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