“Emperor of Maladies”

By: Josh Woodley

Rebellions start in the smallest of places.

One single idea, changed within a single cell,

creating a violent mutation.

Every coup will begin to grow,

a spreading manifest.

A mutilated cell takes leadership,

copious amounts of rebellious cells castigating

you.

You the salient part to stopping treason.

Your own soldiers cannot see the invisible rebels.

Like U.S soldiers lost on the Ho Chi Minh,

white blood splatters after vicious spontaneous attacks.

Your stable idea evaporates under the deadly might of

one anarchist cell,

who then crowns himself the emperor of maladies.

The perfect killer,

a camouflaged killer, who goes out with a bang.

The body unable to fight back his militia’s deadly waves.

You the previous leader,

who failed to exorcise the origin of the issue,

until the point of no return;

Agony, catastrophic pain,

for your family, peers, and yourself.

The smallest things in life ripped from you;

in your last moments animalistically fighting back.

A slow excruciating execution tears you away,

the Emperor of Maladies’ conquest completed.

Sitting on his dark throne,

your heart pumps it’s last beat,

fading

into

nothing.

(The Emperor of All maladies is a book written by Siddhartha Mukherjee. It is book outlining the

complete history of Cancer. The book is titled so because cancer is the king of all ailments aka

a malady. This was the inspiration for my title.)

Frenzy

By: Makayla Berry

My eyes dart from object to object  

Frantic.

My heartbeat seems to raise from 30 to 80 beats per minute

Breathe.

The breaths I scramble to inhale don’t seem to catch up with the sporadic beats in my chest.

 

I start counting.

Counting the tortuous, neverending seconds until I get it together

Rubbing my sweaty, trembling hands onto my denim jeans,

I begin to notice every aspect of it.

The small, unconstrained, haphazard movements of it.

The limbs tingling, head spinning, hand trembling, neck twitching, complete numbness of it.

I can’t breathe.

 

If they could take all but a glimpse, they would discover all the paranoia infecting every thought and feeling.

If they could validate any part of my consciousness, I would feel a sense of ease.

That of an elderly woman who has stood for hours, finally getting the chance to take a seat.

I might not feel so incredibly out of place

Or maybe that’s all I will ever be.

Simply out of place.

 

Davidson Boy

By: Makayla Berry

His large, rough hand lingered upon the surface of my thigh

I wasn’t nervous.

Hardly even shy.

A strange thought skidded across my mind.

If he were any other, my heart would be leaping out of my chest.

The nameless, faceless guests in the cold, damp basement decided to head home.

They gave a look as if to tell me they knew something I had not.

 

His calloused hand grasped my own, and pulled me up the stairs.

Everything was dark.

The kind of dark a child’s bedroom with monsters lurking in the shadows would be.

Upon entering his room, there was a dim glowing light coming from the small square box perched on top of  an old coffee table.

As we entered, I could see and observe his forgotten face.

 

Laugh lines had carved their way into the sides of his mouth.

He no longer looked like the bright eyed kid I used to know.

The toothy grinned boy who used to chase me around the block with a laugh had gone.

 

Rusty blond hair fell around his face and neck.

He had the stature of a biker.

Also the pride and cockiness of one.

The smell of cigarettes, booze, and cheap cologne emanated from his skin.

 

My hands started shaking.

My heart felt as if it would jump up and out of my throat at any moment.

 

Idiotically, I decided against saying aloud everything I was thinking.

He engulfed me with such force and disregard, I couldn’t wrap my head around the circumstance.

The stale, acidic breath seeped into my lungs.

Suffocating me.

I’d never felt more expendable than I had then.

 

After all was endured, I was tossed aside.

Like how people throw sheets aside when they wake up in the morning.

I had been robbed.

Robbed of some sort of forgotten moral.

Walking out into the darkly lit, cold-tiled bathroom, I sat myself upon the porcelain seat.

All at once, large salty tears spilt from my eyes and down my flushed cheeks.

Starting to wipe them away, I paused.

Something didn’t feel right.

Startled to feel a warm wet something making it’s way down my leg, I peered down to find a crimson red stream trickling down my bruised skin and frantically rose up.

I hurriedly cleaned off the evidence of the previous acts of brutality and made my way back down the dark, empty hall and into the dim, cluttered room.

 

His body was haphazardly sprawled across the bed.

Consistent, obnoxious snores arose from the back of his throat.

I squinted my tired eyes and scanned the floor for my clothes.

I found my jeans first.

Sweater second.

And I left.

 

I left behind my false hopes.

My soft nature.

All the low expectations.

Never again will I devalue myself to satisfy the worst kinds of beings.

Never again.

 

The legacy of FDR

By: Aj Bouddhara

I struggle to walk to the red, blue, and white striped podium.

I stumble from behind and nearly reveal my bulking braces.

I’m not sure if anyone has spotted them.

The pupils of my country

cheer for my presence.

The band blowing proudly into their rhythmic trumpets.

The crackling sound of millions clapping in unison.

These are sounds worthy of powerful figures.

I don’t deserve it.

The people,

They seek a peaceful moment

away from the poverty-stricken environment around them.

Their eyes look desperate for help.

I lend them aid in bold words.

I announce: “The only thing we need to fear is fear itself!”

I speak through the dwarf sized microphone,

which enriches the fluency in my voice.

The air

carries the soundwaves of a new yorker accent

distributing

hope.

It is bliss, and my point is made.

The applause from the crowd

screams wildly.

My ears welcome this noise.

My shoes are shined black,

my suit and pants lint free,

and a white smile that strengthens the bond of America.

I feel like an imposter.

Their president is hiding a secret

beneath his costly pants.

Something so disabling,

The public might shatter into empathy.

I want to get out.

My legs groan of discomfort,

and my knees whimper in pain.

I’m afraid the sturdy metal will begin to falter.

Embarrassment and shock are imminent.

My mind tells me to escape

and I push for the exit.

Every step back to the distant car,

is like a struggle for breathing.

My legs will soon burst of exhaustion.

The cracked pavement extends the difficult journey.

Concrete is harsh and dense,

I wish it wasn’t.

My feet are scorching hot, and are numbingly weak.

I enter the expensive black limousine.

and switch to my wheelchair.

I swing my head towards the back of my seat

and think.

My legacy is a total lie.

I fear death, yet they don’t.

My speech has ripped their worries away,

While I fail to relate due to my disease.

My legs wobble uncontrollably,

My sweat is drained from every pore,

and my conscious aches

Nervous of when the clock will strike collapse.

It can’t end like this!

 

Everyone told her’

By: Kaytlin Williamson

Everyone told her’

NO.

YOU CANT DO IT.

YOU’RE NOT ENOUGH.

YOU WILL NEVER BE LOVED.

And she believed them.

She made what she called “life”

in the shadows of all her

haters, her

bullies, her

“Friends”

She sat alone everyday.

Waiting for a “friends”

to remember

where they left her,

telling her to wait.

They used her.

They “asked” her

to bring her meds

so they could concentrate

also.

She got two,

two felonies.

She took all the blame.

So her “friends” wouldnt

hate her.

They did anyways.

They shunned her.

Telling everyone how

“bad” and

“ignorant” and

“terrible” she was.

She cried daily.

Begging her mom

to let her go,

threatening her life daily.

She took eighty pills.

And went to bed,

falling into a deep sleep.

Only to wake up surrounded

by doctors and nurses,

and therapists.

She moved away.

Leaving behind a school that shunned her,

that denied her existence,

that expelled her for being

a good friend.

She walked into the new school.

Eyes casted down, face neutral.

Only to be bombarded

by wide smiles,

and shining eyes,

curious about her.

She is happy now.

Momma
Poet: Amuchen Logan

My rock

My fighter

My dreamer

My guardian

My sweet dream

O momma I love you

You are my light that god send from heaven

You always taught me right from wrong

To always say sorry when your wrong and stand up for what is right.

I always had to pray before I go to sleep but i didn’t know you was hurting by the man

The man that left you in the forest all alone.

I had to say No,No,No.

The man that gave you stitches No,No,No.

The man that send you to the hospital No,No,No.

You did it for your little boys.

The little boys that loved you so much.

Telling me stories with such horror of what the MAN did.

No,No,No.

But you got sicked and tired of the man and departed from him like Rosa Parks saying No,No,No.

 

My mom Beautiful smile set her through a new path with God beside her waist.

You had to be a Father for a while when the MAN was away.

But one thing you got is a special sweet forgiving heart.

Momma forgive the man with her soul.

My momma always love her kids, but was scared to get with another MAN that the old memories would pop up like a crazy nightmare.

That why she use the bible as a weapon to let the evil go away like evil demons trying to capture a soul.

Matter in fact she got on her knees and prayed as the prayer is sent through.

God will receive the prayer like a precious gift from the mail.

As God send the blessing back from heaven to earth and the miracles will start happening.

When my momma receive the blessing her life will be complete with a purple heart.

O My sweet momma let her soul be.