May Part 2 | 2023

May Part 2 | 2023

May Part 2 | 2023

May Part 2 | 2023

May Part 2 | 2023

May Part 2 | 2023

May Part 2 | 2023

May Part 2 | 2023

Luke Wilson


The Wanderer

By Ella Green

How did I get here?

I stand encased in the still, sleepy forest,

A grand glade of glory,

With green foliage fans above my head

And the dark, inky stencil silhouettes of trees before me.

The ground beneath my feet

Vibrates low and dull

With each heartbeat,

And the roots draw their stretched out selves

Into a fetal curl for serene sleep.

The flowers bow down their heads

And kiss the sun goodnight from their soil beds.

The world winds down,

But I am wide awake,

My once sprinting self

Now stuck here

In this paradisiacal place.

My mouth goes agape—

Not in a yawn,

But in absolute awe

Of the speckled dish of stars

That I look up to see,

The diurnal action of the day

Now shifting to nocturnal play

Where the sun slips through the envelope of sky

And the moon comes out to stay for a while.

I lie down 

On the soft bed of earth 

And my bones sink into its grassy comforter.

I whisper to the wildlife,

The world that I rest in for the night.

This is where I decide to stay for a long time,

For many yonks,

Losing myself in the everlasting essence of Heaven on earth.

What brought me here?

Perhaps it was the solitude my soul yearned for,

To be alone for some time, 

And so my solivagant self

Came to explore the earth’s pores,

The forest floors,

Whose textured, stiff callouses of flinty stone

And whose bark boned, thick root fingers grow firmer and stronger with each day.

To observe the sticky, waxy sap

That seeps from the tree’s open wounds,

To get down in the dirt on my hands and knees

And look intently

On the embossed, earthy floor,

Stamped by many creature’s pawprints 

From a happily traveling brood,

To talk to kind flowers,

To converse with the birds for hours,

To let the trees arms hold me

And the earth’s hands love me.

—How long have I been here?

I don’t know.

I don’t care.

All I know is that every second, every minute, every moment

Has been irresistibly, unforgettably beautiful.

Complex by Luke Wilson

I’m Sorry

By Clara Weldon

It’s not my fault I don’t have her eyes 

Or the lips that you long for in your mind, 

My hair a reminder of what can feed 

Your fantasies, yet you seem so blind. 

 As I turn, do you recoil in doubt? 

Does my face disappear just like that? 

Can't you see what's worth caring about, 

Do you see my scars and freckles?

Awareness of what I am lacking, 

Echoes through the present, blurring my peace. 

Past's loud whispers keep on attacking, 

Stomping down my wings, my release.

 I wish I looked just like she does, 

Would your smile have more glee? 

Would you stay longer just because, 

My nose was smaller

Would I be your yes and no longer your maybe if I had her sweet and silky voice? 

Would I finally be the one and only, 

A first, not a second or third choice? 

 I’m the favorite secret that you treasure, 

The favorite unsure decision of yours.   

A favorite who's never the first measure, 

And a reminder of all the closed doors.

No you listen here—It’s not my fault I don’t have her eyes, 

Or the lips you adore without doubt. 

But why must I apologize 

For being unlike her throughout.


By Riley Cook

Have you ever felt like you were being followed, maybe watched? Yeah, that's normal. Ever since you were born there is this dark terrifying thing that chases you. It follows right at your heels. Sometimes it's tall, and sometimes it's short. It is always there, but not in a comforting manner. No one knows its intentions, but they seem grim. Sometimes it hides, and sometimes it jumps out right in front of you. If you try running you cannot escape. If you try hiding it does not work. Well, sometimes it works, but most of the time, you get trapped with this dark thing. Some people try to forget it, others are haunted by it all the time. Some say it's deadly. Some say it's kind. It has a source, and it could go away, but if it does, it will come back another day. Don't be too frightened, some say it can smell fear. Sometimes it chases other beasts. Some say it can take other forms. But, I am unsure about that. Some say this thing can travel on other beasts. Sometimes these things fight. They never make a noise. If it snuck up on you, you might never know. Some give it a name. Some people call it a shadow. 

AP & Honors

By Lauren Tyler

It is generally with the arrival of Spring

That the season of plenty

Becomes the eon of too much

Exercises for my intelligence

Make a yo-yo of my patience

My catchphrase for March becomes,

“I quit.”

And my slogan for April,

“It’s the end.”

Small mishaps steal my words

A tragic victim of the ACT

Unfortunate shortcomings wrest me silent

The hours of studying still not enough

My people say,

“It’s just a trivial thing.”

But it isn’t

Not to me

I find myself longing for sunshine

I get the sudden urge for flight

To throw a change of clothes in the car

And take off into the night

To reset my endurance

To realign my conscious

But then Reality slithers into my dream

A viscous, venomous serpent

The alarm signals another day

At the crack of 5 a.m.

Headspace by Luke Wilson
April | 2024
March | 2024
Feburary | 2024
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