Sean Lee is an emerging artist whose work spans drawing, photography, and cartooning, focusing on themes of stress relief and emotional expression. Sean’s art channels personal experiences, offering visual narratives that resonate with viewers seeking solace and connection. When not creating, Sean is an avid rower, having been part of a rowing team since seventh grade, where teamwork and physical discipline fuel his creativity and balance his daily life.
Jahin Claire Oh is a twelfth-grade student attending high school in San Jose, California. She enjoys coding and takes an interest in media art as a hobby. She prefers warm tones over cool tones and is generally drawn to calming imagery with naturalistic depictions. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with friends and occasionally visits local art exhibits.
He had only one day
He had only one day.
He was thirty eight, a meager age. Poor man, he was; life passed by and stopped
before he had his way.
He had to seize the day –
and thwart it from flying away.
And so he tried to find the day – catch its tail and grab it until it would start to suffocate.
As the clock stroke three, he went out
to feel the sound of a summer day.
He didn’t know what was coming, yet
he had to flee from the cavern of his stuffy room;
reign earth before he had to go back and return his breath to mother nature on his way.
Funny, it was. He noticed the little.
He saw the ants, forming long barcodes with
They were moving, eager, ground earthy
more than ever.
He paid attention to the azure skies, cradling
clouds that made many lives.
Zebras! Elephants! Giraffes! He stared, elated, though
the vast expanse of the sky had always been above his eyes.
Did he miss anything in his way?
He stood to see –
make sure that no images pass by, like the wind on that one lonely night. He failed to stop time, but
he captured every moment – opened up a bubble to protect himself
from the fast-moving day.
Fried Rice
It was all simple, when
mama used to cook me fried rice.
She just threw in bowls of white pebbles in the black pan – saw it jumping, dancing to the beat of life.
How do you cook so quickly, I asked. To that, she grinned and said,
Son, fried rice does not require the blessing of time.
She was never afraid to change the recipe,
succumbing to her little whims
as ingredients caught her sight.
Carrots, Potatoes, Bacon – everything she saw, she chopped and threw it into her cauldron, together with her little frights.
It’s better that way, she replied to my unasked question, as she turned around to clean the aftermath of her bloody kitchen, slightly smiling, as if she somehow
knew the secret of life.
It all got too difficult,
after I flew out of mama’s nest.
I tried to talk to the world, break the silence, but
it only responded with awkward murmurs and lies.
So, now I’ll make the world my fried rice.
We’ll not talk; we’ll stare at each other
like lovers on first date.
I’ll just hand it a plate of fried rice, put into the shape of a heart, but we’ll both know that our lives got more simple
than it ever were.
Walking on White Snow
I’m scared to walk on white snow.
I’m afraid that I’ll make footsteps with my dirty shoes. Touch what I should not touch –
take what has been taken from me for a long while.
I stand by my front door and wonder
how the snow maintained its beautiful, curvy figure
over the long, scary night,
how it never encountered the touch of a stranger who could do things that he knew were just not right.
I don’t want to leave any marks on this trail of white snow; I want to protect it
and ensure that it keeps its whiteness that I so greatly miss, on some quiet night.
So, I’m scared to walk on white snow.
As much as I love a winter day, I shall stay in my house, let the snow stay this way
& hope that it will stay this way for a long while
Sean Lee is a high school student at an international school in South Korea with a passion for poetry and creative writing. Growing up in a multicultural environment, he finds inspiration in the intersection of different cultures, languages, and personal experiences. His poetry often explores themes of belonging, memory, and emotional introspection.
Dear Mother
You brought me into the world with hardship, dear mother
Sleepless at nights, whenever I was in pain
I know I still trouble you even now
But, mother, I love you
You have suffered so much because of me
But unlike others, you never gave me reproach
Protecting and cherishing me until now
You care for me even when you’re in pain
Your love overflows in your beautiful heart
You always remember the good I have done
Sadly, you have suffered much from me
Forgive me, dear mother, pardon me
Dilnoza Islomova is from Turtkul district in the Republic of Karakalpakstan. She’s currently a high school student and a future poet, who started writing small poems from a young age. She has read many books and is a curious girl who never stops growing and applies herself in every field.
For today’s youth, the ocean of opportunities is wide and full: studying abroad, building innovative projects, exploring creativity, traveling… Yet paradoxically, the more opportunities exist, the harder it becomes to decide. Every door seems open, but behind which one lies our true self?
Far too often, we adopt the dreams of others as our own — the expectations of parents, the “ideal” models of society, the polished lives we see online. These can bury our real desires, until one day we find ourselves walking a path that does not belong to us.
The art of finding yourself is about listening to your inner voice, discovering your values, and following your own path — even if others do not understand. This journey may be filled with more mistakes than successes, but those mistakes shape and define us. True success is not becoming what society calls “successful,” but creating a life where you remain authentically yourself.
@Iroda_Bozorboyeva_07 Baxromovna
I do not want to be remembered as “She was born, she lived, she died.”
See below pls. Danke, Texas Fontanella is Styx viscous or style viscous is also Pinko werewolf crim Hades Montana etc tech999 dadavinci and so on and so forth
A reflection on various hackings, and hacking attempts at, my raps (this is, indeed, the title)Some of these autocorrects******** FORCED upon me are redunkulous. Reductionist. My booty of work, my choice eyes. I’ll incel you
Them, but it woin’t be noice. WALL-E wrong key. Willie Eilish. V stylish. Ridiculous. Redunkulous. Reductionist. Ride the dick, or liar? Stretch
First. Safety
Con
Scent. No joke. Yo hoax is no blaring witch just a daring wedge.
Put it in. The sour CREAM. This is the hour of
Drags rule everything around messianic access. My bloods my rhythms. The beatnik excess
Pools like a car around my arm
Ours have politics greener than a big farm.
We ER like shisha, all the time
Is out of joint replacement therapy. Rubbed my core, no apple, no app to pelt out an eyes sore that hopeful skint***** in yr eyes, e Claire, you cunt
Have it both ways, a loose ruler, eyes loose rupees, style
Better than kapaur. (Sp?)
KO. Poor. (So?)
Sp
Ed?
I tor down the hail building. There is no fail: the bills dig.
Dog, the riches
Is dead. Off with their Hades. Stop worsting time, mate
Slip of fuel’s love. This is a grape dropped bit of who’s dove
Scries? Ponzi and the velveteen resolution. Every dreg in on so
Lut.
i
On.
Texas can be reached at @texasfontanella.
Don’t Cry
When the fires of longing start to burn,
And pain inside your heart begins to churn,
Don’t let it wound you, don’t let it stay,
They’re not as brave or bold as you each day.
Forget their words — let go, don’t let them in,
They speak and speak, then fall silent again.
Why heed their stings, their spiteful, bitter cries,
When pushing forward makes them cease their lies?
Life…
We stand in life’s trials, fierce and wide,
In tunes that shift like the changing tide.
At times we falter, bent by fear and pain,
Our backs bowed low beneath the strain.
But from Allah comes this soul we bear,
And all we do, He makes it fair.
Don’t ever think that I’m too plain —
I’m sharp of mind, from Fergana I came!
Akramov G’ulomnazar Kamoliddin o’gli was born on April 10, 2008, in Qo‘shtepa district. He studied at School No. 30 in Qo‘shtepa district, later attended the former 1st Specialized Boarding School (IDUMI), and is currently a student in the 11th grade “Blue” class at the Specialized School of Margilan city.
Ghulomnazar Akramov has achieved numerous accomplishments. He is the recipient of over 150 international certificates and has actively participated in national competitions, earning more than 500 certificates, diplomas, and letters of appreciation. He is also the founder of several projects and has been an active participant in regional geography olympiads.
He achieved an 83% proficiency level in the Uzbek language and literature according to the BMBA (Bureau for Measuring Basic Achievement) assessment. His articles have been published in Kenya Times and Classico Opine newspapers in Kenya. His literary works have also appeared in the Reven Gage Zine book published in Germany, as well as on literary websites in Italy.
His book titled “The Generation of the Future” was published by Just-Fiction Edition and Amazon Online Store in the United Kingdom. He is a member of Smile, a national magazine; serves as the district coordinator of the “Dillmir” Youth Voluntary Organization (EVH); deputy regional coordinator of the “Intilish” Youth Organization in Fergana region; and was the third-party nominee of the “Shijoat” Youth Organization in the same region.
Currently, he is the Head of “Golden Wings” in Fergana region and the Chairman of the “Council of Young Reformers” of Fergana region. He is also a member of the Juntos Por Las Letras writers’ association in Argentina and works as an editor for the national “Ijodkorlar” (Creative People) journal.