Literary Journal - The Muse - Dominican Academy

Jenna DiFalco ‟12 (Co-editor) 

Oyshi Nabi ‟12 (Co-editor) 

Michelle Costanza „13 (Secretary) 

Lyla Cerulli ‟13 (Treasurer) 

Alexandra Galarza „13 

Eileen Creighton „13 

Allison Scacalossi „13 

Lydia Fernandez „14 

Mrs. Woolf (Moderator)

Love 

Blue Eyes … Allison Scacalossi 

By the Stars … Alexandra Galarza 

First Kiss… Lyla Cerulli 

The Thing That Scares Me Most …Allison Scacalossi 

Love… Lydia Fernandez 

The Thing About Love… Allison Scacalossi 

Cariño … Michelle Costanza 

S-E-N-T-I-M-E-N-T-A-L-I-T-Y Vs. E-M-P-A-T-H-Y… Allison Scacalossi 

Mother‟s Whispers …Lyla Cerulli 

Ode To You …Allison Scacalossi 

Pain 

Fifteen … Lyla Cerulli 

To My Husband, I‟m Sorry… Lyla Cerulli 

Violin of Pain … Lyla Cerulli 

Despair… Oyshi Nabi 

No Title, Please… Lyla Cerulli 

Confidence 

Stay … Lyla Cerulli 

Bigger Than a Star … Alexandra Galarza 

Lifeguard? … Eileen Creighton 

Major Comeback, Minor Setback … Alexandra Galarza 

When Prince Charming Gives Up …Lyla Cerulli 

Grades … Lydia Fernandez 

Bro‟ … Michelle Costanza 

A Little Faith … Alexandra Galarza 

Success… Lydia Ferandez 

Vulnerable …Alexandra Galarza 

Go Ahead. Do it … Lyla Cerulli 

Guards Up! ... Alexandra Galarza 

Fate 

Time Has a Way of Catching Up to Me… Allison Scacalossi 

Forest Walk … Lydia Fernandez 

Waiting … Oyshi Nabi 

Advertencia …Jenna DiFalco 

Cheap ‟52 …Michelle Costanza 

Playing Games 

Puzzling …Lydia Fernandez 

Cunning …Oyshi Nabi

Conscience My Ghost …Lydia Fernandez 

The Mystery Box …Jenna DiFalco 

Life‟s Game … Lydia Fernandez 

Desire 

Come On …Michelle Costanza 

The Plot Bunny …Lydia Fernandez 

Wildflowers …Oyshi Nabi 

Hunger … Lydia Fernandez 

People 

I Cannot Relate …Oyshi Nabi 

Corrupted By Rock Alone …Lyla Cerulli 

The Runaway …Jenna DiFalco 

Thoughts of a Puritan Woman …Allison Scacalossi 

That Mop Man …Oyshi Nabi 

Matthew …Michelle Costanza 

A Criminal Mind …Jenna DiFalco 

Bliss 

My 142 …Michelle Costanza 

Another Kind of Flying …Lydia Feradez 

An Evening Run …Eileen Creighton 

My Cup of Tea …Oyshi Nabi 

Capturing Beauty 

Self Portrait …Michelle Costanza 

Stars … Lydia Fernandez 

The End 

How‟d It Get So Quite ….Alexandra Galarza 

The Night Wind Whistles Softly …Allison Scacalossi 

2012 …Jenna DiFalco

Blue Eyes 

Allison Scacalossi 

A subtle knocking on my door, 

The lingering feeling of wanting more, 

Anticipation of what‟s in store, 

Intoxicated by your allure. 

Your eyes allude to a darker soul, 

They display your strength and your control, 

They radiate comfort, my heart‟s consolation. 

They complete your essence, they make you whole. 

Your piercing look one cannot miss, 

Your gracious smile, heavenly bliss, 

Your energy bestowed through a gentle kiss, 

I‟d be content, with only this. 

That constant shadow after dark, 

The rain of fire, everlasting sparks, 

We make one, though in two parts. 

In-sync, the beating of two hearts.

By the Stars 

Alexandra Galarza 

If I could melt away the stars in the sky, 

I‟d wait for all the stardust to fall, 

Just to write your name in shining lights. 

This way, when I put my hand on your heart, 

It‟ll shine brighter than when it last fell apart. 

The most valuable possessions are kept behind bars, 

But a heart like yours should be held by the stars. 

First Kiss 

LylaCerulli 

Do you remember me, your first kiss? 

Of course you don‟t. 

I‟m just a fading memory in your childhood, aren‟t I? 

Close your eyes, won‟t you? 

Try to imagine it again: September 7, 2008. 

We were only kids then, 

With so much to learn 

And nothing to lose. 

If it counts for anything, 

I‟ll always remember that day 

And you. 

My first kiss. 

A memory that will never fade.

The Thing That Scares Me Most 


The thing that scares me most is that I can‟t stop 

thinking about that day, that day when fate took you from 

me. Of all the people in the world, why did you have to go 

so soon? Am I that egotistical that I should wish to keep 

you? Away from the horrors of war, away from the blood, 

the tears and the sickening stench of decay. Was it so 

wrong to hope that I might keep you, that I might see you 

safe from the constricting arms of war sent to carry you 

away in a sea of blood? Was it so wrong to cling to that 

desperate hope that I would see you walk through that 

door and call out my name as lovingly as you used to? 

I know you were drawn to the noble cause of 

protecting your country, of standing up for something you 

don‟t even believe in for the sake of honor. Well, look where 

that got you- six feet under! All I am left with is the fading 

memory of what once was, and a steady hatred towards 

those who took you away from me.

Love 

Lydia Fernandez 

What is love? 

Is it some sickly infatuation? Is it a dedication to another being? I 

have always wondered what love is or what it could become. Love 

has many layers and many meanings. It also is a struggling thing 

that can be given a bad reputation. So what is love? 

Love is more than just some sappy romance between a prince and 

princess. Love is more than a fairytale. Love is…complicated. It‟s 

that warm bubbling feeling that fills you up. It‟s that smile which 

tugs at the corners of your lips even when your day is not the best. 

It‟s that electric feeling which raises your spirits and brightens your 

day. 

But love is not only a thing that two people share in a relationship. 

Love can be for everyone, for your family, friends and even 

household pets. You could have a passion from an activity or a 

school subject, a passion for dancing or playing an instrument. 

That doesn‟t mean love can‟t be more than that. In my opinion, love 

is a beautiful and pure thing. It‟s ice cream on a summer‟s day. It‟s 

that laughter you can‟t hold in. Most of all it‟s the light at the end of 

the tunnel, and the undertone that keeps your day going. It‟s a 

dream, inspiration and a feeling that is intangible by the horridness 

of the world. 

Love is love, and that‟s all that matters.

The Thing about Love 


The thing about Love, 

It‟s never present. 

It‟s never there when you need it most. 


It‟s a disaster. 

It leads to heartbreak, 

And it‟ll keep you on your toes. 


It comes at random, 

Always catching you unaware. 


It‟s the one thing that shows you truly care. 


Is that it can be good or bad. 


Is that nothing hurts more, 

Than to say, “I‟ve Never Loved You.” 

The thing about love, 

It controls your mind, 

Filling it with silly dreams. 


Is that when you‟re in love, 

Nothing is as it seems. 

It can be brilliant, it can be grand, 

It can be brutal, it can be bad, 

But nothing‟s better, 

Than to be, hopelessly and truly in love.

Cariño 

Micaela Costanza 

Me despierto, 

Misojosparacen de susvelo de los sueños, 

Y teveo, 

El espejode mi corazón. 

No somosmalosnicorrectos, 

Solo escrito en entressi de mentes 

Esnuestrocariño sin razón. 

[I wake up, 

My eyes emerge from their veil of dreams, 

And I see you, 

The mirror to my heart. 

We are neither wrong nor right, 

Only written on each other‟s minds. 

It is our affection without reason.]

S-E-N-T-I-M-E-N-T-A-L VS. A-P-A-T-H-Y 

Allison Scacallosi 

I fall in love with you, 

Someone who‟s never been in love. 

I smile and grin at you, 

Someone who‟s lips are always in a frown. 

The tears run down my cheeks for you, 

Someone who hasn‟t cried in 8 years. 

I feel so much for you, 

Someone who never truly fears 

I ask for help from you, 

Someone who is always on your own 

I am the heart, you are the brains, 

Empty of emotion, apathy at its best. 

And yet you form a web with me, 

Connecting out two worlds. 

In our own way we are together. 

We are one, 

We just don‟t know it yet.

A Mother’s Whispers 

LylaCerulli 

You were always the little angel dancing in our 

dreams. We dreamed of holding you, seeing you smile and 

laugh... And those dreams will still come true. I just might 

not be there. Peter, the sleeping baby boy inside of 

me…they told me I might—be asleep when you awake for 

the first time. But I wouldn‟t want it any other way. I 

couldn‟t keep you silent, never to open your eyes, never to 

laugh, never to smile… You need to be able to grow up. I‟ve 

already had that chance. Now it‟s your turn to be fantastic, 

absolutely fantastic—for me. 

Darling, if I am asleep when you‟re awake, I‟ll never be 

able to wake up, so take care of your daddy for both of us. I 

love you, even if I will never get to know you. Good night, 

Peter. Have a good life.

Ode to You 


When you first caught my attention, 

You were looking in the other direction. 

I had never heard much mention, 

Of your name. 

Day by day there grew a fondness, 

A light amidst the darkness. 

A tiny hint of promise, 

In your name. 

I know this‟ll just lead to disaster, 

But when I listen to your laughter, 

Can‟t think of anything after. 

You have me hypnotized, 

And when I look into your eyes, 

I seem to recognize, 

The mask you wear as a disguise. 

I want to know the real you, 

And I can‟t help but shake. 

Mistake after mistake. 

More to give than to take 

But in the end it‟ll be worth it, I hope.

Fifteen 

Lyla Cerulli 

Today is the worst day of my life. And I‟m not just 

saying that. I‟ve had two miscarriages. Two. Two of my own 

children. But that didn‟t happen today. As bad as it 

sounds, I wish that did happen today. 

For the past fifteen years I‟ve been working with NASA 

to develop a time travel machine. Today we tested it. We 

just wanted to send it five minutes back, something we‟ve 

done before with objects and animals. Inside our machine, 

we had fifteen pilots. Fifteen lives, fifteen children of fifteen 

mothers. 

As the machine began to turn on, fifteen lives were 

blown to bits, right in front of me. 

It was my fault: my machine, my formulas, my 

creation. And because of these things, fifteen people were 

dead. I stood there behind a triple-paneled window, safely 

tucked away from the explosion, stunned, motionless, and 

guilty of fifteen murders. 

And now I don‟t what to do. 

Because there is nothing I can do.

To My Husband, I’m sorry 

LylaCerulli 

I‟m sorry. I‟m so sorry. There‟s just so much I can‟t tell you. I 

can‟t tell you how I was born in one century and managed to die in 

the one before. I can‟t explain to our son that I‟ll never be able to 

come back. Something went wrong, and everything went to black. 

I‟m not even sure if I‟m dead. But I‟m certainly not alive. 

What‟s going to happen to our Jamie? He‟s alive, as far as I 

know. I was there when he was born. Wasn‟t I? Tell me our son is 

alive. I can‟t die. If I die, I never would have met you. And Jamie 

was never born. If I die now, a lifetime of research, inventions, and 

every ugly thing I could have done… is gone. No, I won‟t die. Please, 

keep Jamie alive. If you keep him in your memory, he won‟t 

disappear. 

He can‟t. I won‟t let that happen. I‟m sorry, but I won‟t be able 

to help you with this one, darling. Just keep our son alive. I‟ll work 

on existing.

Violin of Pain 

Lyla Cerulli 

My razor is my bow, 

My arm is my violin, 

Spilling out notes of red. 

Tendons tremble 

Bringing vibrato to red. 

Up and down, back and forth, 

Strings are painted 

Strings are smudged 

As the strings bleed 

Spilling out notes of red. 

My punishment for living 

Manifests through the notes 

Bleeding down my arms. 

But my punishment 

Is a gift 

To all of humanity.

Despair 

Oyshi Nabi 

I have lost hope, 

My despair has built, 

And built. 

It has been accumulating for days now. 

Today I have been tipped offthe edge, 

Of that proverbial cliff. 

It all began easily enough, 

Like most important things. 

I ignored the danger, 

I brushed off the warnings. 

I was powerless, 

When the disasters finally rolled in. 

It was a bow on a ring 

That went astray. 

My hope now dangles only by a thread.

No Title, Please 

LylaCerulli 

If you die, no one will care. 

So what‟s the point of living? 

People may blink a few times, 

Shed a few tears, 

But after a few weeks 

You‟ll be forgotten. 

You‟re young. 

You didn‟t change anything 

In your sixteen years. 

You could disappear 

Without anyone noticing. 

So do it now, 

Before you do something foolish. 

Like fall in love, 

Or have children. 

Go ahead. 

Die.

Stay. 

Lyla Cerulli 

Don‟t die. 

Whatever you do, 

Don‟t die. 

I need you, can‟t you see? 

Keep breathing, 

Keep thinking, 

And stay alive. 

Help me fight the monsters- 

My monsters. 

The monsters you told me to forget, 

To fight, 

And to never let them win. 

And now the monsters have you, 

So keep breathing, 

And whatever you do, don‟t die.

Bigger Than a Star 


Don‟t be afraid to put your hand right into the light. 

Your wrist will shine and just in time, 

You‟ll notice gleams, so bright. 

Never say a planet will always be bigger than a star. 

At different angles, you know you can shine. 

That‟s just how you are. 

You‟re tough on the surface, just like a rare stone. 

But when nobody‟s looking to buy you, 

You immediately start to feel alone. 

Never say a planet will always be bigger than a star. 

I know, deep down, you‟re like a comet. 

You can soar right by and never take the time, 

To realize how much light you really do shine.

Lifeguard? 

Eileen Creighton 

Do you know how much it takes 

To say that you can save a life? 

What comes to mind, 

When someone‟s life is in your hands? 

Today‟s the day I face the water, 

As an enemy, rather than friend, 

Pushing her from my sides 

Just to reach the end. 

Swim fast, swim strong and the honor is yours, 

The job is yours to have and to hold! 

You‟ll make it darling, don‟t hold your breath, 

Don‟t waste time and you‟ll reach your goal, 

To spend every day in the sun and sand. 

Sun and sand is what you hold, 

So close to you since you were small, 

Don‟t lose it baby, keep it strong. 

What happens if you can‟t do it, then? 

What then? The voices in your head again? 

Nothing there to help you forget the bad, 

The bad in your life, the bad and the sad? 

You can do it you can! 

Just strengthen those hands, 

Your hands, your arms, your kicks 

Stop, just make it there, 

Before the butterflies eat you alive.

Major Comeback, Minor Setback 


Major comeback, minor setback. 

Back track and sit back. 

Don‟t over think or underestimate. 

And then there‟s love and hate. 

Love the truth and hate the lies. 

Be strong now, have faith and fly. 

Be faithful, have strength. 

And don‟t restrain… 

The beauty you have, 

No need for pain. 

When Prince Charming Gives Up 

Lyla Cerulli 

What do you do when your knight in shining armor 

fails to come for you? 

Well, what can you do? You‟re stuck in a castle 

somewhere filled with demons that you can‟t overcome on 

your own. He‟s left you, all alone, locked in a room, with 

nothing but your wits and a pretty dress. And you‟re left 

with one thing to do: survive. 

Face it. He‟s gone. And he‟s never coming back. He 

gave up; you obviously weren‟t worth fighting for. So fight 

for yourself. Overcome your own demons, or die in your cell 

with your pretty dress. You‟re on your own. 

So survive.

Grades 


Why, oh why am I a nervous wreck? 

I‟ve been here before. 

I‟ve studied and read and taken notes, 

But I never know my score. 

Is it high? 

Is it low? 

I‟m worried, this is true. 

My heart beats faster, 

My palms sweat, 

And I feel utter pain. 

The grade is handed out to me, 

And I smile, 

„Cause everything‟s alright again.

Bro’ 

Michelle Costanza 

Street-walking, quick-talking 

His supreme eminence: 

King of the Concrete 

Hisses from his corner throne 

The upmost royal decree, 

To me obscene, 

Yet custom calls it sweet. 

Over my dead body. 

Banters fly like sparks 

From the driveled mouths of cantors 

Upon self-righteous podiums. 

Yet no one would dare knock them down. 

Eyes like stricken matches now 

Exceed their common, tired glow. 

And from these trembling lips escape 

“I‟ll have you know, 

Can‟t faze me, so 

Don‟t gaze me, bro‟.”

A Little Faith 


We‟re like vending machines. 

We get stuck. 

And we need someone from the outside 

To push the plastic screen, 

And allow us to fall on our own, 

Just as we please. 

And when we‟re stuck in a rut, 

We could slam the door shut 

Or turn to the past, 

And ask it to wish us luck 

On our scenes in life, 

Where we‟re not allowed to call, “Cut!” 

Though we all dream out loud, 

We may all have our doubts. 

But, how good was the dream 

If you can‟t recall some of it now? 

And how heavy are doubts on our minds, 

When it‟s finally time to take a bow? 

Please have a little faith, somehow.

Success 


I don‟t know why I‟m frightened. 

I don‟t understand the stupid reason, 

That I feel unprepared. 

I know that I can do it. 

I know that I will try. 

But every time I face the issue, 

I just want to cry. 

I don‟t know why I‟m scared. 

I know this isn‟t easy. 

I‟m trying hard to think, 

Of everything that makes this better. 

In the end, 

And only the end, 

That helps me to succeed.

Vulnerable 


I hated being vulnerable. 

I‟m no longer shy. 

What‟s the point of being 

Susceptible to negativity and lies? 

I hardened my heart. 

And didn‟t take that route, 

„Cause I didn‟t have the patience 

To weed people out. 

What‟s the use of being heartbroken? 

I used to use glue 

To mend all the pieces, 

That lead back to you. 

I hated being vulnerable. 

I‟m not a little girl. 

You either treat me like a diamond 

Or you treat me like a pearl.

Go Ahead. Do it. 

Lyla Cerulli 

For the first time in my life, my closet door was open. So many 

years before, it remained shut as I slept. If it were open—even a 

crack—the monsters would be able to come through the void. They 

would eat me, limb by limb. Brain cell by brain cell, as I would 

scream in agony. I sit up, about to swing my legs over the side of 

the bed. And… I stopped. I was sixteen now, able to marry in some 

countries. And I was afraid of monsters? 

Bull. 

They don't even exist. Right? So as I lie back down, I dare them: 

Go ahead, nonexistent monsters. Eat my brains. Eat my arms. 

Legs. Heart. Because I knew, you don‟t exist, so you have no 

power over me. Not anymore. I stopped believing. 

I quickly tucked my legs back into bed. I didn‟t want the 

demon living under my bed to snatch me.

Guards Up! 


Guards up! 

It‟s pouring rain. 

Lightning strikes the window pane. 

Don‟t go near the window, 

This seems untamed. 

Guards up! 


Inch farther and farther 

Away from the elements. 

Don‟t use an umbrella. 

It‟s highly irrelevant. 

You heard him say 

That life is lame. 

Guards up! 


Don‟t go outside and take the blame. 

The umbrella‟s too flimsy to deflect the pain. 

And who chose to make life a game? 

Guards up! 

It‟s pouring rain.

Time Has A Way of Catching Up to Me 


Time has a way of catching up to me, 

Robs me of my sanity, 

A constant shadow of possibility, 

That threatens my stability. 

No time for a feeling of remorse, 

Time chose for me the hardest course. 

I‟m screaming out, my voice is hoarse. 

Can‟t put a stop to this impalpable force. 

Time has a way of catching up with me, 

Time warped with harsh reality. 

Can‟t find out who I‟m supposed to be, 

With time as the greatest entity. 

As lost as an explorer who entered the cave, 

Only one way to go- and I must be brave. 

Time sneaks about- the cunning knave, 

The human race is thus enslaved. 

And until I can stop it in its tracks, 

Defy laws of nature and bend the facts.

Retrieve the best moments and never look back, 

But time won‟t let me go forward- too late for that. 

Forest Walk 


The air is crisp and cold as you walk among the trees. The 

temperature is freezing and you hold your arms close to your body 

to preserve heat. Snowflakes float delicately from the sky, coating 

the frozen ground. Leaves crunch under your boots as you walk, 

dodging fallen trees and branches. Your gloved hands grip shrub 

branches, clearing a path on which to walk. You smile over your 

shoulder at your best friend, who walks behind you, bundled up in 

her hat and coat. She laughs at something her cousin says, as he 

walks to her left. The three of you walk along a babbling creek, 

curious to see where it goes. Each step you take is cautious, as you 

do not want to fall into the icy water. To cross the creek you must 

hop on stepping stones, but none of them is flat enough. You can 

see each breath taken as the three of you discuss a way to get 

across. Instead you all decide to turn around and go back to the 

cabin in which you are staying. As you walk, you look up into the 

sky at the bony treetops. The branches are black against the bleak, 

cloudy sky. Despite how dead the world looks, it is more in a 

dormant phase. Winter time in the forest is peaceful, but not 

always.

Waiting. 

Oyshi Nabi 

This constant waiting, 

Has strained my soul. 

It is the never-ending feeling of falling, 

Extremely scary. 

I am drowning in the stress, 

I am waddling around, 

In the mess that has become my life. 

I am ever waiting. 

Patience, 

The virtue which is rendering me insane. 

Today is the 14 th of March, 

And I have a letter. 

Shall it express my doom? 

I am excited, yet frightened. 

I am done waiting. 

Acceptance. 

It is mine, I am going to college. 

It is time for the next chapter.

Cheap ‘52 


Cheap „52 

Lazy blue. 

Sixty years beneath 

The timid arms of a willow tree, 

And never an eye turned to you. 

Uphill hues of suburban sun, 

Untied shoes on phone lines hung 

Over memory-lined windows, 

Watch blossoms jump the gun. 

A trunk to carry rue, 

Time it carries too, 

But doesn‟t wait for you, 

Cheap „52.

Advertencia Warning 

Jenna DiFalco 

He dicho el hombre salir. 

I told the man to leave. 

Yo le dijo nunca volver. 

I told him never to return. 

Porque si otrovez eligiò aparecer. 

Because if he chose to appear again. 

I cannot promise I won‟t harm a hair. 

Puzzling 


It was no mystery how it happened. The entire scene 

was playing before them in explicit detail. Like an audience 

watching a show intently, they watched in pure horror. 

Silent. Unwilling to speak a word for the shock of the event 

had driven them mute. 

“What occurred?” you may ask. Well, it was no secret, 

and it certainly isn‟t now. The evidence sits right in front of 

you. So obvious that not even the sharpest mind could 

decipher it. All you need to do is scrutinize the information

to find out who had left that stubborn puzzle, waiting to be 

solved. 

Cunning 

Oyshi Nabi 

I see you 

You with your clever eyes and your classy smile, 

It has not escaped my attention, 

Your cunning ways and hidden guile. 

I walk past you beyond the alluring sphere 

That you encompass 

Your supercilious airs, 

And the others who have fallen, 

Into your cunning trap. 

I see you watching me. 

This is nothing more than a game, 

Of shrewd glances. 

A game at which we are experts, 

Are we not? 

But what does it matter at all? 

I won‟t be swayed by you‟ 

With your wily ways and handsome face, 

Yet your pursuit is fruitless, 

For I am like the great wind,

And I cannot be caught! 

Conscience, My Ghost 


Today the most bizarre thing happened. 

It was raining very hard. I was walking home holding an umbrella 

close to my body. The atmosphere seemed normal, but it was 

unusually quiet, too quiet for a typical day in New York City. All of a 

sudden I was grabbed by the wrist and pulled into a dark alleyway. 

“What is it? What‟s going on?” I shouted into the darkness. In front 

of me emerged a white face and I jumped back with a squeak. 

“Hi Lydia!” smiled the ghost. 

I had my hands in a defensive posture, my umbrella on the ground, 

not letting my guard down as I eyed the ghostly figure. 

“Hello…who are you?” I asked. 

“I‟m you conscience!” the pale figure grinned. 

My eyebrows furrowed over my hazel eyes as I stared at the possible 

illusion in front of me skeptically. 

“Why are you here?” I asked. 

The figure took me by the wrist once again and time had seemed to 

move by at fast speeds. Colors melted from around me and the 

scenery changed to a beautiful meadow surrounded by 

technologically advanced buildings. I‟m trapped in the future and 

now I don‟t know what to do….

The Mystery Box 

Jenna DiFalco 

Don‟t open it. 

But I have to! 

I beg you, please do not open it. 

But it‟s there and I see it, so I have to! 

I am serious, don‟t you touch it. 

Please, it is calling my name! 

No! 

I‟m going to open it! 

Don‟t say I didn‟t warn you. 

It‟s empty. 

No, there is air in there. 

You know how to tempt me so.

Life’s Game 


You feel as if you have been grounded, a concept that 

you have not been able to grasp for years. Life itself is like 

a game of baseball. You never know what throw is going to 

be pitched your way. The thing that you don‟t understand, 

however, is how to control that ball. It‟s almost like a game 

of chance, except there is no praying that the probability of 

you being successful is high. No one can determine this 

without collecting an enormous amount of data or 

spending an excessive amount of money for that matter. 

You tend to take what life throws at you and run with it. No 

pun intended. 

So why is it that at this moment everything seems to 

come crashing down like a ton of bricks forced upon you 

and pressed down with excessive amounts of strength. Why 

is it that a loss of footing causes you to tumble down a 

mountain that you worked so hard to climb? 

It‟s just a fastball thrown so fast that instead of it 

hitting the bat, it socks you in the stomach. Shake it off 

darling, and batter up.

Come On 


Skin—faded, 

Statuesque, 

Yet cracked like unveiled secrets. 

I am all ears. 

I am blank paper. 

Pulse, pulse, 

Pulses urge helpless surge. 

I am reaching hands. 

I am tender words. 

Come on. 

Beyond tomorrow lies 

Burning veins 

And screaming names behind my smile. 

This is deliverance. 

This is allure. 

Come on. 

We are before and after.

The Plot Bunny 


I need a little plot bunny, 

Something white and cute, 

To help me write my stories, 

Which no one can refute. 

It hops across my computer, 

Giving me ideas, 

To create a writing remedy, 

Of stories for my peers. 

Oh where is this plot bunny? 

In the underbrush? 

I need something to write on, 

A story great and lush.

Wildflowers 

Oyshi Nabi 

That delicate stream that flows, 

Through the open windows, 

The gentle glow of the afternoon sun, 

A shine that is never dun 

That catches the highlights in my hair. 

It tempts me, 

Because now I want to run wild, 

In the prairie which does not exist. 

I want to feel the force of the Zephyr, 

But I cannot. 

In incarcerated in this jungle 

Comprised of concrete. 

Wildflowers, where do you grow? 

Tis where I long to be, 

Away from these walls, 

Where-in I wander to and fro. 

I want to walk barefoot,

In the crisp grass, 

To feel the blades tickling my toes. 

Wildflowers, please engulf my soul. 

Hunger 


Rumble, Bumble, Grumble, 

Begging me for lunch, 

I sit in class hungrily, 

My hands in a bunch. 

I picture how good it will be, 

To eat a tasty meal, 

Crunchy pretzels, 

Juicy apples, 

Maybe even veal! 

Pasta dishes, 

Crunchy fishes, fried and covered in salt. 

Palms of nuts, 

Soft doughnuts, 

Maybe a chocolate malt! 

Oh how I wish that this class will end, 

So I can feed my monster, 

Rumble, Bumble, Grumble,

My stomach is alive! 

I hope that I can silence it, 

Before it eats my insides. 

I cannot relate 

OyshiNabi 

You say that you are free, 

I cannot relate. 

I do not acknowledge your flawed concepts 

To your heinous ways, 

Your nonchalant view of life, 


To your drunken days and shady ways, 


To abandoning your friends, 

And mocking the poor, 

I cannot relate.

Corrupted by Rock Alone 

Lyla Cerulli 

Was it really him standing over there with the bags under his 

eyes and the cigarette in his hand? What happened to the altar 

server with long hair and a sharp smile? I couldn‟t help but stare 

from behind a car in front of me. Slowly, I walked along with him on 

opposite sides of 86 th street. Pulling my hood over my head, I began 

to quicken my steps to keep up with him. We were side by side, 

separated by cars, the street, and our extremely different worlds. 

I began to think what led him to his current state. He began to 

stop going to mass. He was no longer there every week, and 

suddenly… he never came back. Rumors spread that he joined a 

rock band. He was said to be the lead guitarist and no longer had 

time for altar serving. Another rumor had said that he had dropped 

out as quickly as he had joined. But he was now seen smoking in 

the Great Lawn on a regular basis. 

I abruptly stopped at the corner as he began to cross. His 

shoulder brushed up against mine and he stopped briefly and 

looked back at me as if—he was remembering. “Remember me,” I 

whispered to myself, “Remember me and everyone else you knew 

before you changed.” 

“Carmine,” I barely said aloud. 

But he kept walking. He did not remember. And I began to 

think, “Was it really something as simple as a band that had 

corrupted him?” He was now simply a boy with long hair, corrupted 

by rock—that was so unfamiliar to my eyes.

The Runaway 

Jenna DiFalco 

It‟s been over a week since I left Pency, determined 

that I could make it on my own. I‟m still terrified of what 

mom and dad will do to me after they find out about me 

failing out of school, again. I‟ve blown most of my money 

already and my hair seems to be graying at a more rapid 

pace. God, 17 and as grey as the sidewalk, I definitely got 

all of the junk genes in the family line. I‟m so lonely I can‟t 

take it anymore. I have to talk to Phoebe. She is the only 

one who won‟t get angry with me. She is a real good girl, 

old Pheebs. 

My clothes are still damp but I pull them tighter 

around me to shield myself from the wind. In front of the 

building, I look up to our window. The lights are off, 

everyone must be sleeping. 

If there is one thing I am good at it‟s making up a 

story. It must have been a real good one too because the 

new guy at the desk let me in no problem. Up I went; a 

little nervous that I might have to face my parents if I get 

caught, but when I sneak in it‟s quite. I found her in DB‟s 

room. She looked so small in comparison the huge bed. I 

sat next her and got lost in the silence. What will I say? 

What will she say? I don‟t care, I just need to talk to her.

She makes me feel like a hero and that is what I need to 

feel right now. “Pheebs” I whisper. “Holden?” 

Thoughts of a Puritan Woman 


`I want to go, to follow that bright star shining above our archaic hearth, to 

fall into the trance that continually attracts my attention. I want to be part of that 

non-existent world, but I cannot reach it in this state. For I am only sleeping, I 

envy those who have already woken up. Who knows what this shattering life will 

bring, except to lead me from one dream world to the next, both non-existent, real 

and unreal at the same time. Who‟s to say we shall ever wake up? Perhaps it has 

been a dream within a dream? Who knows how long we must persist, to wipe away 

the crust that forms a barrier over are shut eyelids, forbidding us from getting a 

view of the world with our own eyes. We are always looking through the same 

small telescope, turned to the end where we can only see what‟s directly in front of 

us, blind to all else. 

Wake me from this nightmare, where sin runs the world, where chaos is 

ever-present, where broken hearts spill their blood and lost souls scream their 

songs of pain. That gut-wrenching cry! The tearing of hair! Why must the world 

suffer so? She cries tears of fire, planning to consume the earth and swallow it 

whole. Will we then wake up? Will the crust disappear from our closed lids, and 

will the nightmare of the dream become a distant memory? I dare not hope any 

more than necessary. For we live off of that small hope, that small seed gnawing 

on our insides, reminding us to look on the bright side of everything. Knowing that 

there will always be a tomorrow. Tomorrow, you say? I see no tomorrow, only an 

endless today. Until the day when God hand-plucks you from this graveyard shall 

you be forever mourning, forever causing pain and receiving pain, forever forgiving 

and being forgiven, forever hungry and thirsty, forever part sinful, part good. 

Thrust into a realm where sin feeds off everyone, fat and yet still hungry, never 

satisfied with its daily portions, expanding towards every living and nonliving thing 

on this earth. How are we to drink the water of morality? How are we to be fed by 

the grains of truth, when they do not even exist? We live in a fake world- a world 

full of evil and lust and agony, where the good ones get squashed out like granny‟s 

pumpkin pie, like a fly on the end of a fly swatter. Truth, you say? Alas, I see no 

truth, only lies laced with the vines of persuasion, attaching itself onto our wrist, 

crawling up our arms, tightening itself in a death-like grip, never to let go. The

truth, you want? Desire it as fervently as you wish, for it is but another false hope, 

engraved into that thick skull of yours, giving you another breath but 

simultaneously taking away two. Is it the truth you want then? Well, try this for 

truth: You‟re in a living hell and there’s no way out. 

That Mop Man 

By: Oyshi Nabi 

I always see that man who sells mops. 

I see him as I walk some dogs, 

As I grab a soda from the corner shop, 

As I pass by through the fog. 

That man who sells those mops, 

He sells his mops all year long 

He helps others clean their glops. 

Often, one can hear him singing a song. 

One day I decided to talk 

To the man who sells those mops. 

He had quite an interesting story to tell, 

Incidents with quirks and intricate hops. 

It is interesting what you can pass, 

Every day and not truly know. 

So do not take things for granted lass, 

And make everyone a friend and not a foe.

I always see that man who sells mops. 

And I say hello, every single time. 

Matthew 


Today the best thing 

Happened to me when I saw 

A little one smiling. 

With tender hands outreached, 

I ponder the cause, 

Mimic his happiness 

And it turns into mine. 

I know this rapture 

As a giggle breaks his grin, 

This perfect infant.

A Criminal Mind 

Jenna DiFalco 

Red, it devours every thought, 

Feeds every tangent. 

Its hunger unyielding, 

It takes hold of reason. 

Clarity is sporadic but never impressionable, 

And the fear of being vanquished 

Only charges the urge for control. 

They cannot bargain for time, 

Darkness owns time, 

And death, and life. 

Can‟t run from itself so it gives into what‟s inside 

That is what it is like in a criminal mind.

My 142 


She and He 

Around the corner, 

Bells chirp with child‟s laughter. 

Snap clap stamp stomp hop on pavement, 

He and She 

Jumps and tumbles 

In backyard so-far doubles. 

Beyond the block‟s resurrection tune. 

By the cherry tree they lay, 

By the apple tree they play. 

Fence over fence they climb 

To fetch their young ambitions.

Another Kind of Flying 


Have you ever felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and 

excitement as if you were floating on air? Your movements 

are languid and flowing, moving breezily to some rhythm, 

heard repeatedly for the past several months. It seems as if 

you and the music have become one person. Rising and 

falling in tempo like ocean waves, rolling smoothly over tall 

rocks and lapping at soft shores. It‟s a thrilling moment. 

You step into a warm light, all eyes centered on you. Your 

heart beats in time with the pulse of the music around you, 

as you let your body flow. It is not your brain that is 

moving you anymore, but your body. Your muscles seem to 

have memorized the ways you need to twist, turn and leap. 

You can‟t help but think about how magical that moment 

is. All you do is take off and fly.

An Evening Run 

Eileen Creighton 

Another lap around the track, 

You can‟t look back now. 

You‟d lose your focus if you did, 

And then you‟d have a reason to go home. 

The air brushing your skin and the sound of your breath, 

Is music to you on this winter‟s night, 

While this run sends your stress away, 

And the moonlight calms your mind. 

There‟s nothing to think about when you‟re on the track, 

And your sight is in your feet, 

Striding forward, 

With no reason to look back.

My Cup of Tea 

Oyshi Nabi 

I am in the want for some fine tea, 

I have searched everywhere and anywhere, 

I assure you, 

For the best leaves of tea. 

I was utterly lost, somewhat confused, 

And extremely parched. 

Until, 

One day I stumbled upon a rabbit 

Who kept glancing at his watch. 

And he said to me, “ You‟re late, 

You‟re late for a very important date” 

I went to the shop 

Where they sold hats. 

Mind you, I must look best 

While sipping the best tea. 

It is the way of the land 

Or rather, of wonderland 

I met the hare, mad in March

And so I had found my cup of tea 

In the table of the hatter. 

Self-Portrait 


I never did paint 

A portrait of myself, 

My mirror image, 

A mystery to delve. 

Looks are deceiving 

When I inward rebound. 

It‟s like a conversation 

As my oddities resound 

From this seven by two 

To this five foot four, 

From these cross eyes 

To the closet door. 

I never did paint 

My heavy skull, 

The shake of weary hands, 

My eyelids‟ pull. 

I never did believe 

The words that stumble 

Outside the mind 

Of a stranger so humble. 

So I take to a pen 

With lines rightfully sloppy, 

For I must turn away 

From a glass-caged copy.

Stars 


The sun sets, 

A soft orange glow fading, 

The sky is painted an inky black. 

Wisps of wind, 

Whistling as night falls. 

Slowly a paintbrush dabs the sky, 

And there you see hundreds, 

Even thousands, 

Of beautiful stars. 

How’d it get So Quiet? 


How‟d it get so quiet? 

The face dried in cement. 

The smile, once alive, 

Now lies dormant. 

The heart would beat, 

Beat like a drum. 

Until the moon disappeared 

At the arrival of the sun. 

The eyes closed their doors, 

Locked them with chains. 

The hinges screeched no more.

The soul drowned in shame. 

How‟d it get so quiet? 

The Night Wind Whistles Softly 


The night wind whistles softly, 

It whispers the ancient tale. 

Of the Human Past in all its glory, 

And how it is destined to fail. 

For how can so-called glory, 

Create stability? 

For glory is the blood, 

That was shed for false prosperity. 

It‟s called the epic triumph, 

The victory of mankind, 

Where murder becomes a necessity. 

And we must steal all that we find. 

I‟d call it a cycle of mayhem, 

A cycle of lying and deceit, 

Where one would do almost anything, 

To conquer and defeat. 

To create the perfect society, 

To create a world of peace, 

How can we have that society, 

When we all have hearts of beasts?

2012 

Jenna DiFalco 

Upon this 1642.5 trillionth day on the great planet called Earth, 

We congregate to celebrate the final day of days. 

It has been predicted long ago and written in the stars, 

That tomorrow will never come. 

Settle your grievances and forgive all debt, 

For you‟ll want to be free of distain. 

Savor each smile, 

Linger each kiss, 

And even reminisce in your pain. 

We do not know if we will feel anything, 

Or if our lives will just drain. 

So, keep your hopes up for a forever, 

And be ready to send your soul away.

Literary Journal - The Muse - Dominican Academy

Create successful ePaper yourself

Delete template?

Save as template?