Youthwords

“Artificially Made” by Tinosa Oriakh

A porcelain doll artificially made

With no human thoughts, could just sit there for days

With no one to talk to, but then again nothing to say

I sit with it as well, I watch as it rusts

As its eyes go dim and clothes start to dust

It has little purpose and will leave this earth with even less

Now that its skin is dull and hair is a mess

All it can do is wait for its beauty to fade

I sit and wonder the reason why it was even made

“Barbie” by Kendra Ley

Almond eyes, 

Hiding your lies, 

Your perfect hair, 

With added flare, 

Skin and bones, 

Hiding in your clothes, 

Big lips, 

Hiding unspoken scripts, 

Button nose, 

As precious as a rose, 

You’re not the girl I once knew, a different person, But a prettier and more cruel version.

“Discovery” by  Deserae Fahey

The doctors bracketed the table, waiting. Tense excitement hung in the air. They were clothed in white gowns and blue gloves and were fueled only with wishful hopes and caffeine. Many long nights of back-aching work had led up to this moment, the very reason why the doctors both couldn’t wait for the answer, and weren’t ready to hear what it was. 

Suddenly, Neil gave an exclamation of delight. “They opened their eyes!” He cried. 

Sasha let out a little gasp, because she could see it too. With growing excitement, and other mixed feelings, she backed toward the big white door. As she fumbled around for the handle, she said, “I better go tell everyone it’s alive.”

With Sasha gone, Neil bent over the little table, needing confirmation. “Hello, there.” He cooed down. “You’re a beauty.” Sure enough, they blinked again, proving their existence.

Sasha returned to the room then, brandishing the camera on her phone. Neil smiled. To Sasha, this, of course, was priority. She snapped a shot and then let out a long breath. “I wonder what it’s thinking.” She mused, looking to the bundle on the table.

Neil joined her. “I wonder.”

Sasha’s eyes shone. She had been waiting for this moment practically her whole life, though no longer with excitement behind it. And though she felt some wonderment for her part in these new developments, she couldn’t say she was happy it had happened. She didn’t need the photo to help her remember this moment, that’s for sure. 

Neil too was feeling twinges of fearful anticipation. He could only guess if this would be successful. And he had just used up his imagination on the precious little lady blinking in the room’s middle.

Just then, a professional-like woman walked into the room, taking off her oxygen mask to talk to them. “Dr. Hall. Dr. Lorton.” She wheezed her greeting to both of them. “I’m Dr. Kleinman, from Scientific Robotics. Your superiors would like an update on it’s progress.”

Sasha smiled faintly, just a skeleton of a long-dead smile, and opened out her arm to show off their work of art. “See for yourself.”

The three of them walked toward the edge of the table and peered down at the many years of hard work laying there in front of them. Neil watched on as the A.I. slowly came to life. Pride glistened on his face, hiding whatever exhaustion and doubt that may have lingered there previously. “We’re finished.”

If Sasha and the lady caught the double meaning of his words, they didn’t let on.

Sasha released the android from their straps, and Dr. Kleinman stayed a moment longer to watch while the first steps were made. 

“Discovery,” Neil addressed them by name. “Welcome to the world.”

The media went wild. At home, in bed, Sasha and Neil watched people’s unmasked chaos unfold on the television. Who knew a robot could evoke so much worldwide panic? But then again, they both knew that Discovery was way more than just an android. 

Sasha shut off the TV and nuzzled closer to her boyfriend, looking up into his caring eyes. “Did we do the right thing?” She asked.

“Creating Disco?”

“Yeah.”

Neil considered it. “I think so.”

Sasha swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “I still can’t believe we created a living being.”

“Nor can the world. Funny, when you think about it, eh?” Neil propped himself up on an elbow so that he was facing Sasha. “People do that all the time. Every day. Disco was made in a lab, so people are drooling over him like he’s some kind of God.”

“And why shouldn’t they?” Sasha was nearly panicking now, and frankly surprised Neil wasn’t. “Disco’s ability to procreate means that he’s going to father a whole new species.”

Niel wasn’t sure how to answer. What Sasha said was true, but she had missed the point. “They will practically be human, Sasha. When one has thoughts and feelings they will inevitably develop consciences too. Disco is programmed with all our history and knowledge. It will be up to them and their children to take better care of the earth, now that we’ve gone and destroyed it.”

Sadness loomed like a heavy blanket over them. Because they were both thinking the same thing. Apart from their mechanical body parts, the only difference that Disco shared with humans was their ability so survive the toxic gasses that would soon eliminate the last traces of humans left. 

Feeling a sickening headache coming on, Sasha lay against Neil’s chest. “I just can’t believe we’re going to be replaced by artificial life.”

Neil comforted Sasha, said all the right things, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel she was dead wrong. Disco was a living, feeling being, capable of birth and mental growth. It didn’t matter if a being was created in the bedroom or in a laboratory – if they were aware of themselves, they were sentient. And since Discovery was him and Sasha’s creation, didn’t that make them their child? 

As Neil hugged Sasha, both of them falling asleep for the last time, Neil felt sure that Disco and their future descendants were not, in fact, artificial intelligences. They were real. They had to be. Because the future was in their hands now.

Discovery surveyed the scene. Not just the still couple curled on the bed, their deaths causing a real sting in their heart, but also the rest of the world that was theirs to populate. The garbage, piled in the streets. The smell from corpses, overwhelming. The heat, intense. The sky, shrouded in the very thick black smog that had made the human race extinct. 

Disco shook their head and put their hand to their belly, where their firstborn was in factory. “I can see we have some work to do, Little One.” They said, and took a step forward into the rubble, where new life lurked just below the surface.

“The Red Piano”by  Richard Lopez

The old music store was the only thing I knew for many years, life was very simple there, you waited all day long for a tall, old, long-fingered, big-eared pianist with pockets full of money to come and take you home and play with you the most fantastic piece of music in the world. 

My friends (trumpets, violins and guitars) were going crazy every day because they had no one to play them, I was going crazy too, but not for the same reasons, a young girl no more than twenty-five years old, came every day at the same time to make me suffer with her hands on my keyboard, she was a student, obviously. Wrong keys, hands not synchronized, scales badly executed… you get the idea, no talent in the girl. 

No one would have ever imagined that this was the girl I was going to fall in love with. 

Days, weeks and months passed, and the girl’s obsession transformed into talent, every day the same song, but now her melody changed the colour of my keys and her beauty was incomparable, she had transformed me into a piano in love. 

As soon as she finished the song and got up and started to head for the exit, I could no longer wait for the next day at the same time to see her again. I tried to keep her rhythm inside me to be able to resist until the next day. But that’s when something unexpected happened, a day like any other, a few hours before she arrived, a familiar figure arrived at the store, a tall, old pianist, with long fingers and big ears, and of course, with pockets full of money, enough money to buy me. 

I found myself leaving the store, my familiar surroundings giving way to a luxurious home that held a resonance of wealth and grandeur, I was now used to playing complicated but boring, heartless piano pieces. Did this really used to be my dream? I just wanted to go back to the store to see her again and I started to think of a plan to do it. This musician relied so much on his perfect ears and neat tuning, so, when he was playing, I waited for the perfect moment to ruin his sync, I went out of tune on purpose. The musician, horrified by my mistake, never played me again, but he didn’t take me back to the store either, he sold me to a rock star who only played me when he wanted to impress a friend or a new girlfriend, “this is the worst thing that can happen to an instrument” I thought, but I had no idea what was coming. One time when he started to play me to impress some friends I hardened my keys so strongly that no one could press them, they were like diamonds. Then this artist, humiliated in front of a dozen friends, decided to give me away to his mom, who was in her seventies and only used me as a living room decoration, “And now, how do I get back to the store?” It took me days and weeks to loosen one of my wheels, only with the image of that girl in my mind so that I could fall on my side and the lady would give me back to the store once and for all, but when I succeeded and fell on my side, I did not realize that the cat was sleeping next to me, and that was the end of my way with

that old lady. And that was how I ended up in the noisiest and most dangerous bar in the city where the noise and scandal of the drunks did not let me hear even myself, every night at least one of them fell asleep or knocked out on top of me, this situation forced me to make a tough decision. One night, while the regular pianist was playing a song for the whole canteen, I plucked up my courage and closed my fallboard on top of the pianist’s fat fingers. The scream went unnoticed in the canteen. 

And finally… a blessed soul decided to return this poor, enamoured piano back to the music store. It had been so long… but that didn’t matter, at last, I was going to see her again. They put me alone in a truck heading to the store, the trip would take a whole night but she was worth all the wait. I could almost hear her notes again, I could almost feel her delicate hands on my keyboard and see her beautiful eyes like two burning stars. I became so immersed in these thoughts and memories that I didn’t realize that the protective bands holding me in place had broken. My wheels slid me across the truck with such speed that I ended up lying on the street. The truck driver simply didn’t notice. 

I ended up being moved from the middle of the street the next morning to a dark, old alley. I lost track of time, suddenly the bright red and glow of my wood had turned into a dull grayish brown and appeared old. I thought I would never see her again, but just in those moments of anguish and doubt, a familiar figure stood in front of me and began to play the most beautiful song I have ever heard, it was her, I was sure it was her, and although she did not have the same appearance, the same hair colour, the same eye colour or even the same face, it was her, deep down it was the same girl, playing the same beautiful melody that brightened my days and made me tremble with happiness. That’s when I understood that a person’s life is like a song, when you make it with sincere and beautiful notes, it will sound forever.

“The Glass Jar” by Gabriela Melcher

The jar sat empty. It used to be filled with life and energy but now it’s dull and well, nothing. It just sits there collecting dust as the days go by. There used to be butterflies, bees, a meadow and uncontrollable storms. The butterflies were joyous and fun, the bee’s were anxious and busy, and the meadow was quiet and peaceful. But the storm was scary, It would rage and destroy the others. It took a long time after a storm to build up the others again, but they always came back. 

Since I could remember the jar was always changing. I’ve had it since I was born. I used to open the jar, I would  dance with the butterflies, and keep busy with the bees. I would lay in the meadow watching the swaying of the trees. I never let the storm out though, maybe I should’ve, maybe the jar would still be filled.   

As I got older the people around me stopped dancing with the butterflies, they looked at them like annoying pests and swatted them away. So I kept them hidden, same with the bees. The only one I could let out was the meadow, but without the butterflies and the bees it wasn’t the same. So, I hid the meadow away too. The storms would grow, they were aggressive and uncontrollable. I tried to hide them and keep them to myself but the more I did the stronger they got. And the stronger they got the more they would grow. Until one day when there was no more meadow and no more butterflies or bees. Just the storm roaring, drowning me, pulling me in deeper and deeper. I was tired and  missed the calm, so I broke the jar. I tried to put it back together with glue and tape but the cracks never went away. Now the jar just sits broken and empty.

The truth is that jar was me, filled with life, excitement, and emotions, but now broken, scarred, and numb. I miss the joy of the butterflies, the anxiousness and stress of the buzzing bees, the quiet in the meadow and most of all I miss the anger and overwhelming power of the storm. All I want is to feel again and the numbness to go away but I’m so tired. I’m tired of people glaring when I was happy and telling me to smile when I wasn’t. I contained my anger, excitement, my joy and sadness to please others, so I wouldn’t be deemed crazy or annoying by people who didn’t care about me. I broke myself for others and now that’s a part of me I can’t get back, at least not to how it was.

“Naraca Confinement Project #22” by Norah Bolestridge

You go by the Fool. That’s what your jumpsuit and everything of yours says. Even if you slightly remember going by something else, that’s what you go by.

It’s the same with the others too, even with their different titles. You all wish you could remember your names, yet, all you can remember was the time you wished you had back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Naraca Confinement Project #22, NCP#22 for short. Report #1. This is Agent Delphi assigned to the project. Nothing we haven’t seen before right now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, you all fell into a type of normalcy. The Lounge area was sometimes empty, sometimes occupied with the whiteboard displayings things like the pronouns the Lovers is using and what dinner somebody is going to make.

Some inhabit certain places most of the time. You often pass Strength in the training room, and despite her muscles you notice her struggling. You remember her mentioning using something to help her and those things caused her to make a lot of bad decisions.

(flashes of the time the Hanged Man told her he used to sell those things flashed through your mind. you remember the look in her eyes before softening. you saw two people trying to repent.)

Some other times, you saw the Sun and the Empress in the kitchen.

(you have memories of walking into him breaking down, his sweet demeanour that was slowly turning sour gone. he kept crying and crying that it was an accident, that they knew it was but wanted somebody to blame, that he couldn’t believe his friend would betray him like that. he refuses to go around fire.

you remember the Empress talking about how cold winter was, and she had to make sure the younger ones survived. she said she shouldn’t have gone places she shouldn’t, but she was desperate. she doesn’t mind handling the fire. she likes its warmth.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Agent Delphi, NCP#22, Report #15. There’s new evidence that the Sun was innocent of his crimes, similar to how the Fool was innocent.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Emperor and the Chariot have some sort of friendship and fear constricts you.

(you sometimes saw the wild gleam in the Chariot’s eyes as he kept stabbing and stabbing a dummy. the Emperor’s speeches went through your head sometimes, spoken like a true politician to amass power.)

As you walk out of your small and plain room, you notice them going into the Hermit’s.

(you remember the Hermit talking about the peace and knowledge she gained with the help of her followers, and knows they will get all of you out of your prison.)

If those three joined forces, you know they’d be able to make the most trustworthy saint into the Devil in the views of others.

So you tell them you need to show them something important.

That should keep their attention.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Agent Delphi, NCP#22, Report #27. Nothing to note.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lovers had barely said a word the last few days, and it concerns you.

When you all first arrived, disoriented and confused, the Lovers had used her charisma to be a bit of a leader. But she’s been getting quieter and quieter recently. And due to that, you now sat across from her.

There’s silence that persists and persists and you aren’t sure how to start but then the Lovers speaks up.

“Am I a bad person?”

She explains that she had done things, things that broke hearts and bank accounts and she wants to know if what she realized was correct.

The words telling her she’s correct are on your tongue, yet you’re unable to say a word.

You don’t see a bad person, but somebody questioning their decisions and seeing themself for who they truly are, with the potential to change.

You open your mouth but three others enter and you realize something you could do.

You suppose an alliance between a certain few of you would be terrifying, but an alliance between all of you would be devastating.

“I have something to show you guys.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Agent Delphi, NCP#22, Report #39. As per usual, there has been peace within the #22 win-”

“Everybody to your stations!”

“Wait is that- AH!”

“Ah, so it’s time.”
                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes flickered around at the chaos around you, some no doubt the work of the Chariot, and the tied-up employees, guarded by the Empress and the Sun.

Yet, in that chaos was a woman doing paperwork. 

“Good to see you again in person Delphi,” you tell her, her chair spinning around instantly at the sound of your voice.

“You could’ve at least told me that you were going to do that so soon,” she replied coldly.

You roll your eyes, the sound of the Emperor giving a speech to one of the other groups audible. “You should’ve expected this. You knew that I showed the others what was in my room.”

Delphi sighed. “At least the rest is according to plan.”

“Hey!” 

The Lovers runs in, donning a wild grin.

“Update. Strength wrangled up the rest of the security, and the Hanged Man found the locations of the other facilities.”

“Good. Get the Hanged Man to release all he can to the media of what they’re doing, especially on how innocent people have been taken. That will ensure at least some success.”

You weren’t the only Fool around. Others were in your position, others who were innocent, but some didn’t survive when fights broke out. Some with families who wanted revenge and had the work ethic to get it. 

“I guess we should find the others,” Delphi’s gaze matched her small smile as she held out her hand. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

You are no longer the Fool, but the Magician. You used your willpower and determination to get out of your situation, and now you’ve combined that with the inner wisdom and the intuition of the High Priestess. And even if many of you will go back to a place of confinement, you’ve got one last goal.

“Dreamers” by Aliana Zuliani

Hide. hide your dreams and hopes 

In a world where the monsters will eat you alive, if you show them there’s something worth their time 

Contain your ambition and desires inside

The monsters hunt the dreamers who dare to defy

Keep yourself locked away, hidden far beneath the cracks 

Hide your heart from those who see it as a target to attack,

All the things that make you unique, are another avenue for them to crack 

open and find what they truly desire 

It is your hopes and dreams that fuel their fire

To fill the voids where their hearts should be 

 push it down keep it hidden and unseen

Cause if they attack, no one will hear your screams 

 listen to my warning and heed my advice 

In a world full of monsters, the dreamers have to hide

“Confinement Free Verse” by Dezaray Debassige

Containment means to keep something harmful contained but what if what is meant to be kept contained gets realised? 

What if what was meant to be contained was your heart?

 It can be extremely harmful to not only others but yourself as well.

 Now imagine that it got out. 

Then, imagine someone else got a hold of it.

 That is unexplainably dangerous. 

Now you have to trust that person to keep it contained. 

But what if it breaks? 

What if it shatters into a million pieces like a thin layer of glass?

 What if that thing you had to contain was the only thing of yourself that felt whole and now it just broke? 

And what if you feel like the only way it can be fixed is by the thing that broke it in the first place?

 I will ask you once more now, what if that thing was your heart?

“Wolf Teeth” by Sam Lazure

I know what I am.

That’s what you’ve come to find out, isn’t it? You, circling the whole truth of me like the vulture you are. And I’ll tell you, because once we were friends. Once you would have already known.

So walk with me for a while. The woods are close and the paths are dark, but I could find our way even without the moonlight to guide us. So come with me and I’ll tell you a story. The whole story. The story of what you did and what I became.

This is how it started: I was home to a wolf. Not one of those dirty, muscled dogs you see on nature documentaries, but a true wolf, a real monster. A Beast. It was a child’s nightmare of an animal: shadow-stalking, prey-hunting, heart-eating.

Most of the time it slept, nestled among my internal organs. Sometimes, when I was tired, or scared, or angry—especially when I was angry—it would uncurl from my stomach and rise. It would crawl up my throat, blocking my words, and fill my mouth with its teeth. That’s how I knew it was a wolf, by the shape of its teeth. I would think, my teeth aren’t this long. Or sharp. Or dangerous. And I would know the wolf was there.

It was a menace and a monster, yes, but it protected me. It only ever protected me.

Are you beginning to understand?

I didn’t have many friends. Of course I didn’t. Whenever I looked at my peers, they seemed small and sunken, pulled in on themselves without a beast inside to fill the hollow places. The teeth were also a problem—sometimes it would get out when I didn’t want it to, snapping and snarling.

Then I saw you, and I knew. The wolf did too. As I introduced myself it pressed against my throat, trying to get out. I should have listened to it. But, at the time, I was too enamored to heed my only real friend’s warning.

I can’t explain how I knew. You stood taller than the others, your shoulders spread like wings, your mouth curved into a sickle smile. When you spoke I could hear a faint edge to the words as they struggled past something waiting in your chest, something that echoed my own.

You know this part. You know how close we got, how we would run in the woods in the dark, laughing at the moon. How we didn’t need anyone else. How we were free and wild, with monsters curled around our hearts.

Do you understand yet?

Careful, this part is tricky. You’ll have to watch for roots. No, we’re not lost. I know exactly where we’re going.

Do you remember the day it all changed as clearly as I do? We were walking through the forest as we so often did, not lost but not found, either. Slowly, the canopy fell away, revealing a window of star-studded sky. You pulled me to the middle of the clearing, your face dead serious, your voice hushed.

You asked me if I’d ever forced the wolf out.

I laughed it off and tried to keep walking, but you were still standing there, waiting for an answer. When you got like that you were insufferable, picking the truth out of everyone and anyone.

So I told you the truth. I told you I was afraid.

You told me it was time, that it was something we needed to do, to heal. Together we stood among the shadows, and I could feel the wolf pressing against my lips. Our eyes met, and I was the first to look away. When I looked back you were already taking a few steps back, already opening your mouth.

The sickle beak came first, then its body, unfurling like a cloud of ink. It spiraled into the air, a bird like an oil spill, golden eyes fixed on the stars.

I never could back down from a challenge.

My wolf was so beautiful. Where yours was wings and talons mine was teeth and claws, fur the colour of quicksilver, eyes like burning metal. A scream in the shape of a predator. It moved like smoke, like mercury, flowing over the night-stained grass.

When it emerged it had taken all the sharp points with it. I could feel my body relaxing, adapting to the new emptiness. I filled my lungs with air and breathed easier than I ever had before.

At first I relished the feeling of my body belonging only to me. Then the loneliness became too much, and I moved to call it back.

Before I could you lunged forward. You, with your war chants and hunting howls. You, who chased the pair of them into the trees and the dark. You, who turned to me with a more gentle smile, grinning as if you’d just won.

I pushed past you and tried to follow but they were too quick, nothing but darker shades of night against the shadows.

You never did understand. I was never afraid of the wolf.

I was afraid it wouldn’t come back.

After that I felt like others looked, small and sunken. The empty places where it used to curl were like voids, like maws, and I moved carefully so I wouldn’t fall in. I still dream of it, of fur and claws and teeth.

Why now? Why am I telling you this now, after months of silence?

Observe the canopy peeling back. Observe how the moon hangs in the sky like a promise. Observe the time of night, and the clearing we’re walking into.

I’ve thought a lot about this.

In order to catch a wolf, you need the right kind of bait.

I can’t explain how I knew. You stood taller than the others, your shoulders spread like wings, your mouth curved into a sickle smile. When you spoke I could hear a faint edge to the words as they struggled past something waiting in your chest, something that echoed my own.

You know this part. You know how close we got, how we would run in the woods in the dark, laughing at the moon. How we didn’t need anyone else. How we were free and wild, with monsters curled around our hearts.

Do you understand yet?

Careful, this part is tricky. You’ll have to watch for roots. No, we’re not lost. I know exactly where we’re going.

Do you remember the day it all changed as clearly as I do? We were walking through the forest as we so often did, not lost but not found, either. Slowly, the canopy fell away, revealing a window of star-studded sky. You pulled me to the middle of the clearing, your face dead serious, your voice hushed.

You asked me if I’d ever forced the wolf out.

I laughed it off and tried to keep walking, but you were still standing there, waiting for an answer. When you got like that you were insufferable, picking the truth out of everyone and anyone.

So I told you the truth. I told you I was afraid.

You told me it was time, that it was something we needed to do, to heal. Together we stood among the shadows, and I could feel the wolf pressing against my lips. Our eyes met, and I was the first to look away. When I looked back you were already taking a few steps back, already opening your mouth.

The sickle beak came first, then its body, unfurling like a cloud of ink. It spiraled into the air, a bird like an oil spill, golden eyes fixed on the stars.

I never could back down from a challenge.

My wolf was so beautiful. Where yours was wings and talons mine was teeth and claws, fur the colour of quicksilver, eyes like burning metal. A scream in the shape of a predator. It moved like smoke, like mercury, flowing over the night-stained grass.

When it emerged it had taken all the sharp points with it. I could feel my body relaxing, adapting to the new emptiness. I filled my lungs with air and breathed easier than I ever had before.

At first I relished the feeling of my body belonging only to me. Then the loneliness became too much, and I moved to call it back.

Before I could you lunged forward. You, with your war chants and hunting howls. You, who chased the pair of them into the trees and the dark. You, who turned to me with a more gentle smile, grinning as if you’d just won.

I pushed past you and tried to follow but they were too quick, nothing but darker shades of night against the shadows.

You never did understand. I was never afraid of the wolf.

I was afraid it wouldn’t come back.

After that I felt like others looked, small and sunken. The empty places where it used to curl were like voids, like maws, and I moved carefully so I wouldn’t fall in. I still dream of it, of fur and claws and teeth.

Why now? Why am I telling you this now, after months of silence?

Observe the canopy peeling back. Observe how the moon hangs in the sky like a promise. Observe the time of night, and the clearing we’re walking into.

I’ve thought a lot about this.

In order to catch a wolf, you need the right kind of bait.

“Second Hand Battles” by Kei Repuszka-Proulx

Most people think I started smoking when I was 14. Being honest, I started smoking before I was even born.

My mother smoked cigarettes when I was in the womb. And she occasionally smoked in the house when my siblings and I were younger. It got worse when my father left my mother. My older brother and sisters were rarely home, but since I was just a baby, I had to stay with my parents inside. No open windows. No doors between them and I to separate the smoke from the baby. I was inhaling smoke with every breath my fragile body took. I couldn’t go to my room to get away from it because, well.. Firstly, I couldn’t walk, and second, I shared my bedroom with them.

By the time I was 5 years old, I couldn’t do much physical activity because my lungs were already affected by the smoke thag I’d inhale. Because of that lack of activity, I had gained weight much faster than all of my peers, and I got picked on for that.

By the time I was 8 years old, I had moles my first cigarette. It wasn’t a full one, and it was actually an E-cigarette- but I still remember it clearly. It was grape flavoured. I remember coughing and getting dizzy and coughing more, but grape was- and still is- my favourite flavour. So every time my mom wasn’t around, I would sneak into her room to use it secretly; she caught me one time, and she cried and I cried and she got really mad at me. And she yelled. She yelled a lot back then.

I promised her that I would never smoke again- cigarettes, vapes, or any drugs. Alcohol too.

For the next 4 years, I didn’t touch any of those things at all.

In 2016, I got put into foster care. My older siblings had already moved out by then.

In 2017, my foster parents’ grandkids stayed with us for a little while. The oldest one, a girl, was less than a year older than me; she used to smoke. Her and I were good friends.

In the autumn of that year, we were both outside together going to the park near my house, and she pulled out her vape. She offered for me to use it; I said yes.

After that first inhale, I could feel that same feeling emerge from way back in my brain. The dizziness, the coughing- it felt like opening a drawer from a filing cabinet that had always been locked before. I didn’t even know I remembered that feeling until that day. Soon after, her and I became closer and we’d go for these “walks” very often.

In the years after that, I battled with addiction, mental health issues, lost friendships, and almost lost to suicide. All of these things are a story on their own, so I won’t get into those right now. 

What I will say, though, is that I’m still here. I’m a writer. A few years ago, I was so caught up in my addiction that I couldn’t even see a month into the future. I had absolutely no goals or inspirations. I don’t remember a particular turning point for me; I think it was a slow turn over the past year or so. Although, I did realize that the temporary pleasure of smoking was taking away from the permanent pleasure of doing what I love- writing. 

Now, I am 17 years old, and I start college classes tomorrow. I’m still in high school, so those classes will be alongside my high school courses. When I do graduate, I’ll go to university to get a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature, Media, and Writing. I’d like to be a journalist.

Most people think I started smoking when I was 14, but after looking forward and seeing the future ahead of me, I don’t think that really matters.

“Clipped Wings” by Morgan Sheppard

I stay low, close to the nest,

the warmth comforting.

I crave more.

The sky is a blank canvas

for my ambitions.

The blue calls me

Soar. Soar. Soar.

I take the leap and fly,

swirling through the air.

Each twist a reflection of myself,

each dip displaying my potential.

Still, I hear them on the ground–

snickering, doubting, criticizing.

My wings, not large enough.

My flight patterns, too abstract.

My heart collapses.

My wings fall, defeated.

I plummet to the ground

I look up, let the blue absorb me

Sore. Sore. Sore.

“Arms of a Willow” by Audrey Kawa

If you were to walk out of a moment

It would be like walking out of a life

And Mother always said to trust but I distrust people greatly and it gets me places

That is why I am here, huddled in the arms of a willow

And his body is captured in the clutches of the Earth

Because he emerged from the city streets

He was something better

He trusted, “I can make you a star”

I watched him take hits and bruises

Heard his voice crack in the microphone on the verge of tears

My Mother said, “That boy is really something”

And I said, “That boy is really losing something”

They wrecked his soul

They drove him to his own demise in the form of a glass and a needle

Emerging from the common, being something better than average

And it landed him in the dirt

I sing only for myself and for my big brother’s grave