After for Theme for English B
Aali
The instructor said,
Go home and write a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you–Then, it will be true
Well my truth is obvious, just look right at me
Big curls, big glasses, and caramel skin
I’m just an ordinary black girl, right?
But that skin, they say
She has to be mixed with something, right?
See my roots are scattered throughout,
Yet still I am a black girl.
Yet at the end of the day I will always be perceived as your ordinary black girl.
Well my mother’s is silky, my hairs tighter, but the naps in my brother's hair get relaxed.
Yet we are the same color, yet he's my brother
Yet we’re all Americans
Yet American is the color of this page
So will my page be colored that I write?
So will my voice be heard beyond my body?
Well my truth is simple, Our truth is the same.
See its as white as this page,
My American truth is simple, see it runs through my veins
How my ancestors had once been in chains through force, then through the promise of this grand land, and throughout exploitation and discrimination
Staying loyal to this false American truth.
My American truth causes me to question if this land is all that it seems, If that you and me could ever be the same.
Yet me and you are all American.
Myself being just your ordinary black girl, living out our false American nightmare.
As it may be simple as the truth being just white, Becoming more complex in the process
The simplest thing is when I put the pencil to paper
And craft these ideologies for my Theme for English B
I’m waiting
Naila
Every night I sit on my knees waiting
Patient for you to acknowledge me and my prayer
One pathway of tradition and a walkway of choice
Both share one sky, and the same god
Do I jump into the unknown
Or do I stand here, rooted in fear
Sometimes when you take my hand, I look around in fear
You make me wait for tomorrow, if there’s a tomorrow, I’m still waiting
I search for a home somewhere in the unknown
Wondering if you hear the echo of my prayers
Every sunday when I open my bible, do you see me god
I know in life we have options, and I choose you, but am I your first choice?
Ever so often I wonder why loving you feels like a choice
A choice that makes my fingers tingle with fear
Every night I whisper the same words into a prayer
Wondering how long you’ll keep me waiting
If I am seen by the same god
Even when it seems like my faith slowly drifts into the unknown
Sometimes it feels like i’ll never know, and my beliefs are rooted in the unknown
Rarely I think about how it was a forced choice
If I convert to catholism will you still see me the same way god
I used to watch the news, watching all these terrible things, my eyes full of fear
I’m still standing, still waiting
Still on my knees , saying my evening prayer
Every night I offer you questions in the form of prayers
Even when my answers dissolve into the abyss of unknown
From all this waiting, i should’ve become more patient, i hate waiting
I eventually came to the conclusion that belief must come from a choice
A choice that made my hands tremble with fear
I sometimes doubt your listening god
I speak to you with curiosity, wondering why I call you god
My knees still sore from standing on them, reciting every line of my prayer
Even if my hands tremor with fear
And Even when my faith leads me into the unknown
I learn that belief is not just one choice
It takes a lot of patience to wait for the answers, yet i’m still waiting
I tremble in fear, of not knowing what’s near, waiting for you to answer my prayer
I sit here waiting on my knees still wondering if you still see me god
Rocking back and forth on my heels, buried in the unknown still trying to make my choice
Adolescence
Sasha
A soft beginning that starts with white chalk
The sun beams on their open wounds as they sat along the sidewalk. Holding hands and playing games while they tossed and turned with no shame
An age of innocence, every moment feeling like magic, When your mother sings to you
An old lullaby
You forget everything tragic.
A once in a lifetime
Experience we all have the memories of our childhood friends Tracing back then we all follow our own paths.
Memories
After Theme for English B by Langston Hughes Ja’Cobe
The instructor said, Go Home and Write
A page tonight
And let that page come out of you
Then it’ll be true
I feel like writing my life would be so simple But so much occurs with so little memory
Time passes over me
Fifth grade almost feels like yesterday
I remember it so vividly
Soon enough, today is only a memory
As I grow up these times Flow away
Things that meant the world a few years back
No longer take up my time of day
No longer take up space
This change is rather surprising I live in this big city
But only explored so little
The days are slow but the months flow fast Time is only a concept but holds a past
In a couple months i’m in highschool
I wish to reach back and call Younger me to enjoy the moments
That soon become memories
The photos
The camera I remember smiling at Is all I have of younger past me
The change is so sudden and true
You don’t expect it till it’s waiting for you
The times taken for granted aren’t
Deserving of old photos to look back at
They are a piece of me
And for that I am grateful for my memories
After Poem Dylan
Go home and write a page tonight.
And let that page come out of youThen, it will be true.
My skin is too light for me to be black. My hair is too curly for me to be white. I seek the knowledge of knowing what I really am.
Not just the black and white girl who has Light skin and Dark hair.
I waited for my parents to tell me what I really am. What every single part of me is.
So when I walk into a room I know who I connect with. So when I step into a room people don’t look at me and wonder, “What is she anyway?”
I wait for the DNA test to come in, for it to tell me who I am. For it to tell me where my curly hair comes from, For it to tell me what my light skin is mixed with.
So when people ask me what I am I can tell them about every part of myself. So when the questionnaire asks me to color in the box I identify with, I can color it correctly.
I wait for society and DNA to tell me who I am so I don’t have to worry about understanding myself.
So I don’t have to wonder why I cry every time I get yelled at.
So I don’t have to wonder why I smile every time I see a dog on the street.
So I don’t have to understand.
Well, I Am Me
After Theme for English B by Langston
Hughes Laila
The instructor said, Go home and write A page tonight. And let that page come out of youThen, it will be true
I am me, And you are you. You is subjective in the Sense that, well, I am me.
The way I talk. The way I dress, The way I react when I’m upset, Shift my body in silly dances, As I think, and think, and think.
Everyday I see the same Pizza shop, bank, liquor store, And five delis that surround me. This is my home. My home is me.
Well what if I didn’t live here? What if I was rich and famous? What if I never grew up in Harlem? Hmm…I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.
Some people live in Short buildings, tall buildings, Cities and towns. Maybe with 1 pet Or a whole zoo. So again, I am me And you are you.
Through the storm
Maliek
One buffalo In a snow storm
One boy In a life
They seem very different but not so much Let me show you how
I’m a boy
The buffalo stood alone I stand alone
The buffalo doesn’t have to act It’s strong I stand alone Against everyone, lonely, “strong” You get the gist
I can’t act anymore I need to express How I feel Lonely.
I’m a buffalo Fighting the storm
Looking for the calm I won’t find it outside so I look within Within my room My world I try to touch the grass
The hope that I can’t reach I stand strong I try, I fail Cry.
They ask if I’m alright, but No one knows how I really feel I say “Yeah, I’m ok” so I don’t Feel less of a man Who I try to be.
When I grow old and start to mold
Troi
when I grow old and start to mold I might forget the homeroom I was placed in all those years ago, the good old scolds, and all the times I had gotten in trouble.
when I grow old and start to mold, before they pull the plug that will cut off everything I know, you will be the one person in my heart that has the strongest hold. the one that everything made everything feel so limited but limitless and the person that made me experience the most growth
when I grow old and start to mold, I may not remember the petty drama we had, but I will remember how talking in the halls made them feel endless. how laughter made time soar without a minute to waste. and the silence that never felt quite lonely.
The State Of Love
Drew
Love is like a game of chess. One mistake can cost you your Queen
It’s a battle of reliability
And a blend of stepping back and standing up
Love isn’t a lie, it’s the truth, It’s the only thing true in this world. It’s the light in one’s life that cant be hidden Its the light that brightens your day
Love is a drug
It can wreck your world
And the effects linger even when the cause is gone
Love isn’t to be played with. Love is to be cherished.
Love is what drives the world.
Love is what gives life, But now there’s, less love, less life, Less light.
“-unless i am myself, I am nobody.”
Jonah
I stay as i am Even when the room shifts. Even when voices change shape.
I don’t borrow faces. I don’t soften my edges. What i carry is mine, And it stays with me.
I remain Not louder Just whole
I don’t ask anyone to follow. I don’t explain my stillness. I am here, And I am enough.
The Next Stage of Life
Jamie
We walk up the stairs to the stage where will get our awards For three years of work.
Starting on one side, the end of something old And ending on the other, the start of something new In our white dresses and suits.
As the heels of our shoes clink together With a happy face yet filled with gloom
As our heart may ache to leave each others side Moving onto the next stage as one’s own
I will move onto the next part of life
Whether I stay or go away I will miss the days where we run freely in the yard Running into each others arms
But as we move onto the next stage
The arms will be of others of our own instead of each other’s.
After Poem
Issiaka
Go home and write
A page tonight
And let that page come out of you
Then it will be true
From Morris Heights
To Mali and back
My father goes
As they send him away
Just a little kid
Too small to know
Mother is alone Cooking, Working, Sleep She’d repeat
While I sit and laugh The Baby Goes Go Go Gaga
After school in the bronx
I attend Harlem Academy On 145th St Nicholas
The D or the B Train
Or even the Bx19
Daniel
A Question that I have for you is, Do you even acknowledge a single blade of grass?
The way that the grass moves is different to the way that sown falls But when they are seen, they are seen as good. Only when grass is paired with another is it seen. A blade of grass has the same value as a piece of ash. But six or seven blades can be valued to be 12 dollars. Only when paired can it be seen and valued.
After poem for “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes Matteo
The instructor said,
Go home and write
A page tonight
And let that page come out of you
Then, it will be true
Being different isn’t easy
Being from a not so known place
Makes going into rooms
Harder to face
I’m from the Philippines
But everyone says otherwise
Sometimes when I say where I’m from
They’re clueless
Where and what it is
All my life
This happens
Whether at school
Or camp
It’s not saddening
Just awkward
But like with people with bad taste say “Licorice taste sweet the more you eat it”
Time is my teacher
It’s taught me to embrace it
Being a raisin in a trail mix isn’t so bad
The confusion is momentary
The friendships are eternal
Now I’m buddies with everyone
Brown, yellow, white, black, orange, mixed, every color
I shouldn’t have felt awkward in the first place
We all bleed the same color
I lost my ability to distinguish
This is my poem for eighth grade English.
Speaking Through Hats Ellie
My grandmother is gone, and the apartment has forgotten how to tilt its head just so.
Her hats still wait stacked like quiet stories wide-brimmed summers, soft brookyln winters folded with care, each one shaped by a life that refused to pass unnoticed.
I like to think she thought a hat was not an extra thing but a declaration her way of saying I am here
Now I hold one the ribbon faded, the inside warm with memory and I understand: she wore them not to hide, but to bless the day, to give the sky a reason to look back at her.
Nana, wherever you are, I know you are not bareheaded. Heaven must be full of mirrors, and you smiling are choosing the perfect hat to greet eternity.
On the Inside Zachary
I look into a mirror that reveals myself, but is that really me?
I have an inside do I not?
Where in the mirror does it show what is amidst in me, my flesh of trial and denial, my brain that often sounds like a roaring jet, and a heart with a dove on the inside.
Where in the mirror does it show my digression, my success, and all the times I was put to the test.
Again, I look in the mirror.
I see the trivial depiction of myself, lacking in any real depth, I charge it guilty of theft.
This object intended to provide reflection is not all that effective.
So there I am robbed of who I truly am, lowered in confidence, left with a sharpened consequence.
I have learned that true reflection, no, true representation comes from oneself. I can not rely on a mere object to define the person I am within. The mirror only shows my skin, a skin often confused for a Dominican.
But I must show what is beneath the surface, what defines my purpose.
One day I will show them who I can be, the true person they dont see, The person that likes to spread glee,
The person I call
Me.
Let Me Be Me
Mariah
“the instructor said,
Go home and write A page tonight. And let that page come out of you-then it Will be true.”
I dont even know who i am
Born in the bronx
Even though i say im from harlem
Which do I say?
Maybe it’s not a big problem
My history is so scattered
I don’t know the truth
But I’ve known my truth since my youth
At least that’s what I tell myself.
My dad say’s im native to this land
My mom says the from the south
My grandma agrees but she is not seen.
Whatever it may be
I hope you never forget me
Because this is who i am
So just let me be me.
Ode To My Past
Aisha
You don’t need everyone’s help, and that’s okay
Because you only need yourself to lead the way
Being isolated isn’t sad, because friends aren’t all you need to have All you need is yourself and your thoughts, to sit around in and ponder off
Validation is only your own, and you don’t need it from someone else To seek validation is like being under a spell. Don’t explain yourself when you know your worth
Because no one is you
Expressing your love is different, and it shows in many ways
You don’t need to be always there to prove it or showcase Loving is something that is yours define, and no one can tell you otherwise
You know how you love and who you care about, so there’s no reason to go and shout it out.
All you need to do is be yourself and stay true
Because who cares if they don’t like you
As long as you are content with who you are, Always reach for the stars
So this is to my past self, who always needed help, you don’t need any, Because you’re already plenty
Change Matthew
When technology wasn’t so advanced When technology wasn’t so deceitful When technology was great and simple
Sure technology has made advancements But change is both good and bad When technology wasn’t so advanced
Now videos and media is ruined Not much is original and some is false When technology was great and simple
Many jobs are being taken over Many objects are being reworked When technology wasn’t so advanced
More generations ruined And new problems have appeared When technology was great and simple
I think advanced technology is bad For technology would someday consume the world When technology wasn’t so advanced When technology was great and simple
There Is Faith Miley
I feel like there’s a lot of small things or messages hidden in my life
Not letters written from the ones i love
But the small actions from the one above
Sometimes, almost all the time, I wake up with fear, but he grants me this peace with ones he keeps me near It may take you a while to understand
Understand why “it only happens to you”
Where one day you feel everything you’ve ever been through
You ever wonder why you were 30 minutes late Felt like ever had way too much on your plate
Why someone is double parked to your car for more than hour
Or on your big day you wake up to rain showers
It’s not only you, there’s this vision God has coming soon
There’s a reason why you were 30 minutes late or stuck in a parking spot after resighting their license plate after hours of strong rain showers the struggles will always bring you flowers
trust his plan, and take the signs, soon everything will fall in line
“No one has a perfect life, we all go through ups and downs but you look to God to turn your life around”
High School Nyla
Can’t the future just wait for a little, wait till I’m ready and prepared. Not to be so hard like doing a backflip Or reading the entire odyssey in a month.
High school essay interviews, and even the ISEE, each part fundamental to high school admissions.
Little by little they make me see how important it is to be me.
It’s as if im a flower growing from the water, that the high school process tends to feed me.
I hope that high school Helps me be free and be the me that high school sees.
However, I don’t know what high school sees. So until the will just sift until February 20th.
Isn’t Always So Easy
Naa Morkor
As a little kid most want to grow and I amongst them too but now driving down memory lane feeling low so I’m dreading the thought of growing old
Growing old seems like a blur in my mind, But still, Something in me isn’t all afraid Because, If others are able to get through this feeling, Then I can do it too
As a little kid most want to grow and I amongst them too
I am now writing this to be seen, That growing up isn’t always so easy, As a little kid most want to grow and I amongst them too
I can push myself to believe that growing up isn’t as bad as it seems And with all the influence from others that too, But still,
Realising there’s more to life just seems like a big headache
I see that im still dreading the thought of growing old But soon I’ll see When the time comes
That getting older isn’t something to be afraid of.
That Girl from Spanish Harlem Issys
The instructor said Go home and write
A page tonight
And let that page come out of you
Then it will be true
Denial builds walls so high
My hispanic pride blocked out i cannot hear its cries
I don’t roll my R’s like my grandmother does, The words flow off her tongue, flowing downstream
I eat the hispanic dishes, i have my family, but still i cannot project it I speak an unknown language.
My mami speaks dominican spanish, and i do too
Just as if I was a baby toothing on a mango seed.
“No Hablamos Espanol” every time I would go to church with my grandma and her friends. My mom tells me she regrets not teaching me spanish
A lifelong regret,
As if im dying and theres no cure
My culture lost at sea, no life boat will save me
Drowning to the cost of tradition and unused spanish flashcards
A language barrier stands tall between me and my family.
An outsider
Alone as that girl who doesn’t speak spanish and her family whos as fluent as there can be I’m that girl from Spanish Harlem and she is me.
The Land of the Free Elric
The instructor said, Go home and write A Page tonight, And let that page come out of you
Then it will be true.
Somebody just died today. Most likely due to gun violence
You know, arguing with someone, then wanting them dead for it. When will it stop?
The constant killing of other people apart of this nation When will it stop?
Forcing lives of poverty upon somebody, then blaming them for being in that life When will it stop?
The lying, saying we’re are an improving country, then letting people kill each other acting like it isn’t our problem When will it stop?
Forcing a mindset upon kids, getting them to consume drugs to make them look “cool” When will it stop?
Prejudice against someone for the color of their skin, assuming their evil So, why do we do this?
Is it because we want to look like a wealthy country with selling things like drugs Or is it because we claim to be the land of the free and then shun away people’s problems
We need to wake up America, and ask yourself this someday, When. Will. It. Stop.
Rice and Peas or Rice and beans?
Jessie
I am made of rice and peas and pride, Two cultures living inside of me, Jamaican and Hispanic walk side by side.
I hear reggae and Spanish songs collide, Music that helps me feel happy and free, I am made of rice and peas and pride.
My family laughs loud, standing unified, Different traditions, one family tree, Jamaican and Hispanic walk side by side.
Plantains and jerk chicken on my plate reside, Food tells stories of where I come to be, I am made of rice and peas and pride.
I don’t have to choose, I don’t have to hide, Both cultures help me be the real me, Jamaican and Hispanic walk side by side.
I smile big with my roots deep and wide, Proud of every part of my identity, I am made of rice and peas and rice and beans and pride, Jamaican and Hispanic walk side by side.
Image Nyla
Stop thinking, just do it they say, Well I have anxiety so I really Can’t, you will never see these people Ever again so why do you Care what other people think Well I just want to protect my Image at the end of the day I’m scared to do my goals when People always having something negative to say I’m just scared but in the meantime I would be trying my best to be me, and trying To forget about the anxiety
“Unclear Identity” Skyler
The instructor said,
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true.
Sometimes my identity is unclear
Even with a magnifying glass, it won’t appear I tried looking for answers and ended up with questions Is it where I’m from?
Where am I?
My family?
How the world views me?
What is it?
These factors would make sense
Maybe i’m overthinking it
Or maybe my identity is just that dense
Maybe it’s simpler than it looks
I’m from Harlem, and now in Brooklyn
My family was once gilded, but now the rust underneath is starting to show The world’s view of me is subjective
All possibilities laid out in front of me me , myself, and I eliminate each, one by one
How the world views me? No
My family? Most certainly not
Where I’m from? Possibly
Where I am? Maybe
These answers are not a “Yes”
“Maybe it’s simpler than it looks”
The magnifying glass was just foggy
I wipe it and it becomes clear
These factors contribute
But I’m the one creating my path
My own Identity
A New Life Jahziah
The instructor said
Go home and write
A page tonight
And let that page come out of you
Then, it will be true
This is that page the page i will describe my perspective on I was born and raised in ny Lived in harlem, and st nicholas just, places where langston used to cross
However, I am ready to leave for high school, a change.
Highschool is another life, harder classes, new people. And a new environment. Im ready though, im ready for something new.
Hopefully I’m ready for that new life. a
Middle school feels like it’s taking forever, from 6-8th grade.
It was a fun experience. As i sit everyday waking up at 7 am
Same thing over and over again
Im ready for something new,
This is that page.
Scene!
I sit on the couch, remote sitting in my hand. Eyes glued to the blue light. Traveling into worlds of frames and dreams Where stories breathe, and silence learns to speak. I fall in love with every cut, Every glance that lingers too long, Every song tells me what words can not Confessions hidden in the sound and shadow. Film is my refuge, my home. A thousand lives lived without leaving the room. From them I borrow bravery, grief, and hope From strangers flickering across the screen. Time passes between scenes, Reality waiting at the edge of the frame, And for a while, I belong somewhere else, Wrapped in light, emotion, and make-believe. From the opening scene to the final fade, I stay hoping the magic never breaks, Letting the credits roll like a quiet promise. That another story is always waiting.
Double Standard EJ
Why is society so manic towards women?
When women are quiet, they’re weak. When women speak up for themselves, they’re aggressive.
When women are emotional, they’re said to be overreacting. When women aren’t emotional, they’re cold.
When women do great things, they’re viewed as misbehaved. When women don’t do great things, they’re viewed as disengaged.
Why does the world double standard women? Why do they expect everything, & at the same time nothing of women.
I don’t think this should scare women… I think this should motivate women even more. Defying the “rulings of the court” is a great thing, and no one can deny it.
My days are pages, turning one by one, I write them slow, though time still moves ahead
My heart’s my pen
I choose the words I place, the lines that are read.
If ink once bled from carrying too much
I’ve learned that pauses keep the pages clean
A lighter hand can change the softest touch
And leave some space for what has yet been seen. Tomorrow isn’t stained by what I wrote It waits a blank for hope to take its place
Each breath resets the line, each moment floats A chance to write with patience, care, and grace.
So if my story’s read from end to start, Let it say I learned to write with heart.
Changes: a poem for my growing classmates Skylah
Well I have been going through a lot of changes. And I guess it’s because I’ve built my life around people I love– you.
I’ve learned how to tie my shoes with you, when time didn’t mean anything to us yet.
We were six— our small hands, and loud laughter. And our biggest problem was leaving each other. But I guess for some of us it’s the same now.
I have to ask myself the hardest questions. because how do you leave people who have watched you become yourself? How do you pack up years of laughter, inside jokes, shared looks, and pack it into a box called “moving on”
But I know we’ll change. I know that paths will split. But part of me will always be six years old on 111th street, standing beside the other 12 students, standing beside you, believing that all friendships last forever, because we didn’t know yet that growing up means letting go— just a little bit
So I’ll walk on, into bigger buildings, with newer friends and better dreams, carrying your names to give me motivation to become a better person.
And maybe— just maybe, that’s what growing up really is. Not leaving people behind but learning how to miss them properly while becoming who I— We are meant to be.
Home in the Catskills Mountains
Soledad
That one kid asks, are we there yet ?
The one who packs her bag two weeks ahead
The one who cries about counselors
She’s known for two weeks
The one who adds new stains every year to her Frost Valley hoodie
Convincing her mom to continue buying them for her
Her mom says no , but buys it anyway
The one who dreads waiting a year to see ,her favorite counselor
The one who cries at the final campfire along with her friends
Sleepaway camp is the highlight of my summer
It brings joy that no other place has brought me
Seeing my friends after a year , brings memories of the years before
All of us hoping to pass the swim test
Staying up late in our cabin , whispering
After being told to go to sleep
From overnight to the last campfire to the final bus ride
The cycle repeats itself , Until I have outplace
Soon I will become a counselor , Watching kids build their own experiences
In the place I love .