Dandelions
by Catherine Cole - 8th Grade
by
by Sam Nichols - 6th Grade
Don’t compare me,
I am not that rose you see,
I see your eyes wash over me,
As if I am that black slimy salamander.
I have learned not to care
What people see me as.
Or if they think I am whatever “cool” means
I am done with the voices haunting me.
1
The VOICE
of LMS
I am from wood chips,
the whiskers of a cottontail.
From scales and claws,
sharp on your skin.
I am from door bells made of barks,
a sting to the ear.
From the wet tongue on my face.
I am from the prick of a quill,
the sniff of a crooked, thin snout.
From the tweet outside my window,
that makes my ears sing,
the colored feathers,
of which my eyes want to follow.
I am from the magic,
of invisible notes that take over your ears.
From the scribbles and lines that we call art.
I am from the words on a page,
that take you to another world.
I am from the weave of a loom,
from a wool string to a scarf.
I am from the desk,
of which I can never escape,
I am from the pep-talks and the arguments,
that last forever.
From the pencil that makes my hand ache;
and the bell that hits my head.
I am from tick tock, tick tock,
time that never seems to end.
I am from the tall, barked friend,
that begged me to climb.
From the tart treats from the apple tree.
I am from the swing that lifted me into the air,
that let me fly.
I am from an orange trail,
with eight lanes,
and a finish line.
I am from the barking, furry, friendly monster,
that played tag with me all day.
A maze in the dark
A riptide
Floating in darkness
Drowning in misery
Spirals of blame
Explosions of doubt
Running from thought
Exploding in emptiness
Where I'm From
by Trinity Hilton - 6th grade
Anxiety
by Samantha Peterson - 8th grade
Photo
by Miles Sturges - 7th grade