YWP Content Published in Newspapers

Young Writers Project is grateful to these newspaper partners who publish your work on a regular basis. Weekly: Burlington Free Press and Valley News. Monthly: Addison Independent, Bradford Journal-Opinion, Brattleboro Reformer, Charlotte News, Essex Reporter, Milton Independent, Rutland Herald (and Reader), St. Albans Messenger, Times Argus (and Extra), Williston Observer. These papers are read by more than 150,000 people.

YWP staff, volunteers and Community Leaders from this site help select work.  If you'd like to help with this process, contact Executive Director Susan Reid.


Jun 12
Kittykatruff's picture

Yellow Butterflies

Pretty yellow butterflies
Flit over the grass,
Wingtips barely missing
Flowers, twigs, amber tree sap.

I gaze into the darkened sky
And feel a certain blue;
the kind that weighs your shoulders down
and reveals brutal truths;

A little yellow butterfly
lands on my fingertip,
the sun shines through the clouds
and then I'm flying up to it—

My laughs rings out a thousand bells
and floats silvery-like through the air;
a million yellow butterflies
Dancing everywhere—

Pretty yellow butterflies
float into the field,
I can't help smiling, though they don't know
the joy they make me feel.

Jun 12


I walk into school

Smiling and hoping for the sun to be bright above us

cheering us up

warming our faces

I see you

walking into school

Also smiling

but I can see behind your mask

I can see behind the laughing look in your eyes

and I see that you are







And I look on in silence

Not knowing what to do

Your eyes are dry from crying tears

That you don’t deserve to cry

Look to the light

Look to the better

Look to us

The ones who love you

Because you don’t have to be


You are strong enough to push aside your pain

I know you can

Jun 11

Dear Me

Prompt: "Dear me, Please remember"

Dear me, please remember

You're a mess, a beautiful mess

The world is a stage, your stage

You've loved before, you can love again

You've made mistakes, you can learn from them

You're never alone, never again

You hate yourself, but others love you

Think of them, always, keep them in your heart

You've broken promises, you can keep new ones

You can change to be the person you want to be

"Yet Caesar shall go forth," live by that

You might not win awards, but that's okay

We'll write to you always, all of us.

You can make it through.
Jun 08

But Life is Life

We are told 
To live in the moment. 
A moment, 
Every moment. 

Sometimes, we are victimized
For wanting to see the bigger picture, 
Or, for caring about the overal outcome. 

So maybe my opionon 
Is an unpopular one. 
But nonetheless, 
I don't think living in the moment 
Is all it's cracked up to be. 

We stress 
About little things 
Happening at this very second
In our very long lives. 

The way we look in middle school, 
The way our friend acted in a certain situation, 
That we were late by five minutes. 

Granted, some things in life do make 
Greater impacts 
Than just a few seconds or days 
Of stress, or harmful emotions. 

But most things, 
Especially when you're in high school, 
Don't last longer than those few seconds.

They don't need to, 
Unless you choose to stretch them out. 

Jun 07
fiction 0 comments challenge: Pal

True Companion

"Pen, please," I asked and I lifted the pen between my fingers as if it was moving on its own.
But in my head, my friend named Natalie lifted the pen and passed it to me. 
The sky was a bright blue and the treehouse I was sitting in was bright yellow with sun raining in through the windows.
I sat on a teal beanbag across from Natalie, who was sitting on a green one.
"Natalie, do you remember when you were a journal. I always had to write all of my hardships, problems, and joys between your covers." I say thinking about the days.
"Yes, I do. Very vaguely. But I was so tired and every time you wrote, 'I wish you were alive, I could use another friend.' I felt a longing to be your true companion." says Natalie.
Jun 07
poem 4 comments challenge: General
lodestoa's picture


Silence screams.
Silence laughs.
Silence listens.
Your constant voice is blistering.
Silence lies.
Silence deceives.
Silence hides.
The only time you hold your tongue is when it benefits your side.
It's the only true language I speak.
It echoes through my mind.
It bleeds,
It leaks.
It stitches together my very existence,
I'll discover on my own.
That, and I'll listen.
Tired of all the meaningless conversations.
Acting like small talk’s going out of season.
The squeaky wheel gets the oil.
Well, maybe I'm fine rollin' in the soil.
Sometimes silence says more than words,
And to that I say:

Jun 06
poem 0 comments challenge: General

Middle school

Middle school.
I look up at your cracked, cream-colored ceilings
and your dusty, caramel carpet. 

Outside your vintage windows, 
six-graders are playing capture the flag,
thinking middle school never ends. 

But you are.
You're ending for me,

And sure I'll remember the egg drop and the Olympics
and maybe I’ll remember the laughing in the hallways,
but we both know your time has come.

I won't hold a grudge, I won’t be mad,
and I promise I won't forget everything you've taught me.
So drift away into my distant memories,
long loved and long remembered.
Jun 05
haileychase's picture

White Yarrow

Lacy eyes stare back into mine,
Curious for the answers.
A broken clock freezing time
In a pure and ghost-like manner.

Ivory flowers cover the head,
Exposing beauty to every direction.
The seeds are due to spread
And magnetize more attention.

The fresh scent of sweet nectar
Compliments the citron bird’s song.
With no designed protector,
The fragile blossom stands strong.
Jun 03
poem 2 comments challenge: Junk

My Old Wood Castle

They’re going to tear it down,
the old barn in our backyard,
because it’s too old
and it’s falling apart.
They’re not entirely wrong,
it is falling apart
and it is old,
but it never lost its beauty.
You can still jump from the window
and land on your feet.
You can still put your bike
in one of the little storage rooms.
You can still pull down the ladder
and climb to the second floor.
You can still watch the birds
as they build their nests.
You could still breathe the dust
and feel the wood.
They’ll never tear down
my memories of that beautiful,
wondrous castle
with my baby swing,
my bike and jump ropes,
my hula-hoops and stickers,
and my little old rocking chair.
They’ll never erase my handwriting,
written in colored chalk.
All they see is a junkyard
and all I see is a castle.
May 25

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