Aerie 2014: "Typewriters Don't Tweet"

@

#Freedom High School@FreedomHighSchool

#140characters #volume9#aerie2014

FHS Art and Literary Magazine

Typewriters Don’t Tweet‽

Typewriters Don’t Tweet

“Red Doors” @ElizabethMiller2014

#25450 Riding Center Drive #South Riding, Virginia 20152

#volume9 #140characters

Freedom High School

Aerie 2014

@SeoyoungKim2016 “In the end, the only thing left was a tale, a tale that began once upon a time.”

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3 Staff List

4-5 “Our Love Started with a Friend Request” — poet, Bailey Pilgreen; “I’m Just Going to Sit Here and Look Pretty” — artist, Monique Le

6-7 “Dear [insert teacher]” — poet, Kate Jensen; “Distant” — artist, Sari Dahle

8-9 “The Lamentations of a Botanist” — poet, Kennedy M. Jones; “White Flower” — artist, Manavi Singh

10-11 “We are the Words” — poet, YoLani Martin; “Dancing in the Words” — artist, Harshitha Mattapally

12-13 “LOL” — poet, Anusha Khan; “Spiral Cycle” — artist, Jessica Tan

14-15 “The Untitled” — poet, YoLani Martin; “Painted Lady” — artist, Katelyn Demello

16-17 “Garbage” — poet, Sierra Orr; “Untitled” — artist, Kate Jensen

18-19 “That’s So Gay” — poet, Jordan Le; “Untuitled” — artist, Jamie Galpin

20-21 “Small Talk” — poet, Yui Jenkins; “Hope” — artist, Susannah Agi

22-23 “Downside Up” — poet, Tori Whelan; “Telescope” — poet, Kennedy Jones; “Miniscule Me in a Massive World”—artist, Jeanie Lam

24-25 “Don’t Love a Broken Boy” — poet, Kelly Taplin; “1634” — artist, Olivia McCarthy

26-27 “Journey” — poet, Pamela Collazos; “Nostalgia” — artist, Priyanka Bitra

28-29 “A Plea to Dr. Mason” — poet, Asli Athman; “Jamie” — artist, Allison Zigadlo

30-31 “Profile Picture 101” — poet, Soyeol Yoo; “Many Faces” — artist, Corinne Tran

32-33 “//Is the Student Working?” — poet, Vivian Tan; “Pen” — poet, Jennifer Christhilf

34-35 “You are Not Pretty” — poet, Mira Lee; “Snake” — artist, Susannah Agi

36-37 “Fake Humility” — poet, Pamela Collazos; “Masked” — artist, Tori Whelan

38-39 “The Hotel of Old and New” — poet, Sydney Browe; “Not Gone but Forgotten”— artist, Kyle Vanfleet

40-41 “My Moment” — poet, Eric Byrd; “Summer River” — artist, Harshitha Mattapally

42 “Our Love” — poet, Hagar Bouaichi; “Fall Leaves” — artist, Arianna Robinson

Cover art “Typewriter’s Block”@MadelineMcCafferty2016 Back cover art @KaitlynMcHenry2014

Our love started with a friend requestWhen our paths first crossed

And I knew you were the bestThat had ever come along

And then you liked my statusAbout my favorite love song

And I memorized all your classesAh! My love grew ever strong

Then you followed me on TwitterAnd I knew it was meant to be

You made my heart flitterWhen you double-tapped my selfie

We made eye contact in the hallwayAnd I Googled my perfect wedding dress

My love, much to my dismay…We haven’t talked yet, but I digress

Again! You favorited my tweet!See how much we have in common?

My dear, you are so sweetFor you I have fallen

As I scroll…what is this I see?A woman crush Wednesday who is not me?!

#Girlfriend?! #Beautiful?!This JERK has been cheating on me!

Unlike! Unfollow! Unfriend! Goodbye!Oh! My heart is shattered!

#SoLong #Why?!

#Four

OUR LOVE STARTED WITH A FRIEND REQUEST@BaileyPilgreen2014

“I’m Just Going to Sit Here and Look Pretty”@MoniqueLe2016

#Five

#Six

Dear [insert teacher],@KateJensen2015

The worst part of school is when you don’t let anyone eat.

I mean, what if my stomach won’t stop grumblingAnd my hands won’t stop shakingAnd my head won’t stop throbbing?And then you expect me to be able to sit perfectly still for 90 whole minutes?

I just want a few grapes or half a bagel...But no, we’re not permitted to have food in class.

And then – the absolute worst thing – you have the nerve to whip out your lunch.

That “crunch, crunch, crunch” of you smacking your juicy red appleThat ravenous munching of your crispy potato chipsThat horrible slurping of your Grande Starbucks FrappuccinoThen...that hidden treasure emerges – an enormous, dripping, fatty BLT.

The worst part of school is when you don’t let anyone eat.

What if my mouth won’t stop wateringAnd my knees won’t stop tremblingAnd my thoughts won’t stop swirling?And then you expect me to be able to sit perfectly still for 90 whole minutes?

Sincerely,Just Another One of Your Starving Students

“Distant”@SariDahle2014 #Seven

I just want a single cracker or a slice of cheese... But no, we’re not permitted to have food in class.

As you inhale your food, I sit there in silent agony, with a single sparse sheet of paper, bemoaning my pain.

With food flying everywhere, I gape at every wasted crumbThat golden brown core of your apple peeking out of the trash canThat half-finished soda slowly bubbling flatWhile that final belch sounds as you devour your cake.

The worst part of school is when you don’t let anyone eat.

What if my world starts spinningAnd my body starts slowingAnd my bones start showing?And then you expect me to be able to sit perfectly still for 90 whole minutes?

I just want a mint or a sip of juice...But no, we’re not permitted to have food in class.

God, I’m going to die.

The lamentations

of

abotanist

“White Flower”@ManaviSingh2015

Sages are for Wisdom, of which you have more than few,

And I have my own Liberty, so I will keep my Yew.

All the day you give me Strength with your bountiful Oak.

Just please take my Willow for so long I’ve been broke.

Leave me all your Rosemary so you live in my Remembrance.

You’ve stolen all my Susans for I’ve felt cheated since.

The lamentations of

abotanist

#Nine

@KennedyMJones2014

“Dancing in the

Words”@H

arshithaMattapally2016

#Ten

Somewhere Somehow The details washed away under the storm Burning holes to dig into other fabled tales And rise up into the starry map within the night’s eye

Hidden beneath black wreaths of fire, blown glass We live our lives within stories Inside our secret constellations So long ago forgotten For one, sole purpose:

To make the future generations learn What it means To cry, to laugh, to feel anger...to feel lost.

We are the words that ride through the storm And forever on begin chapters among this broken world Tearing down and building up Beauty within our invisible monsters That breathe life into our Earth

For when there are no words To create and express our fragile souls There are no threads to mend shattered pages We are the words

We Are The Words@YoLaniMartin2015

“Painted Lady”@KatelynDemello2014#Fourteen

The mask begins to fall Staring off into the raging darkness Silently hissing bit by bit As the colors drown in nothingness

“Who are you?” The voice rattles against Corners of empty cornersWho am I? How am I? What am I?

Beneath this dying night Yet premature bloom of dawn I breathe with the quaking shadows And dance in the ballroom velveteen

I am her majesty—the King I am his grace—the Queen A pawn who puppeteers the emperor While the general destroys the knight

Crashing puzzles Scolding tongues Shattering mazes They all fall the same

Toppling down from ivory mounds Into the sea of forgotten uncertainty

Let us shred these pages That bind our paper limbs Let us erase the ink Stained into our graying brains

Shroud the glass moon in stars, Set the sky on blood-red fire Then devour it into our roaring bellies Until our tears are long forgotten And we have become

The Untitled!As the colors drown in nothingness Silently hissing bit by bit Staring off into the raging darkness The mask begins to fallBack into my hands

As the dawn is born once more

The Untitled@YoLaniMartin2015

@SierraOrr2016

#Seventeen“U

ntitl ed”@K

at

eJensen2015

“Untitled”@JamieGalpin2014

“That’s so gay” —A statement that we hear But never really listen to.“Faggot” has become a word so numb to me That sometimes I respond to it As if it were my own name.These derogatory terms have become nothing more Than a morning routine,Lather rinse repeat.When did the bright colors of our rainbow That we loved so much as children Become a symbol of hate?We walk through the street, The mall,Our schools, And judge everyone we see In the amount of time it takes for us to breathe.

Let me take a step back for just a moment.I knew a little girl once.Did you ever think that The ball you threw at that girl in Freshman PE hurt her?Or did you ever think that When you called her a freak,All she wished for was to fit your idea of normality?And did you ever think for just a moment That the words you spat at her through that computer Haunted her for weeks, Weeks that turned to months, And months that have now rolled into years?

Well, that little girl…was me.But I’m not so little anymore.See, I grew up in a nice big house. I had my own room with a pink carpet And all the stuffed animals I could fit on my queen-sized bed.Eventually I started to get curious,And I asked my very Catholic mother If boys could love boys And girls could love girls.Let’s just say that conversation didn’t go very well.

As I grew up, things started to change:No more pink carpet,No more stuffed animals,No more queen-sized bed.I drastically began to drift from my family.My mother had always told me to be myself,Never change for anyone.But how can I do that, Be myself,When myself is something she wishes were different?

I grew up Catholic,And my father is Vietnamese.It’s a very strict culture, you know.I’m the first and only daughter in my family.My parents expect a positive role model For my younger brother Who doesn’t even know the difference Between drugs and alcohol.My mother hides who I really am From both sides of my family.

But it’s not just with her.NO, I am not deaf; I hear you making jokes about me.NO, I am not a dyke,So please stop yelling it at me As I walk through the hallway,And NO, Dad, this not just a phase.Every night I come home to:“Jordan, do you have a boyfriend yet?”“Jordan, why don’t you ever talk to boys?”“Jordan this, Jordan that”Until I can’t even hear myself think.And I tell him, “NO.”“NO, I don’t magically have a boyfriend today.”“NO, I am not a lesbian.”“And NO, for the last time, Dad, this is not a phase.”

I don’t believe in God or anything really,But I pray that maybe, Hopefully, Someday they’ll all understand.But for the time being, Why does anyone careIf I hold HER hand?

Gay”“That’s So@JordanLe2015

#Nineteen

“Hope”@SusannahAgi2014#Twenty

small TALK @YuiJenkins2016I was never one for small talk,

Always jumping right into insightful discussionRather than mundane little ramblings

Designed for uneasiness.But I think I finally understand it.

As we grow up,It seems we grow better at discussing the irrelevant questions in our lives;

We start out impulsive and obnoxious,Spilling out only what we deem important.

Yet when we begin to mature, We find less and less of importance,

Saying only what is expected or necessary.

We wake up each day along with the same people for years Until we bloom into adulthood;

We see the same faces;We hear the same laughs

Surrounded by a sea of familiarity,Always having an array of topics for conversation

About our daily lives.

Perhaps if I had kept this same pattern,Never venturing out into the world of fresh faces,

The understanding of this tedious form of conversationWould not be necessary;Unfortunately, I had not.

When the same people are not there every day,When you don't see their smiling faces,

Or hear their quirky laughs,You find yourself beginning to grow apart

From the comforts of consistency.

Conversations of the world and what's in it,How and why,

They fade to the empty "Do you remember?"Void of any true emotion but a faltering nostalgia.

Finally you reach the laborious nothing of small talk:Nodding and smiling, just grit your teeth.The complicated hows and whys of life,

Once discussed eagerly with passionMorph into the boring "How are you doing?" and even

The "Why are we still speaking?"

From daily interactions full of exuberant conversationTo accidental meetings of apathy

But what is small talk?It is the language of strangers,

Seeking the intimate connectionsLost at the brink of childhood.

I remember when the moon crept up your backI’d never seen Night’s fingers slip on and envelop someone like that.Covering your eyes, saying guess who it is,I’ve never seen such jewels on anyone’s skin but his.I counted them all; it didn’t take nearly as longAs I dreamed it would take when I was young.It wasn’t nearly as magnificent as before,For my true sight has faded and dilapidated,Seeming to drip out of my very eyesThrough tears without end or beginning,In lament’s limitlessness.The garlands of stars,The moonlight sewn into Night’s cloak, Were enough to make me stop and crane my neck upTo watch as my world heaved in bursting circles,Something that moved with me when everything else deserted me,As Night trickled into daylight,Leaving a trail of emptiness in his wake.Somehow the more it all inverted and distorted, changed,The more it seemed part of the sameThat was constant in its arbitrariness.So I pressed my back into the sky For balance in this endless head spin and nose diveAnd rowed on towards the horizon lineThat eroded before my eyes, as years chafed on it,Giving the sky waves and the sea cloudsUntil they were somehow the same body,An inhale and an exhale of a sleeping Night.I sailed, the sky drifting with me.Northern light fish swam and flashed far below; The land above my head filled with icing snow,That which shimmered in Night’s ornamentsBlinding white,As I rode on a silver lining into the melting of the snow and sea of sky.

Downside UP

#TwentyTwo

@ToriWhelan2016

I can see you through my telescope,You and your gravitational pull.A flash like two stars elopedIs hidden beneath your hull.

I’m going to throw out my telescope.I don’t need it anymore.I’m going to cast up my ropeAnd climb right up to you.

Telescope@KennedyMJones2014

#TwentyThree

“Miniscule Me in a Massive World”@JeanieLam2016

I once loved a boy with a broken heartAnd he told me

No one ever stayedNo one ever let him keep a heart

No one truly loved himBut I think the saddest of them all

Was how he told me love was blindAnd I didn’t truly understand

Until I couldn’t see him anymore

Don’t Love A Broken Boy@KellyTaplin2015

#TwentyFour

“1634”@OliviaMcCarthy2017

JourneyFlowers grow

Flowers dieI sang a song I did not feel

A wind that was exterior An outside force I wished to shake in me

But it didn’t

The excuses, I knew, were fakeThe feeling in me, real

Not to be revealedThe yelling, the screaming

Not all perceived by human ears

A face that wishes to stay angry must cryAnd this face alone contorts

Under the gravitational pull of my sighsThese sighs won’t stay forever

I repeat this; I know thisBut sighs still clog my throat right now

I don’t feel the anger I fakedI feel the guilt I denied

And as my subconscious talks with my consciousIn recurring, contradictory verdicts on my guilt

I sit in a shallow room in an enlightened mindAnd every other undesirable memory

My brain throws back upI hardly dare touch anything

Yet I walk forward every timeI easily will myself to look through the scraps

Painfully learning from each oneLooking through all the failures

All the mess that we made togetherWhose fault?

I look from person A to person BThen to me, and and all the way down the line

To Adam and Eve

In the end I ask, was this journey worth it?After every long trek I say, It IS!

I was aching for the knowledge lying underneath the dumpsAnd it was worth it.

@PamelaCollazos2015

#TwentySix

JourneyFlowers grow

Flowers dieI sang a song I did not feel

A wind that was exterior An outside force I wished to shake in me

But it didn’t

The excuses, I knew, were fakeThe feeling in me, real

Not to be revealedThe yelling, the screaming

Not all perceived by human ears

A face that wishes to stay angry must cryAnd this face alone contorts

Under the gravitational pull of my sighsThese sighs won’t stay forever

I repeat this; I know thisBut sighs still clog my throat right now

I don’t feel the anger I fakedI feel the guilt I denied

And as my subconscious talks with my consciousIn recurring, contradictory verdicts on my guiltI sit in a shallow room in an enlightened mindAnd every other undesirable memoryMy brain throws back upI hardly dare touch anything

Yet I walk forward every timeI easily will myself to look through the scrapsPainfully learning from each oneLooking through all the failuresAll the mess that we made togetherWhose fault?I look from person A to person BThen to me, and and all the way down the lineTo Adam and Eve

In the end I ask, was this journey worth it?After every long trek I say, It IS!I was aching for the knowledge lying underneath the dumpsAnd it was worth it.

@PamelaCollazos2015

“Nostalgia”@PriyankaBitra2016

#TwentySeven

“Jamie”@AllisonZigadlo2014

Most Honorable Dr. Mason,

We have learned oh-so-much from you in our

short time together and are so incredibly grateful

for all of the knowledge you have bestowed upon

us. That being said, our very small, very strained

brains have been unable to retain the insurmount-

able information and have therefore failed us in

many a homework quiz. Although it may be hard for

an intellectual of your greatness to understand

these struggles, we hope your kind heart will be

able to empathize with our inadequacies. Below is

a list of signatures in favor of retakes on home-

work quizzes because we live in the United States

of America where democracy not only exists but is

encouraged. Please take our opinions into careful

consideration.

Humbly,

Your 7th Block Physics Class

A Plea to Dr. Mason@AsliAthman2014

#TwentyNine

Listen…I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve totally mastered the art of taking a profile picture. I think we can all agree that the perfect picture is undoubt-edly a rite of passage in the social media network. If I’m being honest—as everyone is on their college essays—my profile picture is basically the only reason that I’m the social butterfly I am today. Would you like examples of some of my efficacious pictures? Of course you would, and to be honest, I can’t say that I blame you—they’re insanely interesting.

Certain poses are sure-fire ways to catch the attention of your online friends. My first was the duck-face. Yeah, I know. It’s pretty exciting. I per-sonally decided to accompany mine with a haphazardly thrown up peace sign—something my girl Miley Cyrus taught me. The duck-face is most often seen among most mature social media users, which is obviously the reason I wanted to utilize it to my advantage. I execute the duck-face with an overwhelming puckering of the lips. Mine are so far into the air that people can actually catch glimpses of my festive, multicolored braces poking out from behind. Then, with great skill and care, I hoist my 3.0 megapixel camera up to a 45-degree angle, and shakily snap the picture. But not to worry; the blurry photo can be edited with our handy-dandy friend, Photo-shop. Once that’s completed, you’ll have a duck-face picture that’s sure to be the hot topic at your next party. #Swag.

Now let’s move onto how I perfected the very sophisticated, thought-provok-ing mirror pictures. I prefer to take them with my beloved iPhone 5 or the fabulous Canon my parents bought for my 16th birthday. After some intense research, I’ve discovered that these pictures are never complete without a blinding light, so I opt to turn my flash on. And remember: the brighter the better. Next, I think of my favorite inspirational quote or lyric, and plop that sucker on the bottom right-hand corner, along with a ridiculously adorbs icon from the impressive website, Picnik. Can’t think of a quote? No prob-lem, type in key words like “dreams,” “friendship,” “love,” and “hope” into Google—or Bing, if you’re into that. I’ve found it’s an effortless representa-tion of my brilliance. And if all else fails, never forget that you always have the wisdom of the beautiful Taylor Swift or the swagmaster Justin Bieber to help you. This will surely catch the attention of your comrades, ensuring that your good taste in music is appreciated.

So what are you waiting for? Put this valuable information to good use, and go change your profile picture!

Profile Picture 101@SoyeolYoo2014

#Thirty

“Many Faces”@CorinneTran2014

#ThirtyOne

//Title: Is the Student working?

public class Student

(

...

public boolean working ()

(

return false; // always

}

...

}

@VivianTan2014

#ThirtyThree

@ 2014

you are not pretty.your pale skin is marred

by stretchmarks, scars, and

discoloration,

unmistakably worn out by the

struggles of life.

your eyes are a mundane brown

that have seen every rude and

pitying glance

thrown your way.

your ears stick out

and have heard every stinging jeer

from dumbo the elephant

to the eighth wonder of the world.

your lips have been kissed by toxic

boys

who crooned love into your mouth

yet fled in disgust the next morning.

you are oh so very scarred.

so, no.

you are not pretty.

no, you are not

a six-letter word

that seems to determine

every little thing in this age.

you are not just pretty,

because such a shallow, hollow word

does not even begin

to embody the vast galaxy

tucked inside of your soul,

the boundless constellations

twinkling inside your captivating

mind

that brim with vibrancy.

pretty is not a word

that does you a shard of justice,

unless it’s to say that

you are pretty amazing

or pretty darn extraordinary.

what you are

is a warrior,

someone who has fought a battle

against a two-syllable word

that seems to dictate the female

world

and mold young girls

into thinking that

such a vapid, shallow word

is synonymous with happiness,

that with outer beauty

comes inner peace.

no, you have fought this battle, my

dear,

and you have won.

@MiraLee2016

#ThirtyFour

you are not pretty

“Snake”@SusannahAgi2014

#ThirtyFive

“Masked”@ToriWhelan2016#ThirtySix

Fake Humility

I am a very humble personI always say, “I don’t mean to brag, but”I politely state my opinion as superiorAnd text, “IMHO”I like to correct people who are proudBecause everyone hates those who can’t admit they’re wrongI accidentally complain about my A- to those whose grades are lowerAnd leave my A+ test score beside your desk— Forgetting to put it in my binderI answer every question and gladly help my struggling classmatesI civilly ask your grade first before I tell you mineI ask you to buy me a soda and open my wallet in front of youI make my grand speech right after your crappy oneI buy the hat that you wanted but couldn’t affordAnd tell you about how awesome it is when we get back to schoolI warn you that I’m allergic to your fake jewelryThen show you my gold necklace and bracelet and ringI kiss the guy you dreamed of in front of your lockerAnd interrupt every conversation you have with your friends that are closer to me than to youI want you to know it’s all unintentionalAnd that I truly am humbleAnd you don’t need to tell me I amBecause I already know it.

@PamelaCollazos2015

#ThirtySeven

The Hotel of Old and New@SydneyBrowe2016

The windows are dirty at the hotel of old and new So I go up to the top to right the askew

On the very top floor is the ward of the leaving Clustered around a cold metal bed the people are grieving In the center of all an old man lies And saltwater flows from his blue sunken eyesThe room is filled with the scent of white stargazer lilies Because the disease has found his Achilles He opens his mouth to bid them adieu But his words were lost for I already withdrew

One floor down and two windows over I found the hurtThey lay there bruised and broken and generally inertOn this bed sat a boy far too energized Sit still and be quiet his mother advised He had broken his arm in three different spots And his new bright green cast occupied his thoughtsAll of my friends will sign it he informed the patient nurseAnd told her how he broke it many times each story quite diverse Now I’ll never know if he broke it by wrestling a bear

“Not Gone but Forgotten”@KyleVanFleet2015

Or from falling off his mother’s favorite chair ‘Cause the window was clean and I could stay no longer So I left with the hope that his arm would get stronger

Skip over five windows and down three more floors for some more sightseeingThe stork must have been present since I saw a new human beingA new father held a tiny baby her small puckered face was as red as a beetAnd her little mouth held no little teeth The mother looked so tired but her face held much prideAnd never had I seen a smile so very wideWhat will you name her the doctor askedBut she said it so quietly I couldn’t hear through the glassSo I moved on to finish my task

The next time the windows need washing I’ll be your manNot for the money which ain’t very grandOr for the danger in the heightWhich no longer seems to exciteBut for the glimpse of others’ memorable moments made from their pass throughThe hotel of the old and new #ThirtyNine

“Summer River” @HarshithaMattapally2016

#Forty

My Moment@EricByrd2015

The moment I seeI begin to believe

The moment I breatheI begin to achieve

The moment I workI begin to succeedPursue all my goals

My moment is blessed

Our Love

Our eyes met in September

We were innocent in November

We fought in December

I cried in January

You forgot about me in February

Now we’re strangers in March

@HagarBouaichi2017

“Fall Leaves”@AriannaRobinson2014#FortyTwo

Our Love

Our eyes met in September

We were innocent in November

We fought in December

I cried in January

You forgot about me in February

Now we’re strangers in March

@HagarBouaichi2017

“Fall Leaves”@AriannaRobinson2014#FortyTwo