If you were in Ho Chi Minh City it’d be 8:56 AM, and if she were home it’d be 5:56 PM.


If it were the morning you’d be sitting with your cup of coffee, and if it were the night she would have poured herself a glass of wine.


You’d be saying goodnight,
and she’d be saying good morning.


You’d be going about your day, and she’d be soon resting her head.


but together.


Once you’ve finished your day,
and one her alarm rang, she’d be waiting.


Once you’ve gotten your cognac, and, once she’s poured her coffee.


The roles have reversed.



But together,

Greer Nelson @_gruyere

Journalism, Junior


I pulled three of my favorite things I have written, all after the loss of my father. The first explaining my childhood of watching my mom and dad do long distance from across the world. The second from the day he passed and the feeling of a last hug. The last from the feeling of loosing someone, 🙂 hope you enjoy!


Akua Abedi-Boafo @akuaaa_ Theatre, Junior   Moving from London to Los Angeles, it was different for me seeing the many views that some African Americans I had met held on other people in the black community. It inspired me to write this, as it was Black history month in London so I decided to write a poem every week for the month on the theme of blackness, to bring awareness of truths, to correct wrongs and to empower.
It’s funny, cause after 154 years since slavery,
After having to start life over again from nothing,
After many of our parents moved & were forced to Europe,
After taking our ancestors to a foreign land,
We’ll still always be on top and they hate it.
They hate it so bad that they try to erase our history!
They hate after all the years of beating us down we still get back up on our feet.
You see.. black people, we’re born fighters.
We’re born to win regardless of all the odds and stakes against us.
Why do you think they lock up our men and abuse our women?
They see the potential we fail to see in ourselves.
The same bodies they spent centuries mocking and put in museums for being abnormally,
they now spent thousands to buy.
The same skin they oppressed us for having they spend hours in the sun to get.
They brand our lifestyle and trends as ‘ghetto and yet the whole world want a piece to capitalize from.
Black is the future and we are the now.
We owe it to ourselves and our lineage to take hold of our black excellence, stand together and run the world we built of our own backs.


They stripped you of the Motherland and you never looked back.
Instead your tongue spurs out words of Ignorance and bitterness.
At your own people? In a land that is not your own?
The same land YOUR ancestors fought so hard to be away from? How ironic.
America is bondage, Africa Is freedom.
The best revenge against the white man.
Is to reclaim the identity they tried so hard to erase.
Finding who you are starts at the very beginning.
Finding who you are starts in Africa.

Akua Abedi-Boafo @akuaaa_

Theatre, Junior


This poem was inspired by Black history month. Black history month takes place in October in the UK(I’m from London), so I decided to write poems on this theme and post them every week. In particular with this I wanted to empower young people like me to remember their worth, power and their truth.


Mariah Williams

Screenwriting, Senior

No matter who you are


or what you’ve done


the sun will still rise


and kiss your forehead.


My mind would light a cigarette at a family dinner

Or jesus camp, a baby shower

Better yet, a funeral, while wearing torched coattails and bunny ears.

a eulogy covered in Cheeto stains

and me, leaving the wake an hour early due to a headache and my need for wifi
a dark sense of humor was never a second thought
until I covered my laughing mouth with an umbrella instead of my bruised hand.

Get it? You zombies couldn’t contain the language I speak
mouths move rapidly, but still tongue in cheek.
as cheeks glaze with the color of rose petals
I march off to change into a bathing suit-
stand back before I perform a magic trick.
I’d pull a bunny rabbit from my jean jacket and turn
It into a bouquet of flowers for the grieving family.


Did you really think I would show up to a funeral without a gift?

Mariah Williams

Screenwriting, Senior


Shirley Ramos @shirley.vr84

English, Junior


I wrote this in a sarcastic voice as I recalled on allowing myself to believe in false expectations. Hanging onto a cloud means to allow yourself to dream and have expectations. A transparent fall back to the ground could mean if you’re going to be expecting whatever it could be, expect to fall and expect to fall to the ground. It’s meant to be sarcastic but also, it could mean whatever you want it to be.







I love being left hanging onto a cloud,


a transparent fall back to the ground.