By Emma Hartwig
Hi! My name is Emma Hartwig, and I am a junior at CLC. I have always been passionate about writing and plan on becoming an author and novelist after graduation. This is my third year on the newspaper club, and I am so excited to begin my leadership role as co-president of the club this year! I write mostly informational pieces about everything happening at CLC and also occasionally write poetry. I can't wait to continue writing for CLC this year! Go Tigers!
What Happens When the Trust Starts to Rust?
Author's Insight: The inspiration for this is the current state of the world. It is becoming harder to trust news outlets so it
inspired me to write this.
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
When the truth starts to get holes in it
And fact and fiction start to collide?
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
Will we remain patriotic?
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
Will we stay hopeful?
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
When the trust starts to rust we all become infected
Kai Kaiser
College
I need a bridge on the lake to look through the time,
By the time I was two, I had every state memorized,
And now I would rather cross oceans than sit here and wait,
For the day I’ll feel comfortable in a red and blue skin,
If I’m not right here, then what am I?
Am I the strawberry scent of my too-old perfume?
Am I the oil beneath engines I worked on in my youth?
Am I cinnamon and chives sprinkled over chocolate,
Or am I something I’ll never know and haven’t discovered yet?
I’ve tripped on the cobbles in front of those gates,
And I’ve crossed over thresholds they never thought I would make,
I’m still not that accomplished but I’m accustomed to loss,
And I’m sitting here, waiting, for my dreams to be gone.
Am I the long walk in winter that Robert Frost described?
Am I the sun in the trees in Shakespeare’s great mind?
Am I something I’ve written, maybe stuck in the past,
Or am I a poem lost centuries before I came along?
I don’t think I want to be written by somebody else,
But I’m not original enough to belong completely,
To myself,
How can I be homesick for a place I’ve never lived in?
Emma Hartwig
2024-2025 (Riley Jones)
Summer sunsets now remind me of you.
Someone that I'll always remember.
A constant occurrence will bring you to mind,
days will pass, nights will fall,
but summer sunsets at the dock are the most captivating of all.
The water sparkles, as do your eyes.
Hazel eyes that compliment mine.
Mine are blue and a touch of green,
and just maybe when you see them you'll think of me,
and the time we spent at the dock during summer's eve.
Beauty
Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.
The same is true when beauty changes as we get older.
Maybe, you thought I was beautiful then,
but when you look at me now you see someone you must mend.
My porcelain skin is now scattered with freckles,
my long hair is now short with blonde speckles,
eyes that are closer to dark blue than light.
Eyes that don't put up a fight.
Maybe, you think I am beautiful now.
Beauty changes as we get older,
but I hope my beauty is found in a different beholder.
Untitled
I feel things oh so deeply,
and maybe that's a beautiful thing to do.
When I'm happy,
I glow like a golden hour summer sky.
When I'm angry,
I burn like a raging wildfire searching to spread.
When I'm sad,
I pour like a cracking overflown glass.
I was born to be a person who feels so deep
because when I'm in love,
all of my emotions erupt,
and I explode in the best and worst parts of me.
I rain down from the sky in a harsh thunderstorm,
and I fall all over your skin.
The droplets hold the glimmer of an incoming sun,
and shine the best and worst parts of you.
That is when I see the rainbow.
Reminding me that to feel is to be real,
but also to be beautiful.
Drinks
Pour me a drink.
A drink that tastes like every bittersweet lie you've told me,
and as you pour,
your brown eyes burn into my blue.
My blue that I love so dear.
While you're lost in my ocean,
the cup begins to overflow and crack.
The liquid drips off the table,
the liquid stains my dress.
You don't seem to notice
until a drop drips onto your own shoe.
You don't seem to notice
until the glass shatters.
You were too lost in my ocean.
You wanted the Atlantic
but I'm the Pacific.
I watch as you pick up a shard of glass
I watch as you crawl across the table
I watch as you grab my arm tight
I watch as you cut me deep.
Deep into my heart.
This time you watch as I bleed.
This time the Pacific shows,
my tears flow.
This time you have finally realized.
You've realized that I am human too.
Untitled
I ached to be pretty.
I felt the ache deep in my bones,
just like growing pains building a home.
I dyed my hair,
I changed my makeup,
I pulled the skin on my face until it became sore,
I hid my body in clothes.
All to never be noticed by you.
Whether I was blonde or brunette,
you never looked at me more.
I long for you to think I'm pretty,
to call me beautiful.
But I pick my scabs until they permanently scar,
leaving memories scattered across my skin.
I bite my nails until they're short,
but paint them in bright colors.
I don't cover my freckles,
reminding me of an incredible night.
All to forever be noticed by me.
My rose
Loving you is like holding a rose with thorns,
and gripping on so tight that the thorns pierce deep.
My hands start to bleed.
You're hurting me.
But I don't want to let you go.
My rose.
Because you're the only thing I've ever known,
and this isn't the first time I've bled.
Bled because of you.
My rose.
Your thorns pricked me before.
They've all seen the scars,
the scars that you left from leading me on,
and clearly, your plan worked.
Your methods are precise.
My rose.
I'll just hold on tighter
I'll bleed a little more.
Because roses are beautiful,
and you're meant to be dethorned.
2025-2026 (Kaitlyn Kaiser)
I leave spelling errors in my poetry because I believe it is a reminder that the poet is human. Many people think they can't write poetry because they have bad spelling or struggle with Grammer so by leaving in my spelling errors it proves that poetry doesn't have to be perfect.
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
By: Kai
Insight: The inspiration for this is the current state of the world. It is becoming harder to trust news outlets so it inspired me to write this.
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
When the truth starts to get holes in it
And fact and fiction start to collide?
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
Will we remain patriotic?
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
Will we stay hopeful?
What happens when the trust starts to rust?
When the trust starts to rust we all become infected
The golden rule has rusted
By: Kai
Insight: As a kid youre tought to treat others the way you want to be treated but as you get older the rule gets forgotten
The golden rule became rusted as we got older
Remember when you were in elementary school and you would always be told
“Treat others the way you want to be treated”
It was common knowledge and when someone was being mean they would be told
“Treat others the way you want to be treated”
As we got older the golden rule started to lose its shine
It became “Treat others the way you want to be treated (unless you hold power)
By the time our age was in the double digits we learned that life isn't fair
The golden rule was slowly forgotten
When you don’t “Get better”
Insight: I have mixed connective tissue disease and the symptoms started when I was 9 when my knees started dislocating but every test came back normal which inspired me to write this poem.
It started as a simple injury
Just wear a brace and stay out of gym
It should heal quickly
2 weeks pass, then 3, then 4
It still doesn’t feel better
The doctors say, “Everything looks normal.”
So you start thinking you're crazy
That’s how chronic illness begins
‘You never “get better”
The injury never heals
You keep wearing the brace, and you stay out of gym
It keeps getting worse
You will never “get better"
Insight: This poem came to me when I was trying to write an ode for english class. I wrote an ode to elementary school gym class and I had the idea to write this poem.
Do you remember elementary school?
When our biggest problems were silly things like sally took your red crayon
When friendships were simple
You could get in an argument with your best friend on monday and by tuesday you were back to best friends
Remember how magical recess felt?
When you wernt allowed to even look at the snow if you didnt have gloves, a winter coat, snow pants, snow boots, a scarf and a hat on
When we had no room for hate in our heart
Remember what life looked like before we learned about discrimnation?
When girls had cooties; not because they were girls but simply because they were the opposite gender
When we didn’t see the special needs kids as any diffrent or less important than our other classmates
When we didn’t treat student who were a different race, religion, size, or culture than us
Remember when we didn’t care about what others thought of us
When we would wear mismatched socks and we would wear a neon orange shirt with grass stained jeans because we felt like it
Remember how we didn’t feel the need to hide
When we didn’t feel the need to hide our true selves and we lived freely
When we felt free to cry, laugh, and express our feelings
When warm clothes were enough to keep us from becoming cold
Do you remember elementary school?
Insight: My inspiration for this poem came from when we tell children that they can be anything they want and we encourage them to be creative and to dream but when they grow up they are quickly told that it won’t pay the bills or that they need to be “more realistic”
The students are told to “never stop dreaming” but
The poets are working 9-5 because they need to eat
The authors are forced to become businessmen because they need to pay off medical debt
The artists are put on pills and called “delusional” becasue they see the beauty in pain
The children are told to “act their age” so they would be adults at 7
The teenagers are pressured into figuring out their whole future or they will stay in poverty
The actors are told they will never make it in the theater so they have to act ok 24/7
The musions are called “psychotic” and end up in the ground with the help of a rope
The doctors are overworked and want to be like the musicians
The children are loosing hope
Because in this country you have to buy dreams
Insight: I wrote this poem during a rehearsal for the fall play. I had a lot of things going on and I was very stressed out which inspired me to write this poem. This poem helped me express what I was feeling and cope with everything going on.
I’m so overwhelmed
It’s loud in my mind
It’s loud in this room
They collide and combine
And i can’t focus on a thing
Stress thunders through my hands
Anxiety crashes in my breaths
Im worried about everything
The deadlines
The “to do” list
The emails unread
The responsibilities too much
I am so damn tired
But its the kind sleep cannot fix
Insight: This poem is inspired by the things we learn in school that are normalized like lockdown drills and evacuation drills.
Today at school we learned how to sit quietly and stay hidden in the corner of the classroom with the lights off
A kindergartner says blissfully unaware of the reason
Today we learned how to evacuate the school when there’s a bomb threat
A first grader recalls unaware this shouldn’t be normal
Today we learned to tell a trusted adult if someone touches us inappropriately
A second grader remarks not knowing how high the stats are of being assaulted as a woman
Todat we learned to stand up for ourselves (Unless it’s an adult)
A third grader exclaims not knowing it’s wrong for an adult to bully them
Today we learned that not everyone is treated equally
A fourth grader explains confused by the injustice of the world
Today we learned that kids can be cruel
A fifth grader cries not yet knowing that kids are not the only ones who are cruel
Insight: This poem is about the denial after getting diagnosed with a chronic illness.
I stare down at the paper
The diagnosis in bold
But it’s not true
It can’t be
Denile creeps in
What do you mean “It’s progressive”?
I am still normal, right?
The must be a medication, a treatment or a cure
Why me?
Is it my fault?
The diagnosis in bold
It’s not real though
It can’t be
Insight: This poem is also about the grief of having a chronic illness.
What do you mean "I'll never get better"?
I'm 15, it's supposed to be in the prime of my youth
I am supposed to be healthy
What do you mean "There's no cure"?
There has to be something
A pill, a surgery, a shot, something
What do you mean "It's a progressive condition"?
I don't want to continue to decline
How much more will I loose?
What do you mean "there's nothing you can do"?
you're a doctor you're supposed to be able to help
Please, it can't end like this
Insight: I wrote this poem 2 hours before I had my audition for the fall play (Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind) and it helped ease some of my anxiety. (I did get in the play!)
I’ve done this before
But it all feels so new
I’ve auditioned for shows many times
But this feels so different
What if I forget my lines?
What if I scew up?
Maybe I can’t do this
Maybe this was a mistake
My stomach is turning
My chest feels tight
Ive done this before
But it is also new
Ive made it on cast for shows many times
This may be different
But you memorized your lines
And the world wont end if you mess up
Maybe I can do this
Maybe this isn’t a mistake
My stomach slows down
My chest breathes easier
It will be ok