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APOTHEOSIS

BENILDE - ST. MARGARET’S LITERARY ART MAGAZINE 2019

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BSM Apotheosis
Hey friends,
Letter from the Editor and it’s a team I will dearly miss as I an amazing place to let it out, and
Woah, I can’t believe this is fi- move onto college. Our team is ex- I hope you value this safe space as
nally in your hands. The Apotheosis tremely proud of the students who much as I do.
staff has worked long and hard to put themselves out there and sub- Cheers to all. Cheers to you.
create a place where all students can mitted their work; without their Cheers to 2018-19 Apotheosis!
share their work. I could have never courage, we wouldn’t have such an
done this by myself, so I owe it all amazing publication. Art can be a Sincerely,
to my fellow board members: Gary way out for so many people, and with
Antonio, Sophie Dobos, Cece Gol- that, we request that you respect the
invaux, Max Jensen, Claire Lorimor, stories that are being shared within
Ellie Mitchell, Gabriella Schmidt, this magazine and online.
Flynn Skahan, Jacinda Smith, and Artwork and writing have giv- Em Paquette,
Rebecca Twite, as well as our dedi- en me the ability to share my story, 2018-19 Editor-in-Chief
cated advisers Mrs. Onkka and Mrs. something I thought I wouldn’t ever
Preus. be able to do. Each person has a sto-
For the past two years, I have ry––one that is worth sharing. If you
been able to be a part of this team, have a story to share, Apotheosis is

Publication Policy Staff


Submissions are created by students and Apotheosis is Editorial Board: Gary Antonio ‘19, Sophie Dobos ‘20,
produced by an Editorial Board at Benild-St. Marga- Cece Golinvaux ‘19, Max Jensen ‘19, Claire Lorimor ‘20,
ret’s School. The views expressed in this magazine are Ellie Mitchell ‘19, Em Paquette ‘19, Gabriella Schmidt
the opinions of the writers and not necessarily those of ‘19, Flynn Skahan ‘20, Jacinda Smith ‘20, Rebecca Twite
the Editorial Board, advisers, or BSM administrators. It ‘20
is distributed for free to all BSm high school students.
Editor and Chief: Em Paquette ‘19
Benilde-St. Margaret’s School
2501 Highway 100 South Designer: Flynn Skahan ‘20
St. Louis Park, Minnesota, 55416
Advisors: Kaia Preus and Nan Onkka
Contact kpreus@bsmschool.org
or nonkka@bsmschool.org

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Artists
Gabriella Schmidt ‘19 Carter Chapman ‘19 Kennedy Harris ‘19
Clare Lynch ‘21 Xiomara Guzmán ‘19 Kathryn Gefre ‘19
Sally Calengor ‘19 Jennifer Meraz Barrera ‘19 Karen Martinez-Beltran ‘19
Ruby Verrett ‘22 Rhys Duffy ‘19 Caitlin Fox ‘19
Ellie Mitchell ‘19 Meagan Steck ‘19 Kayla Farrey ‘19
Ava Keller ‘22 Mae Munkeby ‘19 Alana Kabaka ‘21
Annabella Bolin ‘21 Connor Lawler ‘19 Grace Juckniess ‘19
Emily Platt ‘19 Gary Antonio ‘19 Kayla Grendahl ‘19
Sydney Wilharm ‘20 Solomon Doyscher ‘19 Julio Marin-Beltran ‘19
Finn Murphy ‘21 Matthew Hansberry ‘19 Julia Hoover ‘20
Claire Lorimor ‘20 Kailyn Pedersen ‘19 Estelle Beutz ‘19
Izzi Benham ‘21 Walker Neibergall ‘20 Taylor Anderson ‘19
Trevor Metz ‘19 Malinda Beason ‘19 Lucy White ‘19
John Landry ‘19 Claire Larson ‘21 Aaron Latterell ‘20
Alice Petty ‘20 Gracie Anderson ‘21

Check out all the other artist’s work on our BSM Apotheosis website
https://bsmapotheosis.org/

2019 Spring 3

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my depression
Ellie Mitchell ‘19
My depression creates another person out of me.
I feel like a puppet hanging on strings, and my depression is playing with me.
It creates another person with different personalities, someone I hate to be faced with.
It makes me start pushing everyone close away from me.
“Sadness is a normal feeling,” they all say. But no one knows what really goes on in your mind.

Weekly visits with my doctor and all I can mumble out is “I’m fine.”
Not a day goes by where my depression doesn’t control me.
Countless “sick” days because I could never seem to drag myself out of bed,
Teachers and staff members yelling at me for missing too much school but I can’t help it.
Being extremely numb with sadness is an all too frequent feeling.

Numberless visits to the psychiatrists, psychologists, and pediatricians.


I feel like I’m crying out for help into outer space and no one is there.
Anxiety and panic attacks are a frequent feeling, and when my body starts to shake I don’t bother because I know what’s
going to happen.
My mother forces me to sit down and eat because I’ve been skipping countless family dinners, crying in my bedroom.
But I don’t want to eat because anxiety eats away at my stomach.

Flashbacks have become a daily routine in my life.


At night it gets worse, when I sit alone in my bedroom, in the dark, I shake.
I sit alone but I can feel the overpowering monster of depression behind me.
The doctors are always trying to find the right medication for me.
But no one will find the weapon to take down the monster that controls me.

“Ew, I’m like totally triggered,” you hear a teenage girl yell out at something irrelevant.
I want to scream at them for saying that, but I have to control myself.
They don’t know what triggers really are and how they take over your teenage years.
Taking your innocence in an unfamiliar way.
The bulk of my teenage years weren’t normal, they were breakdowns and hospital visits.

But I am so proud of myself because I never gave up.


When the razor was in my hands or the suicidal thoughts were at my worse, I kept living.
I have survived 6,624 days on this planet.
I have been through hell and back.
And I have felt pain like never before.
But I kept living.
That is the battle depression doesn’t want me to win.
But here I am, beating the battle.

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the valley
Alice Petty ‘20
Japanese Tea Tray
Meagan Steck ‘19
and Cups

2019 Spring 5

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Dear Dad
Katherine Grendahl ‘19
Dad, why don’t you call anymore?
Why did you give up on me?
Why don’t you care?
I do.
A birthday card from just your mom once a year as a reminder that you have forgotten again.
That you have let me down again.
Abandonment is my only birthday present this year.
Holidays are reminders that half of my family is missing.
That there are two sisters and a brother who are with you in Chicago and not here with me.
You broke my heart when you left before any boy had the chance to.
A cat call on the street is my first experience being recognized as beautiful by a male.
8 years without seeing my siblings is too long, dad.
You say you can’t afford it but I see your Facebook posts and you just bought your 3rd fiancé a ring whose diamond value could have
brought you to see me.
I talk to your oldest, Colette, and she wishes we would talk.
I tell her it is complicated, but I know it is not.
A father’s job is not complicated.
A father is supposed to be there to protect me.
A father is supposed to bring me to the daddy- daughter dance.
to give me his oversized t-shirts.
to tell corny dad jokes.
to embarrass me in front of my friends.
And to tell me he loves me and actually mean it.
A father is not supposed to dump his job on my mom who now does it all and is constantly judged for being a young single mom.
But, you are not my father.
You are only Joe to me now.
I just so happen to be half of you.
It’s crazy how distant you can be from someone, yet technically they are supposed to be almost the closest thing in the world to you.
You stopped paying child support because I am 18 now, or rather the government stopped forcing you to pay.
But, God knows you stopped supporting your child long before the paychecks stopped coming through.
I learned quickly what a man was not supposed to be.
I am doing great things without you.
My mom always tells me that you don’t deserve to know me.
She says that he missed out on getting to know a great kid.
A kid who literally felt like she was a bad daughter for not liking her dad.
Who felt guilty that she didn’t want to pick up the phone when yours was the caller I.D. because she didn’t want to be yelled at for her
grades upon which you had no influence.
She didn’t want to talk to you because of your harsh words and 400 mile away critiquing.
How you could make me feel like I wasn’t good enough for someone who didn’t care about me.
It’s a harsh reality when people make jokes about daddy issues and you laugh because it is all too real.
How come it’s my issue and not yours?
Your life goes on. You have 2 other daughters and another son but, where am I supposed to get another dad?

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Nevada
Finn Murphy ‘21

Country Road
Brianna Ehmiller ‘21

2019 Spring 7

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Solo
Esquiando por el bosque
La nieve cae y el viento sopla
cansados Mis pies son
Frías mis manos están

Pienso que me perdí


No se la dirección
Frankie Lynch ‘20 Solo sigo el camino
y espero que regrese

Ahora es noche
y sigo esquiando
ya comí, pero tengo hambre
pero sigo esquiando

Ya creo que soy cerca


Puedo ver una luz
Puedo ver una casa
Llego, pero todavía soy solo

Raw
Jennifer Meraz Barrera ‘19

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Kayaking
Gabriella Schmidt ‘19

Lake Harriet
Sally Calengor ‘19

2019 Spring 9

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Primary
Trevor Metz ‘19

Drip Drip
Jack Keller ‘20

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Ni de aquí, ni de allá
Karen Martinez-Beltran ‘19
There’s this saying that goes something like: “Ni de aquí, ni de allá”
“Not from here, nor there”
You see, I was born in a different country than the one I’m living in right now. I was conceived from a tan mother and a
light-skinned father. In the beautiful Country you visit while on spring break.
And no, I was not born in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, or Cancun or any other resort where you go on vacation.
I was born in the beautiful Cuernavaca, Morelos.
La ciudad de eterna primavera
“The city of eternal spring.”
Now, even though I was born in a different country, I was raised in the great USA.
My mother brought me here when I was only two months old.
Two.
Two months, eight weeks, sixty days.
Those two months make a difference between my ability to vote, to travel, get a license, work, apply for FAFSA, for
scholarships, grants—almost everything.
Those two months hold me back from doing so much.
Like an ankle bracelet that electrocutes my body every time I try to even look at something I know I won’t be able to do.
I can’t complain too much about it, though.
There are so many other people out there who wish they were in my shoes.
Who wish they could go to school, a school as great as mine.

My friends back in my city are always making jokes about my school.


About how “white” it is, about how “white” I am.
“You must go to a lot of fancy places, with all those white folks you be hanging around.”
And when they’re not joking around about my school, they joke around about me.
“You’re so white, you don’t even need to worry about getting detained.”
As if I don’t come from the same place they do. Speak the same language. Celebrate the same culture.
It’s as if I’m too white for the Mexicans and too Mexican for the whites.
“All you have to do is say: ‘Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish’ and ICE would leave you alone.”
“You look so white, you don’t even look like you speak Spanish.”
That’s what most confuses me, though.
At school, I’m the one everyone turns to when the teacher asks for a translation from Spanish to English.
The one they turn to when Mexico, 5 de Mayo, spicy food, or the movie Coco is mentioned in class.
The one they always come to for help with their Spanish homework.
And when I say, “I don’t get any of this, I’m sorry.”
I get hit with: “But aren’t you from like, Mexico or something? Shouldn’t you know this stuff?”

2019 Spring 11

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What Music Does
Em Paquette ‘19
Jerking pain flows up through my leg as my body rejects the thought of a soft landing off of my balance beam.
It was no balance beam, of course, it was only the arm of the couch that I had been standing on. Well, to say I
was standing was an understatement rather, I was twirling upon my armrest with ease until my unfortunate demise
onto the floor.
I usually find solace in laying on my floor after dancing around my room for hours. Yet, right now I can only
focus on the throbbing pain that is creeping up my ankle as One Direction still blasts through my headphones.
I have loved music ever since I was a little girl when I would sit outside my brothers’ bedroom door and listen to
him as he played softly on his guitar. With him out of the house now, the closest thing I have to him playing in my
headphones.
Even when I was a little girl, music has been calming for me. Music is the one thing I turn to when all else
fails. As someone with severe depression and anxiety, the opportunity to have little escapes from it, like dancing to
music alone in my room, make my bad days a little easier. I assume it might calm me down because it is distracting.
Hearing other people’s voices and stories can make you come out of your own mind and change your perspec-
tive. When I listen to music, my mind flutters away from what might be dragging me down to the depths of my
thoughts and it inspires me to keep going and pushes me towards writing to tell my own story.
Music naturally stems into my love for writing, as I grew up writing for my brother’s band. I jot down my
worries, fears, and past memories in the form of lyrics as a way to process. Even though I didn’t start listening to
music as a way to cope with my depression and anxiety, I feel as though music always knew what it was secretly
doing for me. I never thought something as small as listening to music would help me through my toughest of
times. However, I am glad to be proven wrong.
The Pier
Sydney Wilharm ‘20

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5/6/19 12:27 PM
From the Heights Whereon

2019 Spring 13
I Dwell Xiomara Guzmán ‘19

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Downtown
Finn Murphy ‘21

Looking
Gabriella Schmidt ‘19

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What’s Inside
Annabella Bolin ‘21

2019 Spring 15

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My Actions
Taylor Anderson ‘19

People fear death, hate, rejection


They fear others’ freewill so much they oppress their own,
They live so long only to see their life amount to the spare change in their pocket

Life is not simply meant for meaningless tasks,


It is meant for interaction, experience…. all things human
It’s meant to be messy, so why do so many of us fear what happens next?
Why do we shelter ourselves from change?

People fear one action altering their life eternally


But aren’t alterations what make each of our lives unique?

It’s what separates you from your neighbor,


Your teacher from your friend,
It’s what makes your story worth all that you are

When I was 4 my mom was scared I’d break my arm while learning to ride a bike
When I was 16 my dad was petrified I’d get in an accident while driving the car
Yet, I still scraped my knees, and I still hold the old license plate that was mounted on my back hatch

If they were so protective of my well being why did they let me? Why would they risk their baby when they know
these things could cause harm?
Who’s to say other life-changing decisions should always be made in the name of safety when everyday skills could
be just as lethal?

Far too many people on this earth waste the time they find so precious,
Far too many people don’t see what they miss till its gone,
Far too many stay in their box because the outside is too uncomfortable

Not me,
I will not for the only thing we have to fear is fear itself,
I ask you not to fear death, for death comes to all
I ask you to embrace each action that creates a reaction,
Because those define your story
They define all that you are

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Night Up North
Claire Lorimor ‘20
Destination Plate
Meagan Steck ‘19

2019 Spring 17

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On the Water
Carter Chapman ‘19

Oil vs
Kraken
Rhys Duffy ‘19

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they watch the sky fall back

Memories
Gracie Anderson ‘21
remembering the past day
the way my childhood was put together
the rain hitting the slide on the playground on which i grew up
it left me confused
i was changed

the sun turned into the moon with one change


bringing the memories of my younger days back
it was all a blur with a look on my face that said confused
there were good days and there were bad days
the balloon left my hand and went up
we were always together

we traveled to the moon and back together


one blink, and my life was changed
staring out the plane window we kept going up
all i wanted was to go back
tears filled my eyes bringing me to that day
my life was in a state of confusion

the five-year-old self in me was confused


christmas morning all of us sitting around the tree together
my young days
when your little things change
i kept writing letters, but never got a response back
maybe i was wrong, but i thought we could only go up

my love for her went up


the heart of my younger self was broken and confused
i knew she was gone forever, and things would never go back
she was my mom and i was her daughter, we should be together
i wasn’t ready to change
i can’t think about the day

i was crying on the hospital floor, dreading this day


my mom left me and went up
this all broke me, with so much change
the story of my life was now a blur, and i would always be confused
i only had the memories
she was never coming back

my mind was gone and i was left being confused


my mom had left nothing, but memories
that is something i could never take back

2019 Spring 19

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Plug Walk
John Landry ‘19
Girl in Stripes
Annabella Bolin ‘21

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Honey on a Plantation
Alana Kabaka ‘21
honey on a plantation
grown in the creases of my arms
curled behind my knees
curdled in my hands
i walk on the bones of the slaves
on segregation
i walk on sugar cane and cassava
my bones seasoned by my mother with
creole and cayenne
dipped in molasses
my skin the color of the silhouettes
layed on the unmowed grass
their blood there to water the ground
because all we are is fertilizer
all my friends are starting to become more
familiar with their eyelids
they can no longer hide behind their shadows
white chalk lines filled in by black boys
their tongues still dancing with
don’t shoot
screams for their mother
maybe they didn’t scream loud enough
or maybe their words just riochet off the bulletproof vest
and sink into the ground
people refuse to acknowledge
that i exist
it’s almost like my need for air is too big of a favor
they say black don’t crack
but we seem to be shattered with every n-word slipped from white kids lips
every moan from gun shots
honey on a plantation
dripped from my fingers
in the crevasses of my arms
between my toes
leaks a fortune of gold
that i must have missed
honey that
my ancestors refused to give up

2019 Spring 21

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Albaze
Clare Lynch ‘21

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San Francisco Hill
Claire Lorimor ‘20

Adventure in Mind
Ava Keller ‘22
2019 Spring 23

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Little Successes
Matt Nachbor ‘20
This morning I was successful. I achieved success in brushing my teeth, in eating the small, unhealthy breakfast
of Eggo waffles smothered in butter and syrup, and in successfully arriving to school on time. Little wins like the
ones mentioned prior are something we all can take pride in. Throughout your day, if you pay attention, you will
soon realize and appreciate the little accomplishments you make all the time. When you breathe and think and
learn and laugh and cry and fight, you are successful. Every time you smile and wave at the old man walking his
dog on the side of the road, you are succeeding. Don’t let the world around us brainwash you into believing that
success is something that comes with the stereotype of being rich and popular. Refuse to believe in the silliness of
that concept. Refuse to believe that the wealthiest and the most popular are the most successful. Never be afraid to
do your own thing. Always stand up for what you believe in. Don’t ever forget who you are, and don’t stray away
from being yourself. Pick out the little accomplishments of your daily routine and take pride in them.
The dictionary definition of success is, “the attainment of popularity or profit.”. But, success is so far from
that. The most successful people I know are not the richest, and they don’t always have the most friends; they are
the people who cherish every moment of their lives and firmly believe in who they are as a person. They are the
people who find success in the little things, just as I do every morning when I toast my Eggo to a perfect golden
brown.

Plastic Turtles
Izzi Benham ‘21

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Rain Dance
Emily Platt ‘19

2019 Spring 25

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picking up the petals of
the stupid game
Alana Kabaka ‘21
picking up the petals of the stupid game that her dark brown eyes were beautiful
he loves me he loves me not without being told so
he told her to keep her voice down that her skin a national treasure
that her words were nothing but a road block that she had the most amazing smile
when she would cry that reached into people at took out their
i put her head to my chest pure
i look her in her eyes joy
i tell her you are no damsel in distress she must have forgot how beautiful she is
that she was born with two legs and doesn’t need it made me sad she forgot
him to carry her to safety she is precious
she can walk there herself someone not to be messed with
thank you very much it made me sad that she questions how amazing she
she told me when her palms got cold is
he would press his against hers she lays there tracing the outline of his body with her
lock their fingers together finger
she said it made her feel safe it makes me sad she thinks she’s not strong enough
i told her you shouldn’t deem your safety to fight a broken heart
with his existence i hope she never forgets
i told her he locked his fingers to make sure she’s no damsel
you didn’t run away that’s a tired thought
because he knew what he did was wrong that she doesn’t need him to carry her there
she was stronger then she made herself sound that her fairy tale doesn’t need a prince charming
she believed that she could only be happy with him that she stands tall by herself
she must have forgot so we can stop picking up these petals
she was put on this earth for 16 years of a broken relationship
and for 15 of those years that she
she stood tall and proud without a boyfriend is better
she must have forgot off without
there are things in this world bigger than her
that in this fairy tale
she doesn’t need a prince charming
that she can figure the world out on her own
she must have forgot
how strong she stands alone

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Eagle
Annabella Bolin ‘21

NYC
Ruby Verrett ‘22
2019 Spring 27

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Mountain Road
Alice Petty ‘20

Sydney Wilharm ‘20


Reindeer

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Culture
Claire Larson ‘21

African American
Citizen
Madison Johnson ‘19
I am an African American citizen.
Everyday I am reminded that my skin is different than my peers.
Their privilege blinds them, I don’t have the energy to fight. For that’s what their ancestors did to mine. I have to act like it doesn’t both-
er me that half the kids I’m in front of won’t feel the way I do, feel that every day someone is watching.. The looks, the comments, the
actions. The actions… that kill me. Everyday a black life is taken by the hands of an officer, a neighbor, maybe a friend. The news covers
the shootings as an accident, but the black person is at fault.
But it was the other whose fingerprints were on the trigger. Thousands of cases being taken to court, but does it ever work? No.
Hundreds of people walk out, nothing but a slap on the wrist. But for the black kid whose life was taken, their parents are left to pay the
price. Fighting to win a case that they know they won’t win because of the color of his skin. But they still try, because their flesh and blood
was shot point blank in the chest, twice in the back.
Parents’ hearts heavier than the titanic, they’re the ones who just got shot… praying to God, the only one that listens to protect their child
in heaven above. Wishing that this didn’t happen, blaming themselves for not being able to protect their child. They pray hoping that the
person responsible will pay for what they have done. Fighting because one day, one case will wake the community up. When will be the
day someone will have the courage to fight for all? But till then black kids will continue to die by the gun.

2019 Spring 29

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Not Enough Time
Emily Olson ‘19

“OMG, can I be you?” “Wow, you look so good!” The longer I stare at the clock, the slower the time
I sit scrolling through my phone at these comments goes.
when I get home and the clock reads 3:30. The things I want to speed up always seem to be slow,
I tweet, post, like, share, comment, snap. the best things though, never last long enough.
Its 6:00 now. I don’t even realize it as my eyes are We don’t realize we want something until it’s gone. We
glued to watching Meredith beg Derek to pick her. don’t appreciate someone until they’ve moved on.
8:00. My head starts to subconsciously ache and is
filled with thoughts of homework I should be doing. I This makes me think…
click on another Cody Ko video. Time. What a weird thing.
11:00. Where did the time go? Did I really just waste I feel like I have an endless supply of it.
eight hours? What was I even doing? Like I have an invisible pouch stored away, full of sec-
onds and minutes. Enough to fill a lifetime.
We live in a world where I look up at a concert and Enough time to reach in and take out more on the
can see more phone lights than stage lights. good days, but enough space to store away some on
We have more chances of meeting someone online the bad ones.
than in person, and there are people pretending to be Enough time to fulfill my dreams
someone they’re not on social media. Enough time to meet my soulmate and to travel the
We see someone we follow on Instagram, but can’t get world
up enough courage to say “hi” in real life. Enough time to figure out who I am, who I want to be.
We force ourselves to go out on a Friday night because
it’s what we are supposed to do, not what we want to I don’t though
do. I am not Peter Pan, we are not in Neverland, and this
We sift through VSCO filters and see the ones titled is not a fairytale.
“F1” “C2” “A5”, but will never find the ones we are I know this sounds morbid,
really searching for. But people die. Things happen. Time runs out.
Affirmation. Appreciation. Admiration. We must expect the best, but prepare for the worst.
The society we live in is ever changing, but often I We need to stop spending hours online- posting, tex-
wonder, are we the ones changing it, or is it changing ting, snapping, tweeting.
us? Stop spending time worrying about which filter to
Do we really know that girl on the screen, or is she just choose, or who we want to be on social media. We
a masterpiece of society? need to put down our phones at concerts and just
Are we happy with our lives? Or just happy with the enjoy the music.
picture we have painted? Because time is a weird thing.
There just never seems to be enough of it.
Tick tock, tick tock.

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Reality
Malinda Beason ‘19
Cactus Garden
Joshua Tree
Ruby Verrett ‘22

2019 Spring 31

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