THOUGHTS FROM CHAOS: EDITION III
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Kelsey Bohn
ArtUntitled, 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/ProseLife 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 
Nithya Janapati
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Life Continues
By Abby Lu
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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. |
up in a cloud
Nethali Padmaperuma 
The Horizon
Saniya Bhatia |
contemplating us
By Courtney Meghan Rey
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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. 
Jaya Nadella
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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. |
The First Blossom,
Arya Bharti |
Dear Inner MeBy 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
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
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
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” 
Nithya Janapati
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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 
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 |
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Love Me NotMaelee 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 |
again,
Aida Guo |
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
Green Level Literary Magazine
Summer 2020
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