poems

The poems below were written by students of the J. Graham Brown School in Louisville, Kentucky.

by Dolly Harland

Wish List

Digital Camera

Bracelet making supplies

Calico Critters

More patches on my backpack

Hair that always looks nice

Every iteration of the Beanie Baby lamb

A CD player that does not skip

A chest that does not ache like it’s hollow

A second ear piercing

A pollution-less sea

Legwarmers

More physical media

Even distribution of wealth

The end of the genocide in Palestine

A president that does not hate my existence

Cheaper groceries

Cheaper housing

Control over the state of my country

A world free of hate, war, poverty and greed

A world safe to grow up in

---

Dolly Harland (she/they) is a ninth grade poet, artist, reader, and Moomin fanatic. She is a senior Girl Scout and co-creator of and contributor to the fiction podcast Station 404. Her work has been published in the Brown School literary journal, Tunnel Tourists.

by Otis Johnson

Sinking

Do you remember that summer

Where we walked upon scorching hot mounds of sand

And inhaled tiny specks of rock over and over

When the blazing star left marks on our skin

And we swam in the ever-going blue ocean

Every now and then feeling a sharp shiver

We felt nibbling teeth nibbling on our skin

And felt waves push us down, pulling our feet from the ground

Do you remember that?

When we didn’t care when our lungs were filled with dust

When we didn’t have a care for the world

When we had fun together

But I just had to grow up

I had to see the bigger picture

And have no more time for imagination

Every day a new roadblock

In our once beautiful connection

Which is now scheduled for demolition

All those sweet memories

Started to feel like a fantasy

Or some fairy tale

Do you remember

The summer when we went back

And the sand felt cold

---

Otis Johnson is a tenth grade musician who loves listening to music and writing poetry. He attends J. Graham Brown School. His work has appeared in Tunnel Tourists.

by Alix Langford

Overalls

Nine out of ten autistic women report being sexually assaulted.

                                                                                –National Library of Medicine

Spell my name three times.

It starts with F, then burns

Into ash. The cold floor

Singes my back, stronger

Pain than I’ve ever received.

I was not built to last.

Guilt, pleasure, they make

A speedy retreat. Soon it’s

Just me, just the shell of

A ghost with no bones.

The next letter is made

Of an arch, Monarch. Key.

Key to the locked room.

You kept your treasure hidden.

I am the glory, gold, and my

Own to hold; I am the Red Sea.

I am the lagoon with a reward

At the bottom, covered in mud.

My body is revolting, rebelling,

Ugly as a sin. Makes me

Question if I’m okay, if I

Could be happy if my suffering

Were on brighter display?

Plaster my face on your walls.

Mother,

Father,

God,

They don’t answer my calls.

I am muted by the unraveling of

Sweaters.

I am drowned by the buckles of

Overalls.

---

Alix Langford is a twelfth grade artist, poet, dancer, singer, actor, author, and tutor. He loves serving the community in any way possible and advocating for social justice. In his free time, he is writing two novels, and his poetry has been published in Tunnel Tourists.

by Elias Pitmon

Why Do I Cry?

Because this weight is unending

I don’t cry because I’m weak

I cry because I’m human

I cry because you will never know this weight I carry

Day by day, simply because of how I was made

My skin, my hair, my face

I cry because you say it’s ugly

Not like your perfect pale skin, thin lips, and straight hair

I cry because my words will never make you learn

My tears hold no weight to you

Because the second my tears are too much,

The second I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe.

I cry because you won’t show an ounce of understanding

Centuries of oppression against my ancestors

Calling us ‘strong’ and expecting us to fight for you

When strong is all we’ve ever known

I cry because I’m tired of waking up in a world made to be against me

A world where every place I feel out of place

I cry because I have to endure—

Bite my tongue, stay down, so you stay comfortable

I cry because you won’t ever see me as an equal

you say I’m not a human, not like you.

But I am. I’m more human than you’ll ever be.

Because I cry.

---

Elias Pitmon (he/him) is a tenth grade musician, artist, thinker, and writer. He is first chair cellist at Brown, and he serves on the Teen Council at Planned Parenthood. His work has appeared in Tunnel Tourists.

by Olivia Probst

end of all things

where will i be,

when the world ends?

sometimes i wonder,

will i die clean and pretty?

will my purpose be fulfilled?

do i die troubled, plagued with guilt

for every wrong thing i said

and every right thing i didn’t?

will it catch me by surprise

even as i watch the world end

before the phone in my very hands?

or will i go happy

lived life the way i wanted to

said the right things,

kept the right people

spoke for those who couldn’t

helped those who couldn’t see

their impact.

i’ll die happy, fulfilled

not sitting idly by

i’ll write

i’ll preach

i’ll scream until it

hurts.

my passions never dulled

my love never hidden.

the end of all things will come to me,

and i will accept it.

good morning i’ll say.

it will say nothing

kiss my hand

hold it tight

and it will take me,

clean and pretty,

happy and fulfilled,

voice hoarse and heart full.

and it will take me

from all things.

---

Olivia Probst is a ninth grade musician, poet, part-time lover and full-time friend! She plays center-mid on Brown's varsity soccer team and plays the violin. Her work has appeared in Tunnel Tourists.

by Romi White

Untamed Afro

I used to have an untamed afro

many said it reminded them of a mane

how it would roar with rage, fear, and pain

making it go every which way like claws pouncing on its prey

once it saw it had a feast.

I concealed this hunger by

matting it all up into these

long locs you see on my head

Now, I remind them of Von,

or no Lil Wayne,

or was it Asap Rocky?

Nevertheless, I’ve upgraded.

Now I’m gun battles, war, crime, sex, and money.

I used to wear a sweater with a black woman wearing a crown.

I wore this everyday cause I found beauty in brown.

The brown that’s too loud,

or too bold with its word.

The brown that always fought for a place in this world.

---

Romi White is a ninth grade visual artist and cosplayer at Brown. Follow romiwhite.art on Instagram!

by Eli Yates

For the Names I Will Never Know

Let me lie down,

let my words lie sounds

in the mouths of men

whose voices have been submerged

under the bodies of their friends

and the rubble of their homes.

I cannot seem to write about it all

because I cannot eat a whole desert,

because I cannot point at the suffering

without being labeled

as some kind of backstabber,

because a mother has a single minute

to gather her children

before the missiles strike

and the only way out is the sea.

Is it really color that binds us together?

Or religion?

Or is it the ocean that touches every continent

and the fact that we all see the same moon?

When I say Congo,

I mean blood.

When I say Syria,

I mean blood.

When I say Sudan,

I mean blood.

When I say Israel,

I mean

If only you knew

what blood

we have in common,

oh, so much,

and that we are more than sacks of skin.

Can’t you see

each and every poem

is tattered in bullet holes?

There are no more love sonnets,

no more haikus about the breeze.

Why do we slaughter our brothers and sisters

so the fortunate can complain

about the stench of death?

And why do we orphan children

when we have our own fathers to miss

and our own children to love?

Lives cut short are wrapped in cloth,

stained like red watermelon,

their seeds plant stories

of how sweet this earth once was.

---

Eli Yates is a fifteen-year-old screamo-obsessed poet. They attend the Brown School, and their poems have been published in Tunnel Tourists.