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]
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]
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]