The Voice, YWP's Premiere Publication



Each month, Young Writers Project publishes the best work -- words, images and sound -- of this community. This premiere publication features writing from community members from all over the world and reaches 15,000 individual IP addresses a month, a good deal more than 15,000 humans who spend a lot of time reading AND they come back to finish! Help us get more readers! Spread the word -- and the link: https://youngwritersproject.org/thevoice -- on social media, on your email signature, in emails to friends!

The selections for this magazine are made by YWP staff, volunteer professionals, mentors and Community Leaders on the site. If you'd like to participate, contact Susan Reid. 

Feel free to add sound and images to your posts! That will make this magazine even better.  To view it, click here.





 


 
Sep 20

The Voice - Fall 2018



Young Writers Project proudly presents The Voice! 
 
Aug 16

The Voice - August 2018



Special Summer of Stories issue! Enjoy!


 
Jul 17

The Voice - July 2018

Jun 04

The Voice - June 2018



A TRIBUTE to MGMC (& all about Voices for Change!)


 
Apr 23

The Voice - April/May 2018



Enjoy this beautiful issue of The Voice! 

 
Mar 19

The Voice -- March 2018



WHAT DO YOU THINK? Please click "read more" and put a comment on the side. THANKS. Your reactions are important. Be heard.
Mar 19

The Voice -- March 2018

 The Voice -- February 2018
 


 

WHAT DO YOU THINK? We need you to comment and tell us what you think of this month's magazine. THANKS. Just comment on the side.


 
Feb 08

The Voice- February 2018

Jan 16

The Voice - January 2018

Dec 05

Nov/Dec 2017 Issue

Mar 22

Home

Because I am graduating this year it finally hit me that I'd have to leave and I had a crisis about it, so I wrote a poem about it.
Enjoy.


I used to be embarrassed to say that I am from Winooski. 
I would lie, hide, do whatever I could to disguise it.
And point out every flaw I could to try to distance myself if I was ever found out. 
Now,
As we are honing in on these last few months,
Where soon I will actually have to leave,
I don't want to. 
It has recently dawned upon me how much this school and community has had an impact on who I am and who I will become once my tassel goes right to left and I exit these doors once and for all.
So I suppose I'm writing this as a thank you. 
Thank you to the student body, teachers, administration, everybody that has seen me cry and heard me say hundreds of times that all I want to do is fail and drop out, but then taking me over and over, and helping me succeed. 
Mar 22
fiction 2 comments challenge: Twist
layla.h's picture

A Morning Stroll

It can get so lonely sometimes. These days I’m finding it harder and harder to get out—these old bones won’t last much longer; I know that someday soon I will fade away to nothing—but I can only bear to go so long without seeing the sun. So this morning, I took a walk.

When I first stepped out into the sunshine, I couldn’t help but feel positively overwhelmed by it all—the warmth, the light, the scent of grass and the sound of birdsong; and most of all the memories it brought me. I saw myself in that spring landscape. It was as if I were watching a picture film of my life.

There, just atop that hill, I knelt as a child in my blue Easter dress and inspected the patch of daffodils before me. I would choose the best ones to bring home to my mother. I can still remember the way she smiled and swept me up into her arms when I returned home, careful not to crush the delicate blooms I was clutching in my small fist. Daffodils were her favorite flower.
Mar 21
Kittykatruff's picture

In the School Hallway

Around, around, around
words surround me like a song;
the beautiful dissonance
sounds both right and strangely wrong—

Parts of conversations 
fly as mosquitos through the air,
their insistent whines knocking
on my resistant ears,

Snippets find my mind, ringing,
hints of others' lives:
"We got a dog!" "She's so rude"
"Do you want to hang out tonight?"

Around, around, around, 
I'm whirling in the song;
Just one note in a melody,
one person in the throng.
Mar 18

To all the people who hate Muslims

To all the people who hate Muslims.

Do I scare you? They call it Islamophobia after all.

Do I scare you? Does my family scare you?

Let me give you a summary of us, in case you didn’t really know us all that well.

Me,
Standing at about 5 foot 2 inches,
With big, bushy, fuzzy hair
And a penchant for zoning out and
Always having graphite-stained fingers.

My sister,
10 years old, who once made
Her own little snack dispenser
Out of a cardboard box and some tape.

My father,
Who makes us pancakes in the mornings,
Who loves gardening and prides himself
On making food out of our own vegetables
In the summers.

My mother,
Who drinks more tea than seems humanly possible
who’s just finishing up her dissertation now,
And loves dancing to any song, anywhere.

Are you scared of us? Because that seems a little silly at this point, doesn’t it?
Mar 14
fiction 2 comments challenge: Pal
lana.W's picture

Let the Light In: My Existential Crisis

I remember vividly. It was end of May or early June. This picture perfect afternoon… Oh, no wait, that’s a song. Ah yes, it was autumn. Sam and I were walking through the neighborhood, when an unpleasant thought infiltrated my mind.
“So… like, I know you say I’m 'really fun,' bu-...”
“‘But’ what?” Sammy boy interrupts.
“But, like” I hesitated. “Am I… real?”
Sam looks at me, he seems slightly kerfuffled. He has this look he gives me when he thinks something’s up where he squints his eyes and crinkles his nose and raises one eyebrow. He looks away but says, “Well you’re real to me.” And I thought for a moment.
“So I’m not real to anyone else?”
Mar 07

One in a Million Pony

Dear Taco,

It’s been four months now. Four months since you left us. Four months since I last saw your face or stroked your neck. Somehow, it feels as if I saw you yesterday. Somehow, it feels as if you were just a dream. I know you can’t hear this, but I have to say it anyways. I have to say everything I never got the chance to tell you.

    I remember the first time I heard your name. I remember how ridiculous it sounded to me, and how distraught I was that Maren picked you over the pretty paint horse I had seen. Taco, what a ridiculous name. A horse should be named something beautiful and regal, not after some food. This was the extent to which my five-year-old self considered your arrival into my life.
Feb 27
sophie.d's picture

Trees, Tu Bishvat, and Tikkun Olam

I was a seedling myself at my first Tu Bishvat Seder
Anticipating my 6th birthday as the trees celebrated theirs. 

I took itty bitty sips of four cups of grape juice I didn't like
Spooned foreign fruits onto my paper plate
And joined the high pitched prayer chorus
Of my Hebrew school classmates, all while wondering
Why is there a birthday for the trees?

11 years later, 
I teach in the same Hebrew school classroom
Of mitzvot- good deeds- and the letter Mem.
And my climate-activist self wonders,
What does it mean to be Jewish in the age of climate change?

I think of trees, Tu Bishvat, and Tikkun Olam. 

In the words of the five-year-old I was,
Tikkun Olam means repairing the world. 
Prevalent in American Reform Judaism, 
It is the religious concept behind Jewish social action and education.

It is the link between loving the earth and saving it. 
Feb 26

Moving On

My hands are lightning to you
And they burn your secrets in ashes.
My eyes bring the thunder
But are hidden by my lashes.
I leave empty footprints in the sand
That are soon washed away by the sea.
My smile is full of deception
But my lips say I'm free.
My fingers release yours 
As I light up the sky.
Your life is like the waves 
And it's passing you by.
You could try to follow my footprints
But the blue tides are growing.
You look where I was
But can't see where I'm going.
 
Feb 24

How To Talk To Us

This, is how you talk to me. 
You look me in the eye, 
And you say hello, 
And if you want you can shake my hand, 
Because I don't bite, and I will shake back. 
Simple so far, don't you think? 

Ask me a question, and I will answer. 
We can start talking about our differing, or possibly similar thoughts on politics, music, art, life. 
Tell me a story, and I will react. 
I will laugh at your fun expierences, and share sadness with your unhappy ones. 
Listen to what I am saying, and I will feel appreciated. 
Because you are giving me a courtesy not everyone gets. 
Simple so far, don't you think? 

And the only reason that I'm telling you this, 
Is because you find it so hard
To talk to me, 
Or my friends, 
Or "people like me."

And you always find an excuse. 
Today it's because we have our heads in our phones. 
Tomorrow it's because we are dealing with hormones. 
Feb 24
futurefemalepitcher's picture

Home

I want to remember 
Home.
Frozen at 10 and a half
I want to remember.
I want to remember my orange, crisp sheets.
I want to remember my sister’s piano melody floating around the house.
I want to remember how there is always something baking in the oven
Something yummy.
I want to remember my dad’s flannel shirts
And his hat as he rides our lawn mower.
I want to remember lolling in the grass by the hammock by the magnolia tree
Talking with my sister.
I want to remember laughter and card games before bed.
I want to remember four people and a dog and a big white house.
I want to remember the movies we watched
How we used to always watch the animated ‘Cinderella’
But then we evolved
We grew.
I want to remember the first time I watched the first Harry Potter movie
On the brown couch that my parents say is green
Squeezed in with my mother.