In Vermont,
the middle of spring means everything is brown.

The mud that churns and splashes under tires on the dirt roads.
The bark of the newly-budding trees,
Wet with the rain of promised flowers to come.
The grass that remains pale and scratchy,
Newly free of its heavy winter coating.

A walk in the woods brings new life
To this time so devoid of color.
Though, it does not come in the form of visible hues.

It comes from the chirps and songs of birds,
Who have returned and brought with them such pleasant noise,
Breaking the silence of the winter months,
As barren as the cold landscape itself.

It comes from the sticky sweet sap
Oozing from the maple trees,
Collected in metal buckets,
To later coat your tongue and breakfast,
Thick and rich like honey.

It comes from the smell,
That is so strongly the smell of spring,

I watch silently as a woman brings in another one, strapped to the chair. This one is quiet as she is placed in front of a table. Beside her, a fellow resident is pouring milk into his napkin with determination. The woman frowns and grabs his arm, “stop doing that.” He doesn’t reply, but puts the cup down. The minute that the woman disappears around the corner, he picks up the milk once more and continues his mission.

I look away.

Everywhere we go my generation hears, ‘you are the future’

But how are you expecting us to be the future, if we learn by example

If we are supposed to learn by YOUR example

But your example is drilling for oil that will soon run out

Your example is sex offenders getting away without a charge  

Your example is to throw tear gas at mothers
To let innocent children die

Just because they are different from us
We have heard them called ‘aliens’

But maybe we are the outsiders

We are creating a barrier

Between ourselves, and the world

But is the wall to keep other people out

Or us in

What is so dangerous about a little girl in flip flops

What kind of example is being set by discrimination

Just because they have different beliefs

Or love the same gender

Does that give you the right to judge them?

Through dead grassy fields

And tall dry trees

Through murky lakes

And a hot harsh breeze


It’s not that fun

But I’m thrilled to be here

Because the next step

Is drawing ever near


The airport, the plane

And the whole new continent

Thoughts of the future

Keep me more than content


So I sit in this van

Unaware of my home

My mind across the sea

And my heart in Rome

Once, in Paris, when you were very young
You realized you had nowhere to go
So you took yourself to Notre Dame
Attracted by the stained glass windows
With little to nothing for you to live on
You found you were no longer alone
Now all of that may be gone
But you are still here. What do you know?

I thought, tonight I would call you up
Meet you in front of some payphone
A quarter could take us nearly anywhere
As long as you don't leave me alone
I'm just trying to keep it together
As wonders and history burn to the ground
It's true, nothing may last forever
I just hope I will always have you around.

Some damage we do cannot be undone
Some hurt, some pain, is irreversible
Sometimes we are the ones in the wrong
And even our best apologies are futile
It doesn't matter if it was 'an accident'
It happened because I wasn't careful

(Written in response to the challenge "Activist" in the workshop, Poetry with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano)

I am underestimated.

People look at me and see an average white American teenager.
13 years old
With medium length brown hair
With a quick smile and and a quicker tongue.

But people never stick around enough to find out more.
Even my closest friends have yet to scratch the surface of my dreams

I've heard all my life that I'd better marry a wealthy husband who loves me and I'll have a good life.

But maybe I don't want wealth.
Maybe I'm not looking for a Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet
I'm not some damsel in distress.
I can take care of myself thank you very much.

I want to go to college and meet new people
And have new experiances
And learn new things

Please read this. It is so important to me that this story be told. I know it's long, but it's the most important thing in my life. 

When I first took the book off the shelf, I didn't know what it would begin. I didn't know how attached to these characters I would become, and I didn't know what tears of agony I would cry when I knew that I would never know them. It all began with a book.

There are myriad stories about the stars. Elaborate webs of shimmering lights with entire myths advocating them. Generations have input their opinions and theories on the history of space. But I like to think that each star has a million extraordinary stories.

    Three hundred billion stars in the Milky Way and with so many more galaxies beyond. More stars than anyone could possibly count. Ample opportunity for the people of Earth to tell their story, if we’re selfish enough to think we are the only ones.

Join Alexandra Contreras-Montesano (angelaweasley) for Week Two of her special YWP online poetry workshop! Try this week's challenge: Persona. Alex is a senior at Burlington High School and as part of her work as the National Student Poet for the Northeast, she is offering this workshop to YWP writers to share her passion for poetry and to create a magazine of your best writing and art! Check out the full workshop here! It runs until the end of May. Sign up here or jump in one challenge at a time!

READ IT HERE
 

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