CAMPBELL LIBRARY
Middle School Winner
Draped in the Spotlight
Everyone dreams
Of basking in the spotlight—
A single beam of gold
Cutting through darkness,
Framing their face,
As the world holds its breath
Just for them.
To be the main role,
The star with the shining name.
The one the audience rises for
At curtain call.
That’s the dream they chase.
Their shoes worn thin
From dancing circles
Around doubt and exhaustion.
But few notice
The quiet constellations
Of side roles
That steady the scene.
The ones who step in
Not to be seen,
But to steady the plot
When it threatens to fall.
And without them—
There is no story,
Only silence
Draped in the spotlight.
Campbell School of Innovation
CAMPBELL LIBRARY
High School Winner
Sneakers
I approach the restroom—uncharted territory,
but I am no colonizer.
I step inside. Laughter erupts. Boys avert their gaze.
Past the football team, past the soccer boys,
I shrink beneath their towering frames.
I lower my head, eyes fixed on the floor,
reading sneakers like omens
as I navigate toward my refuge—
a navy blue stall.
A murmur: gay.
my head bows deeper,
as if submission could make me invisible.
Inside, I latch the door—
my one shield, my one sanctuary.
I sit, breath steadying,
watching the shuffle of shoes beneath the stall,
tuning out the world.
Then—shattered silence.
“Faggot’s in there!”
the words crash against me,
laughter ricocheting off tiled walls.
Tears slip down,
soft, unseen.
I look down—
watching the sneakers retreat
watching them leave me behind.
Rishith A.
Branham High School
Grade: 12
CUPERTINO LIBRARY
Middle School Winner
I Can Still Play
A whisper breaks the fog that always lasts
But their words scrape the air like darts, ready to attack
This pushes me further off track
My words are frozen in place
Then their heads turn like it’s a game
But don’t they know?
That I would “never” play
Their stares turn my blood to ice
As chairs screech, I roll the dice
But my turn isn’t now, and it won’t be for a while
I turn away and keep the thoughts at bay
Cue further disarray
Then it hits me like lightning, sharp and absolute
The day is still grey
But I can still play
Grade: 8
CUPERTINO LIBRARY
High School Winner
Obsession
I have a big, perhaps even an unhealthy obsession with stories
Once I dive in, there is no way out
until I’ve read every page there is
Maybe the obsession is due to the love I developed
for stories from a young age
Books with magic, spells, dragons, and knights
were my bedtime story every time
Even at a young age I realized
that despite what everyone kept saying,
not everything was always possible
It was disappointing to wish to grow wings and fly
only to realize I never could
because the magic stayed within the books
So I read about those who lived the dreams I never could
knowing that as long as I had a book in hand
I would never be alone
Never the only one who dared to dream big
So though sometimes I end up lost in my own world
I don’t regret being a little obsessed with stories
For stories represent the hope that there is always
something more waiting to be found
And who could blame me for being obsessed with that?
Megha V.
Cupertino High School
Grade: 11
GILROY LIBRARY
Middle School Winner
Connection
In a world full of noise, I whisper and wait,
Scrolling through faces of technological fate.
‘Likes’ light the screen but leave me alone,
Chasing connection from pixels and phones.
I’m the girl in the corner with stories unsaid,
A storm in my soul, soft words in my head.
I smile in the mirror, then second guess, why?
Is beauty a filter? Is real just a lie?
My pet Yorkies, they see me, no scroll, no disguise,
They love with no questions, no judgment, no size.
I care for them, they need me, my loyal friends,
A bond that’s unspoken, not found in a trend.
I walk in the woods where the Wi-Fi can’t reach,
Where trees talk in whispers and rivers can teach.
The breeze holds my secrets, the leaves know my name,
In nature, I’m nameless but never the same.
Then theater lights find me, and suddenly I
Can stand in the spotlight and finally shine.
A script in my hand, I speak with their voice,
But somehow in pretending, I finally have choice.
The mean girls, they laugh, their words like a dart,
But kind girls have kindness stitched into their heart.
Some mornings I sparkle, some nights I feel small,
I’m rising, then falling, then not sure at all.
I write in my journal with tear-stained ink,
About thoughts that I feel but don’t dare to speak.
There’s power in paper, there’s peace in the pen,
A soft place to land, again and again.
Connection, I’ve learned, can’t be counted in hearts,
Or followers, trends, or who plays what part.
It’s being seen silent, it’s truth in disguise,
It’s loving yourself when no one replies.
So here’s to the quiet, the watchers, the dreamers,
The shy teenage thinkers, the late-night believers.
We’re soft but not broken, we’re gentle, not weak.
We whisper, but still, we are worthy to speak.
And maybe this world will learn how to hear
The quiet ones desperate for a connection that is crystal clear.
GILROY LIBRARY
High School Winner
home
what is a home, really
is it the place you belong
with the people you love
or is it the prison you find yourself chained to
a stranger in your own body
i live in a hurricane
locked in a jar
trying to find the eye
that little moment of peace
wind buffets me
swallows my screams
i want to lay down
let it take me
i can’t do it
i just can’t do it
i am not enough
i will never be enough
but i’m still standing
for how long, i don’t know
i’m still standing
and that is enough
Olivia G.
Gilroy High School
Grade: 10
LOS ALTOS LIBRARY
Middle School Winner
Always
| don’t know who I am
| don’t know what I am
I hate not knowing things
Yet I always seem to not know
I guess
I still don't knew
Anything
But | love...
Nevermind
That's what I always do
Say I was to late
And I was stupid
Like always
That's what my excuse is
Always
Natalie v. K.
Blach Intermediate School
Grade: 8
LOS ALTOS LIBRARY
High School Winner
Migration Instinct
mother plucks language from my throat like feathers,
says english must nest here now, must learn to sing
american songs. watch how her accent molts
in winter, how she sheds syllables like flight paths.
in the kitchen, she names things twice: pressure
cooker, चावल, cup, बर्तन —each word a navigation
point between here and there. somewhere, a compass
spins between languages, loses true north.
scientists say certain birds carry maps in bone,
can read earth's magnetic field like braille.
I] search my marrow for similar compass points,
for some cellular memory of where we came from.
on phone calls home, relatives measure distance
in lost sounds: how curry becomes curry, how दिल
becomes heart becomes something harder
to explain. we're all losing our bearing stars.
mother saves molted feathers in drawers: her
childhood stories, folksongs, recipes that taste
like coordinates of home. at night, she tests
my wingspan: am I strong enough to cross back?
some migrations are one-way journeys. some birds
forget the path home, learn to nest in strange skies.
watch how we circle new territories, searching
for landmarks in a landscape that won't claim us.
Anuj J.
Mountain View High School
Grade: 11
MILPITAS LIBRARY
Middle School Winner
Where I’m From
I am from cramped desks,
From countless books and unending video games.
I am from the cluttered dining tables,
(happy, warm, stained, smelling faintly of old books and
fragrant herbs).
I am from the strawberry plants, small but thriving,
filled to the brim with delicious fruit, only picked when
squirrels threaten to steal them.
I’m from Sunday pancake breakfasts, and limitless determination,
from Archana and Praveen,
the ones who gave me all that I have and taught me all I know.
I’m from the habit of asking too many questions
and the tendency to save everything “just in case”,
from “love you” and “always wear socks inside the house”.
I’m from a belief in second chances,
where “Second chances are not given to make things right,
but are given to prove that we could be better even after we fall.”
I’m from the diverse city of Bangalore, and the lineage of
the legendary rishi Vashishta, delicious rice with gravy and
glistening snacks.
From the time my father saved a dying dog,
to the way my mother adapted to a new way of work in the US.
In the luxurious cabinets and various silk-lined boxes,
filled to the brim with beautiful albums and precious jewels,
elegant fabrics and inherited heirlooms,
depicting evocative moments and memories,
to be uncovered when the yearning for those cherished moments
cannot be silenced.
Rishabh P.
John M. Horner Middle School
Grade: 7
MILPITAS LIBRARY
High School Winner
The New Architects
We built with stone, with iron, fire,
Now circuits hum our new desire;
A whisper leaps from wire to wire—
The dream of thought itself made higher.
Once hands carved words in ancient clay,
Now voices spark across the day;
Invisible rivers bear away
Our hopes in pulses, swift and gray.
We stand on glass, we move through air,
Machines we dreamed now dream and dare;
The steel, the code, the electric prayer—
A future woven fi ne and rare.
Yet in the shining neon streams,
Still flicker old, unspoken dreams:
To speak, to reach, to build, to be—
Innovation's ghost—humanity.
Challenger School
Grade: 10
MORGAN HILL LIBRARY
Middle School Winner
BUTTERFLIES AND FLOWERS
Life can be unfair,
we all go through changes,
like a metamorphosis
of a butterfly, or
a blooming flower in
the spring.
Free as a butterfly, yet
small and frail as a flower.
Open skies, clouds passing by.
I wonder why growing up
is such a pain.
What does fate have planned out?
We will never know.
We can only live our lives to the fullest
until the end.
Starry night, shining moonlight.
Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to
months, as I still wonder who I
am meant to be.
People grow up, but they’re still
the same person. I wish I was like a flying butterfly,
soaring over a field of flowers, not a care
in the world.
But we are just mere human beings in this world, so
we should appreciate what we have
Before it’s all gone.
Lewis H. Britton Middle School
Grade: 6
MORGAN HILL LIBRARY
High School Winner
Stream of Consciousness
Our planet hurtles onwards,
Spinning as it wonders how its inhabitants could be so stupid.
It tries to fling us off by twirling on in the void, hoping we’ll come unstuck
Stuck in a loop of endless hopeless pirouettes that only succeed in giving us pretty sunsets to
snap tiny, shiny pictures of with our shiny phones while our shiny cars exhale giant blooming
clouds of acrid smoke
And thus, the velvet blackness of the night was cut by liquid drops of blinding white on the
horizon. The world keeps spinning, Earthlings living, sun shimmering, as it has for billions.
We waste our lives, and don’t live until we realize our final sun will rise and everything dies
It’s the only thing that’s certain, everything dies
Even the sun will explode, taking with it the tides
And the mountains, and the canyons, and the love, and the hate
And you
And me
And the things that seem like they’d last forever
Like the immortal styrofoam people left behind
Well, it was a fun ride………. . . . . .
But it ends, everything ends, it all ends, even if we pretend to bend the tendrils of time so that
they intertwine and shield us from the deadline
Is there a point to your life or mine
If it’ll be erased at the end
It ends
It ends
It ends
But wait - if it didn’t, would it still be as beautiful? Maybe not
Maybe that’s what makes it precious
The fact that… it ends.
If gold fell from the sky, it would be worthless
If rubies washed over the soil in waves, their sparkle might strike us as gaudy and garish
If we didn’t perish, life wouldn’t be cherished
Ann Sobrato High School
Grade: 10
SARATOGA LIBRARY
Middle School Winner
An Apology
That day
I treated you
Like I always did.
The same aimless teasing
The same inside joke
About green beans and salamanders.
I didn’t hug you
One last time
Before you were gone.
As the rushing fountains half-drowned your
words I just watched you
Unaware
That I’d never see you again.
Now
You sit
In the back of my mind
Next to the too-loud, flashing arcade games,
Next to the overpriced plastic toys,
Next to the picnic table
Full of pink and white cupcakes
That were a bit too sweet.
Next to all the other people
I happened to leave behind.
And I
Can never seem to find
The right way
To say that
I’m sorry.
Discovery Falcon Charter School
Grade: 8
SARATOGA LIBRARY
High School Winner
Saratoga High School
Grade: 9