Category: Writing

Grant me strength, but not necessarily power.

Grant me courage, but deny me impulsiveness.

Grant me confidence, but lead me away from pride.

And if you choose to grant me these things,

I ask that you grant me just one more.

I want to use them in a way that is pleasing,

But pleasing ultimately to you.


Puzzle Poem

Instructions: Read and determine a) the narrator and b) who/what the narrator is describing. Comment with your guesses. 

Her name alone already lies

Because she is not from a pine.

She seems to hide in her spiny outside,

May also give you a prick or two.

She’s in a famous alcoholic drink,

But don’t try that ’til you’re twenty-one.

For now you can cube, dice, or slice her

To try the sweet, juicy yellowness inside her.

So here we sit in the produce section,

Staring at eachother from across the aisle.

She’s so rare, an exotic fruit

From a beautiful, tropical place.

We’re so plain, either red, yellow or green.

And from an orchard, oh so ordinary.


I wrote this poem as a part of my Humanities culminating project, which was based off of the following quote from the Iliad:

“I have endured who no one on earth has ever done before – I put to my lips the hands of the man who killed my son.” -King Priam

This poem is written from the perspective of King Priam, who’s son Hector was killed by Achilles (the Greek’s best warrior).


When I look in the mirror
I see old, weary eyes.
I see a man, hurt and heart broken.
I see a father that grieves his children.

But when they look
They stop to marvel.
“We hear you prospered once,” they say,
From Lesbos, to Phrygia, to Hellespont.

This crown on my head;
It whispers lies, it deceives your eyes.
I weep and I sleep and I grieve.
Can’t you see I’m just like you?

Now I find myself here at your feet;
The Great King of Troy!
And this situation feels so strange,
But I know others have done the same.

Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting—
How can I forget Hector?
And I can’t possibly say,
“What you did to me was okay.”

I can’t continue holding this against you,
Allowing what you’ve done to inhibit my own happiness,
Controlling me, holding me.
I refuse to become a slave to sadness.

That’s why I’m here,
On my knees, head bowed.
I’m here to say, “I forgive you.”



No me digas que es imposible ser latina cuando me falta la piel morena y el pelo negro.

¿Oyes a mi mamá, mi abuela, y a mí, charlando en español cuando cocinamos en la cocina?


No me digas que, para mí, es fácil sacar buenas notas en español.

¿Oyes el silencio en mi cuarto cuando estudio?


No me digas que soy  intolerante ni crítica porque soy cristiana.

¿Oyes a los jóvenes de la iglesia ayudando en un asilo de ancianos?


No me digas que todos los hijos de pastores siempre se convierten en rebeldes.

¿Oyes la voz de razón en mi cabeza?


No me digas que todos los corredores son tan delgados como los lápices.

¿Oyes los fuertes latidos de mi corazón después de una carrera?


No me digas que no me merezco estar en el coro avanzado.

¿Oyes esa voz cantando en Madrigals y Bellachords?


No me digas que debo ser doctora ni abogada.

¿Oyes la risa de los estudiantes de LABBB y del primer nivel?


No me digas que los veranos son solamente para broncearse y estar de parranda.

¿Oyes el estruendo de las olas cuando paso horas y horas en la playa buscando caracoles y leyendo?


No me límites.