Dear Rosie BACK TO SCHOOL EDITION
How do I make the most out of senior year?
Don’t go to class, don’t go to clubs or activities, honestly just fail.
What is High School like for freshmen?
It’s so much like 8th grade! It’s so easy and fun and you barely have to be here! And you will never get lost in the halls!
What should I know about going to school here at Roosevelt
Everyone here sucks, there's no community. Keep your head down at all costs.
What should I do for lunch?
Always go out for lunch and it’s ok if you come back late. Teachers never mind that.
How do I succeed in my classes?
Don't do the work and talk back to all your teachers. Leave everything till the last minute.
Have a question for Rosie? Submit here ↓
By Rosie
Roosevelt High School
Published September 19 , 2023
By Audrieauna Brown
Photograph of the Roosevelt Bell Tower on particularly pleasant afternoon.
By: Yaritza M.
Ode to Ace
by Eleanor Black
Another creature has never been such,
Made up of sunshine and grace.
And I cannot say I’d love any as much
As the one we call Ace.
Wagging back-and forth is his tail,
quirked like a question in his big green eyes.
Falling down the stairs when his back legs fail.
Such an innocent would never tell me lies.
He is the warmth on a cold winter night,
the thing that keeps me sane in the void.
And when my hand strokes the black and white
on his soft, slippery fur, he is overjoyed.
I would never trust him to catch any sort of rat,
for he is far too dumb, such a funny cat.
Ode to Holly
by Eleanor Black
A deep, fiery coat of auburn,
a creature with far too much folly.
But she is the sweetest I know,
for the biggest heart belongs to Holly.
Galavanting through fields of green,
long legs flying like feathers on wings.
To not love her would be obscene,
for she has love for everyone and everything.
Lay on the couch beside her,
covered in a blanket that smells like Dog.
Rest your head upon red and gray fur,
though some may say to love her is odd.
Full of love to give, though at first she never received,
this dog is far too perfect to be believed.
Ode to Mary
by Eleanor Black
Never stare into her deep, scowling eyes,
for you may not like what you see.
Yellow as the miserable, smog-filled skies,
they tell you who you’re meant to be.
Sharp claws dug into tender skin,
edged in anger, but also fear.
Past lives, seven for each sin.
Perhaps there are more, and the end is not so near.
A bebe bullet lodged in her side,
but we now stroke it with affection.
Tell her she should never have to hide
from us any imperfection.
She is bold and courageous, and terrifying at that.
But I really do love her, that mean little cat.