Daily Read | Page 2 | Young Writers Project

Feb 28

roxyforthewin

God and The Public Schools

I often wonder who made me like this,
God or the public schools?
Was it haMelech haOlam
Or the principal and His rules?
Was I born to be unhappy? I wasn’t born to play this game.
Was I born to be a puppet? I was born to feel ashamed.
I ask myself these questions and I ask them of the sky
I ask, “Why must I live like this? What does it mean to die?”
I ask, “How come the others didn’t seem to suffer like I did?”
I ask, “Btzelem Elohim? Unless you’re still a lonely kid.”
I ask, “Why did you give me this body that I was born to hate?”
I ask, “How come I didn’t understand until it was too late?”
“Am I really made in your image if I wish I was someone else?”
“Am I really made in your image if they destroyed my sense of self?”
I ask the darkness questions, I ask, I plead, I pray
But the superintendent of the heavens simply turns and looks away.
The clay that I was made with didn’t fire properly

Posted: 02.28.23

Feb 25

poetry

Amelia_v

Almost Midnight Thoughts

It's the time in a New England winter when I never fully get the cold out of my bones, and all I wish for is summer when I will want winter once again.

Why is it that high school is the way it is? Like you have to hang out with people like you, the popular kids should never be messed with, and that's just the way it is, when ten years from now, we probably won't remember half of the high school.

We watched bull fighting in Spanish, I was having a hard time with the pain the bulls went through. Yes, I know it's art, but I don't like art if animals are killed.

One day I am going to wake up and wish time was moving slower, one day I am going to want to go back in time. Right now, I don't know what day or week or month I will want to relive when I am 20 or 30 or even 50.

Posted: 02.25.23

Feb 24

poetry challenge: Sunrise

Roselord

Morning's Twilight

I have never woken early to see the sunrise,
but sometimes…
I have waited for it.

On short, summer nights,
I have lain awake,
Watching the sky turn;
Imperceptible and wondrous.

It is a creeping thing, at first.
How the darkness shines, so briefly, around the stars,
as it tips over the line between night and day.
(A light gray.)

And as these pinprick stars
bleed into the glowing, ghostly gloom,
the silver swirls around itself;
like scattered sugar to a simmering pot.
Like dandelion seeds, aimlessly absorbed in the fog.

Ever present, yet fading out of sight,
and gone just in time
for the sun to bloom, like deep-orange roses;
spread like melting butter,
roll, as slow as golden honey,
and warm apricot jam,
falling upwards from the knife of the horizon

across the endless land of day.

Posted: 02.24.23

Feb 24

poetry challenge: Happy

Nya.Perry

Where I Find My Happiness

Sometimes I think my joy is spread across the world.
It’s hidden in tiny cracks and crevices.
It’s behind waterfalls and in rays of sun seeping through curtains.
I don’t think I’ll ever find it all, but that’s ok.
I tend to search for happiness in big things.
I look for it in trophies and approval.
But my happiness is tricky and likes to hide where I least expect to find it.
I find it anyway.
I find my happiness in little things.
I find it in rainbows, in constellations, in warm, friendly smiles.
I find my happiness in hot chocolate, ocean waves, and the sunrise.
And when I’m tired from a long search for joy and I start to give up,
Happiness comes to me, in a hug or a word of reassurance or just a friendly hello.
But lately I’ve made a strange discovery.
I tend to find the most joy when I forget to look,
When I don’t have to search anymore.
Maybe that’s just when I’m truly happy.

Posted: 02.24.23

Feb 22

poetry challenge: Love List

Amelia_v

What I Love

The smell after it rains
Dogs who smile when they are happy
People who make me laugh
Sunsets
The view from the top of a tall mountain
Drawing for hours and hours
Getting lost in a good book
Wearing skirts that spin around me like the breeze
Swimming till my fingers and toes are prunes
When I am told I am pretty
Friends who never judge the real crazy me
Family who know the real person inside my body

Posted: 02.22.23

Feb 22

poetry challenge: Great Artists

wildcat

Lonely Pine

In the shadow of winter, beneath its piles of fur, its green coat against the stark white of the season's bounty, lies the trunk which seems like only a memory hidden under the branches of the lonely pine.

Roots dive into the earth as if seeking shelter from the cold, while the snow closes in on the clearing where winter has not yet conquered the land, as the lonely pine grows on solitude, alone, yet taller than all else, its tip like a beacon in the sky, announcing, "I'm here! Don't forget!"

As the darkness grows, the moonlight shimmers, casting the lonely pine's silhouette on the hill where it has taken root, like a monster rearing on hind legs.

And me, insignificant, I am watching through my window, wondering how something so magnificent could ever topple and fall, though standing tall and strong in the moment.

Posted: 02.22.23

Feb 21

fiction challenge: Sentence Completing No. 17

Summit House-WCS

Sore Muscles

Story by Emerson Campbell, Williston, VT

I got up from my desk to stretch for a bit after working on the blueprint for so long. My dominant hand ached after holding my pencil so tight, so I balled it into a fist then stretched its fingers again. Slowly, over and over, for a bit. The repetitive motion was calming.

I placed my hands on my lower spine and leaned retrograde, the bones in my lower back crackling appreciatively. I swung my arms around, loosening the sore muscles in my neck after staying in a fixed position for hours. I yawned briefly, making the comical sound and all, and looked out my window.

Posted: 02.21.23

Feb 21

poetry

rishi_jraman256

An Atheist's Reflections on Death.

“there are more things in heaven and earth, horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”

in the graveyard of my mind
i watch heaven and hell fight over
souls deprived of thought, light, and love
they say movies are better when you don’t know the ending,
but can i give a spoiler alert? hell always wins,
because everybody here is a sinner.

i see delegates from all the underworlds,
i gossip with a few of them, they tell me
about odysseus’ punishments and what animals
they decided to turn those high-class 1980’s diplomats into
and somehow i always find the same thing:
death is the one person who doesn’t discriminate.

they’re all so afraid of her, they say she rules with darkness
and that no matter who the person is or what they did,
she lines them up in queues as long as time,
and they all go to their respective places of hatred

Posted: 02.21.23

Feb 20

poetry

idbailey23

Dad

It's these nights that I just want to call my dad,
the nights I wonder what I'm doing wrong,
why this world despises my energy,
dislikes my every effort,
distrusts my every thought,
it's the night that no mother can soothe,
the trials of ragged prevail,
my tired soul and fresh tears,
it's when I'm beaten the most.
This night I need my dad.
I sit wondering if he'd even be awake,
if I, too, am a burden on his heavy day.
It's my yearning for comfort,
a connection that never seems to fail,
one heavy soul to another,
it's this night I need him.
Mother pushes me to feel something I can't face with my eyes.
Dad listens so I may mourn it instead with my soul.
It's this night when nobody hears my silence,
no one sees my invisibility,
the night no one knows my hurt,
that's when I need my dad,
and even I can't bear to press the button.

Posted: 02.20.23

Feb 18

poetry

ruby444

(my identity is) not a tragedy

pale pink flower bud
unfurling in the misty dawn
fragile, beautiful, innocent miracle

cupped hands and soft caresses
but poised to savagely crumble
if the situation so calls for

instances of patronizing utterances
of stealthily stolen phrases
an astonished lack of explanation

of how they could be corrupted so
those muted inoffensive blooms
they have not a clue what they’ve done

under the guidance of sinful hands
sharp claws pulling puppet strings
spoiling the beauty of the field

in this field i am but one flower
but for this garden i boldly stand
rebelling against notions of weak stems

in opposition to your detestable words
and poorly concealed disgust
i am not naive nor mistaken

not a tainted girlish innocence
nor a misguided wayward youth
and certainly not doomed from the start

do not weep into our leaves

Posted: 02.18.23

Feb 14

poetry

ruby444

Sugar Water

silver spoon, sugar water
sweetness and structure
lost in a swirling abyss

far removed and achingly so
from days of crystalline boldness
glimmering in the sun

diluted and formless
flowing into countless shapes
powerless against pressure

desperately clinging
with nauseating stickyness
so it’s best to avoid closeness

spineless, wretched
sad derivative
of pearly white sugar cubes

Posted: 02.14.23

Feb 14

fiction

Jack Savas

Silence

I've always been fascinated that since the moment I was born there had always been cars driving, birds chirping, and people talking. Every second of my life, this unrelenting continuum of sound and movement somewhere out in the world. But what would make that all stop? Even for a moment, what would make every car freeze in its tracks, every bird halt its tune, and most importantly, what would make the world fall silent, even for a moment, from the chatter of man?

Posted: 02.14.23

Feb 13

fiction challenge: Sentence Completing No. 16

miss_phee

Rosehip Tea

I poured the tea into our mugs, watching every drop fill the mug up. I felt the sun’s rays glaring down on me, burning my clothes and skin. I could faintly make out my friend sitting across from me, staring at me. He was always onto me about the “proper etiquette” of pouring tea into cups.

Posted: 02.13.23

Feb 13

poetry

maelynslavik

Little Things Lighting Up Our Earth

If I were invisible,
I would spend my day searching,
searching for little things
that go unnoticed in the
busy, blaring, bonkers
chaos of life.
The little things that are small and perfect,
lighting up like stars,
glowing through the darkness,
brightening the darker things in life.
I would wander through the
desolate places of our earth,
knowing the perfect little things exist,
and they thrive in the most unexpected places.
I would learn their habits
of where they appear,
the places they think need the beauty
of their little gifts of perfection
that they always use to inspire.
I would look past the large distractions
that keep us from
noticing the delicate
puzzle pieces of life.
The pieces that make the puzzle unique
and beautiful.
If I were invisible,
I would tell them not to hide,
not to tuck themselves away.

Posted: 02.13.23

Feb 12

poetry

gogo7856

Understanding Silence

Not all silence is empty
It’s filled with soft murmurs
of the sounds
that can’t be heard

Silence is a gift
given by daydreams
taken by nightmares
drenched in a cold yet welcoming touch

Its gentle hands cup your face
and whisper
"It’s ok"

You can snuggle into its arms
and feel safe and steady
It listens
It shares your emotions

It will hold your tears
for a moment
Then wash them
and let them dry

It will toss your soft smile
into the air
and let it combust around the walls
covering them in honey-filled sunlight

It will bring you the hum of noises
that you never bothered to listen to
It stoops down
to hand you this gift

It’s proud of its work
Proud of the way it can hold you
when no one else will

When the silence next hands you
this rare and inspiring gift
try to remember

Posted: 02.12.23

Feb 11

poetry

Mercury

Union

Love should be a warm blanket
not a dance over hot coals, crumbs in your bedsheets
or threatening glances
And if it is a dance, let it be one
where I am yours and you belong to me.
but I only ever felt like property.
A dance is a union
without begging please respect me.
A body is a vessel for a soul
and my soul is not yours to keep
in the name of protection.
For someone who speaks so highly of permission
you ignore that it is given or not given,
not a gift, an exchange.
For someone who longs for union,
your actions betray your true intention, possession.
I am not a house fire, a flame to be extinguished,
I am kindling, flickering.
I have so long to wait to have a body that you never touched,
let me be a fire that you would regret pouring water on,
let me dance,

Posted: 02.11.23

Feb 09

poetry

raphaellalaurence

In the Palms of My Hands

The sand that coats the ground
holds the shape of the wind
It's all beige and blue
until the moon rises and the stars compile a brief glimpse of the Milky Way

Every day I watch them die
in the palms of my hands
The only flowers that plant roots
in my skin
sprout from the tops of cacti

I cup no water,
no forgiving shade

On good days,
the dying save themselves
or are saved by the border patrol
who claim to be the heroes

I watch them and do nothing
while the dry heat of the
stringent sun sucks the life out of
the innocent

But is it really the sun's fault?

If only my hands were not graveyard valley
If only the immigration system could be changed
If only the Americans would stop repeating their xenophobic history
If only the money spent on keeping them out was spent on
protecting their livelihood

Posted: 02.09.23

Feb 09

poetry

maelynslavik

A glowing web of good deeds

Large gestures can be grand,
They can leave impressions,
Memories that won’t ever fade.
Small gestures, however,
They are what keep us going,
What get us through our days.
What keep smiles on our faces
Even when we’re stressed,
Sad, even angry.
The little, kind things
That are brought upon us
Create an endless chain.
One small gesture can lead to another,
And soon it will have looped back.
They create constellations in a void,
Little glowing orbs
That connect,
Forming the most unexpected things,
Lighting up the darkness.
If you expand the light,
Training your eyes to focus solely on the glow,
The inky darkness will evaporate,
Slowly fizzling, slipping,
Disintegrating away,
Until the black is almost fully gone.
The threads of warmth
Connecting the little,
Glowing stars,
Are smiles, laughs,
Thank-yous,
Reactions to the orbs.

Posted: 02.09.23

Feb 07

poetry, rant

ruby444

something i wrote about my best friend

i love you. you are my best friend and i love you. your energy is so beautiful and comfortingly familiar. i can scoop some of it up between my hands and notice the soothing array of colors melding together. i can see it bend and tremor around you, even when everyone else fails to do so. it lingers in my home, nestling between forgotten spaces. i am filled with a strange melancholy once you leave. but once you are here you can curl up in the hollows of my heart and i will feel like a person once again. i am coming up for air and letting the sun tickle my skin. you grab me by the wrists and pull me up without fail. we will not let each other drown

Posted: 02.07.23

Feb 07

poetry challenge: Great Poets

Roselord

Dandelion

Inspired by Mary Oliver's Dogfish
--

Some sort of stubborn, desperate thing
kept searching for the light
and crawling ever-upwards, through the dirt.
Trod upon and ragged,
with a fierce hunger.

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a sidewalk
cracked and desolate, with a single, near-dead flower
forcing its way up,
against the weight of the sky.

And you know
what they say,
about what doesn't kill you.

I wanted
myself to be different; I wanted
to disappear, like the burning of morning fog, I wanted
myself to fall, and rise,
like a wave, like the sun, like the part of the morning
when the stars fall
out of the sky: A question, an answer;
I wanted
to diffuse into the world
like the light on the horizon; I wanted
to know
wherever I was, I was

Okay.
Deeply.

For more than just a moment or two.

Posted: 02.07.23

Search form

God and The Public Schools

Almost Midnight Thoughts

Morning's Twilight

Where I Find My Happiness

What I Love

Lonely Pine

Sore Muscles

An Atheist's Reflections on Death.

Dad

(my identity is) not a tragedy

Sugar Water

Silence

Rosehip Tea

Little Things Lighting Up Our Earth

Understanding Silence

Union

In the Palms of My Hands

A glowing web of good deeds

something i wrote about my best friend

Dandelion

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