YWP NEWSLETTER - 1/28/19

Almost a month into 2019...wow! Time flies!

A recent Tiny Write of PeachesMalone's was this: "The world kind of sucks, but at least we have books and chocolate chip muffins." It's totally true, and a great perspective to have. So it got me thinking. What can we look forward to upcoming in February? What books and chocolate chip muffins do we have to excitedly anticipate in the future? I looked up some fun February hoildays, and here's what I found: 
Feb. 2 - Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day
Feb. 7 - Wave All Your Fingers at Your Neighbor Day
Feb. 15 - Singles' Awareness Day
Feb. 17 - Random Acts of Kindness Day
Feb. 22 - International World Thinking Day
Feb. 26 - Tell a Fairy Tale Day
Feb. 28 - Public Sleeping Day

Remember to celebrate these next month ;)

Skip this next part if you're a YWP newsletter regular.

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, recommend work for publication, create challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!

This week's featured authors and photographers are: Love to Write, lila woodard, Maisie N, abartell, Anna P., Graceful, _Eliza_Be_Ghostly_13, and Abriatis

YWP Happenings:

Coming up! Writing on the Roof Workshops!! 2nd workshop: "How to Write a Killer College Essay" with Denise Shekerjian! Febuary 12th, 6:30-8:00 pm, rooftop conference room, Karma Bird House, 47 Maple Street, Burlington. Learn more and SIGN UP workshop #2 here.

Vermont Writes Day is coming up- Feburary 1! Seven special prompts will be posted on YWP and on a VT Writes Day site -- vermontwritesday.org -- that will be open only on Friday! More information here.

Read YWP's digital magazine, The Voice!

Pride
by lila woodard

they can preach at me and scream all they want 
but no one will ever convince me 
that it is wrong 
to love the way that i do. 

(Photo credit: lila woodard)
Friday Night
by Maisie N

You want to go out
But I'd rather stay home
You want to get there fast
But I want to take it slow
Make everything last
But still live in the moment
Never give up on the past
Never leave thoughts unspoken.

Because I want to have my cake
And still eat it too
Have a hundred first kisses
Before I settle down with you
Have you stay with me forever
But let me wander as I do
Keep it easy and casual
In a life built for two.

I've got a thirst for adventure
I've got wind in my sails
I want to see the whole world
Search for a holy grail
They say it's rough out there
So I'll ignore those scary details
Because if I never try
Then how can I fail?

Because if you love too much
It might turn to hate
When you never speak
There's no wrong thing to say
And if you never leave home 
You can't show up late
But if you never take a chance
You never learn anything.

I'll take a walk on the wild side
As long as you play it cool
And I'll kiss you goodbye
On your walk home from school
Just promise you'll stick by me
Even when I play the fool
And that you'll have my back
Whether I win or I lose. 

You remind me of my youth
But just like grandpa always said
You won't get very far
Using your heart and not your head
There is a lot more to love
Than the way people look
And you can't learn what you like
Just by reading a book.

I like you and I like rock songs
I like rolling the dice
I like taking my chances
Without paying the price
They say that variety
Is the spice of life
So promise me you'll never
Step in the same river twice.

So let's grow old together
Let's make a ton of money
Let's always tell the truth
But laugh like it's funny
Let's keep asking questions
Never knowing each other completely
Let some matters remain mysterious
But still love each other deeply.

(Photo credit: abartell)
There's a Hole in My Shoe
by Anna P.

There's a rock in my sock,
and a hole in my shoe,
and the sky is too wet,
and the water too blue.

Now my ears feel numb,
and my fingers can't hear,
while my head's speaking nonsense,
and my eyes hold you near.

I think my life's headed south,
where the roses don't grow,
and the ponds shimmer lightly,
where the dark shadows go.

And the light it burns dark
where there's supposed to be day,
but my heart has grown hollow,
and I feel lost in each way.

I feel like a child,
afraid in the park,
and people can't see
that my mind has grown dark.

So here I lay crooked,
broke and misplaced,
while I ponder my thoughts,
imperfections and mistakes.

Maybe someday I'll be better,
fixed up and brand new,
but, until then,
there's a hole in my shoe.

(Photo credit: Graceful)

Tiny Writes

Are our dreams our future?
That tugging feeling of déjà vu,
when you meet a new person for the first time?
Our minds
are more powerful
asleep then when we are awake.
-_Eliza_Be_Ghostly_13

Helping people makes me happy. 
Helping people going through what I went through makes me happy.
Giving them hope and telling them about their future.
We all have potential.
I love telling people that.
Watching them light up
when they realize
there's a rope dangling to them
ready to lift them out of the pit they're in
and show them the world.
-Abriatis

YWP NEWSLETTER - 1/21/19

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day! 

Martin Luther King Jr. was a leader and social activist for civil rights. Not only that, but he used his eloquent power with words to greatly influence the entire country. If you need a spark of inspiration, look no further than his "I Have a Dream" speech. Take some time to remember his noble work today.

And on the other hand, look outside and enjoy this beautiful Vermont snowstorm! Hopefully everyone is able to get outside at some point, whether to ski, sled, or just take a walk. It truly is gorgeous.

This next part just tells you about the newsletter; skip if you've read it already.

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, recommend work for publication, create challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!

This week's featured authors and photographers are: AboutToSnap, LadyMidnight, futurefemalepitcher, Maisie N, ImkatsoyeahBloodMoon825, and sophie.d

YWP Happenings:

Coming up! Writing on the Roof Workshops!! 2nd workshop: "How to Write a Killer College Essay" with Denise Shekerjian! Febuary 12th, 6:30-8:00 pm, rooftop conference room, Karma Bird House, 47 Maple Street, Burlington. Learn more and SIGN UP workshop #2 here.

Read YWP's new digital magazine, The Voice!

Eaten With a Sprinkle of Happiness
by futurefemalepitcher

Cake and ice cream
At a big birthday party with all my best friends.

Fresh strawberries
Ripe,
Sold in a small blue container with netting over it
At a sun filled farm.

A cool,
Perfect glass of ice-filled water
See-through with glass green stripes around it
After running around outside with cousins for hours.

Warm Christmas eve dinner
Roast chicken and
Bread with butter
And family.

A vanilla cupcake
With pink peaked frosting
Best eaten with a sprinkle of happiness.

Pancakes and bacon
Sizzling in the pan
With the anticipation of Sunday to come with it.

Olives
Found at an amazing smelling grocery store.
Picked out sneakily from the container.

Brownies
Choclatey goodness melting in my mouth
Tastes like a spring evening.

Hot peppermint tea
With the corny tags that say happy sayings
Drank in Grandma's kitchen
With your sister by your side
On a winter's afternoon.

Hotdogs
Sometimes eaten by a campfire on an impossibly warm night,
Sometimes eaten grilled on the stove after an impossibly late night.

Turkey and cheese
With a sprinkling of lettuce
Sandwich.
Soft, dry bread crinkling in my mouth.

Food was meant to be savored.


(Photo credit: LadyMidnight)
Scatterbrain
by Maisie N

Somewhere I lost my marbles
Immersed in thought, I missed my train
I have always been so forgetful
I always seem to show up late
Two steps behind everyone else
Doors slamming in my face
While you have sunshine, I have clouds
I'm stuck, stranded in the rain.

So maybe I'll leave for somewhere new
Your eyes will follow like the windows of an airplane
A sunset from a different point of view
Looking down on familiar landscapes
Passengers clamor for only a glance
Staring at the blues, oranges and pinks
But I will stay still and colorless
Worried of what people might think.

Of course I think you are beautiful
Of course I love it when you say my name
Of course what you say to me is meaningful
But a traveler I will remain
Gone for a while, never forever
But when I return, I won't be the same
What we feel becomes who we are
And when I stand next to you, I am nothing.

You were always so sharp and focused
While I was completely lost and distracted
You liked me because I was mysterious
A quality you found attractive
I was then, to you, a lingering question mark
There never was method to my madness
The truth is that you were perfect
While I was only practice. 

You see me again and, as if nothing has changed,
You go on asking endless questions
Tell me you're surprised at my apparent age
Ask me my fears, my loves, my regrets
Knowing I could answer 'you' for each one
Over a painful truth, I choose silence
It hurts even more to live without you
When I know I still have your interest.

Somewhere I lost my marbles
You found them scattered by the train tracks
You picked them up, one by one
Not as souvenirs, but as evidence
Studied them as pieces of myself
Only to discover a few you had missed
So I became a problem you could not solve
The bane and bite of your existence. 


(Photo credit: Imkatsoyeah)
try not to stare
by BloodMoon825

there they were, in my public library.
i wasn't quite sure if it was,
but it was later confirmed as i saw them walking with a teacher from my school.
i sucked in my breath as i passed them,
and looked at the ground.
and behind the fiction section,
a clear veiw in between two books,
i tried not to stare.

before it came out,
they were a normal person in my school.
i didn't know them.
i didn't really think much of them,
and by that i really didn't have anything nice to say about them,
or really any reason to judge.

but they had a secret.
one that made me wonder
how on earth all the anger and hatred in our world has come to this.
one that kept the clock ticking in my head,
my eyes on my paper,
but at the same time,
very far away from it.
one that made local newspaper headlines burst.
one that kept us on the edge that whole week and beyond that,
with police fully armed in the hallways,
one that kept our heads spinning with information
that we were never sure was true.

all of this had gone on a few weeks ago...
the news on fire,
the bullet proof vests and guns secured in belts of the police,
the weight of all of this dumped on every single 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15 year old in my school.
the teachers as well.

with that secret passed on with whispers and news headlines,
all coming at me at once,
i was afraid.

i was terrified.

not only of what could have happened,
but of what could happen tomorrow,
next wednesday,
any day that in the morning,
i would think was normal.

i didn't really know how i felt when i passed that kid.
all of these feelings of terror, disgust,
but also shame, that our society hasn't become one
that would keep kids safe,
mentally and physically.

so i just stayed quiet,
walking closer to my mom,
trying not to stare.


(Photo credit: Imkatsoyeah)

Tiny Writes

I've always wondered what the amortentia potion would smell like to me. If I had to guess: brisket in the oven, rosemary bushes, and soil after it rains.

Pluck those dandelions from the ground
And weave them into a flower crown
“Queen of the weeds” they all shout but
Sunshine and resilience call my name.

-sophie.d

YWP NEWLETTER - 1/15/19

This is the first YWP Newsletter of 2019!! Hurray!!

Let's take this new year to take advantage of all the wonderful opportunities our artistic abilites allow. We have art, writing, expression. . .there is so much young people can contribute to the world. Make it a resolution this year to try something new, whether a YWP workshop, a new format of writing, a new genere. And reflect and celebrate your accomplishments of 2018! 

Feel free to skip the introduction if you're a regular.

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, recommend work for publication, create challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!

This week's featured authors aand photographers are: Abriatis, wondering about rain, Dancer, Sydney_Kulis, Graceful, Erik Nyhagan, Love to Write, Nightheart

YWP Happenings:

This Saturday! Writing on the Roof Workshops!! 1st workshop: "The 'I' in Memoryscape" by Mindy Wong! January 19th, 10 am, rooftop conference room, Karma Bird House, 47 Maple Street, Burlington. Learn more and SIGN UP workshop #1 here.

Read YWP's new digital magazine, The Voice
 

Those Deer That Looked at You When Your Foot Was on the Pedal and Their Life Was in Your Hands
by wondering about rain

Roaming eyes scan a darkened
lawn to find the out-of-placer’s, the lost
hobos stuck in a world not made
for them, might as well park a tent
in the middle of the frost heaved
road where you begin and end.
A smear on the yellow line is that
fence-hopper’s only grave marker.
I watch them try and check either
way but this pavement apocalypse,
this zombie ridden highway is hungry.
Haunt me with the ghosts of your glaring
saucers, Alien and trying
to abduct me. I look down and up
again at the moon, half expecting it
fell from the sky to make a home in your skull.

(Photo credit: Dancer)
wondering about rain's picture
stay
by Sydney_Kulis

sk

usually writing helps me think,
i can get away from whatever is going on,
but with you swimming in my brain.
i feel lost.
i can’t get away.

this lake you’re swimming in
in my head
for all the people i’ve loved
you’re the longest to stay
splashing in the waves
running on the shore,
sitting on the dock
talking
telling me your thoughts

out of all of the people
you’ve stayed the longest
i hope you continue to stay
i want it to become your permanent living space,
not just a summer house
where you bring your clothes,
and shoes
and let them stay
i hope you continue to swim
in this lake
in my head
for those who i’ve loved
i hope that you,
out of everyone,
please stay

(Photo credit: Abriatis)
I Found the Road
by Graceful

I walked down the shaded road
The one with the heavily bent trees
The one with the course ground
The one where you find your true friends.

I found my own path
The one that leads next to you
The one that accepts me
The one that leads with no shame.

I believe in true beauty
And got the stars and moon
I got the sweet morning air
I got the love that I always wish for.

I lead my life through the bumps
And mistakes,
I let myself be strong
And take on those daggers.

I respected myself
And got the approval of me.

(Photo credit: Erik Nyhagan)

Tiny Writes

Lonely is
something that is stolen. 

In the morning
we are all thieves.
-Love to Write

naturalization. 
what an odd word. 
an odd word to match 
an odd ceremony 
to match
the very odd feeling inside.
-Nightheart

YWP Newsletter- 12/31/18

This is the almost-2019-issue!! (and the last December issue) 

I hope everyone enjoyed the long holiday break and got lots of cold outside play or cozy relaxing family time! 
For many the new year is a new start- a chance to try or change something in their life that they didn't get to last year. It's also a time for reflection, looking back on all the fun memories they made over the past year. Do you have a favorite memory or a new year's resolution? 

If you're already familiar with the YWP Newsletter, feel free to skip the introduction. 

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, recommend work for publication, create challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!

This week's featured authors and photographers are: lia.chien, Olivia White, LadyMidnight, Drift, Abriatis, irishjayne, Anne with an 'e'adalet

YWP Happenings:

The next SoundCheck is happening Thursday, January 17th, from 6-8 pm at Burlington City Arts!!

Writing on the Roof Workshops!! 1st workshop: "The 'I' in Memoryscape" by Mindy Wong! January 19th, rooftop conference room, Karma Bird House, 47 Maple Street, Burlington. Learn more and SIGN UP workshop #1 here.

Learn about more upcoming and recurringYWP events here

Winter Came
by Olivia White 

Winter came 
and all around the table frost cracked and grew like fungus,
icicles crept down from the noses of frozen men and women,
who sat like chiseled marble statues.
Some, with their hands full of sugar plums
some, poised, porcelain teacups halfway to their mouths, 
the liquid turned to ice,
others, their mouths open
waiting for the frozen gingerbread on their silver forks.

The chandelier above was crisscrossed with ice fractals
and sparkling frost.
And the wallpaper, no longer red and gold,
had sunk to silver-blue.

A boy,
the age of twelve,
knelt, mid-struggle 
in the corner of the room
his hands frozen around the leather collar of a weary hound.

The scene was forever still in its time,
the logs in the fireplace would never burn,
the tall clock would never strike to signal the new hour.

And the wind blew in from the North,
with it came bitter laughing.

But the snowflakes remained still outside,
frozen in the air.
The North Wind blew around them,
but nothing stirred. 

And the Moon,
melancholy in her solitude.
Rested her elbows on the shoulders of the cold world,
where the sea--now frozen--had once spilled over the edges.

And then Summer snapped his fingers.

And the world melted.

Photo credit left: LadyMidnight
Empty Hands 
by Drift

I.
You sit beside me in english.
I don't know when
or why we started talking,
but we did.
Something about you seemed,
untouchable,
like I could reach out to feel
your fluffy curls
and then you wouldn't be there,
that it would be fingers
grabbing hopelessly at mist.
And that's what I loved.

II.
We talk constantly.
The teacher hates it.
She threatens to separate us,
and I can see your face growing red
as she openly lectures us on the disrespect,
and yes I felt bad,
but it meant talking to you.

III.
I curl into your solid chest,
my spine pressed tightly
against wiry muscle.
I can feel your arms wrap around me.
This is the warmest
and the safest I've ever felt.
Is this love?

IV.
We talk less.
I made you a Christmas present.
You cram the paper
into your backpack,
shrug,
and walk away.
I can feel the hot tears brewing
and threatening to pour.
My cheeks burn
and my fists clench.
I resist the urge
to reach out
and grab at mist.

V.
You're on the other side of the bed,
absentmindedly tapping at your phone.
I close my eyes
and silently wish
I was home.

VI.
We grow apart.
Organically.
There were a few spats,
but nothing outrageous
or as dramatic as I wish.
My mother still asks me about how you're doing.
I haven't seen you in a year.
And we haven't spoken in two,
maybe three.
Isn't that strange?

VII.
I wonder how you're doing.
My heart can't help but ache
to know that you are safe
and content.
And I don't know why
I'm tearing myself up
over an enigma
that is cold
and beautifully absent.

Photo credit right: Abriatis
A Moment of Quiet in the Locker Room
by irishjayne

One shoe off
then the other.

Quiet besides the
rhythmic replacement of clothing
fabric against my skin.
The lights don’t buzz
the sink doesn’t drip
for once
my day is quiet as
nights on Inis Mor
I the only one awake
after
Good Will Hunting was over
and we in our corner room were tucked in.
Me, climbing out of bed
socked feet padding
to the window
and the breeze was
like
Cape Cod
like
my grandmother
my childhood
cookies from boxed mix
and books from eight cousins.

I existed in many places suddenly
in the picture frame on my mantle
in the surf at the bay
in that quiet little room
in my sister’s heart
in the empty locker room after class
in my memories
as I unmade 
and then
made
myself again
taking off one version to
be another. 

One shoe
then the other.

Photo credit left: lia.chien

tiny writes: 

i am an outsider                                    the exhaustion makes me feel human
peering through                                    
a glass window                                     by adalet
that is fogged up by 
someone else’s breath.

by Anne with an 'e'

YWP Newsletter- 12/10/18

Welcome to another December issue of the YWP Newletter! 

Lately, I have been enjoying the small breaks I find: getting cozy in bed on the weekends, watching movies, creating holiday presents, writing with tea. Winter's darkness, cold, and holiday/school stress can be hard, remember to take time for yourself!! Only a few weeks until school vacation, get ready. 

If you're already familiar with the YWP Newsletter, feel free to skip the next bit. 

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weelky newsletters are curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, recommend work for publication, create challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!

This week's authors and photographers are: AboutToSnap, lana.W, Bre, Graceful, Abriatis, My Perpetual Wednesday, Rubber Soul, wondering about rain and, angry strawberry

YWP Happenings:
There are lots of amazing things to do this week! 

Winter Tales is starting this Wednesday the 12th and going until Sunday the 16th! Join us at the Main Street Landing Black Box Theatre in Burlington, VT. Buy tickets here

SoundCheck is happening this Thursday from 6-8 pm at Burlington City Arts! There's pizza! 

Learn about more upcoming and reoccuring YWP events here

That Wall 
by lana.W

Do you ever feel 
like life is written for you?
You ever feel like your thoughts aren’t your own.
You ever feel like some sixteen-year-old theatre geek
is sitting in front of a computer,
writing about how you feel.
You ever wanna just… 

reach out.

Push on that wall over there.
No, not that wall!
This one.
You know, 
the one marked, “Do not push.”
What would happen?

Hey you, I asked you a question.
Yeah, you.
What would I see?

A god?
A writer?
A cartoonist?
A director holding his camera?
There’s got to be more than this.


Photo credit left: Bre
Umbrella Dancers 
by Graceful

The big bell rings
Umbrellas pop open all at once.
Dancers swing under them,
Synchronized as they dance their way
Through London’s streets.
Their umbrellas move up and down
To the songs they sing,
The music of instruments coming from apartments
Filling the air with precious melody.
No more busy cars or buses
Taking up the streets,
Only the umbrella people
Singing with joy in the pouring rain.

Photo credit right: Abriatis

Tiny Writes: 

My Perpetual Wednesday
We are not the ones who hate.
We are the defenders of the unjustly hated.

Rubber Soul
As her lungs fall to pieces
She breathes in the dust 
Castles will fall
Just as metal will rust.
 

Haikus

Marigolds 
by angry strawberry 

She strove for beauty;
Oasis from apathy.
Petals fall to dust. 


Day 5: Drinking in the Haiku 
by wondering about rain

Fat cat and a whale
sitting together, happy
they drank too much tea.

YWP Newsletter 12/3/18

Hello everyone!! It's been a while since I created a newsletter- since July, I think! It's certainly much colder now... 
For this week's newsletter I chose works that focused mostly on longing and/or loss, there seemed to be quite a few, the choosing was difficult. This week's newsletter reminded me to enjoy the changing of the seasons, not resent it. 

As usual, if you're a regular and already know what the YWP Newsletter is, feel free to skip the next part. 

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weelky newsletters are curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, recommend work for publication, create challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!

Authors in this newsletter are: zazu, Quella, Graceful, LadyMidnight, and Rubber Soul
All photo credits this week: Abriatis

YWP Happenings:

Join us for the next SoundCheck: December 13th, 6-8pm, Burlington City Arts! 

Winter Tales! December 12th -16th, Main Street Landing Black Box Theatre, Burlington, Vt. Get tickets here!

Learn about more amazing YWP events here!

What it is
by zazu

What can I say?
People play different roles in their lifetime.
Some may be difficult to understand,
Even for the person who is trying it out for size.
Bursts of color,
Periods of gray.
Can people change each other?
The world is a circle of differences.
All unknowing, 
All strange.
Inspiration lingers in the air.
Catch it, 
And hold onto it.
What never changes?
Nothing.
Everything is so much more than that.
At some point a butterfly has to spread its wings,
And learn to stand out from the crowd.

 

The Light on the Table
by Quella

Today, I wondered
whether death is a womb as well—
whether anyone can fit the vastness of who they become
here
into such a small space again.
Perhaps though, the space is not so small.
 
I cannot say what the light on the table means,
Just that its voice sounds warm.
Its hands are soft.
 
Friend, I say,
do you know
your beautiful, beautiful name?
neither do I. 
 
Snowy Land
by Graceful

The trees crack,
Their moans echo through the forest
Before arriving back to my ears
The snow is heavy and wet
Sticking on the branches  
Weighing them to eye level.
The chilly air picks fights with my skin
Turning it a rosy pink.
The piercing blue diamond eyes that are mine,
Take in the snow falling on my face and lashes.
Pine trees graze my skin
The smell strong as ever.
Rays of sun filter through
Kissing my cheeks with warmth.
My feet move through the snow
Carefully leaving my footprints behind
In the snowy white land.

Tiny Writes 

LadyMidnight
When you reach for the stars                 
You get the moon thrown in

Rubber Soul 

I only had the nerve 
To grab her hand
In my mind

YWP Newsletter 11. 26. 2018.



Hello again! At the end of last month I said goodbye until March, but here I am filling in for the previous editor during  this last week of November. I’ve been a bit absent from YWP due to school and various other obligations, so it was wonderful to have an excuse to come back and get to read all the awesome writing that’s been created. As was the case last month, there is multitude of stories and poems, but not many photos or art. In fact, the above photo was actually taken by myself. Why a pie? Well, like many families in this county, mine made pies this Thanksgiving. I snapped a quick picture then, but it didn’t occur to me until I was enjoying a spicy, surypy piece what was really behind the delicious flavor. We came together to create this treat; we had shared the work and the anticipation, and now the reward. To me, pie is a symbol of family. My great grandmother’s specialty, I remember tins of blueberry and chocolate, apple and rhubarb set out like gifts. They’ve reappeared on different occasions; parties, weddings, Thanksgiving….but are always shared with family. Pies take time. From the kneading of the crust till it’s decoration, a connection is made with those who share in the task. For me, memories are framed in crimped pastry edges. This week, I chose pieces that spoke to family, given or chosen, and how our connections to them are a part of us just as the autumn wind flavors an apple.

As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. Feel free to skip ahead if you're a regular.

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter, curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, Recommend work for Publication, Create Challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This Newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining...we aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience, provide our busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some of the pieces we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: Check out the other Newsletters, and share the link with others who may enjoy it.

This issue features the creations of: Abriatis, Basketball15, CecyRavenclawFireheart, colly-wobbles, Graceful, LadyMidnight, Love to Write, Nightheart, Quella, Rubber Soul, and ViolaLover9

YWP HAPPENINGS:

Next SoundCheck - December 13th, Thank you to everyone who participated in the Climate Open Mic, photos and video coming soon!

Winter Tales - December 12 - 16, Main Street Landing Black Box Theatre, Burlington, Vt - get tickets here!

Poetry Experience - Teen writing and performance workshops with Rajnii Eddins, this Saturday Decemeber 1st at the Fletcher Free Library, 1-3pm 

Check out YWP Events 2018-19 for more information on these and other reoccuring events


 

Perfectly Imperfect Friend

By Graceful

Take me awake into the wind
Hold my hand tight and
Do not leave me behind.
Let’s run away into the fields and
Climb together to the tops of trees.
Let’s go to the loneliest street and make it full of hope,
We live without worries.
Let’s peer into the expected puddles and
And splash them into the unexpected.
We will have each other's backs,
So don’t worry if you branch breaks
I will be there for you to lean on.
Though I am not perfect I will try to be,
I will be
Your perfectly imperfect friend.

( Photo Credit: Abriatis )
Fragments 2

By angelaweasley

Fragments are all I have left of him.
Faded photographs in porcelain blue boxes shoved under my bed,
saved voicemails,
a letter in bright blue ink.

He left before I could articulate I needed him,
toddler hands grasping his shirt at the airport.
I waited-
seven hours and thirty-eight minutes.

I replayed the few memories of him over and over:
A thunderstorm in Puebla, the rain pelting the roof,
the way the lightning,
stabbing at intervals,
arched across the sky.

His laugh, rippling across the living room.

A birthday party, three candles on a sagging cake.

My awe visiting the ruins at Cacaxtla,
how he sat me on his shoulders so I could see,
stacked rock that used to be homes,
desperate etchings on the walls
spelling out a story I had yet to read.

These home movies flickered against my eyelids
before I fell asleep,
before I blew the candles out every year,
before Father’s Day.

Something changed while I was revisiting my most treasured memory:
an afternoon riding the carousel,
waving every time I passed my parents.
I loved the reassurance,
the motion,
the vertigo of seeing them both at the next turn.

But details began to change.
Was he wearing green or blue?
What flavor of ice cream was in his hand?
Chocolate or strawberry?  

I no longer knew if it was my father that resided in my memories,
or a crude copy.
I didn’t understand why he was blurring and shifting.
I was losing the truth of him, bit by bit.

I began to wonder if it was better not to remember.

Now, trying to sleep,
I struggle to silence his bedtime story about Popocatepetl
he’d tell as I looked at the actual volcano through our window.

Now, blowing out my eighteen candles,
I try not to taste the coconut frosting he wiped from my hands on my third birthday.

On Father’s Day I try to erase the gnawing feeling in my chest.
What was I to him?
Mi reina, mi corazón, mi vida.

Remembering him, I began losing him;
trying not to remember him,
I lost him anyway.

Trying not to forget him terrified me as much as forgetting him.
So, I did what I always do when I’m scared: I wrote.

Stanza by stanza,
I stored him where I could never forget him.
Tucked into words,
rhymes,
torn corners of paper,
post-its,
backs of old homeworks shoved into the smallest pocket of my backpack.

My words became like the photographs I kept of you,
the ones that you are a blur in.
I can see the movement,

How you left after the flash.

( Photo Credit: Love to write )
My Inner Self 

By Basketball15

I am from needle and thread,

From extra pieces of cloth and the running stitch.

I’m from sliding down the stairs like a penguin,

“Thumping” the whole way down!

I’m from flour-covered clothes, sneaking cookie dough,

and the aroma of cinnamon.

I’m from hearing, “I love you,” “Clean up your mess,” and “Don’t touch that!”

I am from cleaning the mud from under my nails,

From running around with wings,

hoping one day I would be able to fly!

I am from suitcases, the constant whirring of engines,

and soaring above the clouds for so long that time vanishes.

I’m from the city of red brick houses with brown shingles and eggshell fences.

The city of Afrikaans and Zulu,

where the Atlantic and Indian Ocean hold hands.

I am from the country of spices, zooming around in auto rickshaws,

and punjabi-style dresses, that glisten in the light!

I’m from the Taj Mahal, Moses Mabhida Stadium, and Table Mountain.

I’m from zigzagging across the ice,

From falling onto my knees and learning how to get back up.

I am from hiding behind the couch and doors, giggling when I was found!

I’m from running outside to taste the first snowflakes of the year,

Jumping into snow piles and getting hit by snowballs.

I am from بسمله هير رحمن نير رحيم  (In the name of God, the most merciful, the most kind),

and from memorizing verses from the book of Allah.

I’m from eating cake and celebrating my sister’s birthday on All Hallow’s Eve.

No costumes, ringing bells, and comparing who has the most candy.

I am from hugs and kisses, being tucked into bed, and hearing the words, “Sweet dreams.”

I am from the miles separating my family,

counting down the days till I return!

( Photo Credit: CecyRavenclawFireheart )

Tiny Writes

No one on here
Has hate in their heart.
No one is unkind.
People are genuine
And respect others.
Everyday
I am so thankful for being able to express myself and being encouraged.
Picked up of the ground and brought back into the light.
I am thankful for each and everyone of you for being kind loving caring brave individuals and never being afraid to be who you are. - 
LadyMidnight

In the car on our way to New York for Thanksgiving my family passed gg on the highway.
That was a very strange coincidence. - 
Rubber Soul

Only the days that you are without them, do you realize how important friends are. - colly-wobbles


with every new user,
another soul added to this beloved home
it gets merrier, more words spoken                                      
more art created                                                                        
more lives brightened                                                  
and so, YWP, and all your users,                           
I thank you                                                                               
for giving me a home
for giving me a family
for giving me a pen and paper
for encouraging me to be the b
est I can be. ​
-
Abriatis
 

fingers swirling on the keys
she sketches her corner of the universe
with the touch of her sister's hand
on her hair.
-
ViolaLover9

these words are more my blood than anything that ever flowed through my veins - Nightheart 

YWP Newsletter 11-6-2018



Hello all and thanks for tuning in to this week's newsletter! 

It has been a very wet fall. Did you know that there is a word for that smell that lingers in the air after it rains? Crazy, right?! The word is: petrichor. Anyway, the petrichor scent has been lingering in the air for quite sometime now. I have come to expect the tap, tap, tapping of rain on my window in the grey mornings. The rain wakes me up by tapping it's damp fingers on the glass above my bed. It has become a soothing rhythm, synonymous with the sound of birds in the morning. Both the rain and the birds are effective alarm clocks. 

The stores have begun selling christmas candy, decorations, and presents. An epidemic of Christmas music is about to start spreading! Do not try to avoid it, there is no way to be immune to the Christmas cheer, we will all be infected one way or another. I have been thinking about something recently. There is Halloween music, and Christmas music, but no Thanksgiving music. Why are there no songs about turkey, gravy, or that overwhelming sleepy feeling you get right after dinner? Thanksgiving deserves music. On the other hand, I am excited to listen to Mariah Carey's All I Want For Christmas Is You every single day on repeat until the New Year. 

To all of the seniors on YWP, we all wish you the best on college applications. A college admissions counselor once told me that it is not about what school will take you, but which school deserves you. That changed the way I thought about admissions. 

Up next is the general intro to the newsletter, if you've read it before skip ahead to the good stuff! Remember to check out the important dates at the bottom! Enjoy!

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter, curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, Recommend work for Publication, Create Challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This Newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining...we aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience, provide our busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some of the pieces we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: Check out the other Newsletters, and share the link with others who may enjoy it. 

This issue features the creations of:  LadyMidnight, dogpoet, irishjayne, RubberSoul, NAW793, Eli, Abriatis, nean_bean, Fiona Ella, Drift
YWP HAPPENINGS:

November 15: Climate Open Mic - All are Welcome! - Come share environmentally - themed words and art, then collaborate with fellow creators to speak out for our planet. I hope to see you there!

Check out YWP Events 2018-19 for more information on this Special SoundCheck, and other ongoing opportunities. 

Why Your Vote Matters
By NAW793

Your Vote Matters. 
It all starts with one.
One turns to two, two votes turn into more, and soon you have thousands of votes, each one contributing a little bit to the long term cause.
If one person doesn't vote, that one person will turn to two.
Two will turn to more, and soon you have thousands, each one decreasing the chance that the results will make you happy.
Little things can turn into big ones, from one simple vote to thousands, even millions of votes.
Raise your voice, because your opinion matters.
YOU matter.

(Photo Credit: Abriatis)
Queen Dorothy of the Stereotypical Teens
By LadyMidnight

"All hail her majesty, the queen of teenagers!"
Oops, that's me.
God, on this planet they act like I'm a god or something.
I snap my gum and step out into the road.
Really?
They are bowing again?
Whatever.
It's better than nothing. 
Besides no one ever did that in Kansas.
Seriously.
That tornado was the best day of my life.
Left behind that stinky old farm and became a queen.
Not bad considering I'm not yet 14.
"Speech! Speech!"
Like, really though?
Uggg... 
But I suppose if it makes the Munchkins happy.
I'll just pass a few laws and stuff.
" Um.. Hey everyone!"
Loud cheers
"So.. Here's your speech. I am umm.. creating a new national holiday. Today is national candy day!
Candy for all!"
Loud cheers and celebrating.
I wave to all my subjects as my soldiers pass out candy.
Cool. That means I'll have a giant bowl of candy to eat back at the palace.
Just kick off my comfy shoes and relax.
So glad I tossed those dumb red stilettos.
Whatevs.
At least Instagram still works here.
Ciao peeps.

(Photo Credit: Rubber Soul)
I'm a Writer
By dogpoet

I know I am a writer
Because I love to write
It's the thing I (sometimes) know I was meant to do.
I know I am a writer
Because when I play piano
I unconsciously am thinking up stories
About the different notes
And I realise
Once I've played the piece for the millionth time
Halfway through.
I know I am a writer
Because when I do math
I do the same thing
The numbers are my friends 
I pity them and rejoice in their joy
The world of algebra
peopled by those friends of mine.
I know I am a writer
Because I sometime narrate my life in my head
Not always
But sometimes.
I know I'm a writer
because occasionaly when someone says something
I add my own ending to their words, to the paragraph in the book that is my life.
I don't know I'm a writer
Because there are so many other wonderfull things to do
And sometimes I get overinthusiastic
And pore all my words out
And there are none left
I don't know I'm I writer
Because there are so many other people who write
In different ways I wouldn't have thought of
I question myslef sometimes.
But I know I'm a writer
When the words come pouring out
And I have to shout
I know
When the words come pouring like the rain
When I think of all the ways
My world is me because of writing
When I think of all the ways
That I'm a writer.

(Photo Credit: irishjayne)
DECAF
By Eli

We always meet here.

The waiter comes, I order some coffee
He asks where she is
I say she’s on her way

I can smell her
This place smells of her
She smells of this place
Our memories smell of here
They always will.

I wait.

I finish my coffee and order more; decaf
She always gets decaf, I remember
I don’t want this coffee anymore

I wait.
It’s late.
I leave.

I'd told the waiter she was on her way

(Photo Credit: irishjayne)

Tiny Writes!

Vote. Do it for those who can't.
-Drift

Some things are right.
Some things are wrong.

My heart can't seem to make up its mind with you.
-nean_bean

If half of it doesn't crumble off when you bite into it,
and cover your shirt,
it isn't a proper croissant.
-Fiona Ella

I don't usually do homework in a furry Russian hat
 that's been butchered by scissors,
a gold lamé dress,
black lipstick and sparkly bronze eyeshadow.
Halloween makes everything so strange.

-Fiona Ella
 
 

YWP Newsletter - 10. 29. 2018



Driving through town this weekend, leaf-orange pumpkins dotted the roadside porches, steps, and fence posts, grinning jaggedly. Halloween is fast approaching, signaling the end of October, and with it, my month as editor of this newsletter. As I bid farewell to you wonderful readers (until later this year), I've decided to share a personal story of Halloween fright.

My trick or treating days are now done, but when I first moved into my neighborhood, about six years ago, I was very excited to do just that; it's one of those sprawling suburb neighborhoods that trickles out of the city with a gradual lengthening of lawns and heightening of trees that requires several miles to become "the country". My friend and I brainstormed our costumes far in advance,  and finally decided on animals named after Halloween creatures; a Vampire bat and a Ghost shrimp. On Halloween night, I dressed in my large white hoodie with six ghostly shrimp legs attached, topped off with large goggling eyes and twirling blue antennae on the hood. I also carried a sign that said "Boo!", so I wasn't mistaken as merely an uncooked shrimp. We set off into the dark, windy night and began our search for sugar. Once we had been up and down several streets, and were almost at the end of yet another. My friend and I confidently mounted the steps and rang the doorbell of the gray-shuttered house at the end of the street. The door opened briskly, revealing a smiling face in the glow. All at once another face peered around the door, wearing a wrinkly rust-colored mask. I yelped in fear, then fled their porch and back to my chuckling parents. My heart still racing, I was reluctant to try another house, but my friend insisted. Once again, we rang the doorbell. The door opened, and a  young women kindly extended an orange candy bowl. I was about to take a piece, when a shadow fell across the doorway. That hideous mask fresh in my mind, I scrambled backward and poised to flee....from a little girl in pink pajamas, come to help her mom hand out treats. It was deeply embarrassing then, but now I only laugh. Have fun this Halloween, and bring back some fun stories to share with us!


As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. Feel free to skip ahead if you're a regular.

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter, curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, Recommend work for Publication, Create Challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This Newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining...we aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience, provide our busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some of the pieces we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: Check out the other Newsletters, and share the link with others who may enjoy it. 

This issue features the creations of:  _Eliza_Be_Ghostly_13, Dancer, diopj, irishjayne, JuliaR, Love to write, Maisie N, Rovva, Rubber Soul, and The Young Poet

YWP HAPPENINGS:

November 15: Climate Open Mic - All are Welcome! - Come share environmentally - themed words and art, then collaborate with fellow creators to speak out for our planet. I hope to see you there!

Check out YWP Events 2018-19 for more information on this Special SoundCheck, and other ongoing opportunities. 


( Photo Credit: Love to write )

By JuliaR

I am a pumpkin
my insides have been harvested
and my eyes and expression
have been carved into straight sharp lines
by knives.
Every time it rains the sky like a light switch 
flicks off
and my carved lips
start to rot away
pushed on by the darkness.
I am hollow 
a hole waiting to be filled with something
or by someone.
A pumpkin waiting for winter to come
and take me away. 

(Photo Credit: Dancer )
By Maisie N 

Beautiful and unusual
You, a moonshine monster
Open your lips to the heavens
And tell me which it is you dread more
As you howl out your solemn question
Is it the echo or the answer?
Would you rather know that you are alone
Or live wondering what is out there?

I will live as a map on your wall
That you fill with red pushpins and stickers
Marking all of the places you have dreamt of
From the back of a pickup truck in September
On the nights that you barely remember living
Filled with good company and crisp autumn air
Take me with you wherever you go
Whether to the edge of town or the end of the world.

So tell me is this a simple seasonal change?
Or are the trees truly catching fire?
The leaves drift so easily to the ground
While I always seem to fall much harder
Bare branches are all you seem to see
No nuance, no heart to the picture
No need for disguises on Halloween
If you will let me live to see October.

Snowflakes fall and collect on the ground
Burrying the taste and feel of summer
Frozen landscapes etched into the horizon
The unforgiving permanence of November
A blanket and a bottle to keep you warm
A photograph you hope never to remember
Tonight the moon is entirely invisible
But the stars will always be there.

I swear there are times I wish I had not met you
Knowing how hard you will be to forget
I hold you in the creases of my palm
Untouchable within my iron fist
A garden sprouts between my fingers
With nothing but moonlight to nurture it
These are the outcomes I must consider
Before I answer your haunting question.

( Photo Credit: Love to write )
By diopj

The shiver will run through your bones,
Past your skin,
And grab your lungs.

Down the hatch, It's cold song goes
Pulling open its rusty jaw
And letting out a symphony of screams.

Don’t cry for help young sailor boy,
You hummed the tune that lured It out,
Each note deepening  your grave.

Your tears salt the monsters meat,
Your bones add texture to the meal,
It never kills or cooks its food, I wants to hear you squeal.

Feel the crunching of your ribs,
Feel the blood drip, drop, and drain from your heart,
Unless the song can restart.

Cause when you, sailor boy, hummed It’s tune,
Sang a song that belonged to It,
A cold chill ran through It’s scales,

And It rose from the pit.

Vengeance for the song you stole,
Vengeance is all It craves,
And now that I’ve found you,

I’ll sing you a lullaby as you lay in your grave.

( Photo Credit: irishjayne 

Tiny Writes

Even as our planet dies,
trees falling,
little girl cries,
The Robin
still sings
-  _Eliza_Be_Ghostly_13

I'd heard your name before.
If I'd spared a glance,
I think I'd be a different person.
- Rovva

Sitting in this quiet room,
All I can think about is you.
Hearing the clicking of the keys,
They echo out your name to me.
Knowing you're not next to me this time,
Why can I still feel your hand in mine?
- The Young Poet

It's raining dreams 
I wonder who they belong to
And why they dreamed the things they did.
I let the dreams fall onto my face 
And know that I shall be a second-hand dreamer tonight.
-Rubber Soul

YWP Newsletter - 10. 22. 2018



This Tuesday, I stuck to my promise of taking the hour long bus ride home, to be dropped off last, rather than walking the 3/4 of mile uphill road to my house, which my bus so conviently passes by only fifteen minutes into my ride. I'd taken this quicker, if slightly more dangerous route, for most of the past school year, but my parents had begun to worry about my safety. That afternoon as I boarded the bus, I had changed my usual "I'd like to walk, if that's alright." to "I'm going to ride all the way today." My bus driver raised his eyebrows slightly, confused, at first; my walking had become a familiar routine. I quickly explained, then settled in for the long ride, trying to figure out what homework I could do on the bus, and how I was going to get everything done with this delay. Realizing I'd need a computer for almost all my assingments, I was about to pull out a book when I noticed were off the usual route, and heading towards my road from the other direction. We pulled up at my driveway, and I got up, smiling. "Have the routes changed?" I asked the driver. "No, I did it for you." After thanking him warmly, I hurried towards my house, excited to be home so soon, and still smiling. I don't know if he realized, but my bus driver made my week. To be stressed and worried, then out of the blue, have someone who owes me nothing do something so genuinely kind, was absolutely amazing. Bus drivers can be extremely undervalued, but they are responsible for safely transporting dozens of students everyday. They get a quick "Thank you" as we rush out the door, but they deserve so much more. Let's remember that everyone's job is important, and appreciate the part they play in our lives. Below this week, and all the others, are pieces that I appreciate; for their creativity, beauty, strength, and messages. 

As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. Feel free to skip ahead if you're a regular.

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter, curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, Recommend work for Publication, Create Challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This Newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining...we aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience, provide our busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some of the pieces we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: Check out the other Newsletters, and share the link with others who may enjoy it. 

This issue features the creations of: Abriatis, Aidster21, Alaina.J_27, k.diagle, Kittykatruff, lia.chien, Love to write, Maisie N., sophie.d, 

YWP HAPPENINGS:

Next SoundCheck - November 15: Environmentally Themed - Check back next week for more info. 

Poetry Experience Workshop with Rajnii Eddins - THIS Saturday, 1 - 3pm, Fletcher Free Library, Burlington

Poetry Riot - October 24th; see YWP Events 2018-19 for more information on this event and others.

 

By Maisie N. 

Ink on her skin
Fire in her veins
But it was the look in her eyes
That gave her away
She gets what she wants
Without any debate
You could count her lovers
But they are one and the same.

Show me that her youth is only temporary
And that I am no different from her
Blame it on what each of us was wearing
Say we got what we deserved.
What kind of girl would walk the streets alone?
The both of us should know better
Than to feel safe in our own homes
Than to be unafraid of the dark.

His fingernails left crescent moons
Glaring bright red against my pale forearm
Her scars blended in with her tatoos
While mine live on-- a constant reminder
Remorse and rumors surround us two
With neither of us knowing of the other
Complicit in a crime we did not choose
Silent in what makes us similar.

Tell her that she is far too pretty
To be at a bar all alone
Tell me that I should have thought
Before I went out running without my phone
Tell her that her tatoos make her look 'easy'
Tell me I should not wear shorts in June
Tell us whatever you need to hear
To believe that there is nothing that you can do.

If I could tell you how it felt
If she could make you understand
That this is what we mean when we say
That it is hard to be a woman
Because you write us off so easily
With a harsh word and a wave of your hand
Call us sluts or ignorant teens
And resent us for our resillience.

Me and her have nothing in common
Nothing except for people like you
The fear that it might happen again
Solidarity in unspoken, undeniable truths
We would not choose to be the victims
In the center of this dispute
But sometimes you have to make sacrifices
​Because it can happen to anyone... even you. 

( Photo Credit: Love to write )
 
By Alaina.J_27

I pop off the top of my scalp
like the top of a cookie jar.
It's the secret place
where I keep all my dreams.
Little balls of sunshine, 
bouncing around like 
a little bundle of kittens.
I reach inside with my
thumb and forefinger
and pluck one out.

It is warm, 
radiating with potential.
I quickly put it in the bottle to keep it safe.
And I put that bottle on the self 
with all the others.
Happy thoughts, sad thoughts,
angry thoughts, cool thoughts.
All those thoughts,
safely put in bottles,
lined up in a row.

My collection helps me help my friends.
Each bottle a starlight to make amends.
Sometimes my friend feels a certain way;
Down comes a bottle to save the day.

Night after night, 
more and more dreams.
Friend after friend,
stranger after stranger,
down come more bottles.
Deeper and deeper my bare nails go;
like exploring a cave,
discovering the secrets hiding in the 
nooks and crannies.
Digging and digging.
Scraping and scraping.

I blow dust off my bottle caps.
It doesn't feel like time elapsed.
My empty shelf could use some more.
My friends look through my locked front door.

Finally, all done.
I open up and in come my friends.
in they come, in such a hurry.
Do they want my bottles that much?
I frantically pull them from the shelf,
one after the other.
Holding them out to each and every person.
Each and every bottle.
But every time I let one go,
it shatters against the wood beneath my feet.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts,
happy thoughts all in shards scattered on the floor.

They were supposed to be for my friends.
My friends who aren't smiling.
They're all shouting, yelling, screaming.

Now I realize that they weren't 
my friends at all.
They just acted like it.
They were fake.
I thought they were real.
I told them my secrets,
let them into my dreams,
gave them happy thoughts
when they weren't happy.

But none of it was real.
I poured my heart and soul 
into those bottles,
to help, my friends.
But they weren't my friends.
They weren't true friends.
And I will never let myself
make that same mistake again.

Now all that there remains
are the broken pieces of my heart
on the floor,
blending in with the shards
of shattered glass,
glinting in the sunlight,
like the deadly weapon it can be.

( Art Credit: Aidster21 )
By sophie.d

I'm furious
And that's saying a lot for me
And I'm tired
Of this fight of climate and corporations
Oil and overheating
Melting and methane
Of people who care
Scrapping at the outskirts 
Of climate power. 

And I'm 16
And like to cross country ski
In the woods behind my house
But when I'm 36
When I want to hike with my kids
In the woods
I'm afraid
There won't be any trees
When I want to teach them to ski
I'm afraid
There won't be any snow
And when I want to teach them
To protect this earth
I'm afraid
There will be nothing left to save.  

But I can't reach through time
And guarantee those
Human rights will exist
20 years from now
I can't grab the world
With an outstretched arm
And paint it green again.
I'm 16
With ample years ahead of me
With ample passion and ideas
Burning in my chest
But I don't have a US flag pinned
To my suit jacket
I don't have an oil company
Under my name.
And I don't have the power
To force a better future
Upon us all. 

I can't change the future
But I can't silence my qualms
I can't ignore the ground trembling below me
But I can change the present.

Each moment
Holds an opportunity
To give back to the land
That has given us
Our pass of life.
Each moment
Tells a story
Of the individual
Struggling to create
Change within
Their own little world

Each little world touches
A million other worlds
In each lifetime
And so I believe
A movement can sprout
Lasting change can take root
The caring unite
On a quest to save a planet. 

And so,
I stand in the cafeteria
On the first day of school
And tell people whose names I don't even know
"The wax paper is actually compostable,"

I show up with
Sticky notes in a color-coded
Planner coated
In last nights 
Climate project ideas.

I'm 16
And I write poetry
I lead meetings
I raise my voice 
Even if I'm uncomfortable
People are shouting over me
Or no one is listening
For the earth cannot speak for itself.

I'm 16 and this is my world
Not just today 
Not just tomorrow
But for a lifetime
And this is your world too
I challenge you all
To step up
And change it.

We the people
Of the United States of America
Are angry.
Demand justice 
Demand peace
Demand the action
Our planet deserves.
We the people
Of the climate movement
Are taking the earth back.

I'm 16
And I raise my voice
For the future
And I invite you
To join me.

( Photo Credit: lia.chien )
Tiny Writes
                                                                               She fed everything to the fire she loved to the fire.            
                                                                                                                                                               Including herself. - Abriatis  "



"Today, the wind blew so hard                                               
It knocked my thoughts   
Right off their feet." - Kittykatruff 

                                                                                                                             

You took the sun with you when you left. 
The day is lighter at night than at noon.
I thought you took my heart in your theft
but now I love the stars and the moon. 
- k.daigle 

 

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