Musezine 20

by Danielle Jones

by Nikky Gonzalez

by Ashley Dookie

Fashion Runs In My Family

by Danielle Jones

The Last Place Nobody Would Look

by Ryan Reyes

What is it about movies that move me?Why does the moving image speak to me more than any human being I know living?My sweet escape, don’t you see, Does not exist in a realm that is 3D.For if it did it would have come with shades.

Instead of Diesel I would rock Regal. You see the thing about film, the sweet art of movie making, that magic appeals to me more than anyone I’ve ever met.Crazy like McMurphy! – A boy whose only comforting touch is through a box or a screen, or if you really want to be fancy on your wall or the ceiling.

Its not the first person view I see life through. It’s a lens that is wide or single, but most importantly round and square. The haven, my escape from reality can’t you see: movies from Scorsese to the Andersons, from the little films that could, to the oldies that have won critical acclaim, to a whole lot of globes, even little statues that tell the world, “#$@%! Nothing is impossible.” You see, the closest thing that I got to a perfect family comes in the form of the Griswolds or the Tenenbaums. Dysfunctional is how I was meant be. Loneliness has followed me my whole life.

So hitch a ride with the driver of my imaginary taxi, and with my only friend - not my friend in reality, but you may have seen them a few times on TV. From Scott Pilgrim or Nick Twist to Bueller, Bueller, Bueller - the youth that is revolting is what I wish to be. And somehow they really are the only people who understand me.

When my home is crumbling all around me like a building that wouldn’t last two minutes in a Michael Bay movie, when my world becomes a wasteland like in Beyond Thunderdome, my own Aunty Enity looks like Jabba the Hutt and thinks he has the Juice. The Bishop of my life, the one who cannot be named, my brother who I wish was from another mother, is my natural disaster, my Sharknado.

Then you have my mother: The Black Mamba. Instead of being billed like it is in the movies, its Andrew. When the bell rings its like Apollo Creed and Rocky. It’s the beginning of World War Three sending nukes. This when I become Dr. Strangelove and love all of these bombs.

This is where my Haven comes into play: When I’m alone the only thing I ever need is eyes to see the lands of make believe, which, as you guessed, appear on screen.

I escape from reality, the life I live everyday: my very own horror movie. Movies are the only thing I have to comfort me through the good and bad, both when I’m sad or mad. Happy as I can be, no matter what state of mind I’m in, when the previews are through and the Feature Presentation is about to begin that is when I make my escape. I play hide until eternity. Forever I will be inside your TV or on your computer screen illegally. That is where I am at peace. So please don’t try to find me because I’m happy and Singing In the Rain.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

by Malcolm Jackson

by Naja Shabazz

by Kalimah Jefferson

Story To Tell by Bintou Camara

This haven is not a thing or a person.This haven can’t hold me or talk to me.This haven does not involve a mother, a father, a she, or a he.This haven comforts me without effort.This haven is where my trust lies – Where my ideas exert,Where my secrets rise,Where tears shed from my eyes,Where the warmth in the air, the fluff of a pillow and the smell of detergent on sheets are all incised into me.This haven is not a thing or a person.

But I learned this haven is the safest place to be.Because…People won’t always care about your feelings.They’re not always going to be worried about your tearsOr protect you from your fears.See, people won’t always relate to your pain.Well, I have a story to tell. Let me explain.Someone once told me they’d be by my side forever,Stand by me through whatever,Defend me from whomever,However, forever didn’t last for-ever.Now I keep to myself. I know better.My haven is a place with four walls.

Dreams and Nightmares

curated by BXMA Teen Council

Opening

June 5th, 6:30pm

Bronx Museum

1040 Grand

Concourse

Image by Yrma Batista

Dolores Haze

by Jennesy Herrera

I had a dream about you last night.

You were melting inside of me

as a snake wrapped itself around my neck.

And in your voice it whispered in my ear,

“We can be friends.”

I woke up alone,

and I realized I wasn’t dreaming.

The memory is so blurry.

%XW�,�GR�UHPHPEHU�WU\LQJ�WR�ÀW�LQWR�WKH�VSDFH�God took a rib from to make me.

I wanted to go back home,

EDFN�WR�ZKHQ�QR�PDQ�FRXOG�HYHU�ÀW�LQVLGH�RI�PH��and nothing could tear me apart from you but God.

I wanted to be a part of you,

even though you were a part of me,

inside of me,

for a short while but had no problem pulling out

and leaving like a convict in a stolen car.

Even though you were just a little boy

wearing an oversized handed down suit,

you were my Adam.

I just wasn’t your Eve.

I am tired of writing love poems about lust

and lusting for your love.

I have wasted my time.

I could’ve moved the tallest mountains

instead of moving my hips

trying to get you to love me.

Do you feel all the energy I’ve wasted on you?

I feel everything you haven’t given me.

When I asked you if you like salty or sweet,

you told me you liked me.

So I twisted myself like a wet rag,

trying to squeeze out every last drop

so you could drink me when you were thirsty.

When you were hungry,

I cut off pieces of myself

DV�LI�,�ZHUH�PDNLQJ�D�VDFULÀFH�WR�D�*RG��But when I asked you what you like in a girl,

you listed every trait I don’t have.

You jokingly pleaded for me to stay.

I would’ve if I could’ve,

but I had to leave a house where I

didn’t feel at home.

They say home is where the heart is,

but what if your heart was broken

in the place you felt most at home?

I felt pain but ignored it until

I realized that I had left my heart behind,

and no longer knew where I belonged.

Now I must renovate my body,

turn it into my temple,

DQG�ÀQG�VKHOWHU�LQ�P\�ZDUP�VNLQ��I must feed myself simple pleasures when I’m hungry.

I must drink from the fountain of youth

when I’m thirsty.

I will go home and take off the clothes you liked,

and my pretty make up,

and slip into my skin.

I will make myself comfortable in my home.

Home is where ever you want it to be,

where ever you feel comfortable.

I wasn’t home in your ribs.

I was imprisoned.

They say home is where the heart is,

but what if your heart was broken

in the place you felt most at home?

I felt pain but ignored it until

I realized that I had left my heart behind,

and no longer knew where I belonged.

Now I must renovate my body,

turn it into my temple,

DQG�ÀQG�VKHOWHU�LQ�P\�ZDUP�VNLQ��I must feed myself simple pleasures when I’m hungry.

I must drink from the fountain of youth

when I’m thirsty.

I will go home and take off the clothes you liked,

and my pretty make up,

and slip into my skin.

I will make myself comfortable in my home.

Home is where ever you want it to be,

where ever you feel comfortable.

I wasn’t home in your ribs.

I was imprisoned.

by Naja Shabazz

by Kenneth Guevara

by Naja Shabazz

by Malcolm Jackson

by Nikky Gonzalez

by Nikky Gonzalez by Yrma Batista

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by Malcolm Jackson

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by Nikky Gonzalez

Cover Image by Yrma Batista