We are born with only one body

And we live and change with it

My body has many stories

Like the time I belly flopped into a pool

Or when I bit through my lip

Falling down on the floor

The mole on my back was itchy

So it was frozen and holepunched

Two stitches to show where it was

So far I have lost half a dozen of teeth

And two years from today in the past

I got glasses to help me see

I get bruises a bunch every week

And cuts a few times a month

My body is always changing

To show the stories I have been through.

Infinite abyss of black and yellow

In space that goes on forever

It is a beautiful place with a billion stars

Our galaxy has a big black hole in the middle

We are here on Earth in our galaxy

We are on the continent North America

Our country is Canada

Our neighborhood is in Richmond

Our family looks up at the stars

Staring at the infinite abyss

It is a beautiful place

Ants get the food they take,

Together they have a feast they make

Ants help each other

They barely make you bothered

Baby ants look like grains of rice

Their parents look after them, so nice!

Ants need to protect their babies and themselves to survive

The food kind of helps them revive

They dig tunnels as a team

They always work like a dream.

Ants make long lines

It almost looks like an insect mine

They work together to make homes

They work together to make domes

They also find lots of food

Which puts them in a good mood!

Bake a cake, bake a cake

Yum, yum, yum

Every person has to help

Come, come, come

Mommy brings the flour

Daddy brings the eggs

I bring the muscle power

Mix, mix, mix

Pop it in the oven

Watch it rise brown

It’s done, it’s done

Turn that frown upside down

First bite is heaven

Second bite is lovely

I lost count…

But I think I’m on bite number seven! It is so nubbly.

Watch the leaves fall

Fluttering to the ground

Out we go to crunch them all

Can you hear the sound?

Such happy thoughts

Makes me feel calm

Some of the leaves have dots

Place them on my palm

Reds, browns, yellows

On all the leaves

I see furry, cute fellows

Oh, such acorn thieves.

The air is clean

It’s getting cold

A still and beautiful scene

As pretty as gold.

All children in the world

Have our own unique dreamworld

Escaping Vampire Camps

Fighting Champs of the night

Exploring rivers of lava

Everyone is free

In our own imagination sea

Swimming like mermaids

Surfing with dolphins

Snorkeling amidst sea stars

We feel free as birds

When we can expand and create

Flying to the universe

With happiness and joy

I am a tree and my leg is a branch

As I reach for the highest position.

My emotions reach out

Feeling the beat.

The flashing lights bring a flood of emotions,

While costumes shine with every last detail.

Excitement rushes through backstage with commotion and nerves

After class my body aches,

From long rehearsals leading up to the big day.

We are a gaming setup that live in a house

We all love each other especially the mouse

We love to run games like roblox and fortnite

Be we always run minecraft just at midnight

The boss around here is the kid whos forteen

But overdue books will just remain unseen

He brings a stupid macbook just for school

But let's be honest here it’s just a tool

The kid is a beast so he games all day

But in the future homeworks gonna to pay

We are the setup which all kids dream

But I tell them to slip in a stream

This is us

The seed in the sunflower

We’re happy in our home

But we get picked every hour

By annoying human beings

They break my shell

Then spit me out

And then I fell and fell and fell and fell

Our beautiful sunflower faces the sun

We get sunlight everyday, that is fun

But when it rains

We don't complain

We can grow and grow and grow and grow

Until we can see the grass bellow

We see fish, snakes and bees

We see mammals, birds and trees

This is us the seeds in the sunflower

I am the daughter of the Parks.

I am the true sister of the mugunghwa, the hibiscus syriacus,

I have always been an underdog,

boldly standing in the shadows of the giant next door.

Born among caucasians, never really fitting in.

But when I travel back home, I am an outsider there too.

Me,

a Korean-Canadian

right

down

to

the core.

From mannerisms to my way of thinking,

I am neither one nor the other.

I hope one day I can be proud to be me.

But for now, this is me.

I watch from the shadow of the tree,

Silent as an owl.

The warm atmosphere of community floats in the air,

And the chatter fills my ears, reminding me of spring birds chirping.

But behind this facade, a cold reality blows in like the winter wind.

There are scarce true friends in these groups.

The wolves cluster together into one giant group, trying to appease the alpha female

Who has a smile that is sickeningly sweet that does not extend to her eyes.

She is a person who likes to have absolute control over her pack.

People like her are unavoidable.

But if you search beyond the crowd, there are some wanderers.

Friendly faces, who radiate warmth and kindness.

The only bonfires in the snow.

These are people who accept you for who you are.

A happy thought shatters like the ice on the lake as I realize that

True friends are disappearing.

I dance to the sounds of music,

I dance to the sounds of “Bigger! Smaller! Higher!”

I dance to express myself in ways many people can't.

This expression takes time and hard work.

I see myself in the mirror dancing, stretching, and practicing.

I see other dancers moving themselves in challenging ways

I see the hardwood floor and the ballet bars that stand like trees

But I also hear people talking …

“Dancing isn’t hard, you just move your body,”

“Dance isn’t difficult, it’s maybe even easier than running.”

“Dance isn’t tough, anyone could do it.”

“Dance isn’t time consuming, you shouldn’t waste your time on it.”

They don’t take it seriously,

They don’t take us seriously,

They don’t take the hard work or the time we spend seriously

They don’t take anything seriously, until they try it themselves.

I was five then; in springtime,

Playing in my backyard.

Climbing ropes to the tree-house, with my brother?

It was fun, once, in springtime.

Then I was thirty-five, in summer,

My husband was with me,

What was his name?

Johnny, I think…

Now, in my ninetieth fall, I watch through the window, unsure.

The kids are raking my leaves for me… I need help.

I look at the lady and she looks back,

Her eyes are blank, looking beyond me.

I keep on raking, with purpose.

With each rake, I help her… I rake.

She will remember me no more in winter,

But I hope that I see her in spring.

It started off, as me alone,

We became opposites like the sun and moon,

But in the end we will always come together, like an eclipse,

My sister and I.

Together we created souls, That entwines us all during our adventure,

As we enter the unknown we explore, And find challenges that end up letting us,

Paint and create Our love.

When I fall off that steep cliff, That you see in your darkest dreams,

A hand appears and pulls me back up,

She will always be there for me,

Listening with all ears, Observing with all eyes,

Finding a way to extend that hand, And pull me out of my nightmares.

My sister and I,

We sit together on cold winter nights, We share what no one wants to hear,

We hold out our hand for each other,

This is us.

A dot, another dot,

An upside down rainbow, trapped in a circle.

Two oddly stretched out ovals with five smaller ovals

Attached to it,

sprouted out from the sides of a triangle.

To finish it off, four lengthy straight lines below the triangle

As if it were magically growing legs,

Tied with two small ovals at the ends.

This was my idea at four years old

of a drawing of the perfect human girl.

So focused on my drawing,

My tiny heart had stopped beating uncontrollably.

I did not talk to a single person, I did not move,

I was frozen like a possum playing dead,

So my predators, my classmates,

Wouldn’t notice I was there.

Until one girl looked at my drawing and asked,

“How did you draw that?”

to some people

i am a robot

a toy they can toss around

an object that gets insulted and yelled at

with no memory or feeling at school

then I go home

to relax and listen to music

violently punch the shuffle button

playing random songs i don’t know

and imagine bottles of emotions getting crushed,

smashed into shards of coloured glass

each one a different colour

changing with the music

as each insult gets smashed into nothing

painting a new picture under the afternoon sunlight

On Mondays and Thursdays,

I spend my day laughing with Vivaldi, and studying with Bach.

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays,

I have my nose in a book, or my eyes locked on a screen,

My fingers typing furiously away.

On Fridays and Sundays,

I have Gatorade in my hand, chugging it every second I get.

And on Saturdays,

I am Chelsea.

Chelsea is a girl who has messy folders filled with magical realms and spooky stories.

She’s made from a cluttered room, with books and clothes lying all over.

She’s someone who listens to her heart, and makes impulse decisions.

She has dreams of living fearlessly as a girl,

And believes that every child deserves the whole world.

At the end of the day,

I wear a smile and headphones, jamming out to my own beat.

A clockwork,

Keeping strict time, with many voices.

A child,

Naive, bright, and full of energy.

A typewriter,

Fast and clean, technically precise.

A stormy sea, abrupt and tempestuous,

But a bridge to…

Unrequited love,

Sentimental feeling streaming out.

A peacock,

a flashy virtuosic showman.

Majestic mountains,

Grand, epic, and triumphant.

These composers have shaped me as a musician.

“i”. Our first variable—

significantly symbolizing a specific value;

maybe the mathematicians need some help

so Question One says: solve for i.

I feel forced to see algebra everywhere—

mainly because of my upbringing

consisting of the “Left Brain Centric” method.

Math and Science might as well have been my parents.

I would rather watch paint dry—

the acrylics that I threw on the canvas myself

for a passionate character illustration,

depicting a Victorian scene from my story.

I look towards a future of freedom—

finally, switch off the number-loving façade

and become an artist of thoughts and dreams,

whether it means using watercolours or words.

Did someone ever look at you in a crowded room

as if the roles you were playing sprung you out of the captivity of soil

like ostrich feathers grazing each other with chalky beauty––

when all of the stage becomes your world and the lights

become a crooning flame that covered your eyes with sawdust,

did your heart stutter––

were the walls of the theatre not so deep-seated within your seams,

your hair follicles, your hems, your stitching,

you mistook it for your mother?

I am a clay slab given a voice–– words on a page only

open into wounds, into throats

that need to speak.

Somehow, one way or another, it was in pretense

I found love.

To write is similar to being splayed out on a table,

scalpel ready for incision, eyes inspect each crevice.

Pages and pages of my person peeled back,

revealing bones of vowels and consonants.

When stripped down to my core, I’m but a mere vessel

for these words. The news imprints itself into my skin,

world issues seep into my veins. These words,

they consume me, just as I consume them.

I’m made of the media I absorb in its written form,

the type that influences what text flows in my brain.

I’m made of my views, beliefs; messy ones that splatter

against the cold metal, drying in grey.

I’m made of the pages I write,

as writing is akin to a confession. One that I will say

laying here open and raw on the autopsy table,

words from the world spilling from my seams.

In a large pan, heat laziness over medium heat, don’t add too much or it won’t do what you want it to do. Add minced generosity and let it cook for 2 minutes. While it’s cooking, stir in some sympathy.

Let the love for cats reduce and cook for 5 to 8 minutes. Add half of the hatred for chemistry to the mixture and whisk until smooth. Keep over heat and whisk until all that bitterness is melted.

Save some tears, they are full of flavour and can be used to thin out the sauce. Only use tears if you’re adding hatred for chemistry.

Toss the Melody sauce with the pasta and add getting only-7-hours-of-sleep-daily to the sauce. Once it is tossed, you might need to let it rest for a couple hours. Add a little cheerfulness if it needs to be less messy.

Garnish with just a little sensitivity, please only add a little, it can’t handle too much.

After all this work that probably took 15 years, eat it while it’s fresh because it can only handle being outside for around 3 hours.

The first valentines gift I ever got someone

was a small bundle of wrinkled

white

babysbreath wrapped in

flimsy brown paper

loosely gathered in a

frayed twine bow.

They turned

pink

months later when I found out

tulips were her favourite.