This document is a literary magazine containing poems, short stories, and photographs from various student contributors. It includes biographies of the staff and contributors. The table of contents lists 26 pieces contributed by 27 different students under categories like poetry, fiction, and photography. It expresses thanks to teachers, administrators, and donors who supported the magazine's publication.

1. litmag
Issue II
4.99 USD
June 2016
Rachelle Burgos

2. LIT MAG 2016 || 2
litmag staff
Dylan Momplaisir
Urbana Anam
Rachelle Burgos
Betty He
Lucianna Guzman
Lucas Vazquez
Emilio Enriquez
Carmen Ng
Danielle Liang
Niezum Ahmed
Sharon Chen
Andy Chen
Daniel Chan
Duane Steinhoff
Mohammed Uddin
Arlina Reyes
Aaron Weng
Henry Chen
Ilene Tam
Kulvir Singh
Tyliek Watson
Editor in Chief
Resident Artist/Poet
Resident Artist/Poet
Resident Poet
Resident Poet
Resident Poet
Resident Poet
Resident Photographer
Resident Photographer
Resident Photographer
Social Media Manager
Contributor (Old Man)
Contributor (Old Man)
Contributor (Only Sane One)
Contributor
Contributor
Contributor
Contributor
Contributor
Contributor
Contributor
Special Thanks to ...
Ryan Zhang || Audrey Mackenzie || Mr. Nanda - for supplying us with snacks + moral
support || the English Department for promoting the arts, and nominating hidden talent
to publish their work in our magazine || Mr. Willie - for sourcing the funds for the pub-
lishing of this magazine || Mr. Stanzione - supporting LitMag since its’ recent re-incu-
bation || Max Willens || Jacquelyn Chen - for taking our LitMag’s annual group photos
|| Ms. Wolff - for promoting arts education and motivating talented student artists to
publish their works || the HSEF community for supporting our magazine by purchasing
our magazines, and “egging” us on throughout the publishing process
table of contents
2
Rachelle Burgos
The Loving
and The Loss
8-9
Lucas Vazquez
broken
14
Teron Byrd
Child of People
of Color
18
Deon Lloyd
Night
23
Amy Marmol
Sheila Rodriguez
Dueling Desires
2
Gianni Diaz
John
10
Raymond
Schindler-Howell
My Name is
A Title
14
Duane Steinhoff
On The Stage
19
Emilio Enriquez
Overt
24
Lucianna Guzman
Player 1
4
Urbana Anam
Vida
10
Betty He
Push You
15
Chayanne Vasquez
Infantilizing "Us"
Fat Girls
20
Elymarie Rosario
You Won
24
Micheal Ramirez
Never
4-5
Audrey Mackenzie
Burial #276
11
Tania Lopez
The Struggle
for Power
16
Tyliek Watson
Shattered
21
Maya Paul
Dueling Desires
24
Caroline Gonzalez
Here I Go Again
7
Mateusz Karwacki
Love Poem
for Sleep
12
Marian Jones
The Rose Which Was
the Concrete
17
Rolman Garcia
The End of My Life
22
Betty He
My Company
25
Waranka Diaw
Until Tonight
26
Gianni Diaz
The One
7
Lucas Vazquez
My Bed And Sleep
12
Audrey Mackenzie
No Longer
18
Jay Pasu
Power Outage
22
Lucianna Guzman
I Hope You Know Your
Worth
LIT MAG 2016 || 1

3. LIT MAG 2016 || 2
The Loving and The Loss by Rachelle Burgos
I adore exploring all of the layers
to your rich, beautiful personality
I feel as if dear Lord answered my prayers
when He birthed you into reality
We loved with a love greater than love.
I remember how we bathed in the sunlight.
Oh - how I fit into your arms like a glove!
With your sturdy arms wrapped around me tight.
They say that love is blind, which must be why
you wandered away from your child and I.
I had to accept you are now up high.
At last, death did us part and I bid good-bye.
There is not a day that goes by without
a small hint of doubt about your whereabout
John by Gianni Diaz
Never thought it could be you,
I never wanted it to.
My other half of me just disappeared.
Darkness came as fast as you got your angel wings.
My tears will never go away,
My heart feels like it's been thrown away.
When I heard the news,
I fell to my knees.
Not wanting to get up,
I heard you say it'll be okay.
Flying 1600 miles to see if it was true,
Memories running through my head not believing my brother's life was gone.
I sit there looking at you,
wanting to shake you.
I couldn't see those big brown eyes,
there's not a smile that could ever be replaced.
God, take this pain away from me.
I never got to say goodbye,
I want you to answer me why.
I was too late to take his place,
but all I can do is wait.
Till then I'll be missing him.
Niezum Ahmed LIT MAG 2016 || 3

4. LIT MAG 2016 || 4
Vida by Urbana Anam
Breaking a mirror five thousand times doesn’t change the reflection
Nor does killing a black cat change your thoughts of misfortune
You wonder what dying feels like, when in fact death is your biggest foe
You claim you are nonjudgemental, even though you mentally comment everybody on the 4 train
You forget to realize that every time you feel superior, another human being is demoralized
You constantly repeat, “Inside is all that matter!”
But end up going to the bathroom, like five times a day, to glare at yourself
You go to bed, thinking tomorrow will be another day
No thrill, no expectation, just another ordinary day
You dream of perfect self, without a single blemish
And in the morning, complain why the dream couldn’t last any longer
You began to detest the radiant sun and the exquisite shooting stars
Because you forget to realize that your imperfections are perfection
And that hopes are infinite
You are deplored because you are a human being
The majestic gift of life never crossed your mind.
Mama used to play the fiddle. I guess that’s what got me singing. We’d sing the night away in our
cottage hidden on Sir’s property. Mama told me that we’d always sing together in that cottage on Sir’s
property. She’d say to me “Elzabe, you sing in here, but you stay quiet out there. Only speak to those
that speak to you, okay?” I never really speak because of that. Mama was real big on being quiet. She
said it keeps your voice nice, and your smile precious. That’s another thing mama was big on, smiles.
She would tell me “Only smile to those who deserve a smile Elzabe. If you like them, you smile. If
they need a smile, you smile right at them. If you don’t know them, you don’t give them the pleasure
of seeing you happy.” That’s just what I do. I sing in the privacy of the empty cottage, I tell Sir yes Sir,
and smile to those who deserve it.
I don’t smile much now. Not after Mama left me. Now I don’t have anyone to smile for. I’d smile for
my pa, but I ain’t met him. Mama always told me that he was kind, but he’s long gone. Just like mama
is now. It was two men you know. Two men that got her. They drove her to be scared that night. My
mama wasn’t ever scared, not till then I guess. They drove her to run and scream. Those two men they
did. They drove her to tears. They’re the ones who killed her, they did it, lord knows why. They beat her
like crazy with those oars, they didn’t listen to her pleas once. Guess them white men have a twisted
sense of what’s right. The people say she was asking for it, that it’s her own fault she is gone. But that’s
not true, so what if she wouldn’t smile at them. They didn’t deserve it, and them hooting and holler-
ing didn’t help none. Men just aren’t any good. The only men that I speak to are them men in the corn
fields, and Sir. Even then, none deserve any of my smiles.
I talk to Sir more than anyone now though. Only cause I do more than anyone else in the house.
Now that mama’s gone I’m doing the kitchen, the cleaning, and the washing. The men out in the corn
fields complain about all the heat or the cold, while I’m doing a bunch of different jobs all on my feet.
They’re out in the field, sitting when they think no one’s looking. Well I see them sitting, all of them sit-
ting round having a good old laugh.They’re sitting while I’m doing all this work. It ain’t fair. Sir won’t
even hire anyone to help me. He’ll say to me “Elzabe, you don’t need anyone else in this house to help
you, I know you can do it on your own. You’re
strong just like your mother.” I say yes Sir, and
just do my jobs.
He’s started being extra nice though. It’s cause
my mama’s gone. I think he misses her too.
I don’t know why though, I never saw them
speak. But it don’t matter too much. He’s been
giving me some extra food. Things like bread,
corn, and apples. Even though I’m the one
that prepares all of them, it’s nice. He’s big
on giving me apples. He tells me “They clean
your teeth Elzabe. Apples are good for you,
they help you become strong, and give you a
nice smile.” I guess he knew about what mama
would say about teeth and my smiles. One day
he even told me he saw a smile of mine, that he
saw me smiling in mama’s cottage. He thought
I was singing or playing the fiddle something. I
told him I must of been talking to myself. But
he just smiled at me and said I should do that
more. I didn’t know if he meant the smiling or
the playing, but I just said yes Sir and con-
tinued my jobs. I guess he knew that mama
would play me the fiddle, and I would sing for
her. I guess Sir knows a lot of things. I guess
Sir might just help me miss mama a little less.
Audrey Mackenzie
burial #276 by Audrey Mackenzie
inspired by African Burial Monolgue
LIT MAG 2016 || 5

5. LIT MAG 2016 || 6
My Bed and Sleep by Lucas Vazquez
an English sonnet
O sleep, o sleep, wherefore art thou my sleep
By any other name, just as gripping:
My bed connects us, without you I Weep
To part with sweet abyss, I’m not willing
At times I am pulled from the deep Abyss
While at times I may stay too deep in rest
Your peaceful nature heightens my deep bliss
I may ignore you, though only in jest
O sleep, o sleep, a harsh mistress indeed
Less of you makes me feel empty inside,
and Indulgence in you is a misdeed
Many still come to your siren calls
I know not if my obsession is just
You are my obsession, my angel dust.
Love Poem for Sleep by Matseusz Kawacki
inspired by Pablo Neruda's Love Sonnet XVII
I don’t love you enough to say with you forever.
But eventually you will catch up to me.
I love you, because you’ll keep me recharged until that final day.
I love you as a bear, ignoring the cold,
to give up the cold air of winter to be in your arms,
and wait in your slumber,
until the arm spring reminds me to awaken.
I love you so much,
You approach me at school, and slowly close my eyes.
When I’m in deep sleep, dreaming, I dream of sleeping.
But I can’t get enough of you,
so I don’t wake up, don’t get up,
and I ignore the sound of the alarm,
and you leave me with my last heartbeat.
LIT MAG 2016 || 7
Betty He

6. LIT MAG 2016 || 8
brokenby Lucas Vazquez
The old man sat silently as he traced the rim of his glass
with his finger, the autumn clouds had blocked the sun’s
rays from entering his home. He stared at the mug he
held, void of all emotion. It almost seemed as though
he was contemplating whether he should fill it or not.
This continued until one of his grandchildren broke the
trance that the glass had held him in for what seemed
like an eternity. The old man, dazed and confused by
what went on around him looked up in sudden shock,
“what, what, did you--”
“Yeah it’s us, remember? Your grandchildren?” respond-
ed a young girl, in a patronizing tone of voice.
The old man whipped his head up to look at the chil-
dren. He squinted his eyes and began to smile. “No, I
don’t seem to recall who you kids are,” said the old man
failing to contain his laughter which soon devolved into
dry coughs. The man hobbled to the his grandchildren
and attempted to hug them as hard a he could, most of
his strength ran out by the time he had reached them, so
all he could muster was a measly three second hunched
over hug before he recoiled in pain. He guided his
grandchildren outside to play, or at least to try to keep
up with them as they ran around. His wife had been
watching her husband use his newfound strength from
the kitchen window. She seemed to be happy that he had
finally risen from his rocking chair where he now laid
dormant as time withered away at both the man and his
seat. He usually spent the hours in the same emotionless
trance that had held him when his grandchildren first
arrived.
As the autumn clouds turned darker and colder in the
winter, the man’s health began to deteriorate. With time,
the man became vacuous. His grandchildren still visited
him as often as they could, most often than not they saw
him as he was still healthy, relatively speaking of course.
This man, let’s call him Pedro, never cared much for his
health. He often smoked and drank, never really think-
ing of the how these vices may affect him in his later
years. As Pedro’s health deteriorated the majority of his
grandchildren visited him less and less, aside from his
only granddaughter.
As the days turned to weeks past she often came to him
wearing a necklace of her profile with her name, “Maria”
engraved on the back. This was a gift from Pedro for his
granddaughter first birthday. As Maria visited she would
often show him the necklace, it had always made him
happy seeing that she treasured it. As weeks turned to
months, Maria continued visiting more frequently, but
the man’s interest in her visits had gradually lessened.
She would sit next to him some days and he would just
look back at her, almost looking completely past her, not
noticing. At first, this did not seem to phase Maria as
she was used to her grandfather being generally absent
minded. Although he would often look past her, it still
seemed as though somewhere in his head, he recognized
this young girl.
Time marched forward and the girl always came with
her mother to visit her beloved grandfather. Although
Maria was blissfully unaware of her grandfather’s con-
dition, her mother was all too aware. Maria often won-
dered why her mother had to perpetually hold back her
tears with the continual visits. As one may expect, the
old man fell farther into the mental rabbit hole of senil-
ity as the days went on. The passage of time had ebbed
the man’s memory of his surroundings. Worried family
members continued to visit Pedro but his knowledge of
their identities faded from his mind.
One day as Maria walked into Pedro’s large, mostly
empty room, everything seemed to be fine. As always, It
still smelled of old people, which can only be described
as the strange amalgamation of chapstick and menthol.
It was as oddly quiet and the walls were still the same
shade of sickly beige as is to be expected from an elderly
person’s home. She slowly stepped towards Pedro for no
reason other than to surprise him. “Hi!” she yelled in the
shouted whisper that would be loud enough to be audi-
ble, but not loud enough as to frighten even the smallest
of house pets or senile old man. In the same fashion
as always, Perdo looked at her at first with a blank face
which slowly twisted itself into a smile. This was not his
usual brand of warm smile, but instead that was replaced
by the type of look you would give a long departed
family member. It was a look that you would only oth-
erwise see on someone Maria’s age. “Hey Sissy!” the old
man yelled in a similar shouted whisper, “has dad gotten
home yet?”. This perplexed Maria, seeing as she thought
he was joking, she played along. “No, not yet,” she said
while trying to contain her laughter. After this the old
man grabbed Maria’s arm tightly and silently yelled what
seemed like incoherent babbling at her. His decrepit
fingers shaking as he grabbed, his feeble bones protrud-
ing into Marias forearm. The stare he pointed at Maria
were not with the same caring old eyes that Maria had
come to know. Confused and frightened by her grand-
father’s tightening grip,
she managed to shake
him off and take several
steps backward.
Having heard the
ruckus from the next
room over, Maria’s
grandmother, Ramona,
walked in and swiftly
pulled Maria out of Pe-
dro’s room. She kneeled
down in front of Maria
and after comforting
her, she held Maria
firmly by the shoul-
ders. Ramona began to
explain to Maria, “listen
darling, Ped-”, she
stopped abruptly, choosing her next words very carefully,
“your grandfather isn’t well, he, he doesn’t quite remem-
ber everything, he’s not ‘all there’, do you understand?”.
Maria, thinking of what to say, seemed to understand,
in her own way. She shook her head in understanding.
“Well, ok, how ‘bout we get you somthin’ to eat and then
lets get you on home, you can come back later, ok
sweetie?”, Maria then shook her head in silent compli-
ance and they both left to eat. Although Ramona was
worried about her dear husband, She was terrified of
how all this would impact sweet little Maria.
Many more weeks had passed before Maria’s
mother decided it would be a good idea to bring her
back to her grandfather’s home where little did they
know, this would be the last time anyone would see
Pedro with any semblance of his previous memo-
ries. As Maria and her mother entered Pedro’s room,
Maria’s mother moved to the corner in case there is
another incident. As Maria said hello to Pedro in a
whispered shout, he gave her a new look. This time he
looked at her with the face of an aged old doddering
old man but with the expression that you might see
from an infant. He had the wide eyed innocence of
month year old child but the hardened appearance of
the person Maria came to admire. Maria continued to
make conversation but her effort yielded no results.
The old man sat there, blank, his head finally having
been rid of its previous tenant. She attempted to grab
his hand, his leathery old skin
shifted in place as she held him.
The bones of his fingers weak and
infirm when having been held
together. he was only confused by
this act, she thought that she saw
his yellow old teeth pierce the
veil of his quivering mouth so she
looked for more familiar sights
and sounds that could bring her
granddad back. Maria grabbed
the mug that sat on his night-
stand and tried to hand it to him,
“remember, it’s the mug my mom
and I gave you, It’s your favourite
one”. He just stared at it, not con-
templating, just blankly staring
almost as if he did not know
what it was. The man had finally
reached the bottom of his dark rabbit hole, leaving his
previous form and family behind.
"Yeah it's us, remember?
Your grandchildren?"
LIT MAG 2016 || 9background by Niezum Ahmed

7. LIT MAG 2016 || 10
When spoken as a whole,
It goes on;
Making an impression,
Like an explanation;
Holding people captive,
When r-e-so-u-n-d-e-d,
Leaving them astounded;
Until it runs out.
My name is history;
Formed in old world,
Made alive in the new,
The story of rooftop climbers,
And psalm chimers.
The history of generations
Passed from father to son,
From father to son,
From father to son,
From father to me.
I am the end of one line
And the beginning of a new
W I D E N I N G
A sting
Weaving
And forming anew.
My name is a symbol;
For prudence in the dark,
And wisdom for the seeker.
My name is a balance;
Between paternal,
And maternal;
The old,
And the new.
It is a weighted scale
Because the material is strong
And solid
My Name Is A Title
by Raymond Schindler Howell
Push Youby Betty He
a found poem from The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
Wise guy
he not go against wind
the wind hissed
bite back tongue
these are the rules
I rose up
pushed up toward the night sky
screamed as they scurried
the wind hissed
I wish you wouldn’t do that
must know the rules
I had a sly thought
a trick question
the wind hissed
chose wisely
move ahead and take
I was sure
lean away from the wind
whispered secrets only I can
hear
I leapt up
the wind hissed
the color ran
died down to little puff
race,andself-identity
Why you got the white men’s driving and the colored lifting?
What’s the matter, don’t i count
All i want is to change the job description
The A&P ain’t never done nothing for me
I spends my money where i’m treated right
What sense that make when i got money to go and spend it
somewhere else and ignore the
Person who done right by me?
A negro goes in there and can’t get no kind of service
The white man ain’t gonna let him get nowhere with that football
I can’t stand niggers like that
The colored people I got to be twice is good before he get on
team
They got colored on the team and what it get him?
The Struggle for
Power
by Tania Lopez
a found poem from Fences by August Wilson
LIT MAG 2016 || 10 background by Alice Kong

8. LIT MAG 2016 || 12
”You see, you wouldn’t ask why the rose that grew from the concrete
had damaged petals”
But being black, i am the concrete and held on a much lower level
When i hear black, i think strong, wise and special
When they hear black, they think dark, evil and the devil
I am Marian, meaning of or relating to the virgin Mary
I am Jones, meaning a fixation or compulsive desire
to me, my name means she who is dedicated to Christ
The one who i believe died on the cross, so that i may have eternal life
As a child, every Sunday i would sing a song with my dad
A song that blacks used to recall struggles from the past
“Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring”
I remember going to church watching everyone dance and jump
around
unaware that this was apart their culture that they held on to, after
being stripped down
Concrete represents bad, and rose represents the good in it, apparently
But a rose and concrete share many similarities
however, one would run into a field of roses, forgetting they could get
pricked
but one wouldn’t run into concrete because pain would be expected
Because of the pigmentation of my complexion
I am expected to go into the wrong direction
It seems as though I should be ashamed of my reflection
and that myself and other blacks are given no affection
It seems as though society has blacks down to a science
They think blacks only focus on gangs, drugs and violence
In recollection
We tend to ignore black excellence
The black doctors, lawyers and our black president
All blacks are not perfect, but we are perfection
The Rose Who Was the Concrete
by Marian Jones
No Longer
by Audrey Mackenzie
Hanging here on this gallows
Struggling between life and death
No longer troubled me
The thousands who had died daily
Under our eyes
No longer troubled me
Darkness in our souls
Ashamed forever
All my strength to struggle
No longer troubled.
LIT MAG 2016 || 13Urbana Anam

9. LIT MAG 2016 || 14
I am child of two ebony parents, one light, one dark.
A survivor of the haste colorism from my fellow negroes.
A leader of those who fit into an “undesired” skin color.
I am merely a black boy who splurges on intelligence and shuts up on race insults.
A product of my white supremacist motherland, O’America.
An immigrant of the African slaves whipped and lashed for mediocre cotton crops.
I speak the truth, an unspoken quam in murderous America.
A child of low income grinders & America’s prejudice.
I am the son who fears every day may be my last, as my skin, which has a little bit of color, scares them.
The language of ebonics which seeps into the rich breast of O’America.
The child of a woman who cries tears of a strong black woman.
I am the hope for the black child who wishes for anything but brown skin.
I speak the truth, an undesirable tale from a negro.
I may be the next black man taken from his home for the promise of legal slavery.
I am not the black paradox everyone claims to be.
I am the child of a man imprisoned for his crimes & his color.
I am the kid who wished people should see me more than a color.
And I am the child of people of color.
A Child of People of Color by Teron Byrd
I despise myself
From fashion magazines to social media
Who says the real me can face social media?
No one sees the stretch marks
No one hears my unspoken words
But I am speaking words
No one knows about what it’s like
To write and write about self worth
And I am not even worthy of myself
I look, I see, I dream about what ifs
and what nows and who do I become
No one sees
That the world does not cater to certain people’s physique
We were not made for crop tops or short sleeves
Every thing skinny is the fashion’s best trend
But what’s a girl like me.. Who has to pretend
Pretend that there are no stretch marks
Or unwanted dimples
Or better yet pretending I am beautiful,
Having to cover up every inch of skin
Because I do not see myself right
It’s one thing to say we don’t belong in the modeling industry
But disregarding us completely?
Infantilizing us as if we are okay with it?
Us “fat” girls are not okay with it
When we start to look at ourselves in the mirror
It’s not a stare
It’s a quick glimpse
Who wants rolls? Who wants extra skin?
I dream of the day when we will be perfectly fine
But it’s hard to imagine
Since we have been degraded because of the skin!
We think, “why can’t I be as pretty as them?”
All of a sudden we have to watch how we eat,
Obsessing over calories we seem to meet,
Being self-critical of just walking down the street,
You begin to take a mental stroll,
And no longer thinking clearly
The only thing that’s clear is the reflection in the mirror of your body
People loathe and begin to question you about change
You hear it every day and so you start to believe
That you deserve all this hate
And you start to think to yourself “maybe the problem is me”
Made a prisoner in your own body by society.
Where is all the equality ?
Infantilzing Us
"Fat Girls"
by Chayanne Vazquez
Through the silence I feel my heart
The show will soon begin its start
Voice says go and I know
Listen to the light this night
Now they flash, this I see
Now they twinkle, shine on me
Now I sway, in a weightless way
Their lips move, what do they say?
I move to the many words
My limbs dance like happy birds
We all sing in this harmony
So simply glad and quite artfully
Silent symphony is quietly disarming me
Flashing again lights setting me free
This bliss is so incredibly real
Something I never thought I’d feel
Vibrations roar and I can hear
I can see them as they grow near
Then they stop, then they cheer
No longer will I dance in fear
On the Stage by Duane Steinhoff
LIT MAG 2016 || 15

10. LIT MAG 2016 || 16
"Hey, Jake! Long time no see, man!”
I turned to look for the unfamiliar voice. As soon as I
started to turn I was pulled into the pizza parlor I had
every intention of walking past.
“Hey…. Man. I’m sorry but I don’t quite remember you.
What’s your name again?”
My “friend” had a pained smile.
“It’s me, Tom. You know, your best friend all throughout
High School?”
I stared at Tom for a bit trying to remember where exactly
I knew him from. I did have to admit. His name was kind
of familiar.
“Oh yeaaaah, Tom! The class clown, right?”
He seemed instantly relieved
“Hey! You remember me now! I’m glad. Here, forget wait-
ing for the pizza, let’s just walk”
He started leading me down the street. Considering it was
a Sunday in a conservative Christian town I wasn’t too
surprised that the streets were still empty.
“Hey, um, Tom, right? What do you do? Like, What’s your
profession?”
He turned to smile at me without missing a step.
“I work in forensics. You know, finding out how people
died and what not. It’s all terribly boring work to be hon-
est.”
shattered by Tyliek Watson
“Is that so? I would have thought that it would be more
interesting.”
Tom shook his head sadly.
“Sadly It’s the complete opposite. The only interesting part
is finding the bodies. The rest is paperwork and digging
through entrails. Here, take this shortcut, it’s faster.
He started to lead me down a grassy path, obviously not
walked very often.
“I mean, have you ever seen the work of any serial killers?
Surely that would be interesting.”
Upon my comment he froze up for a second, allowing me
to walk ahead of him.
I repeated myself.
“I mean, it has to be a little bit cool to see what those psy-
chos are capable of.”
Tom looked at me pitifully.
“I mean, looking at your own art is truly fascinating, you
know?”
I turned to ask him what he meant before he suddenly ran
up to me and immediately stabbed me in the stomach.
He whispered to me in a blood curdling tone.
“I’ve always F***ing hated pizza.”
He let me drop to the ground, and then it all went black.
I battle for a life as I came from school on a nice afternoon
It started with curiosity as to what Mr. Harvey had inside
I couldn’t even breathe because of the force of his hands
He lounged at me choking me bruising my neck
Short of breath and lacking strength to struggle
He forced himself on me and I couldn’t get him off
He proceeded to dismember me ripping me limb by limb
There was a safe in his room about as a blue as the ocean
He stuffed my limbs inside and I couldn’t cause a commotion
Took me to a sinkhole that I couldn’t even see
I woke up and all my limbs in place
At a strange white place soft as cloud and pudding
I realize that I’m dead and walked towards heaven’s gate
The sobbing and the sorrow of the other victims I feel
We are all in this together I wonder how my family feels
I see my mom and dad crying, oh my family is in ruins and it’s all because of Harvey
All these girls are crying at the mention of his name
It send shivers down their spine
It makes them all re-live their pain
The End of My Life by Rolman Garcia
LIT MAG 2016 || 17
header by Niezum Ahmed

11. LIT MAG 2016 || 18
love,andloss
Loose cannon with emotions as artillery
Unloading shells in my proximity
Continious pondering of friends and the enemy
Into the reaches of my mind as if malpractice lobotomy
Attacking in covert, overt and furiously
Never a survivor I’m always the casualty
Negotiations end in ridiculous treaties
And with all this I’ve still got love in me…
The enemy?
Overt by Emilio Enriquez
When the night plagues the day,
And the shadows start to roam.
Then the creatures come to play,
And everything good runs home.
With the absence of light,
You’d think it’s the end.
Cause the dusk will bite,
And hopes and dreams start to bend.
There is nothing but an empty void,
Where the dead now lay.
Within the drunken soil,
It’s the days turn to plague,
Then the golden man comes out,
And all of evil shouts.
Night by Deon Lloyd
inspired by Juliet's Night Soliloquy in Romeo and Juliet
I look up to the night sky, at the dark clouds,
It’s all just so bizzare.
It feels as though an end is coming to only New York,
Because I’ve have yet to see beyond city walls.
On the right there’s barely light,
Barely life holding on trying to fight.
While on the left death is taking over,
Both none can roll over until it has seen the light.
I wonder if it is the stars that are dying,
Leaving us lightless,
Without the light the stars would be leaving us flightless.
“You can’t hit what you can’t see.”
This is more than just the clouds and the sky,
Both wonderful and deadly messages they hold.
Sometimes they stalk us during the day so at night they can watch
our fears unfold.
In the night the sky controls our dreams and nightmares.
Just like the government, they tell us what to like,
Also in our minds and hearts they strike fear.
Why does everyone look forward to tomorrow?
But doesn’t take into consideration that tomorrow is not guaranteed
to appear.
Hell we’re not even guaranteed to make it through the day,
Or even make it to our beds at night.
All the days of our lives we have to put our fist to night sky and fight
for the light.
No matter what we do or where we are even after death the sky isn’t
going anywhere.
The day gives us many chances to see so don’t be blind,
Live to the fullest but also enlighten your mind.
Spread your knowledge to your friends when it comes to learning
there’s no end,
Never face the dark alone always face the light together,
“Live as you are to die tomorrow, and learn as if you are to live forev-
er” (Gandhi)
God said let there be light and thus created the creation of a new day,
The dark clouds will soon disappear by the glorious minds of the
youth today.
Power Outage by Jay Pasu
LIT MAG 2016 || 19Anthony Lopez Lucianna Guzman

12. LIT MAG 2016 || 20
Mission accomplished,
You won.
I remember the day you told me,
“I’m going to make you fall in love with me.”
And I remember telling you,
No! Therefore challenging you by saying, “We’ll see.”
You surprised me by trying so hard,
By not giving up,
Even when I rejected you so many times,
Even when I walked away from you
After you told me how much you loved me.
But, you didn’t give up,
You stayed by my side through it all.
I remember the time when I started falling for you,
Starting to notice every beautiful and amazing
Part of you.
My stomach always having butterflies,
My palms always being sweaty,
My heart always skipping a beat,
And my heart that always seemed to be racing,
That all happened because of you.
You snaked your way into my heart,
And I fell hard for you.
I remember when I told you, I loved you.
I thought you would be excited,
But man was I wrong.
All you did was laugh in my face,
Look me in the eyes,
And said mission accomplished.
I remember you smirking,
And telling me that I was just another pawn
On your chessboard and I just got played.
I remember my heart shattering into pieces,
And you stomping on every shattered piece,
When you smirked and said,
“I love you too but if you don’t mind,
I have another pawn to capture.”
Then you walked away,
RIght out of my life,
But you had to take my heart with you.
So, I hope you’re happy.
You won.
I fell for you,
I fell hard,
And you ended up breaking my heart.
So, congratulations,
You did it,
You Won by Elymarie Rosario Dueling Desires by Maya Paul
How could you even disrespect me
Without a care
You say one thing and do another
I tried
I put my all into you
You never appreciated me
You’re ungrateful
Yet you call me selfish
Oh, I’m a hypocrite?
How about when you …
Let me not say.
You make me feel worthless
But I still love you
we still love each other.
Oh, marry me!
Ugh, why can’t I let you go
You took it all
You accepted everything and said you cherished it
But you used it
You used me.
So get out!
Leave me alone!
You can’t stay
You don’t love me the way you say you do
I hate that I love you
We’re on the same path yet you’re turning
Was it me?
I tried to fix it,
Fix me
Let’s find trust
I love you
I wanna make it work
We were going for tattoos
Please don’t just leave
Don’t just come back whenever you please
Fight for me!
You make no sense
We keep bumping heads
Can we build our relationship?
One plus years
So many memories
How can I forget you?
But I will
LIT MAG 2016 || 21

13. LIT MAG 2016 || 22
My Company
by Betty He
His words pierced me
A vision clouded my mind
Grasping something I can’t find
Three words that will set me free
Time has made me hollow
Endlessness of lovers
Attempting to forget he is her’s
The mere mention makes it hard to swallow
What is hard to tell
This new love I play with
Molding me like a blacksmith
No warning before I fall
This wall built by a broken heart
Started tearing itself apart
I Hope You Know Your Worth
by Lucianna Guzman
I hope when she says I love you, she means every syllable
I hope the phrase rolls off her tongue as smoothly as yours glides
against her skin
I hope when she looks into your eyes, she notices every fleck of
brown and hazel
I hope she takes in every detail of your face and reads it like it’s her
favorite book
I hope she ventures through the dark tunnels of your mind
With a head held high, ready to come face to face with the devil
himself
I hope she shows you what it’s like on the other side of the wall
you’ve built
I hope she helps you figure it all out
I hope … for nothing at all
Dueling Desires
by Amy Marmol + Sheila Rodriquez
The bruise he placed upon my face
With the same hands that once caressed me
Are now the reasons for my sorrow
But he’s still the man that I love
We all make mistakes
And who am I to judge?
But he’s no good
He shouldn’t have hit me
Yet, once again
The story repeats itself
LIT MAG 2016 || 23Carmen Ng

14. LIT MAG 2016 || 24
It's not goodbye
I don't know when I'll see you again
Just kiss me goodbye
Only for today, not ever.
It's going to be okay
Because I love you
Is that why?
It is, actually
Goodbye
Goodbye until tonight
He didn't ride the us anymore
There wasn't anyone there to sit with
She wasn't at her locker
Or in class ...
She didn't stay for dinner
She didn't lean against him when watched tv
She didn't lay next to him anymore.
She didn't stand behind him.
He was heartbroken.
She never called that night.
Player 1
by Lucianna Guzman
Well played, my love
you had me fooled, you really did
with all the lies you so skillfully hid
you’ve played this game before, I know
but I thought your mastery was all for show
I like a challenge, so I chose you
and I quickly became Player Number 2
I noticed your slight of hand quite a few times
but I never thought to fret, you had nothing to hide
that’s what I thought, that’s what you had me believe
but I should’ve known you’d have some tricks up your sleeve
jack of no trade, master of one
I should have known that I would be outdone
Never
by Michael Ramirez
Complexity and insanity is the melody I hear.
Since she produces it, I sit down and cheer.
Even when the crowd has dispersed, I will be here.
Still here when the end is near
Still here when there’s no hope but fear.
Still here when life is falling apart.
But life is truly falling apart when we are apart
So I must stay still
Never to move
Never to think
Never to breath
And of course...
Never in need
Until Tonight by Waranka Diaw
inspired by Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell (an SSR project)
Bus
The new girl, Eleanor
Redhead with brown eyes.
The Asian kid, Park
They didn't talk on the bus ride home.
Headphones on
And always reading comic books
Time couldn't get any faster.
Days went by
The only sound shared was silence
Screaming thoughts to themselves
"It feels weird to sit next her and never
say anything ..."
Park imagining her reading his ocmic books
Worned out comics handed to Eleanor
Suprised
She got off and didn't say a word
Park is the sun
I miss you Eleanor
All I do when we're apart is think about you
and all I do when we're togheter is panic.
Because every second with you is important.
What are the chances you'd ever
meet someone like that? Someone who could
love you back
I don't think I can breathe when
we're not togheter.
Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly.
I think I live for you
She looked like art.
I'm yours, and what if you decide
you don't want me?
I Want everyone to meet you you're
my favorite person of all time.
She wanted to lose herself in him. Put his arms around
her like a tourniquet.
He wanted to fall asleep with
'I want you' in his ears.
It made her want to have his babies and
Give him both her kidney
I'm yours & your mine
Because I love you
Here I Go Again
by Caroline Gonzalez
Life has changed
Once again
Full of people I called friends
And then it changed
Then I changed
So, here I go again
Life was once a party
Filled with smiles and laughter
Then came comfort
Filled with tender looks and heart
But, then it changed
So, here I go again
I’m sick of life and all its struggles
Wish I could settle and be happy
But it seems that’s all it is
A wish
As many times as I wish
It seems I’ll never ever find that kind of bliss
So, then I will change
And I here go again
So if life could be a tender waltz
I’d wish ‘I wish, I wish, I wish’ again
So, then to make amends
I’d leave again
That is where I am right now
An endless cycle where life has changed
And here I go again.
LIT MAG 2016 || 25

15. LIT MAG 2016 || 26
people believe there is a one,
The one who points your way to the sun.
A person they believe makes them complete
The one who will support when facing defeat
‘You are my angel,’ my one and only
My forever love, so we’ll never be lonely.
You’ve brought to my life all your love and care
It made me see when I realized how rare . .
What you’ve done, you’ve illuminated my soul
It’s you and your love that has made me whole.
The feel of your love, your soft touch and caress,
We’re tight so close, your heart beats in my chest.
All that we have always felt missing before
Though I love you today, tomorrow it will be
more.
Our love is life, we are the strongest tree
Which will always grow forever, like you and me.
You have opened my heart and held it so dear
You are my angel, and will always keep it near.
You have seen my ups and cared when I was low.
‘You are my angel,’ I just need you to know.
You entered my life through a ray of sun above
And when we leave, we will leave together in love
My love for you has become my reason to be
I hope one day you’ll find your angel in me.
The One by Gianni Diaz
artandphotography
LIT MAG 2016 || 26 Carmen Ng

16. LIT MAG 2016 || 29

17. litmag
100 trinity place
new york, ny 10006