Feb 13
futurefemalepitcher's picture


Don’t be afraid if your writing isn’t good enough.
It is.
Write like you know that someone is about to publish it.
Write like you know that someone important is about to read it.
Write like you know that someone is about to read the words aloud on national television,
And everyone is calling in to say how amazing it is.
Please keep writing.
I know a lot of people who would love to read your work,
And know that poems and stories are being carried on in this world.
If not for me,
Write for your grandchildren.
Write for your grandmother.
Write for yourself.
Keep writing.
Feb 07
futurefemalepitcher's picture

Morning Girl

Fog drifted sleepily around the neighborhood
The girl was sleepy too
But she had dragged herself off of her bed in the adoption center
To see what was going to happen.
A ghostly lamplight glowed from high above
Making our girl shiver.
She was so young
So scared
And the morning was drifting around her
Settling onto her shoulders like a pet snake
That could strike at any moment.
Towering buildings grew from the streets below
They were protective
And fierce.
The girl looked up.
After waiting for nearly an hour,
The sun,
Like a great big golden beach ball,
Was rising over the tops of the city skyscrapers.
The lamplight flickered out.
Our girl was in awe
Of the beauty around her.
"Finally," she thought.
My time has come."

Feb 06
futurefemalepitcher's picture


Sometimes I feel that
My glasses are my protection from the world.
Without them
I would be scared
Out of place.
When I'm staring from behind them
I feel like the world is fake
And everything is just an illusion.
It's not something real that I can touch.
It's just a stupid reality T.V. show where the characters are way to dramatic about their love lives.
I'm just watching
Waiting for my part in the world
To open up.
So that I can make a difference
Even with my protective goggles on.
So that suddenly,
My world isn't T.V. anymore.
It's real life.
Feb 06
futurefemalepitcher's picture

Delirious Rain (Worship the Rain Part 2)

I pull on a warm sweater
And soft, flannel pants.
Running downstairs,
I pull on my brown leather boots
And creak open the metal door
And dash outside,
Slipping a little on the cold stone steps.
It's pouring rain outside,
But it doesn't feel bad.
I splash around the yard,
Feeling delirious.
The light from the house is glowing,
Framing the whole white, familiar, building.
A tall pine tree towers from behind,
Protecting us.
Huge puddles from where there used to be ice are lying around,
And I gleefully splash water on my clothes and boots.
I turn my face up to the heavens,
Water pelts on my glasses, agreeing with me.
When I run inside, I kick off my boots
And grab a cupcake from the platter my mom is frosting.
I shove the whole thing in my mouth happily,
Then run upstairs,
Wiping frosting off my lip,
Water dripping down my back.
In my room,
Feb 06
futurefemalepitcher's picture


Being innocent isn't so hard
I won't be a kid forever.
I'll have to go to high school
Then college
Then have a job
Then retire
Then die.
I try to savor what time I have left
But then I realize what I actually should be doing
Not that.
Because if I'm thinking about savoring and how it won't last forever,
Then I'm not really in the moment.
I try to forget. 
But it's hard.
Then I try
To have fun.
Which is even harder
But I have so many people in my life who I love
And who support me
That I couldn't name them all.
So I'd rather think about them
Than me.
They're more important to me.
I wish them the best.

Jan 23
futurefemalepitcher's picture


On this website
I'm myself 
And so is everyone else
And we all collaborate and support each other
And I wonder:
If I ever saw any of you
Would I recognize any of you?
Would we be like
"I know you!"
"You wrote that cool poem!"
Or would we pass each other in the street
Like strangers?
The funny thing is 
I don't think we ever will be strangers
To each other.
Jan 21
futurefemalepitcher's picture

My Eyes

I wonder what other people see
When they look into my eyes.
Galaxies burnt into my pupils?
A fire 
Waiting to burn?
That has frozen my eyes until there's nothing left but anger?
I see
My same 
Dark brown pupils
And I see them when I look at my sister.
But I think
Mine are different
Darker maybe
Always laughing.
Or possibly always ready 
To pounce.
My eyes
Have seen things no one else has seen.
Because they are
MY eyes.
I like to think
That they tell a different story
Hidden behind the plates of glass
That are my tortoishell glasses
Peering at the world
Judging everything.
When they get fogged up
I imagine that I can't see the world at all.
It is blocked from me.
When I am looking at my world
I feel like a silent watcher
As if I am reading a book
And I will never see the ending.
So for now
Jan 09
futurefemalepitcher's picture

Gateway to Spring

As I sat upon the steps of Winter
Feeling cold and grey,
The ice, it pricked me like a splinter
All my joy, it flew away.

The wind, it whipped
Blew through my hair,
The hail, it ripped,
Through frozen air.

But then through the storm
I heard a sound
That left me quite warm
And safe, and bound

For warmer days
And warmer nights
For happiness that stays
And inspires delight

So up from the cold stone steps I stood
The wind, it moaned,
But I knew I could,
And would.

Through a door,
With a window pane,
I saw a poor 
Old man with a cane.

”Come in” he cried,
And gratefully,
I stepped inside
And left the cold and pain behind.

And now you know
How I spread my wings
And stumbled upon
The likes of spring.
Jan 08
futurefemalepitcher's picture


We’re all incomplete pieces of art.
Smudges on all of us.
Of meanness and sadness and hurt and anger.
And bright splotches of happiness and creativity and kindness, too. 
If I could paint portraits of all of you,
I would. 
And I would make them perfect. 
Because that’s what we all are.
We might tease each other sometimes.
Because we’re just teens.
Okay fine, kids. 
And we love each other. It’s true. 
We will help each other complete our portraits. 
We will draw on them with pastels and paints and crayons and pencils.
We will laugh and create splotches of color.
And we’ll make them
Dec 22
futurefemalepitcher's picture

The Swan

I'm stuck between two pieces of river rock
I can hardly breathe but
There's beauty above me.
I try to focus on the shape up there
And not on my leaky breath
It's murky and vague
But moving quickly, like a motor but much more beautiful,
Because this is nature.
I can't do this anymore.
I let out the last of my breath, preparing for the world to blur around me.
But to my surprise, I can see the white feathers more clearly than ever.
Is the swirling substance around me 
Giving me a gift?
Or is it the creature
Floating serenely above?
Suddenly the swan pokes its orange bill into the water,
staring at me quizzically.
It seems to say,
"Are you one of us?"
My baggy clothes and stringy hair hang about my body like a soggy blanket
My foot aches with the pain of the sharp stones
But in that moment
All I can see
Is the swan.