Jessie Y

My Life

I play piano

Unlike my friend Liano

We both play violin

So that we can win

Tennis is also part of my life

But thankfully, not a knife

There is also softball

But that’s not all

I like reading and writing

But just not biting

Math is also cool

But you know what’s better? A pool

My family and friends

Are part of my life’s bends

I go to school in Mt. Lebanon

So that I don’t end up in a bin

I have never moved

And another way to say drove, I have never drooved

I’m quick at learning things

So fast it’s like I have wings

This is my life

I don’t have a wife

Only a kitchen knife

Here

Walking over here,

Students tiredly talking,

Beautiful plants too

I See Kiana

With car horns beeping,

Birds chirping beautifully,

I see Kiana

Full but Empty

Heading to the mall on Black Friday is always fun. I squeeze through the door and stop for a second for my eyes to adjust to the brightness. Making my way through the hall, I twist and turn this way and that way. Bringing my hand up to go through my jet black hair, I realize how noticable I am in the crowd.

At fourteen, I’m 6’3” with tan skin and blue eyes. People sometimes called me “the popular kid.” I was funny, outgoing, nice, and weird in a good way. I never really believed them until now.

I try to push through the crowd faster without bumping into people, knowing the store was close to closing. Oh no, I think, knowing the lines would be long with this many people.

Quicky dodging into my favorite store, I look around, wondering why the store seemed so empty. The thought of the store being cursed comes into my head for a split second before I shake it away. I’ve been reading too many books. I guess it just isn’t that popular.

I finish up in that store and make my way to another.

When I reach that one, I realize there’s no one there either. Something’s wrong.

Just as I head to another store, an announcement comes on saying the store's closing. I decide it’s not my problem, and I head home.

Banana

Bananas

Are

Not

Apples

Nor

Apricots

Xylophone

Xylophones

Yell and

Laugh

On

Penguins’

Homes

Over

New

England

Kiana

Kiana is my friend

All the way to no end

We shall never bend

That is what I send

Saying, “You did good”

We are made out of wood

We shall wear our hood

That is what we could

Meeting up again

Living in a den

Like Sienna’s hen

We are two above ten

Writing

I love writing

But not so much biting

With writing, you can do sighting

But you can only do it with good lighting

Fiction

Books about conviction

A prediction

Or an addiction

Grammar

Used with a hammer

So that you don’t stammer

And you have glamour

Reading

Is like bleeding

Characters leading, speeding, pleading

And even weeding

Writing is a gift

That gives you a lift

To drift

Like Taylor Swift

Waiting

Two more days

Till I go on my ways

I can’t wait

Help, Kate!

Jumping around,

Even when I’m bound

I can still hear the sound

Of what I shall found

I need to go now

Before I need to bow to a cow

Or go pow

How

Almost there,

I feel like a bear

Who does not care

But does dare

I cannot sleep,

Only weep

I have fallen deep

Into a heap

Now so help me

Or I’m gonna pay the fee

To someone named…

Penny Gee

Me

Everything I do

Everyone I’m around

Affects my life

Somehow, in some way

Piano: Starting at seven,

It’s become big

An hour everyday,

And I love it

Violin: Starting at eight,

I’ve been working hard

Helping me endure

Other things too

Tennis: Five times a week,

I love playing it

The swish of the racket

The spin of the ball

Softball: A team sport

I love playing softball

Spending time with my team

Fielding, batting, everything we do

Family: My family made me who I am

Traditions…

Habit…

Literally everything

Friends: My friends helped me evolve

Our inside jokes

The quality time we spend together

Everything we do

Everything I do

Everyone I’m around

Affects my life

Somehow, in some way

Help

My brain’s not working

I can see someone lurking

And I am jerking

I want to do some shirking

I don’t wanna do anything

Not even fly to Beijing

To see Martin Luther King

Or get a nose ring

I need sleep

Because I am so cheap

I have become a sheep

I want to weep

I want to escape

To go eat a grape

With an ape

That eats scotch tape

I wanna go home

And do stuff on Chrome

In my little dome

Sitting on some foam

I need help

And I need to yelp

For kelp

But not a skelp

I Remember

I remember…

Breaking my teachers stool

In 4th Grade

I remember…

The leg snapping

Me falling

I remember…

The look

On my teacher’s face

I remember…

The shame

The embarrassment

Kindergarten

After the first day of kindergarten, a 50-year-old, blonde-haired woman comes up to my class. “Who’s part of extended day?” My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Hogenmiller, who I’ve come to love, says. I look into her kind, brown eyes, and I raise my hand. I remember my mom saying something about going somewhere after school, but I’m not sure if this is it.

As we go down the stairs, I regret my decision more and more. What if this isn’t it? I think to myself. No, this has to be it. There’s nothing else, I try to convince myself.

When we get down there, I watch everyone settle in, chatting and playing with other kids, and I feel my chest tightening up. I take a seat in a random chair and watch the blonde-haired woman, whose name is apparently Mrs. Gentile, laugh at something the person on the other side of the phone says. I shudder; her laugh sounds like a witch.

“The bus is almost here,” she says, and I start to panic. They’re kidnapping me. I think. I need to tell someone. I watch Mrs. Gentile on the phone. Gentle… I’m probably overreacting. She’s probably really nice. I’ll tell her.

Right as I open my mouth to say something, I’m interrupted by a brown-haired girl, Anna. “The bus is here!” She shouts, and everyone runs out.

I try to convince myself it’s fine and follow them out, but I can’t. I’m glued to the chair.

Mrs. Gentile stops and looks at me. “Are you okay?” She asks. I try to tell her I wasn’t sure if I was in the right place, but I can’t, so instead, I just break down crying.

I can partly hear her try to console me, but I’m mainly thinking about how embarrassing this is.

Eventually, she says she’s going to call my mom, and I try to protest, not wanting my mom to think something was wrong, but I don’t know what to say, so I just let her call. While it’s ringing, I start thinking this is probably a good idea. She can tell me if this is the right thing.

Mrs. Gentile hands me the phone, and I shakily bring it up to my ear.

“Hello, honey?” I hear my mom ask.

“Yeah…” I reply hesitating a second before answering. I ask her if I’m in the right place, and she comforts me.

When I hand the phone back to Mrs. Gentile, I feel much better. I walk on the bus, now sure I’m in the right place.

After that, I always felt a connection and great gratitude to Mrs. Gentile.

Monster

Recently, I’ve been watching the kid across the street, Timothy. At first, I thought he was a normal kid; he played soccer, swimming, played games, watched movies, read, everything a normal kid did. Then, he quit soccer, and I still didn’t think that much about it. Then, a few months ago, he quit swimming.

Something was wrong, so I talked to his mom. She said he went to bed at 11:30 each night, and she had to wake him up at 7 each morning to go to a writing camp. When he comes back, all he does is play some games, and then go to sleep.

I start laying awake at night, thinking about him. I honestly don’t know why I care so much. He can deal with his problems himself, but I can’t stop thinking about him.

Then, one night I hear screaming. He just had a nightmare, I think, but the next night it happened again. Every night, around 3am, he shouts, “MONSTER!”

Finally, about a week later, I confront him about it.

Pen

Kiana bites her pen

We should put her in a den

Just like a hen

Because her name is not Jen

She eats too fast

Occasionally eats vast

And that is why she’s last

This is her past