A brief introduction to the general public: I graduated from an all-girls Catholic school in Massachusetts this past June. After four years in the same tiny classrooms with the same girls, our hive mind remains intact for the most part as we have gone off to college.

A brief introduction to the NDA community: Surprise! Bet you thought you saw the last of me! I told my class I would dedicate my first published work to them. Ignoring the fact this is my second article, this one is for you.

To the NDA Tyngsboro Class of 2016,

How many hours did we spend studying poetry, and do any of us really understand it? Like, really get it? How many high school poetry lessons do you need to sit through before the magical beacon of poetic understanding bangs you over the head so that you can analyze meter, rhythm, and rhyme? So that you understand what the sound and the meaning of the poem is and you're able to sum it up in a concise essay on an AP exam without being totally overcome by the emotions the poet is trying to invoke?

I don’t quite think any of us reached that point in our English classes over the four years we spent together. We saw Mrs. Vitale get emotional time and time again about Shakespeare or kittens, and Mrs. Basbas made us write poems when we were freshmen, and Mrs. Patterson threw some poems in there too. I know I never got it then:

However, what if we are the poem? Humans cannot fully comprehend what it means to be a human without throwing themselves into a pit of existential anxiety and dread. Poetry is, I would argue, the most human method of writing in existence. Our thoughts are not in orderly chronology with rising action, climax and conclusion ordered out at specific times in our lives like a novel. Our actions are not carefully planned and our words are not nearly as meaningful as those in a play. We are spontaneous creatures that no one will ever understand in exactly the same way, even if we get it in vaguely the same way.

Shall I compare us to a summer’s day?
I believe that we are much more interesting
than sunshine and rainbows, we are glistening
but not perfect. In fact, we were insane!
We fought, we laughed, we learned, we graduated, and today
We’re spread across the country and listening
to lectures and professors, learning, waiting
for our chance to make a difference someday.

I thought I wouldn’t miss the way we talked
about taboos and all the crazy stuff.
The uniforms are packed away and now
we have to talk to boys—culture shock!
We thought that four years was just long enough
but I miss you girls—past me does not know how.

(Did you catch that turn? We all saw that coming.)

I know, I know, I got a bit sappy at the end there, but it’s true that I miss what we had. I miss sitting in our tiny (closet) senior lounge and studying last minute in the hallways, trying to keep it together even when we’re sure that this will be the test that finally kills us.

But look at us—we survived. We all graduated. We all got into college. We’re still breathing, and EATING, and sleeping (hopefully), and creating and learning. We’ve come so far, but we’ve still got so far to go.

It was raining on our first day
And we didn’t know each other
Yet, but we had all of our books
And our backpacks were filled with hope
And our eyes were not yet darkened
By hundreds of late nights

And when we went home that first night
We had met a few people after that first day
As the August sky darkened
And we had just met each other
And we had some friends we hoped
And then we cracked open the books

We went through so many books
And texts and pieces of paper during those nights
And the group chats and Skype sessions with “I hope
That school is cancelled again today”
And supporting each other
Through the bad days and through the dark

But there were more happy times than dark
I like to think, and now our books
Are in the hands of other
Students who have long nights
Ahead of them and someday
They’ll glow and group up like us, they hope.

And we should hope
Too that they do and that they make it through the dark
Of junior year stress and through graduation day
And pass on the books
To other girls who will spend long nights
Relying on one another

We were some type of Other-
Worldly creatures I think and I hope
We don’t lose what we learned in those long nights,
Quiet, in our darkened
Rooms, not just from the books
But from each other, every day.

We survived those nights and days
We still have each other, even if we left the books
Behind, now in more girls’ hands, subject to more texts, in the dark.

We have many more late nights ahead of us and many more tests we’ll have to take. Even though we are spread far and wide, we still are connected by our past. How many other people can say that our art teacher fled the country over winter break?

“Look at where we are. Look at where we started. The fact that you’re alive is a miracle. Just stay alive, that would be enough!” From Hamilton.

I can't wait to see where we go from here.