Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences in newspapers, before live audiences and online. YWP also publishes an annual anthology and The Voice, a digital magazine with YWP’s best writing, images and features. More info: youngwritersproject.org or contact YWP at sreid@youngwritersproject.org or 802-324-9538.
This week we present general writing responses.
By Eden Anne Bauer
Age 14, Hanover
One of my greatest fears is being lonely —
to have no one who understands me,
or who listens as I ponder my deepest thoughts.
I am lucky. My friends know me.
Even if they do not understand my words,
they’re always there to listen.
Yet the dark has always made me feel alone.
It’s so isolating, separating people
and leaving them wondering blindly where the world went.
One of my worst nightmares is being trapped in a dark room
with no sound but the deafening silence surrounding me.
The walls close in.
I struggle to breathe, drowning in the darkness,
my fingertips grabbing desperately in open air.
I yearn to make a sound, any sound,
to bring sweet relief to my ears,
yet the darkness is too overpowering
and whisks my words away as soon as they form.
Please don’t misunderstand me
and conclude that I’m afraid of being alone.
Solitude can be liberating,
a chance to catch up with yourself
by reading a book, writing a poem, dancing to your favorite song
because no one is watching.
Loneliness is very different.
Loneliness is when you offer a word to the world,
and no one answers.
Loneliness is when you’re bursting with things to say,
yet no one’s there to listen.
Loneliness is when you long for a friend,
but no one takes your outstretched hand.
I’ve moved twice — I know what it feels like.
Even thieves need a partner in crime
(though I don’t support using friendship for theft).
Loneliness is something I would never wish on anyone,
no matter the morality of their actions.
So when someone says even a simple “hello” in the hallway at school,
or asks about someone’s day, or compliments them,
know that it can make all the difference.
By Kelly Daigle
Age 16, Bradford, Vt.
I’ve always had trouble with words.
My whole life they’ve gotten stuck in my throat,
my mind whispering to shove them back down,
where they get locked in my heart,
never to be heard.
I don’t know why my mind does it —
why it has trained me to think
that no one wants to hear my words,
my thoughts and opinions.
The only time that the lock is opened
is when I write.
For whatever reason,
once I have a pencil and a piece of paper,
all those words are set free.
From there they spill out and dance along the page,
pouring from my inner self
until they are their own being.
They roam where they wish,
and my heart is finally light once more.
This is my reason for writing.
I cannot speak nor be who I am
without my ability to write.
What is your reason?
By Alaina Jarrett
Age 15, Bradford, Vt.
I’m a daydreamer,
my head stuck in the clouds.
I’m a daydreamer,
my feet never on the ground.
I’m a daydreamer,
in a world of my own.
I’m a daydreamer;
sometimes I am completely alone.
I’m a daydreamer,
creating a better world than the one I live in.
I’m a daydreamer,
wishing it would all become a reality.
I’m a daydreamer,
filling my head with things that might never come true.
I’m a daydreamer,
seemingly dreaming my whole life through.
I’m a daydreamer,
for dreaming is what lets me escape this chaotic, mean world.
I’m a daydreamer,
even though I know my daydreams might never become reality.
By Jade Martin
Age 13, Norwich
I. American schools:
Another school shooting,
and this is not the only one.
Dead at 15 years!
That life, so short,
must have ended in tears.
II. America now:
Immigrants separated
from their families,
their children taken…
But we were once
immigrants.
Our ancestors were
immigrants.
The Statue of Liberty,
once a symbol of freedom,
is now a distant memory.
III. American rhetoric:
He says, “Drugs come in through the southern border.”
I say, “Because we, Americans, are addicted.”
He says, “They (Central Americans) are dangerous.”
I say, “Some are running from danger.”
He says, “Build a wall.”
I say, “And keep the problems unsolved?”
By Madeleine Thaxton
Age 13, East Thetford
Flip-flops in the sand.
Simple shells in cool water.
Big waves crashing down.
Seagulls swooping down, catching fish.
Swaying palm trees; good times.
By Harper Crance
Age 13, East Thetford
Loss is a hard emotion to process.
It doesn’t matter what you’re losing,
be it a phone, a loved one, or, in my case, a dog.
You might feel guilty about decisions that led to loss,
or want to give up on everything.
My dog was an important part of my life,
and she always will be — even if she’s not here.
Many people believe that when you die, you’re gone,
but I believe that even if I can’t see her, Kelly is still out there —
maybe following my mom about and keeping her company,
or licking my face and telling me about her day.
And in the real world, I strain against the divide,
wishing to see my dear friend.
“But even if I won’t ever see you again,” I say to her,
“you will stay with me, and I will stay with you
until the end.”
By McKenna Crance
Age 13, East Thetford
The snow is reluctant to leave,
trying to cling to each blade of grass
and the limbs of every tree —
but the grass wants to grow,
and the buds want to bloom.
The animals feel the daylight changing,
their ears, eyes, and noses eager to explore the wood;
the bear cubs begin to spot the first light of day;
the newly hatched owl chicks watch from above;
minnows will soon swim in the streams.
Spring is coming, spring is here —
spring is finally upon us.