Writing

On the hearth

there is a fireplace

it has a pile of chopped logs,

coals,

torn up pieces of newspaper

awaiting their burnt endings

On the hearth

a fire burns

flickering and crackling

Do I dare write about this

about real honesty

about what stands in front of me

next to me

always there

all day?

Do I dare point this out

without you asking

who was this about

A monkey resting

leaves to filter, clouds above

and lies out of reach?

i used to dream

of the day

i started middle school,

thinking the excitement

of getting older

outweighed the pain

of growing up.

my teachers wondered why.

and now that i'm in

The air was thick with heat and sunscreen. Our cleats kicked up dust as we ran onto the field already tired from two earlier games.  Summer felt like nonstop softball tournaments weekend after weekend.

YWP is for those who write

And for those who want to write

For those who see words as the only way out of the hell they're in.

YWP is a safe home for those who feel as if they don't have one