Category: 2024-2025 Submission

My youngest sister is the droplets you feel before a rainstorm.
The ones that feel like little pieces of snow landing on your neck.
The ones that are gentle and kind.
Then they become stinging and unforgiving.
They drive you inside and turn into a full on flood.

My middle sister
is a hurricane,
raging and
thrashing,
swirling and
whirling.
But there’s always the eye of the storm,
that little safe space where I remember
when she was younger,
that’s her spirit ,
her whole heart,
her boisterous laughter,
her spark,
her light that is always,
always drowned in the night.

I am the storm that cleaves the sky.
I will scream and shout
and
rage until they hear me.
I light up the sky to the beat of the
music that booms from my house.
I use my voice to make the floor
thunder like the sky.
I am not my daddy’s little girl.
I am my fathers daughter.
And I have all his rage.

My sisters and I,
we all swirl and mix,
shaking the earth with our storms,
lashing out with our fathers fire
and our mothers cold ice,
but we all follow the
steady beat of our heart,
the beat of the songs we sing,
the games we play,
the steps we walk,
the way our feet hit the ground,
making storms,
causing earthquakes,
moving the sky.

Day after day,
week after week
you will feel our storms and it will continue on.
Girl to Wife to Mother to Daughter,
we will not be your lambs to slaughter.
And when that cycle comes to an end ,
you will feel our storms again.

The city shines with the light of a thousand rays of sunshine
And its nights just as glorious
Children reaching on their tiptoes, the skyscrapers stretch for the stars
The city bustles with a million little lives
which just as a fire dies,
Are snuffed out by an unkind god

The bird observes this with detached melancholy
From his place in the gruesome sunset
At once wishing for what they have, envious
And solemn of their many failures
Though many of their own fault

From so high, their existence is acknowledged only by specks on the horizon
And it is easy to lose yourself searching the stars
The moon regards him with disdain
And has taken to appearing only as a lonely frown
Sighing with disapproval
At the world

Hands as green as mold,
Rotted and cold,
Where life meets death,
And parasites take their breath

My eyes are full of holes,
Black with molds,

You fill my dreams
And every nightmare teems
With the loneliness
To rival your long-gone liveliness

I hope I won’t wake up
To a world beat-up

I hope you follow me
But I haven’t found the key
That will open up the way
For you to stay

My heart gasps
Between the gaps

Water turned blood
A bony flood
Hanging clothes
Bleak rainbows

Panic
Abuse
Cut
And truth

Words
Words

I have nothing left
But my own deft
Engravings
That cry wood shavings

The puzzle doesn’t fit
In the heart in the pit

I tried to fight the morning
But I still came up snoring
With the strange pang
Beneath the pain

Bang
Bang

Let me leave
So I can grieve
Your loss
Please don’t be cross

The crows are needy
They are greedy

Kill me crows
Before she goes
Don’t make it bittersweet
We already know you’re elite

The tears
The fears

My tears would fill an ocean
But your love is a slow-motion
If you give me your word
I would fly like a bird

Over that ledge
Where I would join the seabed

But you won’t love me
I am not your key
But please
Don’t leave

Home
Home

My tears are your reflection
Smother me with your affection
My love is unhinged
Remember those stories that we binged

Fun
RUN

They won’t find us here love
We will be like the birds love
There is no one to catch us
Our love will not be treasonous

Follow me to hell.

I remember a day
So long ago,
Where everything was perfect,
Until I got home.

I got in the car,
All cheerful and happy.
But the air was all wrong,
It was damp and it was heavy.

It only took a minute or two
To get back to our home
From the school,
But it felt like an hour.

My sister babbled and giggled
In the car seat next to mine,
But my momma was silent.
She reminded me of a mime.

When we got out of the car,
The day seemed alright.
The birds were singing,
And the clouds were light.

But my house was dark
As we walked into the room and the house.
It made me feel
Like a small trapped mouse.

My heart was beating fast,
And my throat was dry.
My father was sitting
In the corner of my eye.

His hands were clasped together,
And his face was dark.
My momma sat us on the couch,
But she sat quite far.

Then my father started crying,
As my momma explained
That things would be different,
And they would separate.

My heart felt broken,
As tears welled in my eyes.
This was the first time
I had seen my father cry.

It made me confused
That he could feel this way.
He was the man that was strong
At the end of each day.

That day I asked him not to cry.
I said it made me sad.
I didn’t want to see someone cry,
Especially not my dad.

I went to bed broken,
A shattered scattered vase.
That was the last time,
I woke up with two faces.

In the school bathroom, my hands wet, I look in the mirror, my image set.

Pale skin and green eyes I see so clear, But whispers surround me, I tremble with fear.

Do they stare because I don’t fit their mold? Is there something else that makes me feel cold?

Each year it gets harder, it’s hard to be me, Someone changed my mirror, it’s not what it should be.
They must have broken it without my say, The person on the other side feels far away

Doubt follows me closely with every bold step

Wondering if in my own skin I’ll ever find a rep.

So I lie and I stuff those feelings held tight, Every glance in the mirror brings doubts to my mind

“Am I enough?” I often ask deep in this hell, Jus wanting to be seen to escape from my shell.

so i’ll hold on to hope for better days to come, When I can be free, when I won’t feel so numb

But for now, I will wait, a cage Ill sit in, Wanting, hoping to be seen from within

‘Cause I am no girl, I am no boy; I’m something different, a soul looking for joy.
Every time I look, I wonder with glee, What if the person on the other side is me

So as I share this story of mine, reflect on this line

You may be someone else, someone beautiful, divine,

Just waiting on the other side of a mirror’s shine.

The pen owns this poem.
Doesn’t matter when i get out of bed,
I can write a poem whenever i want
Right from the stem.
It’s the ink or led
That spills out of the pen to make a poem,
Sometimes in life
you just need to spill out your ink or led
And give the world the magic you wish and beg.
But the way you fall is when you run out
Never sit in doubt
You and your pen work together to put a smile
on your face
Write a poem to fill your heart with grace.
Sure I wrote this poem
But at the end of the day
The pen owns the poem.
Zen into a cave
To find yourself in your mind,
and see the words you can find.
You and your pen work together
Because What is a pen without a poet,
And what is a poet without their pen?
I wrote this poem,
But the pen owns it.

New year New me
but same sight
same eyes
no new height
still have the same frights
5 minutes since midnight
my feet are still small
don’t feel tall

Why haven’t I changed
Why haven’t I grown
I still feel the same old
Maybe It takes time
Or maybe I’m different
But hopefully I change
Next Year

Walk, trot, canter, gallop
Jug, sloper, crimp, pocket, gaston, side pull,
All in between.

My feet leave the ground and they don’t touch until I’m finished.
I jump, I focus, I make decisions.
My feet do not hit the ground until I’m finished. 

If I lose focus, slip, or make the wrong move,
I will fall, scrape, or hurt myself,
I might cry but I will Always get back up.

I watch my heroes, the people who work non-stop for this moment.
I watch them fall, scrape, and hurt themselves,
But they get back up.
So when I fall, I get up, even if I don’t want to.

I watch them celebrate and fail.
I watch their faces,
Sad, happy, and thoughtful expressions,  
Even when they win, lose, or even tie, they’re still good sports.
I always try to be a good sport, even if I lose, win, or tie.

I use different equipment to help me.
Chalk, chalk bags, special shoes, for ISO and Red Points.
English and Western saddles, reins, bit, saddle pad, girth, and boots, for Jumping, Barrelling, Racing, and Cross-Country.
These all help me have fun and improve. 

I jump, I go fast, I go slow,
I’m finished.
Finally my feet touch the ground,
Even if I lost, 
Even if I won,
Even if I tied, 
I feel proud.
I feel powerful. 
I feel excited.

I follow that voice

It helps me make the right choice

It helps me be me

And that’s who I want to be

The voice in my head

It tells me I should go ahead

I don’t let people tell me who I’ll be

Because that’s not me

I like being myself

Because that’s me

And who I want to be

Please be yourself

Because that’s you

When you are you, you’ll find your crew

And that’s why you should follow that voice

It helps you make the right choice

That Girl
Always reads
She’s knows
About the world,
Guaranteed

That Girl
Always smiles
I’ll tell
You
It’s as big
As a
Mile

That Girl’s
Always funny
The laughs
Are worth
More than
Money

That Girl
Is creative,
Artistic
And
Celebrative

That Girl
Is so nice
Everywhere she
Walks
Has a bit more
Spice

That Girl
Is so loud
If you walk
By her
You’ll feel
Proud
Even if you see
Her in a
Crowd

When
The world
Takes a
Toll
That Girl
Makes you feel
Light in
Your
Soul

A Collage of Women