YWP Content Published in Newspapers

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Jul 31
poem 1 comment challenge: Cafeteria

Remembering The Years

Kindergarten smelled like plastic and looked like chaos. I remember playing with lots of toys.
First grade smelled like chalk and looked like confusion. I remember the chalkboards filled with small words.
Second grade smelled like nature and looked like recess. I remember running around the playground no matter the sun, rain, or snow. 
Third grade smelled like something new and looked like exhaustion. I remember climbing the extra steps to get to my new classroom.
Forth grade smelled like scented pencils and looked like books. I remember everyone had one of those pencils while I had books.
Fifth grade smelled like paper and looked like Pokemon cards. I remember having lots of homework and even more cards to trade.
Sixth grade smelled like rubber and looked like a long hallway. Middle school was terrifying with high schoolers a few feet away. 
Jul 27


This pen,
is the only thing that can truly understand,
in detail,
What I am feeling. 
For this pen is like a therapist,
it comforts me on my bad days,
and cheers me on in my tomes of victory.
It knows my lover and my friends,
My old crushes,
My painful childhood. 
It knows me fully.
It's the only thing that knows what terrorizes me,
and what makes me feel like I'm flying.
Sure my lover knows all these things,
But this pen,
This pen knows more.
For it has written miles upon miles of odes to my lovers and to my trauma.
This pen,
is one of the only things that knows me,
Inside and out.
For this pen,
is like my therapist. 
Jul 24

A Confession for the Neighbors

I am mostly 
one for knots, broken strings, 
holding things I 
should’ve let off 
long ago. 
I am not a poet. 
I still get lost looking 
for home 
and don’t mind much either.
I collect wandering words
and release my own. 
I found a notebook today.
One that had surely 
been washed from its author 
many minutes ago, 
from some other’s toes,
and probably, if I am completely 
tears too. 
I am told to find a map 
and come in from the rain 
without blue ink 
running down fingertips

my feet
are tied to this spot
and maps are better
upside-down, anyways. 
I’m sure you have witnessed, 
in a downpour, birds 
that still sing and a young child 
pulled along by the wind, 
screaming into the sky.
Jul 21
serenamae2020's picture

The First Cup of Coffee

the first rays of sunlight
seep through your shades;
you shy away from the hue
hoping for just a few more minutes of peace

but it's too much; 
you begin to stretch, 
restless as you try to shake 
sleep from your eyelashes

you peek at the clock 
and sigh when you see
that it's 5:42 am 

trudging to the kitchen, 
you fumble through the cabinets 
desperately trying to find the one clean mug
so you can indulge 
in a much-needed cup of coffee 

the first tendrils of steam hit your nose
and you breathe deeply,
relaxing as the comforting aroma
surrounds you with warmth

you plop yourself down
at the round kitchen table
and take your first sip of coffee. 
the sunlight again coats your face, 
but this time you welcome it with open arms, 
smiling in the soft glow of dawn. 
Jul 11

We were kids once

When we were kids, we went out trick-or-treating.
Our parents did our makeup so we looked cute
and scary at the same time.

When we were kids, we drew graffiti in our notebooks.
Our teachers read us books about sneezing elephants
and cats with very tall hats.

When we were kids, we threw water balloons at fences.
Our friends would draw on our arms with fat markers
and draw round smiley faces.

When we were kids, we watched the world spin.
Our excitement to grow up was becoming evident
and we put on our little boots.

Now that we're older, we watch rated R movies.
Our parents hand candy out the front door
and we try to scare the kids.

Now that we're older, we draw the people we miss.
Our teachers hand us books about the big future
and awful historical tragedies.

Now that we're older, we throw anger at politicians.
Jul 11
Monster_T_02's picture

My Soul Is Returning

I know I may not be the best,
Nor is my mind the greatest,
But I do know my heart still beats,
With the  purest of intent.

My mind may still weep,
My soul may still cry,
But I will not allow myself,
To lay down,
And die.

My hope is slowly returning,
My garden I will replant,
Self love I am still learning,
And strengthening like an ant.

My path is very shaky,
And monsters still jump out,
But seven years is all I need,
to clean my skeltons out.

Seven year in cells,
I will be a new being,
And my body will be cleansed,
From all their wrongdoings.

Your body is renewed,
After seven years,
Every cell is replaced;
The thought brings me to tears.

One day they will not touch me,
My body will not be their's,
I will be a new person,
Without all these trivial fears.

My mind my still be shifts,
Jul 01


Another story to tell-
because these days I 
can't think of the future. 

Do you wonder about the stars-
every night they shine
for billions of souls to see. 

Guess what's on my mind- 
have you got an answer?
I'd tell you, it's
just- you might be afraid. See, 

kings and queens rule over
land- worry rules over 
my thoughts.

(nothing can be simple)

Only breathing, but even then the 
precious air seems to fight for space in my
quilted body. 

(restless rise and fall)

Saying things is not believing
them, yet  
under every star-filled sky is a 
victory and a child.

When we look around, 
x-rays of our eyes look like magnifying glasses. 
You're sweet to wonder about my 
zagging thoughts. Are you sure it's better to be together?
Jun 23


This morning the sun,
beyond the birch grove, 
ripened like a summer peach. 

The river rushed to the ocean. 
My body was a core of closet dust. 

This morning dark stones on a ledge 
descended in handfuls: 
slipping into each other, 
tumbling like an uptight crowd. 

Your gaze drops like a feather
to the wilted corner of the vacant bedroom 
where a pile of ruffled notebooks 
sit slouched, untouched 
in over a year. 

You promise yourself 
not to be static,
not to get stuck,
not to be a moon for someone 
else's planet. 

The boy behind the blue cash register
at the corner store accidentally
circles you in his sleep. 

When you were younger
you revolved around a model
of Pluto, downsized
and jammed into a jar. 

Usually, bookshelves 
hold people adept to looping 
the lip
of sink drains and kissing
Jun 22

flower power

some spring-time flowers!
Jun 21

Lake Champlain at Sunset

The egg yolk of a sun had already dripped away

City lights peppered the peninsula, breaking up the hard outline where land meets air

The lake was a placid raspberry colored mirror of the rainbow sunset, fringed by indigo night

Fish disrupted the watery glass-like surface, creating small ripples

As the colorful horizon melted into the vast depths of sky, a large ghost-like moon rose

The lake now shimmered with a new pale light.