Mireille Beya is a person you can mostly find laying on the couch watching Netflix, singing and dancing at church or going to watch almost any sort of game. She enjoys playing volleyball, and sometimes trying to write poems or stories when she has the time.
This describes a deep feeling that many people go through. Some may experience this worse than others.
A feeling that hurts your heart,
like you are falling apart.
Even when you’re with friends,
It seems like there’s no end.
Explaining the way you felt,
just hoping that this will help.
Weeks go by and nothing has changed,
Soon the body starts to become strained.
Because of the thought that it wouldn’t end,
You ended your life.
Pain stopped right then.
Bethany is a special one. She thoroughly enjoys music but she can’t sing. Much like her unfound musical skills, she also can’t write but reading is her favorite. She works at Kings Island an can be found there during summer and softball fields in spring.
I wish I was me again.
I wish I was quirky like before.
I wish I laughed as I did,
Apparently I wasted his time,
But he's not the one that changed their
Just to make them happy.
I wish I could erase him,
But he’ll be there in the back of my mind.
And I can’t pick up my pieces.
I understand now;
Why everyone said “he's not good for you”
“He’s going to hurt you”.
Little did I know they were right?
Little did I know that I was blind;
Little did I know that I would still miss
That part of me hates myself for that,
That idiotic part of me longs for a single
Maybe I just want to yell.
I feel no love for him
I feel sadness;
Maybe I just need to get out everything I
I acted as a welcome mat for you,
Laid myself down,
Just so you could walk over me.
I have no one else to blame
Mackenzy is a sophomore at Little Miami. When writing, she really tries to put her whole heart into her pieces. When she is not in a classroom you can find her on the soccer field, playing on both club and high school teams. Her family is her number one priority.
“The Ill Mind”
It’s like sitting in a room all alone
With limitless white walls that wonder
No sky to be seen, no grass to be picked
No tweeting birds, nothing will click
The only sound to be heard
Is the beat of your own heart
A beat like a ticking time bomb
Along with one body, one mind, locked away
With nowhere to hide
The unimaginable yearn for human contact
To be loved, to feel wanted
But the only company you have
Is the voice within your mind
The voice you try to avoid because you know it's right
The voice you argue with like you’re yelling at yourself in a mirror
Feeling lonely is the only emotion you are use to
All you want is to see one sign of hope
But all you see
Are the limitless white walls
Katie doesn't like school, but goes anyway because she would like a diploma. She also doesn't like tomatoes or fake friends, but can be found with her real ones doing stupid things around the Tristate area. What she does like are books and a bit of peace and quiet once in a while to herself, so if you see her hiding in a corner at the library, don't bother her please. Also, don't ask her what college she's going to or what she's majoring in, because she doesn't know and is tired of being asked. She appreciates the consideration, thanks.
I have an unhealthy tendency to have massive crushes on the most inconvenient people. This was one of those times. There was hopelessness, as there usually is, but for me there is almost always a kind of thrill in the lust that comes along. It’s like watching a movie or reading a book that you love over and over again, even when you know you’ll never become part of the story. This poem probably doesn’t sum up how most people would feel, but it does for me, so I hold it close.
Does this have to end?
The silent lust I have for you
Slinking behind you unawares
But roaring in my ears like a thousand angels that cry out to God
Asking Him why He tortures His daughters like me
With phantoms like you
Who wander the earth searching for souls
To crush them into juice the color of sweet candy
Then leave them in a puddle you step in
But pain is wonderful and the juice is sweet
Never stop crushing me
Maddie Gross is a seventeen year old girl who has a passion for running and music. She is very average at just about everything, but tries her best in everything that she does and works hard to make people happy. She loves God, her family, and her dog.
This poem is written based off of the last encounter I had with my aunt who passed away after a long fight with cancer.
She lay neatly in her bed
as small as a child
not a peep from anyone
not a sister
not a brother
not a mom or a dad
or a niece or a nephew
the youngest of them all sat closest to her head
“I’m sorry.” Her loving aunt wept
“I’m so, sorry.”
the sound of her tired
dying voice made the girl cry.
of the cancer filled heart
of the cigarette smoker
of the witty joyful woman
of apologizing when she is the one who’s dying.
The loving laugh
the re-occurring smile
is over at this very moment
Seriousness reigns down
on the last breaths of her life
she is sorry
She is sorry
That she gets to attend the gates of heaven
while we all cry because of her death.
Meme lover, music addict, Papa John’s praiser, and a big fan of reading romantic novels to herself sad over her lack of a love life.
“I Love You Dad” is a short summary of how he and I had a falling out and became close again, but how it sadly took him telling me that he doesn’t have much longer to live to bring us back together.
“I Love You Dad”
You hurt me
More than anyone could
I declined your calls
And distanced myself as you wished
Year passed as someone who is half of me
Became nothing to me
Brought back together by something so dark
Yet you managed to bring light with you
And you saved me
Kaitland Johnson is a senior at Little Miami and is obsessed with football and volleyball. She spends most of her time watching football movies/videos or at volleyball. She also is an avid rap music enthusiast. #BILLSMAFIA
Best meal today
Packing a fat ol’ dip
Synchronized spitting with the boys
Corinne King is an extraordinary person. In order to get to fully know her, you have to dive deep into her soul. She is a very open and blunt person which can go horribly or can go amazing. She is the type of person who always tries to help others before helping herself. When it comes to her friends, family and people she cares about, they will always be her number one priority.
Wrapped and rolled in blankets
My shivering bones
Gazing at the dark midnight skies
A body lying to the left of me
His dark blue lips
The silence and darkness of earth
Looking north then Looking south
There is no light or hope
Earth is dry of humanity
The little drips and drops of water
Not enough for us to survive
We suffer more and more each day
Plants shriveled up that don’t have life
Strong smells of death
Leaves that find their way home
Noisy creatures walking in my path
Blood poured on them
Their white bulging eyes
This is the end of our world
Maggie is a music fanatic with no talent to produce any form. She is someone who tries to be fearless in all she does and “listens to the wind of [her] soul.” Her core is a loner laced with gregarious tendency. Her future is foggy but bright in the circumstance of her blinding optimism and presiding goal of self satisfaction.
“Do You Feel Those Whispers Too?”
One little flower rests in the soil.
She looks happy, petals lifted in pink.
She lives this way for a while in that pink;
As time flicks like eyelashes on a cheek,
The little rose grows.
She’s gallant and gorgeous and grown,
One might say she’s rather red.
But, one day she heard those whispers;
Like a buzzing of a bee they echoed.
Whispers sounded like screams on her pale petals.
She let the whispers define her;
She let them shape her,
She herself looked like a whisper.
Her little eyes strained across the garden
She gazed at the roses across the way;
The whispers made them better,
The whispers made them goddesses.
The red little rose became redder,
She drenched herself in crimson,
The paint made her crack;
What was once natures gift
Became a cracking memory.
More whispers breezed by
She liked them and let them shape her.
One night, a light rain sprinkled the garden
The little rose woke to a small puddle.
The rain washed away the coat she worked so hard for;
The reflection glew up at her,
The whispers awoke too.
But, when she looked across the garden
She realized she couldn't see them.
She couldn’t make out a single petal,
She couldn’t make out a single dew drop,
She couldn’t even see their leaves.
She was imitating an image.
She was imitating a whisper,
That whisper isn’t real.
And when she looked at her reflection,
There was beauty,
One might even say she looked a little pink.
Not a coward. Lover of paper cranes, seashells, ordinary beauty, and the smell of spring air. Forever longing for the change to pet a cow. Talents include being able to tie shoes with one hand, eating ice, knowing 51 digits of pi, oh, and occasionally writing.
For the featured piece, I chose my Haikus, which I love because they remind me of my favorite time of year, summer.
A cool summer breeze
Drifts over the restless leaves
Inthe soft moonlight.
A small lizard runs
Out in the dry desert sun
To take cover again.
Red, orange, and pink
Paint the canyon walls
Katie Misciasci is a girl who cares so much about what others think of her. She is a loving and passionate person inside and out. Katie LOVES listening to music and being with her friends. She wants to be a history teacher when she grows up.
Life goes on
One day it won’t hurt.
The pain that they
Inflicted upon you.
The love you once
Held so dearly,
Is now a constant pain.
Your love for me faded
Almost as fast as the
Snow on a warm day.
We don’t choose what we are, but we can choose who we are. Brandon loves to write stories about companionship, morality, and explore what’s meaningful to those around him. He likes poetry, but doesn’t mind a good laugh over a meme piece. He’s not perfect, but that’s a-ok. Nobody has to be.
I wrote "Things will be different" while my parents were having one of their more explosive arguments. I wanted to capture the utter hopelessness of the situation while also depicting the one truth that someone could cling to: that some day, things will be different.
"Things will be different"
I can hear the Thunder.
I can see the Lightning.
And all the souls gathered beneath
the night sky -
I can see their faces-
I can hear their pleas.
and by the time it's all over,
they may never be free.
Their time swirls around them
and life seems so bleak,
They sing for an angel,
For it is salvation they seek.
Minnsung is a senior whose chief interests are reading, playing video games, and hanging out with friends when possible. He plays the piano, and although he’s not very good at it, he sincerely enjoys it. He wants to become a pharmacist because he enjoys drugs (not that kind) and chemistry.
With a pleased plip plop splash
I’ll take him home before the hawk-
Paige is very smart and kind toward her other peers. At times she can be a little bossy, but that’s only if she is in a bad mood. She isn’t afraid to go after what she wants. She plays golf and softball. Paige is also a great friend to others.
As I walk out the door,
The sun shines a little more.
When I come back inside,
Night time has arrived.
The moon shines so bright
Only to have dimmed by the lights.
The flowers no longer bloom,
From what I can assume
Maybe I shouldn’t hide
Just because night time has arrived.
Levi is a senior at Little Miami. His after school plans include leaving for the Navy and attending college. He loves movies and the study of them and plans on possibly majoring within the field of film. He has two brothers and a sister and enjoys spending time with each of them.
The following poem is an adaptation of Stephen King’s novel Pet Cemetery. The poem plays when his son dies and he realizes that dead really is dead.
“Dead is Dead”
This is no dream, this is happening
The wind ran through his hair like a dancer
Roared in his ears like a dragon
This is no dream, this is happening
Gage William Creed is read on the cold, damp stone
Dead is Dead.
The white of a corpse
The coolness in the cheeks
The extremity of terror has begun to sweep
This is no dream, this is happening
Dead is dead.
The screaming ambulance still rings in the air
This is no dream, this is happening
Gage is gone.
Dead is dead.
Good boy (dog) enthusiast, makeup artist, and French extraordinaire, Sophia Rozzi has many qualities that make up her personality. She’s an outgoing spirit with a strong passion for dogs, makeup, France including all things French, and all things vintage. Writing is one of her favorite means of expression because she has this sort of odd attraction to how someone can use their words. She hopes to learn more about writing and more about herself by taking Advanced Creative Writing.
A sprout grows, every time a child runs through a sprinkler in his backyard and laughs, It blooms into a bright pink tulip and soaks in the sunlight and excess sprinkler water
And thrives off of that. This would be the first sign of Spring, followed by many others
Such as skies that are crystal clear and let the sunshine through, or a golden retriever
Running after its owner, who’s got its toy and is waving it in the air. Spring brings
Much needed warmth and smiles after the cruel cold brought on by the ends of Winters
Angry cycle. Raspberry Lemonade invades her taste buds while she lies on a lawn chair
Listening to the sounds of yelling teenagers and large splashes. Water hits her face,
But she pays no mind. These two walk together through crowds, different ages of screams
Echoing throughout. The heavy hum is present for one moment in their left ears
And in another moment it’s gone to their right ears, and the noise then disperses. So,
Hand in hand, they go on, only to be greeted with more screams, and the occasional laugh.
The bright splashes of color light up the pitch black sky and bring happiness,
Though she may be covering her lovers’ ears. Just in case she’s sensitive.
Ursa Major glows bright in her night sky, and the breeze blows coolly on our faces
As we sit together on the windowsill, wishing.
Jason Clark Taylor, Trans boy, 17, hockey player, SAVE THE BEES, works at Cracker Barrel, aspiring RN, professional Mario Kart player (well almost), future student of Cincinnati State, art enthusiast, father of a tortoise named Marco, senior of Little Miami High School.
“Alone with Ourselves”
Loneliness is defined in the urban dictionary as sadness because one has no friends or company. This definition is far too broad to truly define what it feels like to be alone. Some people feel alone even when they are surrounded by thousands of people. Some people feel alone when they are with their friends and family. Most of the time, no one even realizes that they’re alone. They just wake up one day and they can sense it. They know that no one really understands them, or no one really cares to get to know them. It’s overwhelming to most people. Some people prefer to be alone, because it’s better to be by yourself than to explain what it’s like to another person. They are left alone to think about everything that has gone wrong and alone to think about all their imperfections. The worst part about being alone is that no one even knows you feel like that because you’re to scared to say anything. Not even your best friend would be able to figure it out. It’s not about who is around you the most or who talks to you the most or even who tries to make you smile the most, it’s about who knows you for you. If I had to recreate the definition of loneliness I would describe it as a separation of the mind and the heart. Your heart knows who you love and who knows you, but sometimes our minds wander and we get to thinking, who really understands us?
As an artist in paints and words alike, Grace grew up with a love for creation. Whether it’s discussing apologetics, debating the quality of novels, or hours of nonsensical D&D, she’s prone to lose track of time in life’s nerdier pursuits.
“Button Eyes” is a dark twist on human perception, and what we do to ourselves to skew it.
Little girl with button eyes
Spinning tales and weaving lies.
Likes the way the plastic looks
Plays with pins and plays with hooks.
Can’t recall when the needle went in
When her eyes went wet
When the white popped thin.
Can’t recall when she pulled and tugged
If it hurt or stung
If she shook or dug.
If the tears were salty or the water red
If she ever even liked
That little pale thread.
Little girl with button eyes
Spin your tales and drink your lies.
Little plaything, little toy,
Little too late, little joy.
Did they like your button eyes,
So very like their own?
Did decoys give
Their slimy grins,
When buttons took the throne?
Little words and little things.
Little girl weaves button strings.
Little holes, tiny holes
Suddenly the only holes.
Little girl with button eyes
Talks to her black little lies
Her breath of dust, convinced, resigned,
She can see just fine.
Hailie White is an outgoing student who shows no fear to new challenges. As a 2019 graduate, she plans on furthering her education in Fire and EMS. She is currently an intern at Lebanon fire station. Hailie has been involved in 4H for many years, teaching her many skills needed in life. Hailie has been through the worst and the best but never dwells on it but helps build who she is to this very day.
While I lay awake at night wishing to sleep do you taunt me and my head.
While I lay here awake in the morning long before sunrise wishing to sleep do you taunt my foolish ways an my thoughts.
While I lay in bed while the sunrises and I get ready so you taunt me and my body shutting down slowly.
While I sit at a desk for eight hours a day trying to stay awake chugging coffee after coffee do you taunt me with your foolish hands grabbing me and pulling me towards you.
While I sit in a room with a tall scary man whose name will remain no one, do you taunt me with your ways after dragging me away chapter after chapter bringing me down here as they lecture me on sleep.
While I’m back in bed restless do you taunt me and my head? My body? My mind? My thoughts? Or do you taunt me because you yourself are restless?