fragments pieced together,

Me, reborn, a mosaic of me

se a Chelrea Beasley Mustard oozing out Making that sound kids laugh at Drip Drip Dropping onto the bread

Preparing sandwiches

You're reminded of her Dancing in the summer rain Drip


Dropping into your life

With suddenness and extreme that you never could have

prepared for



Mosaic Fixing two glasses of sprite,

Because it is her favorite and therefore yours as well

Drip Drip Dropping into the cups

But mostly onto the floor

Clear as day you see her Laughing as you try to clean up and somehow make it worse

Tears squeezing between the smile lines

Drip Drip

Dropping into open hands

Staring at the plates and glasses and silverware

Not quite sure what to do when she is gone


And the table is just for you





Marilyn Brocke

It's easy to go with the crowd, to fit in

To force yourself to conform to the norm

It's harder to tread alone

To go along to the beat of your own drum

To let go of what is expected of you and become the best


| know because I'm one of you

I'm the one who sits alone

I'm the one who listens to the beat of my own drum Sometimes that beat is a classical song

Making me feel wrong from blasting a wordless song Looking at me like | was wrong

But if only you knew, how it felt to be free

Living life to make yourself happy

Thinking for yourself and never letting anyone else gas you

Argue up or put you down Creating your own crown

Never making yourself one of the crowd that makes fun of


Behind their backs but never to their face

They wait until you walk away and erase you from their case Then find someone else to fit into your place

Little did you know, you'd be the one pleading your case

Playing face and trying to create a facade that you were just

like the rest

Erasing your individuality so that you can start blaring things

with the best

Putting down the rest and pretending that all along you were

the best

So, you put on a facade and pray to God



Mosaic A Fickle Fire Mle Atkingon Like the flicker of a flame, you were gone. I'm not one to deny responsibility | know | sparked your fire, But | liked your inviting glow. When | felt what it was like to get burned Your fiery passion was no longer charming And just as quick, your absence hit me. Open palms, | try to find my way through the night For a light always cuts clear into the darkness

Everything feels like empty space since you left

| miss your ember, ever near, kissing me with warmth

A fire can be re-lit, but one's heart is a fickle thing,

The way crackling wood leaves ashes in its wake

Agee Portrait of Expression Macala, Brougsard This canvas is smooth to the touch Only roughened by the severity of my strokes Red from my love Blue from my sadness Purple from my pain | find controlin how | express my feelings This conduit will say more than | ever could Through writing Through sound Through brushstrokes

This paper knows more about me than anyone who feels

they know all This canvas is my novel It is my mouthpiece

Itis my art



It is me

| paint myself as who | wish | could be

The Dancer Amira Mourga



litle dandelion Polaco Krigla Hanger Mother [ver] : bung up Ca child) with core and affection.

Under my mama's bed sat treasure boxes, full of things I'll never understand. Her small television played the cooking channel,

recipes | promised I'd remember, but always forgot by morn-

ing. Her backyard was a forest of magical plants;

a stone path led me home every time.

To a sunroom that made watching the rain easy. | met bees in her front yard and was told, “don't chase them, honey.”

But they were my first friends.

A woman | never saw as anything less than beautiful.



Mosaic | was six years old. My mama took us to Home Depot, | picked out my own little plant: a single dandelion in a purple pot. They say dandelions are weeds. Not meant to be watered or cared for.

But | loved my dandelion.

That summer, she promised to take care of my flower.