YWP Newsletter – 6/1/2021

[Photo credit: "Bubbles" by laurenm]
Hey my fellow writers!
I feel it’s finally appropriate to say happy summer! June is like the official beginning for me. I hope that all of you are doing okay mentally, emotionally, and everything in between. The end of the school year can be a LOT. Make sure to check in with yourself and give yourself a break sometimes. That said, enjoy these recent selections from young writers! YOU CAN READ ALL THE NEWSLETTERS HERE!

Too many thoughts
By ivyparks

running in cirles
as confused tears stream
down my face in 
a beautiful dance.

strawberries and cream,
mixing on your tongue, heavy
breath on her face.

i like laughing while i
throw my blue patterned china
at the wall, giggling
as i jump around the shards.

rain falling on her face
as you kiss her, down
by the river where you used
to take me to.

dancing at 2am as
violins swell on the soundtrack
in my mind, my heart racing
as i sing softly to the
framed picture the eiffel tower.

late night calls when you
can't stop thinking about her
smile, or her laugh.

screaming at the sky as
i pick at the strings on
my ukelele, long nails scraping
against the shingles on the roof.

watching her favorite movies,
having a great time with your
normal girl at her normal house.

sliding down the roof onto
the swing, throwing a dandelion
crown onto the stray dog who
wanders around the property.

too many thoughts, too many
thoughts about you, so i pour the sleepy
tea over my head, hoping the
thoughts will get tired in 20 minutes.

they didn't.

[Illustration credit: "Sun Raven" by cedar]
By Treblemaker

Today this kid wrote a sincere thank you letter to me.
He wanted to thank me for being his friend.
For talking to him,
During our 7th period jazz band class.

He said he's never been so scared in his life
As when he came to the first rehearsal,
And a few rehearsals after that.
His thick black curly hair, thin shoulders and worried eyes. 
He proceeded to tell me how he was simply grateful
I started talking to him,
I was grateful he answered me.
He did this wide eyes stare that was slightly off putting
Like he was suprised a ghost just entered a room.
I joked about it to him,
teasingly asking him if he was, in fact, ok
On account of he looked scared,
I'd then mimic the face.
This became our little game.
We'd pass by in the hallway,
separate friend groups
different classes,
unrelated agendas
And he'd make this face at me, through his mask
And I'd return it instantly.
I knew it was fun,
Heck I greatly enjoyed it.
But reading his thank you note
Telling me I made a difference in his high school career
Simply for being kind to him,
Not a fake kind,
Not teacher-said-to-be kind
Not a back stabber kind.
Just kind,
Touched my heart.
Because that's what I set out to do in my high school career –
Be friends with people outside of my class.
Talk to kids a few grades below me.
Shake off the social stigma that
Who you hang out with determines your social hierarchy.
I wanted to take someone under my wing
And hide them from that awful stigma
resulting in hateful words and isolation.
I didn't mean to become his friend,
I just wanted to be nice,
After that letter,
After reading it over and over and over again,
Swelling with pride and appreciation,
I am so glad I took the time to talk to that kid
To tease him
And create a mutual inside joke
That's now been running for months.

Today this kid wrote a sincere letter to me.
To thank me for being his friend.
And I want to write a letter back,
Because I didn't know my kindness would mean so much to him,
and little did he know
his letter would mean so much to me.

[Photo credit: "Afternoon Glory" by Vicarious]
It's not a cage, it's a resting place
By QueenofDawn

the box on the shelf
velvet, deep purple, the color of heavy drapes/ of crushed blackberries, the thorns
are the seeds, semicircle, kneeling stones at a ritual 

hidden behind dusty frames, behind the cracked orange of the terracotta pot,
thoughts too much like taffy for chewing
so I spit them out. Cleansed my mouth of the memory, of

fingerprints stained with blackberry,
salt shuddering on the tongue,
of letting something ugly bloom, half-fermented, instead

I watch crystals cut sunlight into freckles on the banister,
and daisies open like Pandora’s questions on rosy tissue paper

I would rather think of the ladybug painting her wings in the sunbeam
I would rather taste straight sugar, no tang, patch the pottery, plant different seeds in the garden and
let the berries wait

[Photo credit: "Field of Dandelions" by queenlalaladaisy]

YWP Newsletter – 5/1/2021

[Photo credit: "Sunset 2" by laurenm, YWP]
It's May! We hope you enjoy this month's issue of the Community Leaders' Newsletter! Every month during the school year, a member of YWP's newsletter team creates this newsletter to recognize and appreciate all the talented writers, photographers, and artists at Young Writers Project! Pass along this newsletter to all your friends and family! YOU CAN READ ALL COMMUNITY LEADERS' NEWSLETTERS HERE.

Writers, photographers, and artists featured this month include: laurenm, saskiag, GreyBean, AvaClaire, queenlalaladaisy, cedar, and peytonkaelyn.


By saskiag

born by chives, wisteria. i’ve been well but embalmed by last night;
i can’t carry one’s bone to my house, can’t sew a ripened meal with a buried hand.
saw them link, i wasn’t there. i could write of being uninvited, but it’s communal and i’m closed by tides; days revolve around one, i’m driven to a muted bed.

you don’t know me well, the grievances on my floor. 
oatmeal was revived by ginger, a blonde in a book.
i burnt my omelette reading an email this morning, then split a date in half.
carrots soft again but charcoaled rims because of someone else’s shoulder and my metal fork; i’m distracted by the weight of it.
in love with the gritting of my teeth. drawn to the release of it and furtive mouths, with lemon peel, sweetened. grocery store muffins, say my name or write it on your sleeve; they are so unlikely
i accidentally cut a hole in my retainers with my teeth. i told the dentist they were sharp, he said i just grit them. gave me a new one, defaced it again.
nothing grows but chives.

[Photo credit: "Reflection" by queenlalaladaisy]
Little Forest Girl
By GreyBean

She sits on a white-spotted toadstool 
in the middle of a basil-green forest,
waiting for someone 
she does not know
to come. 

She opens letters while she waits,
peeling off the red wax seals
with patience and practice.

Circles of pollen dot the edges of the envelopes,  
smudging as she runs a hand over them. 

Glowing bugs drown the clear air, 
and she sings as she reads. 

She watches as birds fly from their nests,
as squirrels race up trees,
as flowers lean towards the rising sun. 

She sits in her quiet bubble of peace,
alone in the forest,
but busy in her mind.

[Illustration credit: "Gesture drawings. And baboons," by cedar]
Shirt Shopping
By AvaClaire

I was buying a shirt
nothing terribly
life changing
or important
one design
two styles
men's and
and it seemed 
quite normal that
the shirts would be different
yet nothing gave reason
to the low neckline
on the women's shirt
it is hard to write a poem
to explain how 
unsettling that was for me
how I was supposed
to want such a shirt
such a neckline
and that they took the 
to say it was a 
women's shirt
and while I had 
been sleeping
they had decided
what I liked
what I was
who I would be
and like a braid
I lost my choice
along with my
naive placidness
sending waves
on that once
calm surface
and I don't want to make
a fuss
but as I walked 
in the dark
I stumbled
and found a tug
on the back of 
my neck
and the leash I
never knew existed
made it unbearable
to not notice
and the shirt 
trembled with expectations
was it not only my choice
but my duty
I am who you say I am
I am who you say I am
but the braid stopped
its savage unwinding
and in the dark
I waved my hands 
till I found the leash
I am not who you say I am
I am not who you say I am
and with the women's 
neckline smiling
the one I was
to buy
I bought the men's shirt

[Photo credit: "The Bridge Between," by peytonkaelyn]

YWP Newsletter – 4/1/21

[Photo credit: "Everlasting Life," by Sophiaecho]

Happy April! Enjoy this month's writing, photos, and art by the YWP community! Every month, a member of YWP's newsletter team creates this newsletter to recognize and appreciate all the talented people on this website! Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the writing and art to bring even more recognition to YWP's writers and artists! YOU CAN READ ALL COMMUNITY LEADERS' NEWSLETTERS HERE.

Writers and artists featured this month include: Sophiaecho, Vicarious, GreyBean, Maria, laurenm, Inkpaw

YWP News:
Did you see that Line Break is celebrating one year of podcasts? Congratulations, eyesofIris!
Don't miss the next writing opportunity with Reuben Jackson and Alex Muck on April 9th! Sign up here.
Have you been to one of YWP's open mics yet? Next one is Saturday, April 24th! More info and sign up here.
YWP Book Club meets online on Wednesday, April 28th. Join charvermont to talk about books!
Do you receive the YWP Newsletter each month? If not, subscribe here!

By GreyBean

She hoards little bottles of 
on the shelves of her kitchen,
each drowning in its own scent—
cinnamon, mint, tulip, basil, berry. 
Her sets of blue and white china
are stored in dusty 
brown cabinets with windows
you can barely see through. 
All the mirrors in her house
are cracked,
only held together
by tape. 
She keeps rows and rows of
Mason jars
in crates in her basement,
each containing a song
no one can hear. 
She only has photos of maps in her house—
places she wants to go,
not places she’s been,
not people she’s seen. 
She’s a dreamer
in that sense. 
Her keys to the house are held together
by a navy blue ribbon,
frayed and tattered. 
She wakes up every night
at 12 o’clock
to make herself a warm cup of
herbal tea. 
I know this because she
calls me
every night
at 12 o’clock
as she makes herself a warm up of
herbal tea. 
She collects bent nails,
keeps them in a little box
under a lamp in the living room. 
She listens to the music of the wind
at dawn, dusk, twilight, midnight. 
Stars are not balls of gas to her. 
She can slice the moon into 
shards of shaved ice,
if she wants. 
She creates languages for fun,
she writes stories of her life
no one understands,
she reads books upside down
and she cracks her records in half
so they will fit inside her suitcase. 
She’s a dreamer
in that sense.

[Photo credit: From "Lake and Sky" by Vicarious]
By Maria

If it is merely the words I say
Then I will say them all
In no particular order
Without rhyme
Nor reason.
If it is merely the actions I portray
Will you trust them then?
The words I order
The promises I construct
Will you believe me then
See for your own eyes that I can do it
Complete it
Follow through
Trust is malleable
It is fickle
Yet deserving.
It is wanted,
Strived for
Given with penance.
It is earned through repetitive action
Consistent care
The presence of just being there. 
It is in what you do
What you say
How often you follow through. 
Because in the end,
I am merely the words I speak,
The actions that I seek.

[Photo credit: From "Green's Different Personas" by Sophiaecho]
By Inkpaw

broken blue 
shattered porcelain scattering across the floor
some relationships are more fragile than the finest glass 
and some are sweet words encapsulated in a reliable see-through bottle
thrown into the unpredictable waves of day to day life
and coming back just as kind
all of them blue
light blue that coats my tongue with the taste of spring 
fluffy clouds and the smell of cotton candy
light blue like fake smiles hiding anxiety and the knowledge 
that the words won't fall from my lips the way I want them to
the way the sky looks at me as if wondering why I can't be happy yet
green blue
seaweed swaying in the cold Maine ocean water
crabs scuttle through my memories 
of the cold water I threw myself into lovingly, only to run out of, laughing from the chill 
it seems every day I grow older
I find myself desiring to go back in time even more
back to navy blue 
the smell of bleach and feel of jeans against my knees 
each tiny branch of ice on a single snowflake 
caught on the eyelashes of a small boy 
who didn't know who he was yet 
blue like the worn-down crayon 
that still lives in the bottom of my backpack
blue like bubbles and sad-happy music 
blue on Sundays underneath clear skies
and blue on Thursdays when it rains
blue on the bad days when I cry more than I laugh
and blue on the good days when I can smile 
and feel as free as the birds. 

[Photo credit: From "Insert Title Here" by laurenm]

Does anyone else get nervous doing those ‘I am not a robot’ checks? Like... what if I’m secretly a robot?!
- dogpoet

Yesss lol also going through airport security, like what if I accidentally have a gun? XD
- Crescent_Moon

Ha! What if I did bring a large container of liquid, I just don't remember?? XD
- Treblemaker

Not for robots, but sometimes for Covid: "what if my head does hurt?"
- TreePupWriter

Lol! I can relate 'What if I accidently didn't quarantine for two weeks?!'
- Treblemaker

YWP Newsletter – 3/7/21

[Photo credit: "A Drop of Perspective," by PDubuque]

Wow! It's already March, YWP! It's been a year since quarantine started, which is so wild! Make sure you are taking care of yourself and trying to find ways to stay happy, even though it's really hard to do at times. This newsletter includes fabulous writing, images, and work from members of the YWP community. As the editors of this newsletter, our role is to bring you, authors and artists, extra audience and shine, and to bring you, readers, some very special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the writing and art to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!

Writers and artists featured in this newsletter: PDubuque, ivy_parks, TreePupWriter, maya, cedar, laurenm, Alden Bond, Frostbite, and IceGalaxy.

YWP News:
This month's Book Club pick is A Mango-Shaped Space! Join the book club to talk about wonderful books like this!
Take a pause and listen to Episode 32 of Line Break!
All Middle Schoolers! Join happydancer on March 14th for a Middle School Poetry Workshop!
Join eyesofIris and Yellow Sweater for another Oh Snap! Online Open Mic on March 27th!

By ivy_parks

a poem about atoms (and other things)stability.
these are the things we
are taught to search for in
the world.

every living creature, every
organism is living in
want for those things.
an atom wants to have
a neutral charge,
and humans want a nice
house at the end
of the cul-de-sac.

how must we look to other
species? spending a lifetime
searching for something
to make us just the same 
as the rest.

they say "you'll understand
when you are older", but 
i don't want to understand.
is that so hard to imagine?

my science teacher told me
that everything wants to be 
an atom doesn't want 
a positive or negative charge.
a human doesn't want spontaneity,
they want a good life, 
a boring life lived out
in the most boring town
they can find because
it keeps them safe.

they stay on the road,
they paint the picture they 
are told to because
it keeps everything the same,
it keeps the cycle going.

and when someone doesn't
listen, when they drive off
of the road, when they put
the paintbrush down, asking
for a reason to keep
going, we pity them, we call
it a tragedy.

how could they have gone wrong?
how doyou mess it up
when everything is layed out
in front of you?

it's easier to be normal.
it's easier to be normal, 
they tell us.
and it's true.

it has always been so much
easier to pretend that
we want that life.
it doesn't exhaust you to
live the same life
that millions before you
have lived as well.

it's easier to stare out of
the window and imagine all
the things you could have
done instead of doing them.

i want it to be easier.

[Photo credit: "Just waitin' around," by cedar]
By TreePupWriter

Swallow your pride
(but don't let it scorch your tongue)
the best cook knows how to be tiny
curl up and trade secrets with a peppercorn

sometimes the key is
shrinking your judgment while
growing your heart

become a liquid
take the shape of someone else's container
learn to love the nooks and crannies
of their soul

as for icebreakers:
rapping small talk against the surface
makes a nice-sounding crackle
but sometimes you have to
dive deep into freezing water
and shiver through another's worries

polar bears have feelings too

and pass notes
(when no one's looking)
(and also when the whole world stares)
be proud about it
fold love into
paper cranes and
love into fortune tellers

open your mind so you can
open every flap:

you will make
a friend.

[Photo credit: "Fragments," by laurenm]
By maya

Do you remember,
When life was peaceful
And lightning struck
Or when you and I slept
Life has changed 
From love to pain
But we are still together

Do you remember,
The time, when you and I
Would sing songs by the fire
Or when we would be 
The only three 
With love and peace 

Do you remember,
When we smashed a cake
In our face 
When we celebrated our birth
Or when you and I 
Would say goodbye 
And move on 

Do you remember,
When our hearts would sink 
With love and might
Buried underneath
They would cry 
With love for life
And never see us again

Remember now,
In the heavens
Where we can be together
Life has changed 
From pain to love
And you and I 
Have found each other

[Photo credit: "Rainfall watercolor," by Alden Bond.

"Does anyone else feel like when they finally see their friends again they won't be the same?"
- Frostbite

"sometimes i want to scream so loudly that the world can hear me but also so quietly that no one could hear me even if they stood right next to me"
- IceGalaxy

YWP Newsletter- 2/6/21

Happy February, YWP!
I hope you’ve all had a chill start to 2021. It’s important to take time to create writing or art that you’re proud of, and to congratulate yourself on all you’ve accomplished. Huzzah for making it through the first month of the year! Even when the winter is dark and dreary, you can always come to YWP to enjoy writing and art.
This newsletter features writing, audio, images, and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, and Recommend work for publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you, authors and artists, extra audience and shine, and to bring you, readers, some very special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the writing and art to bring the authors even more viewers.
Writers and artists featured in this newsletter: laurenm, gaia_lenox, GreyBean, MadsPads.3411, Moonsand, cedar, Ice BlinkTreblemaker, and IceGalaxy
YWP News:
Join eyesofiris and Yellow Sweater for another Oh Snap! Online Open Mic on February 27 here!
Take a pause and listen to Episode 30, Part 2 of Line Break here!
This month’s Book Club pick is Pride and Prejudice! Read more about the book club here!
Check out the February issue of The Voice here!

Photo credit above: Same Time Next Year...Right Here by laurenm

learn how to change a tire:
by gaia_lenox

i wish so badly to be 
a specific type of beauty 
defined by silk sheets 
and a mysterious expressions 
but instead i am 
waking up with bloody noses 
and forgetting to put the caps 
back on tubes of tooth paste 
and the place in my tongue 
that used to be laced with gold 
is now covered 
in scribbled calculus 
that i spit out 
along with a question as to where 
you parked the car 
and you are telling me 
to trust you 
and I am saying that 
i have trusted no one 
since a branch broke under my feet 
and i fell to the ground 
and you are saying 
please go to sleep 
and I am saying that the color 
of room is no longer 
and you are saying lovely things 
and I am getting 
the paint cans 

Photo credit: Swirl by Ice Blink 
by GreyBean

We've never been to this park before. I've never heard of it before. We sit in an isolated, slightly shady cement area with tables. Behind us is a dark wood fence, with ivy crawling up its boards and pine needles drowning in its depths. Tall pine trees line the perimeter of the park, from where we are to the edge of the large field that seems to go on forever. There's a play-set, swing-set, and sand box a bit further past us. 
  The sky's clear. There are no clouds, just endless blue. 
  It's a bit chilly, with a light breeze blowing through the park. My sisters, parents, and I are sitting at one of the tables, while my grandpa is sitting at the other. My grandmother, in her wheelchair, is at the edge of his table. 
  She's bundled up in a heap of blankets, with gloves and a scarf and wool socks and a hat. My grandpa hands her his phone, from which German music is playing. As her eyes travel across the playground, I wonder what she's thinking about. Is she even thinking about anything? 
  Of course she is. The human mind shouldn't be empty. It shouldn't be missing important links. It shouldn't let you not be able to talk in the language your family understands. It shouldn't be able to not connect the faces of people you love to your recognition of them. I'm her sister's daughter one day, her neighbor another. 
  I wonder if she's thinking about Germany, about when she was a little girl growing up during World War II. I wonder if she's thinking about the time her brother's eye got blown out by a grenade. I wonder if she's thinking about when she heard her older brother was killed. I wonder if she's thinking about how much she hated that goat that seemed to chase her to the barn that one day. I wonder if she's thinking about the dancing club where she met my grandpa. I wonder if she's thinking about the days my uncle, other uncle, and mom were born. I wonder if she's thinking about the days my sisters and I were born. 
  I miss her voice. 
  I miss her hugs.  
  I miss her stubbornness and grit.
  I miss seeing her cook in the kitchen with my mom. 
  I miss her making my mom smile instead of cry. 
  I miss her being able to have a real conversation with me. 
  I miss her mac and cheese.
  I miss how once she got mad at my little sister for spilling milk at the dinner table. 
  I miss the life that used to flow through her veins and be shown so clearly in her actions. 
  I miss her. 
  "My angels," my grandpa says, gazing at me and my sisters in turn. 
  I look at my grandmother, at her chestnut brown eyes mindfully taking in her surroundings. I feel the quiet air around her, calm and peaceful. I want to believe that she's here with us, but is she really? 
  Even though her hair isn't gold, even though she's not wearing white, even though she doesn't have a halo or wings, she looks like an angel. 
  Yes, I think. Yes, she is an angel.

Photo credit: Silhouette by Moonsand
Salt and Honey
by MadsPads.3411

Salt and honey
They don't mix, I know that now
Silky sweet with crystal dry
I'm sorry for thinking we would work

Salt and honey
Your sugary tendrils made me dissolve
Now I am nothing, you leave me alone
I wish I could forget you
I wish we never met

Photo credit: Cactus by cedar

Tiny Writes!

more random questions!!!
1. favorite movie of all time
2. favorite outfit down to the exact detail
3. food you'd eat all day
4. favorite project in school
5. summer or winter and why
6. three things that have kept you sane in 2020

Ok so maybe this is just me but...exploring any other writing website besides ywp
is like walking into the wrong classroom where you don't know any of the students.
And you're all learning the same thing but they teach it so differently.
And you try to find, say, a piece of lined paper but everything is so out of place
you get a card bored box instead and then you just kinda slowly
back through the door again and sprint back to the welcoming
beanbag chairs and maple ice cream of ywp XD
- Treblemaker

YWP Newsletter-1/1/21

Hi Everyone! Welcome to the January Newsletter!
As we move into this new year, and hopefully near the end of the pandemic, remember to pause and take a breath. We made it this far, and now 2021 is (finally) here! As the holiday season comes to an end, it is still so important to stay healthy and safe, and that includes giving yourself a break from the hectic events of life every once in a while. So I invite you to sit back, relax, and enjoy some of the amazing writing and art YWP members continue to create and share.
This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, Recommended, and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you, authors and artists, extra audience and shine, and to bring you, readers, some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy! 

Writers and artists featured in this newsletter: Ezra M-S, Yellow Sweater, Eloise Silver Van Meter, NiñaEstrella, Vicarious, Batman, Cedar, IceQueen, and infinetlyinfinite3.

YWP News:
Join eyesofiris and Yellow Sweater for another awesome Oh Snap! virtual open mic here!
Check out episode 28 of Line Break here!
Join poet Reuben Jackson and teaching artist Alex Muck for a fun writing salon here!
This month's Book Club pick is Black is the Body. More here!

Photo Credit above: Birds of No Color by Ezra M-S

Silk Cities
by Yellow Sweater

I build cities from dancing ribbons, 
breathing wind into the tiles of recollection and imagination: 
cold bricks, warm clay, wet lips. 

I want to be Marco Polo, 
to map my memories with extraordinary facts.  

The silk road was a solid delineation, 
a moving line of moments. 

Nonfiction is Nonsense. Nonsense is Nonlinear. 
A narrative flows like silk, like a road, like a city:
cold bricks, warm clay, wet lips.

Photo Credit: With Love by Eloise Silver Van Meter
Salty Royalty
by NiñaEstrella

because I like the idea of being a queen,
grapevines twisting around my heart,
southern noons painted in pointalism,
beauteous con artists bringing me briny gold
and sand that I trailed over my checkered marble.

and if I ask take me out to the middle of the sea
so my petticoats float around me, as a jellyfish would sting, I scream into the salt. 

because when the rain falls it's a queen's bath,
drops evolving into wet petals when they hit the heat soaked gravel
queens don't ask to wear shoes.

evenings covered up in veils that cloud me in confection.
4:30 am dances on balconies, twirling and teetering and tipping towards the weeds.
mid-day heat steaming through the floor of my white leather car.
open the windows and breathe until there's too much bay air in my lungs,
like sails billowing with whomping breezes. 
the harbor is my home.

queens don't ask to walk on water.
they just do.

Photo Credit: Lake Champlain by Vicarious
by Batman

which sits,
on the lips of flowers,
on the tongue of a hummingbird.
which wanders,
through a field of yellow dresses,
through a forest of tangled hair.
which slips,
between drunken pages,
between the sheets of a baby's cradle.
which calls,
through a haze of anger,
to a lover's sleeping ears.
And poetry
which falls,
through the cracks of the city,
through the window of a man,
who sleeps, eyes open.
and finally
falls from the mouth, 
of a child left, waking. 

Photo Credit: Millard Nullings by Cedar

Tiny Writes!
Has anyone ever wondered why "abbreviation" is such a long word?
- IceQueen

Masks, people. It’s not that hard.
Thank you, that was my TED talk.
- infinetlyinfinite3

YWP Newsletter 12/3/20

Hi Everybody! Welcome to the December Newsletter! 

Woah. It's been quite the year, but we made it! Being stuck in a pandemic during the holiday season won't be easy, but we can make it work. Send letters to your loved ones that you cannot see, take advantage of your newly formed zoom skills, and most importantly stay safe. Happy Holidays! Happy December! (:

This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, Recommended, and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you, authors and artists, extra audience and shine, and to bring you, readers, some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy! 

Writers and Artists: Dancer, Scarry Night, beautiful, Lucylemon, Ice Blink, cedar, Treblemaker, and Crescent_Moon

YWP News:

YWP Book Club's December pick here!
Check out Line Break Episode 26 here!
Join eyesofiris and Yellow Sweater for Oh Snap! YWP's virtual open mic night here!

Let's Hope it Stays
By Scarry Night

Many times,
I have taken a look 
out of my living room window. 
Just a simple glance.
And what I keep seeing,
keep watching,
is the snow.
The white spots of
of cold,
that dot the sky.
I will watch them in awe and
go to sleep that night with 
happy thoughts,
marvelous thoughts.
But then the next morning,
as I jump off my bed
and race to the glass,
watching my breath fog up
in front of me,
I see no white,
I see no crystals of ice.
I see dull grass,
with leaves of brown
scattered around.
It isn't that the world around me is dull,
it is simply that I 
love the white,
I love the cold,
the coziness of a blanket wrapped 
around me,
the tastiness of the cocoa on my tongue. 
But I see no snow.
I see no ice.
And it is now December,
the month of snow,
of cheers,
of songs,
of family. 
So while I now watch more snow coat the ground,
I can only hope for one single thing.
Let's hope it stays!

Photo Credit: Snowy Trees by beautiful

By Lucylemon

Life is a roller Coaster
It has its ups and downs 
Starts slow 
Builds up to the big peak
Shoots down
Then inches to a stop. 
Will you enjoy your roller coaster?
It will be over in the blink of an eye, 
Embrace life.

Photo Credit: Utopia Unkown by Ice Blink

Jelly and Marshmallows

by Trebelmaker

At 1:23 each week exactly
Robinson Moroson Georgous Mcclackly
Strides to the store to buy a few things,
And when he leaves the bag he swings

Roninson’s beard is salt peper gray
His eyes are a brown and and blue.
His grin on a wim is fantastically slim
But his heart, his heart is of gold.

‘Good day’ I would say as he strides through the doors
‘How are you Mcclackly, how well?’
:Oh fine’ he would say, as he’d swing on his way
I see you’ve restocked isle nine.

Robinson grabs the same small red cart
Or sometimes he balances things
He grabs chocolate and jelly,
Marshmallows and well he
soon has a picnic in five.

He strides to the counter,
Our giggling banter
Is heard to the back of the store
And I wish him farewell as the bag nearly swells
With the jelly and marshmallow stores.

At 1:23 each week exactly
Robinson Morrison gorgeous Mcclackly
Strides to the store for a picnic for two
One special afternoon with his daughter at 2.

Photo Credit: Dance by Cedar

Tiny Writes!

So its December 1 and I'm pretty sure September was a week, October was 22 hours, and November was maybe 5 days? Is this accurate for anyone else? ~ Trebelmaker

We had a Thanksgiving zoom call with my grandparents and here's how it went: My grandmother, who has an android phone, wasn't sure if she had a google account (she did). Once we were on the call we had to figure out why they couldn't hear us (their sound was turned all the way down). Then we had to figure out why a quarter of their camera wasn't working (they had a camera cover that they didn't know about). We got a lovely view of my grandfather wiping the lens with his thumb. Lol, I love them! ~ Crescent_Moon


YWP Newsletter 11/1/20

Hello and Happy Halloween to everyone at Young Writers Project! I hope you all are well- I know it can be a little hard to stay positive with the upcoming election and health concerns still rising, but that's why staying happy is so important in these hectic times. I want to thank all of the wonderful users on YWP for keeping that community spirit going!

These monthly newsletters highlight writing, audio, images, and recent happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, and Recommend work for publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors and artists extra audience and shine, and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the link to someone's blog to bring the authors even more viewers. 
This particular newsletter focuses on the 2020 presidential election. There has been a lot of tension these past few weeks and so has spurred the importance of voting this year. The following writers and artists put that thought into beautiful context.

This month's contributions are from: cedar, blue potato, Ezra M-S, ckodama24, Scarry Night, mm2005, and Cloudkitty.

A shout out to eyesofIris and Yellow Sweater for hosting last week's Open Mic!
Listen to eyesofIris's 24th Line Break episode with eulusivepurplepanda!
Be sure to sign up for the Online Gateless Writing Salon on November 14th with host Alex Muck!
And don't forget to read The Voice!
( Photo credit above: Watercolor Bears by cedar )

by Scarry Night

You only get one vote.
You only get one counted opinion.
You can rant and try to make people believe whatever,
but in the end, 
every person gets one chance.
One chance to have a definite say in this election.

Let me tell you something
before this day arrives.
This country is living,
rejoicing at some moments 
and maybe not so much at others. 
We must keep it that way,
make it better, if anything.
If we are granted the ability
to work together and choose one person
who leads us,
who helps us,
who affects us,
who fights for us,
our country,
our world,
don't you think they must deserve it?
Don't you think they need to know
what will help when things have gone bad,
when things are drowning us as a country?
Don't you think they need to have a plan,
or at the very least an idea,
of how to support our world?
Our home?

When election day arrives,
and you are about to cast your one vote,
please just think about these things.
Think about what direction our country
should take.
It isn't easy, 
that's for sure.
How can we truly know what will be good for us?
What will be good for them?
The people?
The citizens?
The families?
The children?
So, I say,
one last hopeful time, 
make your vote count,
because you only get one.

I am writing this because I am not currently old enough to vote,
but as a teacher once told me, I still have a say in the decisions
our country makes. We have voices. Use them.

( Photo credit: Inconspicuous Tears by blue potato )
by mm2005

I wanted to create a message for everyone. 
Regardless of political party, Republican or Democrat,
red or blue,
I want people to think red, white, and blue.
Think community
rather than division.

Make decisions based on morals, ethics, what’s best for you.
It doesn’t matter if your parents vote red or blue, lean left or right,
chose for you.
Doesn’t need to be the most well-spoken candidate or the one with the best comebacks.
You don’t need to like their hair or the way they wear their mask,
pick someone who will lead by example
whatever you want that example to be.

Vote to make a difference.
Vote to make a change.
Vote to speak your mind.
Vote to empower others.
Vote to make your voice heard.

Vote for America.
Just vote,
one vote,
vote you.
I’m not asking for a lot
just one vote,
five minutes of your time
you choose.

You are the people.

( Photo credit: Birds of no color by Ezra M-S )
by Cloudkitty

Tomorrow I Hope,
that we will have solved global warming.
Tomorrow I Hope,
we will have chosen the right president.
Tomorrow I Hope,
we will have realized we are all equal.
Tomorrow I Hope,
we will stop world hunger.
Tomorrow I Hope,
everyone feels loved.
Tomorrow I Hope,
you will be kind.
I will be kind.
Tomorrow I Will Hope,
Today I Will Hope,
that Tomorrow will be a good day.

( Photo credit: Sunflowers by ckodama24 )
Tiny Writes:

"The point of life is to have friends and make mistakes with them." - NiñaEstrella

"Have you ever wondered what everybody else sees? Does you life feel like your own personal movie to you like it does to me? Also did they ever teach you your left from your right? They never taught me." - SpookyCatHalloween

YWP Newsletter- 10/20/20

Spoooooktacular greetings, YWP! 

The world is all kinds of crazy right now, with lingering health concerns, seemingly more homework than usual (although, that's pretty much all the time for me), and of course, the Presidential election! Not to mention Halloween, one of the best evenings of the year. I mean, c'mon, free candy! And although some of us might not be able to partake in the festivities this year (ugh, COVID), try to treat yourself to a bag of candy, and a binge session of Harry Potter (books or movies, up to you!). Or y'know, write some scary pieces on YWP that give us all goosebumps. Wishing you all a treat-filled October, with minimal tricks! :)

This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images, and recent happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, and Recommenend work for publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors and artists extra audience and shine, and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the link to someone's blog to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!


This month's contributions are from: AvaClaireBatman, CedarCrescent_Moon, LadyMidnight, Love to writeStargirlTreblemakerVicarious, and Yellow Sweater.

Be sure to check out eyesofiris's latest Line Break podcast episode with Yellow Sweater, and sign up for the Oh Snap! open mic they will be hosting together on Saturday, October 24th!

photo credit above by Love to write

by Stargirl

on the trampoline
lined notebook paper
a pen
in my lap


as the rain pours down

Watching as droplets
on the dark
green and red chard
mini waterfalls
gushing down their
veined stems


as the rain pours down

The paper in my lap 
into pulp
streams down my body
plasters my hair to my back
and I stay


as the rain pours down

by the house
someone yells my name
for me to come in

not to hear
or see them


as the rain pours down

Feel the trampoline bounce
look over to see my sister climb on
as she settles next to me
asks me
didn't I 
hear her calling

tell her yeah
I heard 


for the words to come

A revelation

photo credit by cedar
by Batman

Fair is her hair on a sunday afternoon.
purple is the sky we lie under
in the evening,
watching stars but not meaning to.
dirty, eyes tired,
dazzed and confused.
not sure what we want,
but letting our bodies tangle on their own.
in the fumbling semi-dark
there is nothing as romantic as a moon,
nothing as sweet as chocolate lips,
just teeth we forgot to brush a few too many times,
and starlight.
with her arms around my shoulders,
in the dewy grass,
so many silly boys

photo credit by Crescent_Moon 
by Yellow Sweater

Give me a pair of corduroy bell-bottoms. 

Pin my heart to one sleeve
and a flower to the other, 
as I pen my manifesto.  

I want to smash through windows
and logic,
impaling myself on splintered ideology. 

A martyr who:
to the cross.

I want to fertilize a hopeless revolution
with bad poetry, 
and proud insolence.

Quoting Lenin, 
singing to Lennon, 

a cocktail in one hand, 
a bomb in the other,  

I want to preach peace, 
like it’s war.

photo credit by AvaClaire

Tiny Writes

I spent every moment I wasn't writing poetry on YWP. haha. I think I have a problem. ~Yellow Sweater

I just heard someone say pickles are just wet vegetables and thats why they're so gross and I can not unhear this. ~Treblemaker

My teacher was telling us what to do during a lockdown drill and she asked me if I did them at my old school and I said no. Then the girl next to me was like oh you'll like them! We just get to hang out, its fun! And I can't stop thinking about the fact that lockdown drills have become so normalized. I hate America sometimes. Vote Biden, please. We need gun control. ~LadyMidnight

YWP Newsletter- 9/20/20

Hello Young Writers Project- welcome back to the Community Leader's newsletter!
Wow, it has been a crazy start to school. Between health checks, one way hallways, and hybrid learning I feel like school is a lot more exhausting than it used to be. But, it is awesome to finally see people my age and have regular conversations again! In these hectic times, writing and art are more important than ever. Take a moment to do something you enjoy or reflect on the crazy day you just had and share it with others- that's what YWP is here for!

This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images, and recent happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, and Recommenend work for publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors and artists extra audience and shine, and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the link to someone's blog to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week's contributions are from: Ice Blink, gaia_lenox, laurenm, Yellow Sweater, Crescent_Moon, irishjayne, Eloise Silver Van Meter, Treblemaker, and EverlastingWaves

Check out YWP's newest anthology: Anthology 11! And, don't miss the special Anthology 11 Line Break podcast created by eyesofIris.

Attend amaryllis's free teen writing workshops!

(Photo credit above: Monochrome Flower Studies 2 by Ice Blink

All the Missing Spaces In Between: 
by gaia_lenox

i fell in love with a boy 
in a magazine 

i cut out his face
and plastered it onto 
the back of a canvas
not bothering to find his name 
in the article 

it is nights like these 
as I lay flat on my back 
and let tears run into my hair 
and slip behind my ears 

that i wish i could 
sink to the bottom of my mattress 
and live in the gaps
between the floor boards

my fingers tingling 
with nothing at all 

my heart is the tangled city streets 
of Boston 

and my ribs the downed power lines 
of Los Angeles

and i miss you 
i miss you 
i miss you 

and I am definitely missing 
an earring back 

and some space 
in my lungs 

and i wish myself away 
onto a crowded city metro 
with a pack of cigarettes in my front pocket 
from some tragic indie film 
that didn't do too hot in theaters 
but is highly revered in certain inner circles 

i will hide from 
my shadow 
and the pieces of myself 
i don't love so much 

with the missing socks 
and spiders 
who disappeared and left you 
on edge 

call me if you can, okay?

(Photo credit: Balance 2 by laurenm)
Dry Flowers 
by Yellow Sweater 

I found a pamphlet of thick cream paper
on a dusty undershelf of the poetry aisle. 

Like dried out flowers,
the words used to be wet. 

I read each word twice, 
waiting for them to bloom.  
Dry flowers can be lovely, can’t they?  

They smelled nice: 
those words, 
that paper. 

It was all very beautiful. 
But the flowers were dry.

(Photo credit: Shelburne Farms by Crescent_Moon
Every City Only the Edge of God
by irishjayne 

outside churches with slush
or in tights & the sunshine—
boston, chicago

new york, montreal
paris, and dublin.
i like them dirty & hopeful,

near liquor stores
& goodwills—
they are

pulled up hair
and some irreplaceable 
childhood longing, 

an undeveloped muscle memory.
all the lit candles,
every prayer not for god

but for the city herself,
with her
edges and echoes 

fluorescent palpitations 
and bleeding sidewalk cracks,
24 hr cvs more sacred than scripture

starless sky genesis
puddled sewer holy water
T ride pilgrimage

drunk profanity a hymn—
if only someone 
were listening

(Photo credit: August Abundance by Eloise Silver Van Meter)

Tiny Writes!
SDJ Sep 16
Potential day: either Monday or Thursday. Possible Sunday.
I've been doing a lot of fermenting in front of devices
College prep can suck sometimes
My phone died, then turned on and blasted a duck alarm, then died again, and I've never related to anything more
sleepysleepysleepy. but also want to stay up and write

A little chickadee sat on the railing on our front porch about 8 inches away from me. I said 'oh gosh' under my breath and it flew away, scared. it made me think about how small it was compare to me and how small I was compared to it. perspective.