Teens

TEEN AND TWEEN TUESDAY
3/31/2015 4:35:18 PM by: Patti Shene

I’M EXCITED TO POST THE WORK OF FOUR YOUNG WRITERS! THANK YOU LADIES, FOR SHARING YOUR TALENT WITH US!

 

LUNA FLAMINA

 

by

 

Autumn

 

 

 

 

she dipped her toes into a river,

the ripples falling away from her

shining like mercury

and she could see herself in the remnants.

her chest rose

with the blooming

of the

tulips

and fell with the

cycles of the moon.

 

her cheeks were the sun,

pale and glazed

and her eyes gave off a heat

you could only reach

when falling,

falling under her gaze

and under her feet.

 

she slipped off her shoes in the winter

so she could be bare

when the trees were,

 

and in the spring when the ice melted

she dipped her toes into a river.

 

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                                                                                                                           MATERIALS

                                                                                                                                         

                                                                                                                                            

                                                                                                                                             by

                                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                                           Edyth

        

 

 

 

    Before I was alive, my brother, a boy of four years old, asked for a dress. My parents took him to the thrift store and he picked one out; it was yellow and it was the one thing he said he would ever ask for. He put it on, twirled around, then took it off and crumpled it into a ball to be put in the corner of his room. He never picked it up again.

            There is a great divide between entering the consumer lifestyle and letting the lifestyle consume you, letting it devour your existence and rebuild all you are on empty foundations and misplaced happiness. The happiness placed in materialism is the only happiness we have come to know.

            When I was eight, my parents taught me to think about my actions, but did they ever think that every time they bought me another trinket that I didn’t need they were giving in to the world? I realize now what advertisements are attempting; I know the feel of new toys in my hands that fit like New York skyscrapers into a skyline made of puzzle pieces, although I do know that at least one is always missing.

            The first step is teaching people to love, and then it becomes as easy as I thought the world was. When I was ten, I spent days walking in hundred degree heat and minus ten degrees cold, and I wished to smell old paper and hold hands again. Teaching people to love is easy, but teaching them to know love is much harder. It’s like teaching a baby to walk and a deaf man to truly see even without hearing laughter and the sounds of robins. Although so many people have managed before I find that it’s not so easy as to give commands and hope they understand. God knows they never do.

            In between open moments and lost memories we find that while we have been taught to live and love, all we are living are lives of loving things that can never love us back.

            Many people have told me that I am special, but I am no more special than the other little girl wanting things, always wanting, and every time she wants, a petal of her gratitude decomposes into the dry earth. Tell me this. Why is the human urge to own so much greater than the force of giving? Why are we so compelled to take hope we never give back?

            Now that dress sits in the corner of the world’s room, lingering in the dust.

 

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GOING HOME

 

by

 

Sydney

 

Going home is always the fourth or fifth phrase you hear when you're burying your Grandfather in the Christian Religion. That's what everyone said to me, the eleven year old little girl wearing a pink and green butterfly dress at the funeral of her only male role model.

 

My Grandfather was a veteran, he served in the war and died at 93. He had Alzheimer's and a mean streak. I got that from him. I don't remember him healthy, but I was told he loved me more than he loved his own life. His death had never really hit me hard, but on those summer days when I eat banana pudding, I am reminded of him and his essence.

 

I never understood the depth of death, and I never knew why everyone, was crying and I couldn't shed one tear. My mom had said that we cry for loss and regretting the way we treated the dead. I should've been bawling, because I regret not loving him more.

 

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REVIVAL

 

by

 

Edie

 

 

 

when your voice gets tucked beneath

skin

 

and your fingers slip into hibernation

between the layers of your

movement

 

you will find that it is easier to breathe

easier to lift your eyelids                   awake.

You find yourself coming back to life

for the second time.

 

not even I

who feeds you the fuel

–keeps your heart pumping–

can see beneath your skin

 

nor can the

clouds who block the stars from dancing in their constellations,

not the sun who tells stories with her native lips.

 

I found you drowning in water,

the cut-out pieces of reality [Anchor]

you left behind.

 

And next time I need to kiss your swollen lips

(giving oxygen)

reviving

 

remind me why I traveled so far

 

to bring you home again.

 

################################################

 

                                                                                                                      NEGATIVE SPACE

                                                                                                                                                by

                                                                                                                                               Edie

 

 

 

she finds strength in his weakness

the way movement sculpts their

dances of negative space

 

they sculpt the curves of their stomachs and necks

molding pieces of personalities they once recognized into

something more presentable

 

whether we believe it or not–we are all philosophers

testing the boundaries of reality and reason

(boundaries made of fabric)

 

which is

in one way or another what they are doing

testing the ways they can fold into each other

the places that they have carved out of the others’ chests

(origami)

 

They are dancers; night and day intertwining like spider’s silk

a circus act of trapeze artists, acrobats and illusionists

 

And they spend all night under inky black sky

sculpting

            molding

                        carving

 

until they realize that they are stealing bits and pieces of each other

 

                                                                                                     so slowly

that by the time they finally embody someone else

 

                                                                                                            it is too late.

 


Comments

Jennifer L. Hallmark From Alabama At 4/6/2015 4:31:10 PM

It's great to see young people expressing themselves early in life in a safe place. I wish I could have had the same opportunities. Great work, all of you!

Patti Shene From SE Colorado At 4/5/2015 11:52:17 PM

Hi Bonnie. Thank you so much for leaving a comment to encourage these young writers. I appreciate you stopping by the site!

Bonnie Engstrom From Scottsdale, AZ At 4/5/2015 4:56:18 PM

I am thrilled by the talent of these young people. I used to judge a teen writing contest, so I know talent when I see it. I also know it takes courage to submit one's writing, especially writing from the heart and soul as these young people did. Please keep writing, don't ever stop.

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