Kaylee OH SNAP

Sierra+Pelizza+and+Kaylee+Oh+%28from+the+left%2C+respectively%29

Michiko Kurisu

Sierra Pelizza and Kaylee Oh (from the left, respectively)

Danny Smith, Humor Columnist

Jealousy will ruin your friendship with a co-producer of a show

I’m not really jealous or anything, but Kaylee Oh, our very own newspaper staff member who moonlights as a poet, and is the current producer of Poetry Live has taken first place in the wondrous event known as the Palm Beach Poetry film festival. I mean, it’s not like I also entered in the event and didn’t take even third place or anything. Cuz, like, psh, you know… that’d be weird. I’m obviously a great writer and all, but Kaylee just happened to get lucky. Sierra Pelizza, another student of Wellington High School, took third place.
For the unaware and non-poetically involved (which is 96% of the school), the Palm Beach Poetry Festival is a yearly event that consists of hundreds of students from the county submitting poems following a certain guideline in attempts to win the cash prize and national (local, actually) fame and glory.
Kaylee attended an award ceremony and posted pictures on her Facebook, to which I drew a bunch of stuff on on MSPaint and then re-posted on her wall. Not … out of like… jealousy, or whatever.
I interviewed Kaylee while hiding my seething, green jealousy and got the following JUICY DEETS:

Swagmaster (me): “So what was your piece for the festival about?”
Total loser (Kaylee): “It was about a girl who basically comes from a broken home and it was advice on how she could become stronger. Wait, are you quoting me? Cuz… blugh blah blah.”
S: “Why do you think your piece was better than mine?”
TL: “Which piece did you submit again? The camera piece?”
S: “Yes.”
TL: “The Palm Beach Poetry Festival people seem to like dark pieces. For example, last year Danielle Corrado’s was about anorexia and the year before, Debra Marcus’ wrote about child abuse. They both won first place.”
S: “What was it like receiving a reward for your work?”
TL: “The ceremony was really small and I didn’t know it was going to be on that day so my family was mad at me for being unprepared.”
S: “Did you feel any guilt knowing that somebody else who would have been deserving of it could have won?”
Tyler (our sports editor): “Not at all.”
S: “Tyler, get out of this interview.”
Tyler: “No.”
And there you have it folks, using masterful imagery and an interesting pattern, Kaylee Oh has taken first place at the Palm Beach Poetry Festival.

Advice
By Kaylee Oh

Lose yourself in baggy clothes and hair extensions, little girl.
Find your way through this world with cigarettes.
Burn your wrists when things get tough,
and when they’re okay, take another drag.
Paint your fingernails blue and hide behind black eyeliner,
thick rims around your eyes to hide their true color.
Don’t let them know who your father was,
that he lived in a bottle until the crash.
Forget the red and blue lights that shined through your bedroom window that night
and don’t let the sirens scare you anymore.
Don’t tell them about how your mother disappeared,
how she left you alone in the house for three days after he died,
even after all the nights the bruises on her arms and legs and face seethed under the sheets.
Cover yourself with tattoos written in pen
and copied from the mascara stains on your mother’s pillow.
Count the days you spend with your first true love
with pencil marks on your bedroom wall
and write.
Write wishes on scraps of paper and hide them under your pillow.
Trace over them in your dreams
and breathe them off your palm like kisses.
Light a match and let it burn to the end.
Bury the ashes in the sand and water them;
let them grow into the sunlight.
Gather the fruits of fire and keep them in the ankle of your boot.
Save them, and when you find a little girl
like you once were,
fold one into her hand, kiss the tips of her fingers, and lead her through the ocean spray.

One Request
By Sierra Pelizza

A duffel bag of clothes sits at the foot of the stairs.
Four lonely months loom ahead.
An aura of emptiness surrounds the house.
Broken sobs echo through the hall;
Final embraces start.
Army greens are soaked with tears.
Soft words try to ease her sorrow.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back home before you know it.”
Sobs soften to hiccups as
She buries her face deeper.
A gentle kiss lands lightly on her cheek while
Arms wrap tightly around her waist.
Thin arms grasp with more effort,
Refusing to let go.
Desperate fingers deliver a last attempt to dry cheeks.
Lips quiver as her broken voice whispers,
“Please be safe, daddy.”