Each month, Young Writers Project publishes the best work -- words, images and sound -- of this community. This premiere publication features writing from community members from all over the world and reaches 15,000 individual IP addresses a month, a good deal more than 15,000 humans who spend a lot of time reading AND they come back to finish! Help us get more readers! Spread the word -- and the link: https://youngwritersproject.org/thevoice -- on social media, on your email signature, in emails to friends!
The selections for this magazine are made by YWP staff, volunteer professionals, mentors and Community Leaders on the site. If you'd like to participate, contact Susan Reid.
The bass on the radio reminds me Of your voice on Christmas day A blues-adjacent harmony The the trumpet you would play Our two pairs of green eyes Watching orange coals in the fireplace A childhood we left behind Memories we carry to this day.
This music makes me think of you The sharp, focused melody In time with deeper blues Jazz plays in my head as I walk home alone Follows me no matter what I do.
I like the sweet smell of maple wafting through the house
I like the bubbles, big and small, growing and shrinking I like waiting for the thermometer to hit 295° F I like watching the hot maple syrup swirl in the pan I like the molds, rounded metal concealing delicate designs I like the syrup trickling into the tiny cracks and crevices I like waiting until the syrup is thick in the mold
Below the sky are the clouds; white as milk Below the clouds is the sea; soft as silk But what is below the sea? Below the sea is a city; gleaming and gold Below the sea is a monster; fearsome and bold Below the sea there is something, but maybe just nothing
this morning i sit (alone) watching the sun crawl up from behind the mountains. it's astonishing and makes me wonder why i don't rise before the sun every morning. and it makes me think of you, still sleeping softly (somewhere too far away). the thought leaves a sour missing feeling in my chest and throat forcing me to look away from the sun (to hide my tears from his watching eyes)
I lift my chin to the sky to expose my neck to the unbridled sun and fall into the ocean back first, belly-up. It rocks me like a sleeper car, holds me in the crook of its arm and carries me out towards the horizon.
Of course we don't notice the water growing deeper; we're floating on our backs, after all.
Beneath the pebbled surface my fourteen-year-old eyes ripple like hot glass,
The autistic mind is a very complex mechanism. Take it from me. I am on the autism spectrum. People with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) see, hear, sense, and process the world in completely different ways than neurotypical people. While I am not an expert on ASD, I am an expert at living with it. I am aware of it every day. People with ASD sense more things than people who don’t have ASD. Smells are heightened to another level, and certain noises irritate our sensitive hearing.
You'd probably like to think you're strong, You sure try to act like it. Remember when you dropped that 10 pound weight, And you said you didn't mean to, But I knew it was because you couldn't lift it for long? That should be proof enough. But the truth is, You're like my little Charlie Brown tree, Sad and puny, But strong enough to hold up one ornament. Strong enough to me.
I had a dream, A wonderful dream A dream as magical as fairy dust— In my dream, I saw Peter Pan With Tinker Bell by his side. I dreamed we went to Neverland, And saw Captain Hook and his maties. I also saw Native Americans, and Mermaids, too, with braids. I felt like I could fly, With dust that twinkled with a shine. I went soarin through clouds,