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moral suicide
by Aim³e S., Age 14
cold
gray
jungles
sprout
up all
around
pushing
color
out of
the land
reproducing
all over
the nation
old
dangers
gone
new
dangers
are born
shifty eyes
float
through
the jungle
trust
is lost
in the
transition
hearts
harden
becoming
addicted
to
greed
money
power
killing
the heart
they
once had
becoming
consumed
by new
pesticides
lying
cheating
scheming
anything
for power
power
addicted
druggies
selling
get power
fast trash
pulling
innocent
people
in the
wilderness
corrupting
their
goodhearted
minds
and souls
cloning
soldiers
of evil
brainwashing
millions
into
believing
that
corruption
is good
becoming
a paranoid
jungle
of under
the table
deals
and
backstabbing
breeding
a nation
of
brainwashed
fools
not knowing
that they
brought
destruction
upon
themselves
driving
down the
road to
moral suicide.
Untitled
by Stephanie, Age 14
tell that one person
everything you know,
how the blue sky
tastes when you
close your eyes.
how beautiful
touch is when you
love the hand.
why living is only
an art that those
breathing can understand.
why pain is the
easiest emotion to
fill your body with.
And why what you know is
always the
most confusing.
Untitled
by Leigh Manor, Age 16
his arms are white
like blank pages
for me to write my story upon
but i am sure he
prefers poetry to prose
free to structured
and i've realized that
there are pages in his story
that will never be read
like the words in his
too prominent veins
and there are books
upon books upon
which i could write
but with invisible diction
devoid of meter and rhyme scheme
and i could write it all
on his white skin
but ballpoint ink
washes off
erasing every trace of me
and leaving only history
Junior High
by Charlotte Seaman-Huynh, Age 16
How easy it is to sit alone
in a room while princesses
and party-goers pass by,
shining with glow-sticks and tiaras,
while I sit on the couch, quiet,
huddling with BrontÔ and Collins.
It would be easy to get up,
discarding volumes with broken spines,
and join them. But simpler still
would be to stay here,
galloping across forbidden moors,
stumbling upon hidden wives
and questions about angels.
Mixed Recipe?
by Kelly Selcher, Age 18
We are
Called melting pot.
Stewing cultures stirred up
... Potluck ... then why does white still foam
On top?
Roadtrips to Nowhere Special
by Danielle Simmons, Age 17
its the minutes spent in the car
listening to this depression you call music
with you driving me to the corner store
the open road is lightly cluttered
since its only 12am and im shivering
so you handed me a light but i passed it up
i just wanted your arms to be around me
its the only thing that i have keeping me warm these days
and when you went to go get some drinks
i watched you walk into the store alone
wishing that i could have followed you inside
but i dont want to seem too adoring of you
Apartment Walls
by Stephanie Powell, Age 14
I wrote the story
of our relationship
on the apartment walls
of the old apartment
after you had left.
In the kitchen
I wrote about
all our good dates.
In the sabinets
I wrote about the bad ones.
In my room
I wrote all my flaws
and all the good things
you ever said were me.
When I got to your room
I lost myself.
And in red paint
I wrote "fuck you"
all over everything.
In the bathroom
I wrote about my overdose.
In the living room
I made a list of every movie
we ever rented.
And in the guest room
I wrote how stupid I had been
With your friends
in town to stay.
I wrote how cruel you were.
On the front door
I wrote goodbye.
I packed up my shit
and left it all behind.
And i bet by now
the landlord has painted
it all back to white.
Leaving us with no history.
The Populars
by Katrina Lynn Nickerson, Age 15
As I walk into the room the whispering ceases. I think they are talking
about me. I want to wear the cool clothes. I want to be loved and be
athletic instead of being hated and fat. They get good grades and don't
even study. I guess they are naturally smart. They actually have a life.
They are almost never home unlike me who is ALWAYS home. I have no friends
I know they are people, too, and have their problems but, I still want
to be like them. They all have pretty girlfriends and handsome boyfriends.
I don't even have an UGLY boyfriend. I have no one to love me and to love
the way I want to be loved and to love. I am so alone. I want a boyfriend.
I want to be popular
Untitled
by Sara Little, Age 15
I used to know
exactly what I wanted.
But now, that something
is standing in front of me
baggy jeans, blond hair, light eyes
not perfection
but still I feel weak in the knees.
That something
in the form of a small skinny body and a deep voice.
I always knew what i wanted
but now that he is here
i'm not so sure.
Three Minutes
by Amber Dinquel, Age 15
Three minutes
could mean a life time
Three minutes
is a dance, you've waited a lifetime for
Three minutes
is a kiss, passionate and slow
Three minutes
is a love song
Three minutes
is all it takes to break some ones heart
Three minutes was all it took
To make me fall in love with you
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