Gaby Marta
Gaby is currently a senior at Aragon High School in San Mateo, California. Her interest in writing was piqued in the fifth grade when her teacher took a special interest in her short stories. She had never been involved in any creative writing class and she wanted to learn about all the other forms of creative writing. Although she finds comfort in writing descriptive stories, she finds that, emotionally, she is more drawn to poetry.
Dear Dad
Dear Dad,
These times are changing
faster and faster.
School’s almost over,
I’m headed to
a place far away
from you.
You’ve taught me more
than I ever could have imagined,
like how to kick a ball
and how to count to three.
You’ve stayed by my side
even when your head
seemed to explode from all
the madness.
You’ve always known what
was right and wrong for me,
but right now you can’t even see
how, lately, your words seem
to tear right through me.
I understand where you’re
coming from, I really do.
I know all this must be quite
crazy for you,
but my feelings are mine,
this you cannot change.
You say I’m too young,
too distracted,
too busy,
to find a place for love,
can’t you see I’ve found it already?
My dream has
and always will be
to make you proud,
no person could ever
blur this.
I want
I need you
to see
what this boy means to me.
You can yell
and scream
and hate all you want,
but my feelings for him
will never waver.
I imagine it must be hard
to watch your little girl
grow up,
all the laughter and tears
we’ve shared will forever
remain with me.
It’s time
for you to see
that my wings are starting to spread
as I take on new beginnings,
make endless mistakes,
and love too hard.
Always keep in mind
that no matter the distance between us,
or age that divides us,
I’ll always be your little girl.
Needle
Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I can feel the restraints pushing down on my arms and legs, though they don’t frighten me anymore. The steel table beneath me is solid and the stories it holds can be felt through its sharp, unforgiving coldness. Many have been in the position I’m in, many more will follow. The man with the badge glances at me while he prepares his instruments for the show. There’s a mirror to my right and I can’t see through it, but I know the audience is sliding into their seats, waiting for everything to start. The lights above me are harsh; they’re meant to be that way, though. Nothing in this place is supposed to be nice.
The man motions for me to lift my arm and I do so with quick compliance. I watch as he cleans the spot where my vein is most visible. His touch is gentle and his breath is short, quick. He stumbles to find the biggest, most powerful instrument he has. I can hear the audience's quick intake of breath, for the moment they’ve been waiting for is finally here. The man looks at me one last time, holding my gaze for what seems an eternity. For a second I thought he felt sympathy. For a second I thought he understood. For a second, I thought he could see me. His eyes fall as his instrument plunges towards my arm. The audience cheers as the music within his instrument courses through my body, sending chills down my spine. I close my eyes and allow myself to drift. Drift, drift away to a place where no one can touch me ever again. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.
