Reid@YWP

The talking. The low hum of the trout tank. A few quiet people, me included. The sounds of people being scolded for their behavior at school. The cracking as I crack my fingers. The clickity-clacking of the keys on the keyboard. 

Every week, I look forward to Sundays with my mom. My mom is a beautiful woman. She never wears designer clothes but she wears leggings, T-shirts, and sweatpants. She smells like the Thank You Next perfume by Arianna Grande.

Write a story, poem, or create your own way to express what you want to be when you grow up. This could be written about what you want to have accomplished by the next four, ten, twenty, or even fifty years.

The moon is waning, 
slipping away into the night, 

much like my mind. 

As I run over boulders and logs and grass and hills and trees and rivers and — 

Even your favorite subject can be your hardest.  

Even the "smart ones" will fail. 

Even good grades become futile.  

Even a textbook won't teach you.   

My freshman year was sterile

I was separated, regulated

It smelled of hand sanitizer and soap

The hallways were one way only