Jun 03
The Soccer Bee 48's picture

Hungry

            I am hungry for knowledge. I alway want to learn. The only downfall is I want knowledge on thing I want to learn about. So if you tell me to learn about some I don’t want to learn about I am going to Half ass it. But when I learn some thing about a thing I like to learn about. Then I will keep digging for more knowledge.
           For example in first through third grade I was obsessed with anacondas which are a kind of snake. I kept learning. I was a computer of knowledge on anacondas. Now I am thirsty for understanding of World War two. From memwoirs to historical fiction I am continuing to read and inform myself on this horrific topic.
             I can’t compare to my hunger for knowledge to anything else.

 
Oct 18
joseph.deffner's picture

A Quiet Winter Day




The snow crunches softly beneath my boots as I trudge up the hill. Small delicate snowflakes land on my fuzzy hat. I tilt my head back to catch them in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, a male cardinal dashes from tree to tree, his red feathers bright against the white snow. When I get to the top of the hill, I pause to look around at the snow covered trees, and listen to how peaceful it is. Dropping my sled on the wet snow, I climb on and slide down the hill, going down easily on top of the smooth and icy snow. The cool wind blowing in my face, smiling to myself. Winter makes me feel serene and content.
Jun 28

Lights Out


On June 27, after a heart-warming dinner with the Young Writers Project board (thank you Kathy), after hearing (thank you Susan) the startlingly kind words sent to me from many of you and your predecessors on how much this little project and community has meant, does mean, to you, I shut off the office lights for the last time after 12 years as YWP's executive director.

To you and the 110,000 kids we have touched in that time, thank you for opening your souls; thank you for sharing your ideas and observations, your flights of fancy and moments of bewilderment. Thank you for taking such creative risk.

You have enriched my life. You've opened my eyes to what you see and feel and experience and think and believe. And you have enriched the lives of thousands upon thousands of others -- your readers.
Jul 22

Me and Autism (Part 4)

If you haven't read Parts 1, 2, and 3 READ THEM!!!  But if you don't want to, here is an overview of both of them. I'm a 14-year-old girl living with autism. Autism affects everyone in different ways, for me it makes it hard to be in social situations and I have a hard time understanding if someone is being sarcastic or if they are being real. To people, I can come across as annoying and weird, because I'm not really open about it because I don't want to be known as 'the girl with autism.'
Let's get into Part 4. 
Some days have autism weighs down on me like weights that can't be lifted. Like sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I didn't have autism. Sometimes I go down these worms-holes just thinking about what it would be like, and I know that is not healthy but it is true and I am working on it. 
Jul 19

Blank slate

The tight, sharp scent of fresh paint weaves familiarity into my lungs. I am lit by a current of warmth and streaming stillness as my eyes reflect the existence of last light. The peeling window is a transparent telescope, bending in burning contrast, curtains of blank, lifeless ice, still rivers down ripped brown bones. It shapes the dusty calm of brightness, shifting patterns and forming minuscule, precise rivers of luminescence to display on my open face. My mind drifts forward in the river of impossibility. I see my own eyes project what can never be elsewhere imagined onto the stark, crisp canvas. Fingers grasp the marked old stem of ideas failed, of visions brought to life, my nimble fingers relentless in rubbing its dried personality, chipping away, silent.
Jul 19

Take a pause and listen!

Jul 12
nonfiction challenge: Freedom
sopheneavedissian's picture

The Cage

Jul 05

The fifth of July parade

When I was a kid, there was nothing I wanted to be more than a Revolutionary War reenactor.  I would don my Little House on the Prairie-esque dress and bonnet and go the events like the pole-capping and encampments a few towns over. This love for history and for reenactors has stuck around. What hasn't stuck around is the blind patriotism of a kid who idolized Abe Lincoln, who dressed as George Washington, who read and dreamed and played.

I guess the death of George Floyd when I was 16 was the end of that time in my life. All of a sudden it became very clear to me, a privileged, sheltered individual, that America was a deeply flawed institution. There were gaping holes in the tapestry of the conventional historical narrative-burned and etched away by generations of the white ruling class.
Jul 04
poem, nonfiction challenge: Watermelon

My Livelihood Explained in Terms of Watermelon, Skipping, Frogs, Pretending, and Feathers

Ⅰ.      My mother wonders why I don’t like watermelon. Why I don’t like red lips smacking, spitting out the seed and sucking down to the rind. They are too watery for me. I want something substantial. Something real. Something I can leap to and grasp. I don’t care for a melon I can rip apart with my bare hands. She should feed me poetry instead. Lyrical longing, paper pans, red ripe suns flavored with salt from the Atlantic. I would gobble it down and beg for more. 

Ⅱ.     My siblings always seem feather light. If you try to keep them grounded they just float away. They act like the world exists for them. My brother and sister are dancing after dark. They are fireflies kept in jars that bang against the walls until they inevitably escape. If I were to write about them, the words would probably shake, shout, bicker and laugh themselves right off the page. 

Ⅲ.     I’ve always liked to skip. Since my birth I’ve been skipping: 
         crying 
Jun 30

Why Can't I Write Poetry Anymore?


I wonder if there is such a thing as too much feeling
maybe my arms ache for you too much to hold the pen

 
Jun 18
Yellow Sweater's picture

Before you jump

Last night, I went down to the water just before it got dark. I sat on the seawall with my knees close to my chest and smelled the salt. The water was grey, but it reflected the burnished purple of the sky. How many times have I skinned my knees on those rocks? How many times have I broken myself open and gotten sand in my wounds? I feel rugged and ripe. I suppose that is what comes from living in a beautiful town situated on a crumbling cliffside.

I bruised the seagrass until it smelled alive.
Jun 14
happydancer's picture

End of school year stuff :)

As we slip into summer break, I just wanted to express that school in the past year in the pandemic has been incredibly difficult and that everyone here deserves time to themselves this summer to do things that you love!

We all may still have responsibilities this summer that we have to do, but still, try to find time to do things that make you happy this summer.

Be proud of yourself for everything you have overcome this past year and for the strength you have gained.

For me, this past year has been a constant struggle between me trying to be productive and just being exhausted (and I'm sure many of you feel this way as well!), and saying this to all of you is also just a reminder to myself that we all deserve a break. ...

And of course, congrats to all my fellow high school grads (and to all the middle school and elementary school grads as well)! :)
Jun 08

Challenge Idea

Write about a relationship (friendship, romantic, etc) you've had in your life that you've had to 'break-up'. Write about the 'break-up' from the other persons' Point Of Veiw. How did they feel? How were the affected? 

 
May 30
lostchild's picture

Alli and I

     Alli started at our house one summer when her dog ran away and Alli's mom had to go catch him. Alli was freaking out and very apprehensive about being left outside the apartment building with a random person she barely knew. Bethaney, who is Alli mom, was shocked with how well and how fast my mom was able to calm her down and make her feel comfortable with us. That was the day my mom was asked if she could start taking care of Alli. From that day on, Alli's and my bond had our ups and downs, like any relationship, and in the end it was strong.
May 27
nonfiction challenge: Nice
Peter Gustafson's picture

Benjamin the Rabbit



YWP Contest #39 Nice
May 23
The ELM's picture

The ELM Staff

Editor-in-Chief
Penny deRosset
 
 
Associate Editors
Scarlett Contreras-Montesano
Cora Lea
Alex Gordon
Morgan Davis
 
 
Teacher Advisor
Mr. Rich Boyers
 
 
Cover Art
Connor Byam

 
This publication was made possible by the generous support of the Edmunds Middle School Parent Teacher Organization and Young Writers Project

Art opposite page: Siena DeMink

 
May 20
nonfiction challenge: Adaptation

Evolving

If I could speed up the evolution of everyone I would make it so everyone could see everyone else as a person, as a person just like everyone else. No matter who they are as a person but for people to be able to see that we are all human and that no matter what if we are black, white, or mixed. Or if we are male, female, trans, non-binary, gender fulid, or something else. Or if we are in the lgbtq+ or not. Or even if the pronouns are she/her, he/him, they/them, or something else. Because we are all people but not everyone doesn’t sees that...
 
May 19
Whiteflamingo79k's picture

IM SO SOORRRY ;-;

Sorry that I haven't been posting lately lots of baseball and other stuff, ill post a poem though


An Ode To The Untouchable

The Untouchable
Un-A prefix meaning “not”

Touchable-The sense of touch in your range

Something out of reach

Not close

But far

Your blinded by it

The lack of being there

What could it feel like?

Soft?

Rough?

Cold?

Hot?

Smooth?

Bumpy?

So many possibilities

What could it be?

Does it hurt?

It could be a ice cube

Slowly 

D r i p p i n

            G

Down your back

It could be 

A thorn bush piercing your skin

It could be a splinter 

The untouchable and touchable

Isn't the table

It's the splinter you get from the table
May 19
Ace Yeom's picture

Just Like the Walking Stick

I slowly opened my eyes and sat up in the backseat of my mother’s car.

“How long has it been?” I groaned.

“We’re here. I was just about to wake you up.”
May 17

reckless spontaneity

A fluorescent lit car, empty with the exception of me and a boy and girl my age. I study their faces, full of mirth. Once we reach the next stop, giggling fills the subway. Together they agree that they will ride in between the two bulky cars, clutching onto only a silver handle and unspoken apprehension. I watch, alarmed, as they leave the subway compartment. Something about the dangerous romantics of it all, left me in shock. They talk to each other as if it was a casual day, while I pray that one of their brown haired heads doesn’t disappear into the tracks. Hands smell of metal (or is it blood?) and they laugh, outwardly denying their parents with their reckless spontaneity.