All posts filed under: Creative Lab

Observations

Written by Brianna Cardenas, submission They walk in at the same time we do – a man and woman, they’re older. Their steps aren’t hurried, they seem like a patient pair. They remind me of my grandparents. He carries a baby girl, she’s at least one years old with a head full of dark brown hair. She wears dangly earrings like the ones I wasn’t allowed to wear until I was much older. She buries her head into his sweater rubbing her nose back and forth against the soft fleece. She smiles in a room full of apathetic stares; maybe she likes the smell of Old Spice. The waitress directs them to a table and then comes back for us. We take a booth against the window. The sky is a blinding white. I see them from the corner of my eye, they’re sitting at a table a few paces away. He sits across from the woman, the child in a highchair between the two. Across the room, in the corner, an old man sits …

Things left to say

Written by Carsie Mendoza, Staff Writer There are many things I have to say, yet words elude me, disappearing into the sky like an evanescent mist, never allowing me to enjoy their beauty. Yet, others do it for me, within the confines of my mind. Screeching and yelling the words that I know are true, Although never spoken aloud. Sometimes the words are soft and gentle, spoken with the delicacy of a flower petal in bloom, giving me a sense of relief from the screeches, making me feel like I’m loved, wanted, appreciated, needed. More often or not, the bad often overpowers the good, vanquishing the light until it’s just a mere flicker. I become nothing more than a puppet, controlled by a puppeteer that is pure evil and only has one motive. My destruction. They say depression shouldn’t affect your daily life, If you want to be happy, you need to try harder. If you have a shred of experience, the depression disappears Depression isn’t even a real disease. These are just other things …

A tribute to lolo

Written by Hazel Anne Agustin, poem submission  we do not dare call you grandfather, we do not dare call you grandpa. to belittle you with weightless english words is to forget the history of your hands and how you planted us here years and years ago, with isang peso still saved inside your pantalon and how the only word you needed translated was trabajo. we do not dare call you out of your native tongue. your home today does not settle on foreign land, you brought Paniqui here with you, cooking with talong, sitaw, and ampalaya shamelessly in your favorite sando and worn-out chinelas its aroma’s so strong that the scent of chicken adobo lingers for days. the kitchen was your home. the other rooms vacant, untouched spaces. you planted seeds sa lupa that America had never touched and she accepted them graciously, letting you plant in her damp soil and birthing upo on sturdy stems. you taught her to say thank you in a different language. your weary hands had assembled airplane parts by day and only asked for familiarity by night. and so you planted your garden and ate with your kamay, and peeled kalamansi, and hung your clothes out to dry, and sang Magic Sing! and washed rice over the sink with one hand clasping the bowl …

Contrary to Popular Belief

Written by Ajeé Anderson, poem submission Contrary to popular belief, Black History month isn’t for Black people. No, it’s for everyone to get a taste of What we already know. A tidbit of information on Every slave that was brought Here against their will, Of every moment our people had the whip at their back and rope around their neck, Of every slave revolt against our oppressors, Of every runaway slave from bondage, Of every law passed for our in alienable rights, Of every movement for our beauty, lives, and dignity. Black History Month is to show this and more. Which is why I say Black History isn’t for us, We already know our history, it’s in our DNA; We honor it every day. This is for the masses, so join us in the celebration of Black History Month.

Why are you here?

Written by Anonymous *Poem submitted by an anonymous student Today I left my insecurities in the shower My tears traveled through my heart With rage, I almost fell apart Why are you here? Time felt infinite as I kneeled down with scorching water flowing on my back naked, my face covered in black Why are you here? You kneeled with me and grabbed my hand Together we faced my fear It suddenly became clear Why you are here.

Metamorphosis

Written by Jessica Flores, Staff Writer Every morning she would wake up wishing that he wasn’t there. Sleepless nights of praying and weeping. “Why am I not strong enough?” she said. She was scared to walk away because he was all she ever had. “What is there to life if I leave?” was her constant struggle. Locked up in a room full of screams and lies. Endless nights of loveless sex, touching parts she wished never did exist. “Can someone hear my cry?” One night she walked toward the light. A sense of courage led her away from her life. She reached up to the sky; Climbed on top of the balcony to reach the light. She smiled and felt freedom at the tip of her fingers. And just like that, she metamorphosed to someone she’d pray to be every night.