Alexa Krotova - California State University, Fullerton

Was home the sunny Gulf of Mexico? Where my mom and I lived on our own? Where I watched her collapse to the floor As a growing sister’s life vanished inside her? That’s definitely no home to me.

Samuel Kim - California State University, Fullerton

It slowly poisons you, allures you into thinking it’s good.
It takes you away from any colorful aspect of your life. The vibrancy, the potent gleams and glams of life that once made you happy. Now you’re left with nothing but this stillness in you.

Joshua Giles - University of the Incarnate Word

I’ve had enough. Enough of silence, enough of waiting,
of biting back the storm that so desperately wants to escape.

Isabella Laithwaite - Lancaster University

I stare at the wine reflecting in the light, the lighter parts of crimson at the top, and the darker shades at the bottom.
Funny, isn’t it? It is our anniversary, five years go by so quickly without even knowing, “Happy Anniversary my dear”. Five years ago today, in this dining room, I murdered you. You laid cold in your own red wine. Funny, isn’t it?

Gabrielle Dubreville - State University of New York at Fredonia

Paralyzing fear, struck me deep. Get out. Get out. Get out. Cemented, you stayed. My stop was adhered to, until my eyes closed, then you were on top of me again. Three times I had to tell you no, two times you pretended to care.

Evelyn Megery - Ohio Northern University

The way you extended your hand to the sun, unashamed to show your skin, reminded my how honored I am to be your first of kin. Blood rushes through your soul as thick as maple sap. Strong and sturdy you stand there; a steady hand for my fingers to wrap. 

Juan Rivera - University of the Incarnate Word

Esto empezó siendo para ellas y terminé hablando de ella.  Ella, que tiene una sonrisa que me atropella, Ella, que como la noche me aconseja, Ella, que como el día me renueva. 

Meghan Miglorie - Winthrop University

Once brushing against my pale face? Will I dispose my narratives away, Like my father snapping his drumsticks. Tossing them for good, Then trading them in for wrenches?
I never wanted to be a mechanic. So what am I meant for? That question laying at the bottom of my page. A life of tales buried among a graveyard of shelves? To work myself dry from nine to five Then one day drop like a nagging fly?

Pedro Jesús Martínez - State University of New York at Fredonia

Where would I be? If not for the resilient values you instilled in me, That for generations, handcrafted a successful lineage of mothers and fathers. Though they lie about your sovereignty,  And pin you as the plague of our continent, They forget who picks the crops that feed their greed. A willing ignorance, of course. 

Emerson Amaya - Arizona State University

What is art if it requires the erasure of the living
to resurrect the imagined? I think of my brothers, one just old enough to vote, the other about to graduate, my sister still young enough to believe the world listens. If they saw a man paint himself to resemble them would they call it art? Would they recognize themselves in the imitation

Phillip Hill - University of Arkansas at Little Rock

This one was easier than others to reconcile within myself. An inability to give a shit about certain people was something I could wrap my mind around. This was how we grew our understanding of one another. Him a father that had long sense lost the luster of a hero in my eyes. And me, a son who had become a man, a peer, a trusted friend but wasn’t really a son anymore.

Carly Ermer - University of the Incarnate Word

I’ve admired and imagined, But each scenario turns to an I wish, And reality becomes a blank page awaiting A story to be written;
Never to be.

Elizabeth Villareal - University of the Incarnate Word

A mother too young, a girl too small— no time to grow, no room to fall. Bruises on my skin and soul, life demanding I play the role— but I ate the heartbreak, bitter and raw, felt love crack like broken law. Each vow that crumbled, each stare that hollowed.
Left me wondering, is anyone bothered?

Jenna Scandale - University of Delaware

Time traded for convenience Durability mistaken for callousness
Blame assigned to the nature of a thing Anyhow the pomegranate stains, Lingers Does not go down softly Even the kiwi, exotic, does not require so much attention.

by Brenna Julian - University of Louisville

I don’t want a boyfriend because I don’t want anyone to know me better than I do. I want to know my curves, the heat of my breath. I want to draw deep, sensation succumbing to belief. Epiphany of touch. I want to fear no revelation.

Jose Ochoa - University of the Incarnate Word

to be Chicano is to succeed and achieve all your dreams at the highest level to do everything con pasión y amor y estar presente en todos los momentos que presente la vida to be chicano es tener amor por la cultura