THOUGHTS FROM CHAOS
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​GLHS Literary Magazine Edition III

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Read Edition II Here

THOUGHTS FROM CHAOS: EDITION III

TABLE OF CONTENTS
 
Picture
Kelsey Bohn

Art

Untitled, Kelsey Bohn 
Untitled, Nithya Janapati 
I am sorry, Jake Juliano
Untitled, Esha Macha 
up in a cloud, Nethali Padmaperuma
The Horizon, Saniya Bhatia 
Shadows of Nature, Nethali Padmaperuma
drive all night, Aida Guo 
​Untitled, Jaya Nadella
The First Blossom, Arya Bharti
My Home is Drowning, Aida Guo
Untitled, Jaya Nadella
​Destroyed, Brenne Sun
Untitled, Nithya Janapati 
Untitled, Carly Barello
One Stitch at a Time, Mihika Deopura 
again, Aida Guo 
follow, Aida Guo

Poetry/Prose

Life Continues, Abby Lu
contemplating us, Courtney Meghan Rey
Dear Inner Me, Lauryn Taylor
​Another World Ten Feet Away, Nethali Padmaperuma
Intellect is not a crime, Jake Juliano
Love Me Not, Maelee Peterson
 
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Nithya Janapati
 
 

I am sorry

By Jake Juliano
Picture
Esha Macha               
 
 
 

Life Continues

By Abby Lu
the car door used to slam at seven in the morning 
she’d part ways with friends, take the stairs two at a time 
breathlessly hope to catch the last vivid colors of the sunrise 
huge glass library windows would await for a small girl 
dreaming away, mesmerized by the colors stretching across the horizon 
the car door no longer slams at seven in the morning 
she wakes up at seven, lethargic like a snail 
checks the notifications, rolls out of bed 
gets set for the first online class of the day 
when the blinds open, the sun is awake already 
 
she used to startle back to reality at the ring of a bell 
reluctantly stand and cast last glances at the stunning sky 
sit in class, intrigued by the complex world around her 
scribble down final notes, mutter a hurried thanks to the teacher 
and out the door again, trying to beat the bell 
she no longer startles back to reality at the ring of a bell 
she mutters a thanks to her teacher as she hangs up the call 
she sits at her desk monotonously waiting for the next class 
washes her hands - it’s a habit now 
rubs her eyes and begins her work 
the platform under the main staircase used to be occupied at lunch 
a girl and her friends, they’d laugh and chat 
faint music came from the arts hallway, 
trickles of conversation swirling from the nearby cafeteria like dandelion seeds
a girl and her friends, in their own world, enjoying their company 
the platform under the main staircase is no longer occupied at lunch 
at least, that’s how she imagines it now: 
a lonely platform without music trailing through the air 
no one laughing or chatting, no friends lost in their own world 
a girl eating silently by herself, caught up in a screen
the lines of yellow school buses used to depart one after another 
a girl would laugh with her neighbor, a close friend 
quieting down to silent giggles as the bus driver glared at them, annoyed 
happiness would stretch across their faces in neverending smiles 
she’d groan about walking six blocks home, but loved the warmth of the sun 
the lines of yellow school buses no longer depart one after another 
a girl laughs with her neighbor online 
socializing through black screens and white screens and small text and pictures
a world almost larger than her mind could comprehend 
all here, on the screen, as she sits in the same room 
she used to run down the stairs at the pool to meet her teammates 
laugh and high five, are you ready for practice today? 
training hard, red faced and out of breath 
empty water bottles, scattered gear bags, random high fives and good jobs 
yell jokingly at teammates in the locker room to hurry up 
she no longer runs down the stairs at the pool to meet her teammates 
they sit in the bleachers upstairs, six feet apart and masks on 
talking loudly to be heard by each other, wishing they could be closer 
one person on each end of a lane, training hard, bags arranged neatly on chairs
sitting in lines dry off and leave, dripping hair, masks on, six feet apart 
the homework used to await her after a family dinner 
they’d laugh and tell stories about their day 
followed by studies and checking for understanding of class lessons 
curl up in exhaustion on the bed, content to sleep 
she used to look forward to seeing the sunrise from the large windows the next morning 
the homework no longer awaits her after a family dinner 
it’s either long complete or left to the next day 
she eats with her family, a happy moment of the day 
days pass, filled with sadness and confusion from overthinking about herself
​she no longer watches the sunrise every day
​ 
​and so 
life continues.
Picture
up in a cloud
Nethali Padmaperuma








​
 
 
Picture
The Horizon
Saniya Bhatia
 
Picture
 
Shadows of Nature, 
Nethali Padmaperuma
 

contemplating us

By Courtney Meghan Rey
We’re sitting around the fire 
Your head is on my shoulder
All our friends surround us
The night is getting colder

I look into your eyes, 
watch your pupils dilate 
As bad as I want to kiss you,
I’m forced to contemplate

Should I really hold your hand?
As you sink into my heart?
Or will it go up with the flames?
Maybe it’s better to Like you from afar.

And you give me that look
Screaming it’s more than platonic
It’s fervid, I feel that,
and Trust me, I want it

but despite the chance of the purest euphorias,
What if I fall short?
I’m bound to lose you 

It’d be a fathomable life.
Where this one goes south,
the distance,
the anger,
the confusion,
It sounds sour on the roof of my mouth

I’ve known you like the back of my hand,
Every second you’re on my mind
If I was forced to disown those thoughts just for my sanity,
It’s like asking to leave my life behind.

I look away from your eyes,
I keep making these scenarios,
“What if we did?” 
What it “could’ve been”
it’s almost ethereal

Imagine.

It’d be just like how it is now,
but you’d actually understand what I mean.
When I look back into those eyes,
the most beautiful shade of jade green.

 
Picture
     Jaya Nadella
 
Picture
drive all night
Aida Guo
 



​You would hold my hand.
From the school halls,
to the passenger’s seat, 
maybe even down the aisle,
Your parents have met me a thousand times, 
there’s no need to even reconcile 

We’ll go to that rollercoaster you won’t shut up about,
We’ll have that cup of coffee you say you need every morning,
We’ll have a never-ending adventure, day in and day out.

That dream is of the greatest utopias
One I would die for again and again. 
Back from the fire and once more at you
You’re asleep on my shoulder
and I wonder if you dream like this too

If it would really be like how it is now,
Just with an abundance of kisses
And a new world of lust
What we already have is irreplaceable 
something I could never even risk of rust

The constant subtle urge of desire,
it will forever be a pain
But since you are my world’s rarest gem,
maybe it’s for the best of our story
If I just let us remain best friends.

I love you.
 
 
 
Picture
The First Blossom,
Arya Bharti
 
 

Dear Inner Me

By Lauryn Taylor
Dear Inner Me,
​In a world so determined to rank your importance on your social media following or perfect skin. In a world forcing you to believe your 1034 Instagram followers and occasionally breakouts have everything to do with your value and importance. In a world bent on brainwashing your generation to the concept of pretty and popular over everything. Here are some grounding principles that will hopefully re-emphasize the idea of your importance.

For the science lover in me, the idea of mattering can be likened to the ideas of one's significance or importance. The principle of being important or significant can be deciphered from most basic scientific concepts. To understand this, refamiliarize yourself with the intricacies of an ecosystem. In an ecosystem, every tiny part matters. From every grain of grass to the pH of a pond. That grain of grass supports a rabbit, who supports a snake, who supports the flying
hawk on your ecology textbook cover. So if nothing else, science tells you that you matter. You are some small part of someone else’s ecosystem.

For the musician in me, to better understand the idea of why you matter, compare it back to the concepts of scales and key signatures. In a major scale, you follow the tune “do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do,” In a minor scale, the “ mi-la-ti “ are lowered. Now, since all music is based on scales. Listen to a song based on a major scale. Now listen to the same song based on a minor scale. Hear the difference that the simple note changes made. From a happy song to
a sad one. You are someone’s “ mi-la-ti” Don’t make their song sad. Don’t lower yourself. You are major.


 
​For the star chef in me, remember what Mom is always saying about cooking. As a matter of fact, what every recipe emphasizes. The importance of each ingredient in perfecting your cake, soup, or tortilla wrap. Every ingredient, even in its smallest portion, matters in a recipe. Without that teaspoon of baking soda, the cake will not rise. You are that teaspoon of baking soda to someone’s recipe of life. Don’t let their cake fall flat.

For the part of me that will always be an athlete. Go back to almost every coach's main line. “Every person on this team matters “ Although it seemed untrue at the time, how could someone who never scored points or even participated in games matter. They make zero contribution. Remember that every fourth string is making a third string work harder for their spot. Every third string is running a little faster to catch that second string. Every second string is
going a little harder on every drill to take that starting spot. Every first string is constantly fending off others for their number one spot. Every team is driven not just by their best players, but by their worst players. So no matter your standing on any team, you are the goal someone is desperately chasing or the person someone is desperately trying to stay in front of. On any team, you matter.

As I close this letter, I hope you understand. I hope you see that you matter. That this idea of you mattering is present in every subject or activity you have loved or continue to love. If not to yourself, you matter to someone else. Sending love.
   - Outer Self
 

Another World Ten Feet Away

By Nethali Padmaperuma
 
Picture
My Home is Drowning,
Aida Guo
Ten feet away,
The fan spins slowly as the warm air spreads around my room
I hear cracks, booms, pecks from a distance not too far away 
The French window blinds closed to block the light
The usual 8 AM noise fills the room, 
with sounds of rocks hitting the clunky old metal truck

Ten feet away, 
the hands of brown men work away as their skin gets darker and darker
Layers of skin peel away and their jeans more distressed, more faded
Building a house they could never live in 
Never afford,
Never enjoy,
A system for them to stay in the same place

Ten feet away, 
Their English only enough to get a taxi back to and into town
In the blazing heat, boys maybe a year or two older than me work in clothes
Clothes that should be worn for days out with their friends
not labor, a normal man endures in sixty years

Ten feet away, 
Their shouts blur in the background while I sit in another reality
A reality with hot showers and fresh air
Two worlds divide between a faded black road
The same sun shining on us 

Ten feet away, 
Red bricks placed by the hands of tanned men, one by one
The same people the Land of the Free wants to throw out
The sun, the world, the free damaging their skin and pressing 
down on their white helmets for everyone to see

A glaring ten feet away
​

​
 
 

Intellect is not a crime

By Jake Juliano
 
Picture
Jaya Nadella
 
This one letter is a goal for many 
But the entire playing field for some
 
When he is hardwired to understand math 
And she is for emotions 
And the grade is a reflection of logistics

Then no doubt will he excel 
No doubt will she need to work harder 
No doubt will he be viewed as smart
 
His starting line has the upperhand 
So his potential can run further 
But their finish line is the same
 
Of course he’ll finish first 
In a game where time is everything 
Where this time is our grade 

So when the results comeback 
He may be more disappointed than she is 
Even if he fared better: 
If they both prepare for 2 hours 
And she improves by 10 points to 84 
Him by 0.5 to 98 
Then his grade is objectively better 
But he didn’t grow as much 
He didn’t obtain that goal to learn 
A goal by himself and his school
 
Our papers are returned 
Our shaking eyes eagerly hesitate to see: 
84, 79, 93, 87, 89, 72, 90 
Me: 98
 
A 98 translates to a perfect gpa 
A 98 translates to perfection 
But not on my scale 
My 98 translates to their 90 
My 98 translates to unsuccessful growth
 
“What did you get?” 
“You don’t want to know” 
“Yes I do” 
“No you don’t” 
“Please”
“Fine”
 

 
Picture
Nithya Janapati

​Logistic and linguistic 
Spatial and musical 
Kinesthetic and naturalistic 
Intrapersonal and interpersonal 

Intelligence is more than math 
More than grammar 
More than a grade 

Yes I’m good at math, English, school 
But no I’m not at mental health, social, life
 
We grow up learning math and science and English and social studies Sadly where I excel: 

If I come here to learn 
But am regurgitating instead of digesting 
Then am I learning 
Am I not just proving I am capable 
Capable in areas I am built for
 
No one is perfect 
Thus we are all imperfect 
But our areas of imperfection vary
 
Nerds, geeks, geniuses 
Their imperfections are a joke 
Their perfections a praised reward 
In the form of a high A
 

 
Picture
Destroyed,
Brenne Sun

*my paper regretfully flips* 
“Wow my 87 feels really bad for your 98” 
“I told you that you didn’t want to see”
 
My 98 isn’t a 100: 
100 = perfection 
98 = potential 
But suddenly when it’s an A 
The letter that equates to perfection 
I suddenly lose my right to complain 
To be sad 
To feel emotion
 
I have learned to keep myself hidden 

But being upset isn’t a crime 
I did nothing wrong 
I just didn’t finish when I wanted 
After starting from my head start
 
And report cards are my epitome of falsity 
The one paper displaying my year’s worth of ‘crimes’
 
Emotions are natural 
Emotions are numbers of emotional intelligence 
But emotions have no value in the classroom 
Sure we don’t hurt each other 
But no we never learn how to emotionally grow 
We never learn disregarded realms of intellect
 
So if I teach myself to hide my emotions 
To forget how to emotionally add and subtract 
Then how will I ever be able to handle emotional division and multiplication A divorce 
A death 
Alienation for being “smart”
 
Intelligence is so much more than smarts 
You are so much more than your intelligence 
No matter your breakdown of headstarts
 
You are not a criminal for being smart 
You are not a criminal for being emotional 
Don’t let the minefield that school 
Lock you into a prison that is so untrue
​ 
Intellect is not a crime 
And you are not a criminal 
So don’t be afraid to live your life 
And be free of our society’s prison cell
 
Picture
Carly Barello
 
One Stitch at a Time,
Mihika Deopura
 
Picture

 
 

Love Me Not

Maelee Peterson
If I had known
This is what it would feel like
To never forget anything
I wouldn’t have had so much pride in it
Because when you never forget
You never forget anything
And it’s so tiring to lay awake
Every day and night, remembering everything
Every mistake and regret
Every thought and memory
All the bad memories
I can still remember that day when you held me close
On my birthday when I sat
in an empty room to cry
I can still remember that night
When I told you how much
I fear the night
Not because of the dark
But the thought of being alone
In the dark
I can still feel the freezing water
Against my skin
And every time I resurfaced
I’d watch you smile and laugh
And play games and watch movies
Ignorant as I wished
And wished to be noticed
I can still taste
The salt in my tears when I cried
Silently behind a door
So that you couldn’t hear​

​
 
Picture
again,
Aida Guo
 
 
 
Picture
follow,
Aida Guo
 
​I still hear the crack
Of the wood against my hand
When I kept asking myself
What I did wrong
And I remember that day
When I nearly cried
When you gave me a hug
Because I thought you were just like them
When I thought I did something wrong
That you’d want to hurt me
And I keep asking myself
What was it that I did
To live to remember
every little thing
To a point where I didn’t want
To live if it was
Just a lifetime
Of the past.
And I’ll remember this day,
When I finally realize that I am not okay
I’ve gotten used to it somehow
But the one thing I wanted to hear then,
Is killing me now.

Thoughts From Chaos

Picture
Green Level Literary Magazine
Summer 2020
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