Assorted Works- Nasta Martyn

House, Not a Home. - June

A Soulful Tale.. - Mariya Siddiqui 

One more scroll - Tass A.S

Rings - Tass A.S

Book of emotions - Tass A.S

I, Origin - Marilysse Torres

Hathor prevails dryest wars. - Moksha Kochar

Heartless Woman - Euphemia M. Roche

LGBTQIA+ - Janhavi

Deafening Silence - Drew Aurean Geronimo 

Spark - Charlotte

Secrets - Charlotte

Timeless - Charlotte

Dark Snow - Charlotte

meo fine scio//et nihil mitatum est//invisa mea voluntate - Melissa Hurtado Saldana

A Moment Found Me - Florina Konwar 

A Warm Walk - Janine Tan

Where the Line Breaks - Janine Tan

Schizophrenia - Janine Tan

Solitude - Rachel Choi

By June

June is a writer with a deep love for literature and the art of storytelling. She is drawn to themes of nostalgia, longing, melancholy, dark academia and mystery. When she's not writing, she's lost in the pages of a book, listening to her favorite artists or binging her favorite shows.

My house stand still, the walls pristine,

A place of order, quiet, routine. 

The same old clock ticks as if to say, Yesterday lingers disguised as today.

The bed is made, the lights are warm,

But comfort here is like the calm before the storm. 

They say "You have all you need", 

But then why does my heart still bleed?

Home is not these empty halls, 

Nor the silence lingering in cold calls. 

It's the smile of someone who keeps me close, 

In quiet nights and between lines of prose.

It's the words of a song only I can hear, 

In silent midnights, with eyes unclear. 

It's the late night talks with a friend, 

His voice like home, though not a love he'll comprehend.

I step into a house, but it's not my own, Because home is a voice, not bricks and stones. 

Maybe someday, I will wander alone, 

For home is a name I've always known.

By TassA.S

"It's a poem about what's happening in most of the preteen or teen's life. I think its really sad hat we have to go through this as a teen, I hate how it's now normalized in our society."

All i do is nothing special at all 

All my friends just doomscroll 

How cool it was to me .

Opening only an account will never hurt anyone

One more scroll will not hurt anyone 

Im just watching reels of poking slime

It will not hurt anyone 

Neither will do 3 more hours added to screen time .

The girls are so pretty , their dresses are so cute 

they are so slim

That's maybe why the dresses look good 

I will just stop eating all the  food .

Nothing taste good as skinny do .

They have such clear skin , 

it's just the cleanser 

Oops I was wrong , it's the 10 step routine .

But I am not even pretty , 

Maybe i should try to have the beauty from within.

I don't have anything, but i need to be pretty

All my friends have all the products 

How cool it was to me. 

One more lippie 

One more blush 

One more hair oil

One more , one more , one more 

Nothing is working other than my tear glands 

How do i get the magic wand .

Oh ! It's my lifestyle . 

Nope, it's the donut I ate 

Or the diet coke ? 

Maybe I am doing it all wrong 

One more search 

One more scroll to see how she does it 

One more time , she's an expert 

None of it is hurting nobody 

Well , except me 

But what even am I ? 

Nothing until I m skinny ,this , that, pretty ...

I am nothing until I am skinny

It never hurt nobody .

Maybe I need to do one more scroll 

Oopsies I fell down a rabbit hole .

Is that term cringe now , is it millennial? Am i using it correctly ? Maybe will figure it out with one more scroll . 

By Tass A.S

I wander through colors 

listen to music 

that lingers by the book of emotions.

In the world of colors 

why is it filled with monochrome devotions?

The music glitches and set me free.

the book in my hand 

the sense of melancholy ,

the anxiety in my mind ,

why does it never leave me 

is this truly who I am supposed to be ?

By Moksha Kochar

Moksha is an 19-year-old published author with a passion for writing, especially poems. Known for her unique voice and emotional depth, she has already made a mark in the literary world. Her love for poetry shines through in her work, as she expresses complex thoughts and feelings with grace and originality. Moksha is dedicated to her craft and continues to explore the power of words, always seeking to inspire and connect with others through her writing.

Hathor prevails the dryest wars

- Moksha Kochar

Subordination from skies,

only water for plain lies.

Ra rises,

Leading all to ignite.

A man in afternoon

And reborn at noon

Destroyer of evil for enchanting boon.

He gave two jewels,

The greatest romance,

Shu and Tefnut

Air and rain.

A love so great

It created earth and sky

But because Shu was their father

Geb and nut,

Were nearby yet always farther

love made them comply.

Empty space always gets filled

God made humans,

Neither they couldn’t escape clutches of the milled

The great war started

A brother against a brother

A sister who betrays her sister

The son who avenges father

The uncle who leads nephew to astray

All great problems are after all a mere play

The end only gives us the sweetest whey.

Anubis would be led to vanity,

Without Hathor’s love and Maths sanity.

Likewise,

the dead can be reborn

darkest vines give the sweetest grapes

you can always sew what’s torn

as long as you can find a way to your escape.

Washing away hate by doing dishes. 

-Moksha Kochar

Entering silent chambers,

With chaos up your sleeves

Is the fastest way to make enemies.

Start from waking the dead from deep slumber

And spew sprite on their bland tea’s lumbers.

I promise you a minute’s scratch,

although amidst a second’s stash.

They began with the want for an introduction

I said “I am female, 22

Residing on earth

Wishing to be societies worth!”

Prove it

I asked “what?”

Holding my breath hoping it’s not another sensitive place of THE INTERNET

Where being a girl is important cause there aren’t any,

Where when your woman you are treated different cause females do not simply exist here,

Where no one asks if a guy is catfishing,

But as someone with XX chromosome it is assumed you are!

He said prove that you’re a female!

Letting out my rage filled breath,

Thinking to leave this place, like I have always...

Suddenly mischief takes over my rage, aiming to give meaning to my username!

I text “my bad g” (gang).

I am actually a mutant spider who changes their gender and species everyday...

Mob boss texts yet again “prove it”

I sent a gif hoping to satisfy his unnecessary wish

Shockingly I get the “catfish” role slapped on my profile!

I said Well its either that or talking to teddy bears while listening to rants of my makers, to ever do

something other than GAMING apparently “a symbol of sadistic lifestyle”.

Unlike other places, I didn’t have any flood of dms,

Rather hostility filled texts on main channels.

Human nature is so easy to predict.

There can be no situations which hasn’t happened before.

No mountains climbed without a little bit of reflection.

One boring evening,

A discussion starts,

Over, intimate pleasure being an icing over good or bad cakes.

Of course, teenagers being new to the world inside and outside them will feel that.

I felt like chiming in,

Feeling the hype over an activity that only gives u peace for few minutes

Isn’t worth at all.

As a catfish female,

That spiked a controversy,

Some grudges went out for me.

To my surprise even for a catfish woman that I was,

The worst insult one could get was about sex!

I felt like correcting them,

But debates can only be one sided!

Overlooking my point,

A great battle against std#2194 vs V777#9846 (fake names of course!) began!

He kept saying the same slur

While I decided to be creative with insults,

The mob worked against me.

So, I left the horrid place.

But I texted my friend, ranting all my worries

To which he said, He would have just call them unsophisticated and joined a better place - club or talent

academy. While increasing laughter in my silent dms, I might also cultivate my hidden gem

Maybe my parents are right, so I decided to bake potato pie ending my frustration over a stupid

inexistent beef to well crusted delicacy.

I forgot the salt

Just like I forgot my purpose

Urghhh

I screamed” They should name my life an epic waste of time”.

To that my mother went,

“Doing dishes would solve all problems.”

Your just 18, no one can expect you to make a dishwasher.

When you barely lived enough to know where to put the plates and bowls!

Come help me rinse off potatoes from pan now!

I don’t know why,

But it made me feel alright.

Bill Gates might have had a point!

Doing dishes can be a relaxing “waste of time”.

Blinded fools

-Moksha Kochar

Hushing cause of lush winds

Rushing towards weary hinds.

Laughing over miserable minds.

Trying to regain what I left behind. 

Dismissed cause of scornful masterminds.

Discretionary award of mankind.

Unbinding, unwinding

What I once despised to rewind.

Scoring shores

Always reach moors

Without the need of remarks of silly blinds. 

By Janhavi

"I wrote this piece when I was bored during class. It's personal and one of my favourite pieces I've ever written. It's for everyone who was told that they need to hide their love, for everyone who was afraid, for every soul that's "wrong" for loving someone different."

We may not have had a ceremony,

And we may not share a last name,

But what is love, if not dancing outside with you on rainy days?

Or laying my head on your lap as you play with my hair?

What is love if not two humans existing for one another? 

Two souls entwined, as their hearts beat together.

Perhaps all we have is that evening on that beach- just you and me,

And perhaps we had no officiant to declare us what we're truly meant to be,

But damn them, if they say this isn't marriage. 

Because, what is it, if not two souls promising "to infinity".

By Charlotte 

She’s kind, smart, thoughtful and very funny.

Did you ever see the little light flicker before your eyes ?

Did you ever see the light spark blow ?

Did you ever see the light break ?

The spark which created the light blown 

The light you need to see in the dark and guide you through dark times…

The light you couldn’t replace as it wasn’t possible!

The light you had… and having to get a new spark for before everything was pure darkness ?,the uncontrollable darkness which makes you near blind and makes you feel worthless .

The light you needed for a new spark

By Charlotte

The crime you committed walking through the slime 

The crime you committed to collect a single dime

The crime you committed in the clear of the day

The crime you committed when you heard that chyme.

As the day flys through 

Does your sentence ?

Does your sentence ?

Does your sentence…

Did you ever question the evidence ??

Did you ever question the relevance of the situation?

Did you ever sit and say why?

Why did I waste my time on crime

In the clear of day 

And why did I throw my years away

By Melissa Hurtado Saldana

Melissa Hurtado Saldana is an aspiring Mexican-American author. She has always found comfort and belonging through writing, and she believes that it is an essential element to defining her identity. She is currently Executive Director of Imperfect Zine Magazine, which also fosters an environment for young creators to share their work. You will probably need to take her pen or book out of her hands to get her to look most of the time. She enjoys reading poetry and fiction in her free time to escape the gravity of academics, yet is often always found buried in homework. Her dream would be to one day publish a book and inspire another individual to discover their passion for writing.

"The titles, drawn from Latin, reach for academic gravitas; a way to make rawness feel legitimate by framing it in the language of scholars. Success and growth have long defined me; even pain feels like it must be polished, proven, made worthy before it’s allowed to exist."

1. meo fine scio (i know my end)

between the sun and shade i swing

to this pendulum i dearly cling

when i rise, i blind the sky,

when i fall, i don’t ask why.

one day i am crowned in cheers,

next, i drown in silent fears

no middle ground, no steady pace,

only triumph or lowly disgrace

i crave the stillness no one names,

a breath between the roaring flames

but balance feels like foreign ground,

where silence echoes much too loud.

i am a pendulum, never still,

driven not by want, but will

praise or pity, i collect it all,

crashing upward, doomed to fall

2. et nihil mitatum est (and nothing has changed)

i’ve learned to speak brilliance,

in language of where exhaustion wins 

i starved for lines they’d call refined,

while carving silence in my mind

yet turn the page, and all goes still,

the price of every sharpened skill

no mention made of dreams declined,

no space for joy they redefined

we chase the myth of "yet to be,"

but chain ourselves to memory

and if i burn for their acclaim—

who will recall the girl, not name

i am the outline, neat and bare,

but not the girl who once was there

you’ll read my life in type and line,

and never know what wasn’t mine

so take this page—your proof, your prize—

but leave me what you can’t revise

for i am breaking, calm and slow,

beneath the things you’ll never know

3. invisa mea voluntate  (hated by my own will)

dressed like i’m late to somewhere i hate

i speak like i’m bored of the room

looking people in the eye

only long enough to let them feel the chill

i want them to say she’s too much

or she thinks she’s better,

because if they said she’s nothing special

i wouldn’t know how to breathe through that

always preloading the judgment

so the silence doesn’t kill me first

i pour salt into my own coffee

just so they can call it undrinkable

i’d rather be disliked on my terms

than loved on false ones

it’s a rigged game either way

at least this way, i hold the cards

By Janine Tan

Janine is a student who loves to write. She thanks you so so sincerely for reading her work!

Two stumble home. 

A taller arm 

rubs up

and down

and up

and down 

a shorter shoulder.

Friction and flame on shivering skin. 

By Janine Tan

I tried on my old clothes and found they smelt like a woman who was not me. I wondered if the man who loved me had suddenly begun to love another. I wondered if he dressed her in my clothes and sprayed her wrists with my perfume. I wondered if, in the dark of our marital bed, he pretended her parts were mine — for her figure felt the same against his blind hands, and when he kissed her hands, he smelt the same pheromones.

I wondered how long he had replaced me with a ghost of myself without my noticing. Afterwards, I felt a shifting inside of me, not visible in the mirror, but like wearing the wrong skin — like a draped elastic glove on your unfitting hand. And in my head, I found myself irritated with my own voice, how she was like me, but with all its greatness echoed so far down the hallway that it soured into a mocking caricature of women I do not like.

But I could not tell him of the new inhabitant of his wife’s head, for it would not be his infidelity but my mania becoming apparent to him. Then I would be dressed by the nurse like a geriatric. And as I would be buttoned into a hospital gown, my condition would cement into me, lodged forever with a click one cannot undo; for I would see the nurse fold and place my old clothes, with the faint stench of a woman who was not me, for this would waft around my new residence, where I would lie until I recovered.

So, it was here I would have to sit with my two realisations forever. First: that truly, another woman had taken my old clothes, my figure, tried on my heart, and that it was not just a new scent on my yellow dress, but a new person in my mind. My fingers fumbled through trial and error for days along the slits of my skin until I would concede that, second: that I could not point out for the nurse where I started and this stranger ended.