YAWP Published Pieces

"Honesty IS Key, Right?" by Alex P., YAWP 2008

• Published in Teen Ink Raw (Unedited). 2008.

YAWPers: have you published your work anywhere?
Let us know and we'll make a note of it here!

PASSING BY
by Emily Godfrey

I'm from the wheat fields
that rustle and whistle to each other
when the winds
fly by.
From a place where the fast moving cars
slow down to take a breath
as they pass-
and where the children
never learn
to grow up.

I'm from the forest-covered hills
around about,
where the deer and wild hogs
lie hidden by the shadows.

I'm from the country roads that wind
through blackberry hedges and pasture lands,
rolling up and down...
From the deep hallowed ringing
of the church bell on Sundays.

I'm from the children that played marbles
in the frosty courtyard before the start
of school-
And from the brisk fast
step
of the schoolmaster
as he hurried them along.

They were the ones who showed me
the meaning of slowing down, and letting go.
all that mattered to them was the living of life:
the sweet taste of wine
aged perfectly
as it drained from the cup...
the tales around the dinner table and
the breaking of the bread...
the walks in the evening sun
along the narrow lanes...

I am from them

I was the one alone,
The one who played by herself while the others laughed,
But I never noticed.
I was the one who stayed behind
when my family moved away,
even though I
moved with them.

I'm from the friendships I left
and the people I knew
and the knowledge I gained.

I'm from memory

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THE ONE I LOVE
by Andy Rada

As I came with anger and pain,
not wanting to feel it anymore. You stepped forward
as everyone stepped back.

You looking into my eyes, and I am looking into yours.
Then I had seen the love that
you had to give, and you chose to give it to me.

Then you saw in my eyes
of how much I hurt and knew it was true.
I needed the love that you had to give.
I needed it.

Everyone saying that I'm just another mess up,
another shame in the family.
You not listening to a thing they had said.
Doing what was in your heart.

I'm sitting next to the phone, waiting for the word of truth.
Then you came like an angel
and swept me out of the hell I was in,
The world I have learned to live in.

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WHERE AM I FROM?
by Brent Becenti

Where animals and humans talk
Where voices echo through canyons and trees
Where darkness meets with holy spirits

Perhaps I'm from heaven
Perhaps where four mountains surround me
and protect me

Where plants are sacred
Where lightning crashes against trees

Or perhaps where mornings are beautiful
and evenings are quiet

Where am I From?
I'm from the Navajo Reservation

Hozho Naasha Dooleel
"I Walk In Beauty"

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FROM WHICH I CREPT
by Megan Faragher

A two-story apartment in a small town,
it appears to be perfect.
The numbers still firmly fastened
into the damp cold wood
on Monday morning.

But I am not from the glistening sunshine,
hitting that door as the sun rises over
dark houses.
I am from inside,
where slowly the new blue couch
is being changed
by torn exterior,
stuffing coming out of those holes.

I am from
a brown locked door,
creaking stairs leading down to a
dreadfully honest emptiness
with another couch, already tattered and torn,
stuffing escaping from every hole,
and an old faux wood
Magnavox TV.

I am that old refrigerator,
cold and crisp.
It once held bread, milk, sugar,
and now only holds
a six-pack of beer and some store brand
pickles.

I am the decay of ideas
and lack of personality,
which has slowly grown from the
musty, rotting smell of old
vodka bottles.
I am the search for the disgusting truth
that comes with every torn stitch on that
old, dirty couch
I am from a panic of uncertainty:
I hear a voice tell me she loves me
and actions that tell me
she doesn't quite have it yet.
This is where I am from.

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A PRODUCT OF SOCIETY
by Jessica Cadoo

As I walked into the cold lonely hospital room I shook my head and thought; 'not another one.' I couldn't understand why such a sweet looking seventeen year old girl would try to take her life. Lying there in the bed with an IV coming out of her hand she looked so small, so frightened, so incredibly alone. I looked to her arms and saw the first sign of her sickness. The left arm was covered with healing scars left by an angry lighter, the inside of her right had four fresh burns. When our eyes met it was obvious she didn't want to be here, didn't want to see the pity reflecting from my own eyes.

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