Minnetonka High School Issue #7: Spring 2022
MUSE Magazine 2022 Editors: Ming Wei Yeoh and Mahdi Khamseh Advised by Stuart Pease All works featured are original contributions from Minnetonka High School students. Powered by Lucidpress
Visual Art Katya Cavanaugh Hudson Craft Kylie Gifford Eleanor Inman Henry Miller Emma Nevala Kayla Stevenson Poetry and Short Stories Rose Leary Kylie Gifford Jackson Deutsch Olivia Penteado Ming Wei Yeoh Mahdi Khamseh Kylie Gifford Scott Sorensen Music Ruby Martin
Page(s) 4 5-6 7 8 9-10 11 12 13-15 16-19 20-25 26-29 30-31 32-34 35-37 38-41 42
CONTENTS
Sophomore
Katya Cavanaugh
Freshman
Hudson Craft
Kylie Gifford
Senior
Eleanor Inman
Henry Miller
Emma Nevala
Kayla Stevenson
Rose Leary
Untitled I started to look back at all the messages we sent How you explained that I was the only thing keeping you going. I was the loud laughter that echoed through the room, the sunsets on warm summer evenings, the stars that drew lines and connected us to each other, the moon; the only thing lighting up your darkness. You kept saying to me “I hate myself” and “I’m such an awful person” just so I’d tell you the opposite. Anytime I brought up my own troubles, you’d tell me that you always had it worse. You complained to me how I was never able to help you despite the restless nights I spent sending messages of concern, wondering if you’d wake up the next day to see me and tell me that you were okay. You burdened me with all your problems and called it “love”. You used me as your personal pleasure toy An object that existed only for your amusement. You sent messages every 5 minutes and were getting me to do things after thousands of no’s. You only called me when you were high and seeking attention, mumbling to me through those poisonous lips of yours. I ruined everything I had in my life for you because you told me that’s what love was. My family, my friendships, my health, and my time were all slowly destroyed one by one, bringing me down with them. Now that you’re gone and out of my life, I can’t stop regretting what I did all those nights ago. The date passes every year with a stinging pain, reminding me of what you’d done.
I never had the strength nor courage to say anything in fear that you’d start to get bad again and then I’d have another thing that was my fault. It was always my fault. I still haven’t told anyone what you actually had done over those five months though it happened many moons ago, too afraid of letting someone get close to me again. It doesn’t matter who they are, how long I’ve known them, how old they are, or what they are in my life, you’ve poisoned my lips with yours, holding me to an everlasting threat of fear. Even though I’ve gotten much better, made a lot of new friends, and finally found something worth staying for, you still haunt the hollow halls of my head. Your paralyzing eyes are still locked onto every inch of me, your scent still lingering in the air. I finally had realized that I was never going to be good enough for you that day. I put off telling you every single issue of mine until our last hour. I lost myself before even losing you, forgetting who I was and who I had been before that freezing fall. A stranger may now look upon me and think that I’m older than I am due to my cold stare with these jade eyes of mine, but they don’t know the harmful plants made of secrets that spiral within them. I never meant to be with you but I never meant to hold on after our time had expired. I’ve re-read this message thousands of times, trying to figure out what I meant with all these harmful words, drawing no conclusion of my scattered scribbles. The anniversary of our chapter’s end is coming up soon once more, the red lines I drew over you starting to cut down on my worth.
Yet after all that, I’m only 15. I don’t know how to drive yet. I haven’t finished my freshman year. I don’t know who I am yet. I don’t know what college I want to go to. I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. I can’t see my future. I’ve been taken by the storm that tells me my end is near, the storm that makes me unable to feel the pain of all those things you’d done on that cold, end of the year.
Starlight lullabies/the boundary waters Life is moving too fast I am growing so fast It hasn’t been long Yet it feels like forever The constant, lifting me like an evergreen branch Closer to the complete view of the world than before The stars. Every summer I crave the solace A breath of fresh air A break from the weight of the world I seem to be growing with A long drive, shifting, shedding the skin of civilization Silent in my preoccupation And then, as sure as the sun shines, The stars.
Lucy Snow
Dancing Queen/sweethearts The steps to her house are icy, and I am afraid I will trip on my own remorse. But there they all are, standing in lines, grinning, because the light inside of them needs to be let out through their teeth and shiny eyes. I am surrounded by glow in the limelight as I have done for every moment of my life thus far. In a way, I wish I still had that irrefutable and exorbitant unawareness that allowed me to feel something that wasn’t a lack of confidence. Still, it’s fun. The music, I cannot hear with my ears, but thudding(pounding, pulsing)in my heart. That is what I felt. Later, the snow falls gently, as we embrace the night and the words and our life. The spontaneous ice cream tastes bittersweet, but I choose to laugh rather than cry.
February The bones of the house are aching, And I would rather be anywhere but here Wind howls in the inbetween And the clouds race each other into the horizon Golden hour looks different in the winter Months have passed and I am still alone The tears fall hollow I wonder why salt of the sea stings But my tears feel like they belong When walking the interminable halls that I must roam everyday I feel cold Outside however, I can see the moon hanging on the blue canvas And it smells like a suggestion of spring
Little stones/boundary waters part 2 In the infinite expanse Sitting on a boulder, fingers grazing the edge of the water. Rippled, in slow motion A hill at the edge of the lake, barren but for the charred remains of a forest Smoke in the horizon is suggesting that somewhere else, a fire is cremating the heart of the woods. The sun is held up in the palm of smoke, burning orange. Hypnotizing. A silky bitterness in my throat, it makes it a little harder to breathe. I can’t see much farther in the water than the little stones that mark the distance, it turns into shimmering melted metal afterwards.
Madness Less a cliff, more a stair Or maybe a winding road A spiral, maybe, as it’s so often depicted in that cursed idiom It feels like one Darker darker darker Deeper deeper deeper One more day, one more day, one more day Next year, next month, next week, tomorrow Just to tomorrow It’s stripped away again They’re swimming Churning Deviating from their rigid solitude at last The walls begin to wave, intangible I dare not touch them This carpet on the floor feels nice It’s not from outside this time It’s from inside It’s from me Maybe it always was Why can’t they see them? Why can’t they see the x’s on my eyes, The carnage in my head? Why don’t they...?
Jackson Deutsch
Why should they? I keep smiling Their hands keep pulling my lips up Like a puppet They’re invisible That drives me further down Only I get to see them Only I get to feel their cursed arms rip my head open Over and over again A wound down the length of my head Their claws emerge Segmented, grotesque, like the arms of a mantis Breaking out of my head like an alien egg It hurts I feel their writhing I feel them in my head I feel them stab my eyes I feel them make me smile like none of it is happening I’m going down Walking that stair Reality contracts Darker and darker Deeper and deeper And I’m laughing
The Frozen Maiden's Tempt I read about it in the newspaper “These crystal waters claim another” Proclaims a headline in bold black Myself standing on the shoreline The temperature spiraling down The edge of autumn into winter A light white glittering dusting A smooth glass surface untouched The twinkle in her eye She sings to me The siren call Of a frozen lake They have warned her promises false I have seen it time and time again I know this in my mind to be true Her song as beautiful as her figure An inexplicable desire to take the plunge A game played with my heart Her voice beckons me, “Come in. The water’s fine.” My mind fails, her charms succeed Step step step Crack My final thoughts: These crystal waters claim another
The Musings of An Amateur Bassist A tool to be used It’s really quite something Evolution optimized Man-made science Over all of these years This tool has been perfected So that I A simple man Can make wonderful sounds with nothing but my fingertips How many people created this instrument? How many people laid their hands on this unfinished artwork? Who laid these strings? Who toned this auburn wooden frame? Who crafted the musical theory with nothing but a pen, a page, and the human ear? Who first heard the tunes of a swallow and plucked the first notes on a piece of reed, So that I A simple man Can make a symphony with nothing but my fingertips? I cannot help but feel like I defile this work My inexperienced fumbling curses these strings to a life of misuse Thoughts creep in, that this beauty is meant for admiration in stillness But I remember, this instrument was made for one purpose To let it go to waste, afraid to touch and use its beauty Is to condemn all who gave their hearts to creating this tool Just so that I A simple man Can create unique beauty with nothing but my fingertips
Gray of Gray There are meaningless sounds all around me Explosions of light in my eyes Weightless weights on my shoulders I should be blinded, deafened, crushed By this monstrous obligation Yet I don’t care I don’t feel it Not anymore I know I should I should feel something But I don’t My eyes are glazed With horrible apathy The bleeding of grey From my mind to my heart Or maybe my heart to my mind I Its blood seeps into my head Behind my eyes In my ears On the tip of my tongue Its blood seeps into my heart Into its cracks and fractures Filling it like cement Freezing it in silence I can’t care I can’t feel it It won’t let me I should be scared I should be terrified I can’t feel that either My heart is stopped By this terrible apathy
The words sink in My heart is open Taking their knives They hurt, once But I don’t, can’t feel it anymore This gray blood Leaves me numb Takes it all away It’s a blessing A miracle I don’t have to hurt anymore That piercing noise means nothing That blinding light means nothing That crushing weight means nothing It means nothing It all means nothing I succumb I look to the ceiling I close my eyes I let my senses decay with everything else The sounds degrade, contract, disintegrate around me I succumb As I bathe my soul In this wonderful apathy
Olivia Penteado
The Mountain So tall that I can’t see it all Every step I am out of breath Yet I have no time to rest The air so thin it gets harder to breathe As the expectations I have hold me like a leash There is too much potential I cannot let be wasted And as the view gets hazy I hope that one day I could finally reach the top One day I would prove them all wrong The hill I climb is to the vision board The hill I climb is of being adored The hill I climb is steep and long The hill I climb has no defined top The hill is never ending Another mile for every dream The clouds cover up the perception of success And it’s so scary I need a gas mask At the end of the day I just hope its worth it That the bruises will stop hurting That my backpack gets lighter That the breathing gets easier The time it takes, calculated by the amount of mistakes And as I trip on every rock And as I make every stop I will never stop climbing the hill Until I reach the mountain I will never stop until I see the best views I will never stop until the list is finished I will never stop until the day is done I will never stop until I feel the sun
A constant song of my fear A fear of all of it being for nothing A fear of not fighting for something A fear of the past, of the future A fear of not knowing what's next What If there is no light at the end of the tunnel? The little voice in my head just tells me to quit My backpack weighing me down, Another mile finished My shoes are stained with blood, sweat, tears I am just waiting for the moment I will finally admit The pressure is the only thing keeping me going But the hugs and cheers are the things keeping me alive The miles someday won't be tasks they will be dreams Telling myself just one more day, please just survive The days get darker But I climb to see the stars The trails get longer But I climb to see the view The nights get colder But I climb to see the sun I still worry I haven’t done enough And I’m so close to giving up I cannot see the progress, its covered by the clouds And so as I run up looking down I’m too high up for anyone to hear my screams If I fall, no one will be there to catch me Feeling like miles are now miliminters Reminding me of my shortcomings Proving my doubts Everyone’s waiting on the other side
Will I get there in time Will I get to take a breath Will I get to see my progress Will I get there as everyone has already left I have so many people behind me Yet I focus on the ones ahead As I reach for the next rock It seems too high to reach it I realize I’m halfway there I get to finally breathe the fresh air I remember the cave I remember the hard days I smile once again for them to see Feeling like everyone depends on me I hope a rope is there for assistance A hand reaching for mine in the distance A prayer under my breath A song with every step They don’t question the scars They only see the finish line but never the rocky start In the morning I believe it will be a better day Until one of my legs break Another day wasted, another rainstorm As I sit crying with my knees torn I am committed to living another day I had too many times I just sat in the rain For I have views to see, People to meet I have to believe there are better things waiting for me
Am I really worth more than what others tell me I wish I were more like them, they make climbing look easy With their perfect smiles, perfectly care free As I am slowly slipping, reaching for the next thing The Feeling of failure overwhelms me Words in my head are too consuming, too confusing And as I lay my head, my legs sore I look up at the vision board I will pack better shoes tomorrow, I will get an umbrella for the rain I will grab my hiking stick, I will climb a bigger chain Yet suddenly I wake up from a dream One of me, falling down the mountain As the pit of my stomach swells Will this nightmare ever bid me farewell? This is the hill I climb every day of my life. Yet. I am committed to seeing the rainbow I dream of the sunset over the clouds I will reach the top someday I just need to wait until I am proud.
Yang Her house is a greenhouse Where flowers and vegetables thrive Here, money grows on trees and jewels on beansprouts She keeps secrets, but just the innocent kind She battles some days with the other gardeners But when the war ends they go for drinks It keeps her on edge, she says So much love for them, her heart spills over We hold hands sometimes I squeeze the cold thing tight But she needs to leave, abruptly She peels off my grip and puts on her armor Heading into war again I’m like a spurned lover She’s the peach that’s too high on the branch I come from a tropical island, mangos and durian Not the metropolis of her roots I see her at Saturday Chinese classes On the attendance list, in the seat next to me So many giggling duplicates Shades of paint forming the perfect color
Ming Wei Yeoh
By the pond, still waiting The girl in the pond has a smile that shoots in every direction, non-discriminant and all-encompassing; The fish go blind and the birds shield their eyes, but they love to stare because she is the brightest thing that was ever born in the forest. If I kneel by the water and gaze for long enough, I think she might rise to the surface and greet me one day; I see her, faint, in the depths, and if I squint hard enough I can just about handle her brightness; I absorb the warmth some days. The fish are drawn to me and the birds stop on my shoulders, expressing adoration as I grow brighter and warmer; I reach my hand into the water to ruin her beautiful face—she warps and disappears, the forest falls dark; Shivering, the fish and birds dash away. I kiss the water where she once was, flooding the bank with my tears; The pond is rotting in her absence; I enter the black water, and sink to the floor, where I close my eyes and hold my breath; The animals are never coming back.
Junior
Mahdi Khamseh
God, isn't this an awful poem? Ache bristled brushes brush the wall, a bucket of clay gently melted into mud and misery at side. My eyelids hold ancient ruins, your sight is my hieroglyphic, "I cease to burn, I cease to burn" ruptured glass on the ground but none of them stab me as much as you, my diaphram glued onto the light switch, the sky mops your coughs onto my skin, (darling, are you ill?) telephone numbers rubbed under the dining table waiting for a ring to remind them they exist. Your kisses remind me how parched I am.
Star Stuff I'd tie a lasso around the moon and carve its cheeks like a pumpkin in May. I'd take its stem out as you'd make it grow into a breath full of sticky-seed galaxies and decades worth of empty footsteps alike. I'd take your hands and make my cheeks a caveman's wordbook. I'd mail you an empty bookshelf just to feel your dust fill my midday sorrow with an excuse to read another imaginary book. I'd send you a package of dried up autumn leaves just to smell that mid-September rain back in the smudged kisses you'd send me; your scribbles climbing gently into my veins as the ink would rake all those petty arguments into a pile not worth jumping in. I'd stare out the window till I'd catch a cloud which surely saw you and rained a liter worth of your glances on my deserted eyes. I'd colonize the universe for you so I could hear your laughs bounce into timeless space like empty telegrams dispatched just for their nostalgia. I'd tie a lasso around the moon but you're not into star stuff.
I'm exhausted. The sluggish lizard king bears his crown upon my head. My eyes are bloodshot from viewing the stars, space suit on the ground and a shattered glass helmet dragged along my neck. Shoes hanging on the dirt-stained couch, my mind is in a thousand time zones, none of them yours. A nude hitchiker coloring his pale chest with tire marks, rug burns over my back, the record player chewing its vomit, the guitar strapping my cigarette-drawn voice into a ten pack of "heartbreak-songs", the light dimmed to forgetfulness and my hideous face staining the mirror on the wall.
Too... It feels like nobody notices me. Always talking amongst themselves, Not bringing me into the conversation. When I try to join in or ask a question, They are silent or answer with few words. It seems they’re ignoring me, or just aren’t interested. Is there something wrong with me? Am I too chatty? Too energetic? Too overweight? Too short? Too ugly? Although I would like to know the answers to my questions, I wonder if I’m better off not knowing. Those answers will add another ‘too’ to my list of worries. If I get my answers, I anticipate that afterwords... I will be left feeling too upset.
Into the Unknown If you clip my wings, I will never fly. I stay here perched, I do not know why. You comfort me so I stay, Yet when your anger rises I don’t go away. Afraid of going places I do not know, This is why I shall not go. And so I stay here perched, Out of the comfort of what I know. Too scared of letting myself go, Into the unknown.
Untitled In shuttered breaths, I swallow my pain. Thinking of all I have been through, the suffering, the loss, the agony and pain. And through it all, somehow, somehow I keep myself together. Family and friends all figuring things out for the better. I hope one day, I will tire of this sadness, that has recently left a void. And every day, deep inside I still feel it there. Hoping someday I notice that void going elsewhere.
Scott Sorensen
I. I just met your grandmother; I found the meaning of life At the end of the road that keeps on going So I called it good enough and pulled over. I’ll Break my crusts and Build some trust and Run away before the bill Arrives. I just met your grandmother And she’s in the bathroom; My fingers are sliced From the fists my hands clench around Father’s keys and brother’s advice. Fight or flight And fun or done and The thousands of instincts that keep the human race spinning on Like the wheels on my car. Shine a shot glass in your hand And put it back on the shelf. After finding your grandmother I take a shot of ginger And, blank as history, Rise to find somewhere sacred. This car is full of specters And hopes that I have smothered; I left your grandmother stranded In some place or another.
II. We spent the night pouring each other into molds, Sharpening our knives and hewing a love story From oak logs sitting By the back door. She played a stifled super-genius, A born surgeon whose brilliance Leaked from her lips in idle moments. I played a retired Boy Scout Aged out of innocence but whose tan uniform Stood in stark contrast to the loose, dank hoodies She was accustomed to. Both were borne of comfort; I wanted confirmation Of my own intelligence And she wanted reassurance That she wasn’t a member of the tale Woven each night between wafts of marijuana smoke. Love played out like a robbery Witnessed frame by frame under strobe lights. Gasoline burned and the smell of chapstick Replaced the presence of God. “Who are you?” he asked, Extricating his lips from hers and insisting To be looked in the eye. “Does it matter? she replied, Leaning back in.
III. Blazing colors beside Highway 7; The Iron Cow’s headlights beaming out at the snow. Formative years are over and I'm just playing With the dominoes God set up in this Deserted town. It's time to stop drawing battle plans on the backs of napkins And start living life after conception. Wood smoke in the air from our fingertips, Charred pine like log cabins and Progress. Every day we press, Pale blue char swirling off the block and away into Nothing. By the end of the year we’ll have proof Of the middle months. When you pull my journals off the shelf, Just remember that I'm sorry for most things. I am to study literature, So you ask if I like Shakespeare or Whitman. I tell you I love sudden blasts of madness Cloaked in words, Empty of meaning and full of Life. I found God dancing On a sheet of blue draft paper And told no one.
Stay in touch-- I'll take this half And you'll take that And when we pull the corners back together We won't need to spend forever Eating our tails and remembering The last sweet words we said. We laugh on the car ride away and nod away The tragic manslaughter of something beautiful. It tasted like mini donuts And felt like fear But drifted off on autumn air Like just another tang of the season.
JUNIOR
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Ruby Martin