I Cried Today

My seventh grade students have been reading The House on Mango street, discussing the content of the vignettes, studying Sandra Cisneros's style and writing their own vignettes. Today they submitted their vignettes about people they know who are like "Minerva" or "sally" who have been treated badly.
They were all very impressive, but this one blew me away.

Anya Dreams

Anya is the girl with dreamy eyes that stare into space and hands that move like paintbrushes to create masterpieces. The girls in school think she's crazy because she almost tried to kill herself with Jania's skipping rope while hollering that her life wasn't good enough for this world. The teachers in school said being this crazy is stupid. They remember Jania's skipping rope and laughs like the sirens of a speeding police car.

Anya the Dreamer, what do you think about when you stare at the blackboard with your long, sullen face resting on your left arm? And when your hands make graceful moves like those acrobats in the circus you make a plain sheet of paper a priceless piece of art; will you teach me?

Anya--who wishes the world would all be silent--is drowning in the sea of malicious insults and fencing the misery that pierces her heart like the spears of the Indians. Anya--whose Mama left with her grandparents for a job in Australia--cries and cries on the railings outside the fourth floor library in school, her tears sparkling in the shrouded sunlight till it falls to the ground, splashing in defeat to the gravity weighing things down.

Anya, do you sometimes wish you could fly out of school, out of the misery you're in? And won't stop till you find your Mama in Australia and stare into the sky with her and your deep set eyes that would watch the sun go up, the clouds moving away, the moon glow, and the stars shimmer. And you won't cry anymore because you have surfaced from the sea and can hear the melody of the birds, the rustle of the winds, and the music of your soul. And your tears would evaporate to the sky without the world thinking you're not worthy of living. You have found where you belong, Anya. Where you could lean on your left arm with your face now covered in the bliss that has been hiding behind your deafening sadness, without anybody throwing insults at you; and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream, and no one would call that stupid.