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    Sanic

    By Evie

    The Blue blur of sadness,

    Shadowed by my brother

    The red feet. Or are those shoes?

    Do I know? Does anyone know?

    My eyes, staring into nothing,

    My heart, beating yet empty.

    I am Sanic.

    And I am beautiful.

    But when will my reflection show…. Who I am inside?

    When will I let go?

    When will I let my heart decide?

    I do not know.

    But I am wonderful.

    I am brave.

    I am trustworthy.

    I am myself.

    Not perfect, not blue.

    Not happy, not blue.

    My hands are like mush.

    My arms are like noodles.

    My smile broken, my eyes dry.

    And yet,

    I cry for those who are silent,

    I run for those who cannot.

    I speak for those without a voice.

    I find others who are lost.

    I am not perfect.

    I am Sanic.

     

    When will the sky clear for me?

    When will I die?

    When does the Reaper come…?

    When can I leave?

    Yet….

    People are dying, people are crying,

    And no one can ever be free.

    I want to help

    I want to serve

    But I can’t. Not yet.

    My world is empty.

    My life, a shell of once was.

    Life or death.

    Beauty or Ugly.

    Society uses these terms but it doesn’t matter.

    For when the sky is dark, the stars light up the world.

    Do not leave.

    Do not give up.

    I was never alone.

    And neither will you.

    For we are together.

    Skin or no skin.

    Hair or no hair.

    We are all human.

    True, I am not.

    But I am myself.

    And that is the best I can be.

    I might be Sanic.

    I might look weird.

    But I will always help my friends.

    And my enemies?

    Well, a wise boy once said:

    “In the moment I truly understand my enemy, understand him enough to defeat him, then in that moment I also love him.”

    So find your enemies.

    And love them.

     

    ‘Don’t fight hate with hate’

    So you admit, you hate us.

    I am Sanic.

    I might be ugly,

    I might be poorly drawn,

    But I am whole.

    Like the person sitting next to you.

    Look at them, look at their problems.

    You might see blemishes on their skin,

    Or their hair might stick up,

    But they are whole.

    They are a book, and you only see their cover.

    If you judge them, you are judging their cover. Not their insides.

    Do you see their words?

    The things they say?

    The things they do?

    The people they love?

    The people they hate?

    Their experiences. Their thoughts and dreams.

    Do you judge them now? Do you judge me now?

    My book is complex.

    Yours is too.

    We are in the same world, but we see it differently.

    Is the glass half full or half empty?

    If the cup was full beforehand and you emptied it, someone will say it's half empty.

    If the cup was empty beforehand and you filled it up, someone will say it’s half full.

    Look at their perspective.

    See their glass.

    Is it half empty?

    Is it half full?

    Is it completely empty?

    Is it completely full?

    Don’t look on the bright side. Look on their side.

    Understand them, and then you will love them.

     

    Am I your friend or enemy? Or am I a ghost, and you don’t know that I am here?

     

  • POEMS

  • The Nuggets

    by Rachael Mann

    Those chickens are silly!

    They sprint towards you,

    Thinking you have food.

    They just want food.

    That’s it.

     

    On Thanksgiving

    by Brayden B

    On Thanksgiving
    a turkey I see
    Christmas already set up
    There is even a tree
    I bought some mashed potatoes
    for the amazing meal
    They were 16.95
    I'd say it was a good deal

     

    The Words Unsaid

    By Alina Wasiuddin

    Not said but thought not shared but kept not talked but listened some words are best left unsaid

     

    Basketball

    by Sid B

    When I play basketball I feel so good
    dribbling and shooting for hours and hours
    The satisfaction when I make a shot
    or cross someone so much they drop
    Basketball is the best feeling in the world
    One day, basketball will take me around the world

     

    I am Thankful

    by Imani S.

    I am thankful for the birds in the sky
    to the food in my stomach, thankful for my
    family that God has created, thankful for the
    day thanksgiving, being able to talk and spend
    time with family and friends
    Thankful for a life for breath thankful
    for teachers and peers
    Able to have the night sky and the bright sun
    I'm thankful for it all
    Sometimes it hard to remember and to be thankful for those things
    but we hope day by day we realize
    the things we are thankful for

  •  

     

    Christmas (a poem created from Christmas songs)

    by Jane M.

    Lights are shining

    Christmas bells are ringing

    People singing

    All saying

    We Wish You a Merry Christmas

     

    Everybody wants a White Christmas

    People promising I’ll Be Home For Christmas

    There is Jingle Bells people hope for Sleigh Bells

    Everything looks like a Winter Wonderland

    Children know Santa Claus is Coming to Town

    It’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year!

     

    What The Trees Know

    by L. M. Peterson

    Careful what you say,

    When you sit under the shade,

    Of your favorite pine, maple or oak,

    For the trees hear all your whispers,

    And secrets and oaths.

     

    Careful what you see,

    When you lay under the leaves,

    Watching the dancing branches,

    Laughing; playfully.

     

    Careful what you hear,

    Under the dappled canopy,

    Beware the songs and stories of the trees,

    For some are harmless, little things,

    While others are dangerous,

    In more ways than one.

     

    Now, the trees know,

    And they tell the wind,

    The rain, the fox, the willow;

    All the critters that scamper about,

    To the fleeting rabbit, and the shining trout.

    Deep into the earth,

    Their stories go,

    And they sing of forgotten things,

    Tales of sorrow, joy, and woe.

     

    And, sometimes,

    A poor fool like me,

    Will sit under the shade,

    Of a grand old tree.

    And hear the songs and stories,

    Of the evergreens.