Posts
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Seasons
I. -
June
The blue sky soars with promise
hope
inspiration.
School can barely even count as school
and before I know it
it's over,
an end
and yet a beginning all the same.
And then it's full of
jumping into the pool -
Embers
We have been left the embers
of a fire
for us to burn.
We have been left to create
future generations
who will never see snow.
We have been left with a circumstance
that is the doing of our ancestors -
Your poem
We each stood at the front of the classroom in turn,
voices stumbling over the words of the poem
we were forced to recite,
hands twisting, feet tapping,
excited to be back at our desks, where we were
alone
unnoticed
safe. -
a normal day
Dark purple creeps into the black of night
when I first pry my sleep-filled eyes open
wishing I could remain within my warm cocoon of blankets
one second longer.
My head pounding with fatigue,
I arise -
Blue Eyes Chapter 2
Note: This is the second chapter of my novel Blue Eyes. You can find the first chapter here:https://youngwritersproject.org/node/46146
PHIE
Loves
-
amnesia
wrap your laced-up fingers around my throat like you don’t want to breathe,
hold my pupils in your palms. do you want to smile?
amnesia. the brain doesn’t like the watercolour poem of my skeletal frame,
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Dinner With You
I only ever came here for the fortune cookies
I don't know if you can tell
when I stare at the menu
under shiny plastic with a red rim
when I glance
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middle school chorus concert
we stood on stage in black & white eyes tired but we sang til tomorrow anyways // they caught our eyes as it ended raised their hands to clap but i turned quick away convinced our performance wasn't worth more than // the quiet glint of confid
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Lilac
I bring my nose close to
the Lilac
as I smell it's like I'm smelling a universe of
peaceful trickling streams,
birds softly singing,
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In that Field
It never happened
that everything was beautiful and nothing hurt
but if it did it would have been
lying in the grass
the kind that surrounds you like the ocean
and flows like a river
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Life Plans, In The Style of Fredrik Backman
Rori Acher is eighteen years old and dying. Any licensed medical professional would pronounce her perfectly healthy. But there are many ways to be dying that are not physical.