Rovva

Rovva

QC

YWP Alumni

Posts

  • Remembering Snow Days

    This piece is a textual representation of what I was thinking this morning when I woke up to a snow day. My university classes are cancelled for today and it reminded me of what it felt like to be a kid on a snow day playing outside.

  • Eleven Years

    For eleven years, I've been a part of the YWP community. I started when I was 11 years old and I went by my old name back then. I used to publish my work here all the time, but much of my publishing has now moved to my university.

  • A Nine-Year Journey

    For nine years, I've been a part of YWP and for nine years, I've felt seen by this community. Even as I've grown up, I've watched new young writers come and share their thoughts, emotions, and stories.
  • Beaming writer

    In sixth grade, our class had a show-and-tell every week,
    and every week, a small handful of students were selected to participate in the next one.
    As I was selected, anxiety kicked in.
    I wasn't really proud of anything.
  • Love And Embalming

    They carried you away in a black hearse.
    Our black eyes,
    beaten and bruised by love,
    caressed your black coffin.
    They opened your casket and there you were,
    your eyes closed,
    relaxed and so cold,
    and yet you seemed so alive.

Loves

  • Hair

    It was Thanksgiving 2024, and my mom, my aunt, and I were tasked with one of the most grueling challenges in all of human history. 

    “You’re my sisters! You’re supposed to do this for me!” my uncle shrieked. 

  • Bookish

    I'm most likely to spend all night reading

    and then regret it the next day. 

    I'm the most likely to bring cookies for my friends

    just to be the only one who likes them. 

  • My True Home, Vermont

    Being a Vermonter is spending six months of the year wearing a jacket.

    Being a Vermonter is running outside in nothing but leggings and a sweater, thinking it’s springtime when it hits 47 degrees.

  • MY RIGHTS

    "You want your rights?"

    "Come and get it," said the snake.

    It was wrapped around a tree

    in the confines of his tail,

    a paper labeled "YOUR RIGHTS."

    I stared up at the snake,

  • Ice cream

    Sickly sweet,

    Your words touch my prefrontal cortex

    Like soft burning snow.

    Your touch tastes sweeter

    Than ice cream

    On a humid sun-streaked day.

    You,

    Frost-borne by the north wind,