By Madison Grill, Portland High School
Behind blue eyes she hides
Fingers tracing the past scattered from left to right
she can't think
she can only feel
If you knew you wouldn't believe
But if you believe then you definitely don't know
Her heart breaking
But she'll say she is fine as if she doesn't feel completely forsaken
All she can see is the hatred
Knows nothing about what life truly is
Because she hiding
trying to save herself
Because without you she can't care for herself
When she's alone
it just gets worse
As her pain becomes evident on her arms
Leaving scars of course
but you wouldn't know
You left long ago
And though they'll say how happy she is
They have no idea how she really broke
Behind blue eyes she hides
a pain deeper than her own demise
About the Author: Madison Grill, a sophomore at Portland High School, writes poetry when she's stressed because it's one of the few ways she can display her emotions in a healthy form.
BY: Claira Humphrey, Kingsley High School
Sometimes life grabs you by the balls and you just want to lash out.
Get in fights.
And hope that one day someone will hit you hard enough that you forget the pain in your gut,
Because it's easier to spit out teeth and blood and get back up with scraped knees;
Than it is to constantly try and piece my life back together again.
Smoke and drink;
And hope that destroying my liver and lungs,
Will make the pain in my gut and the lack of breath make more sense,
Because emotions shouldn't make me feel like my insides are rotting.
Endure physical pain,
And hope others finally understand;
Because a scraped knee,
A broken bone,
Is more comprehensible than the fact that my life is shred to pieces,
So tear away my body.
Let me rot.
Leave me bloody and broken.
Because physical means makes so much more sense,
Than a heartbreak caused by nothing in particular.
It’s so much easier to ice a swollen jaw,
Than it is to mend something invisible to the eye.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Claira is a senior at Kingsley High School. She grew up in Traverse City until she was 13, when she moved to California where she lived for the next 4 ½ years. She is happy to be have moved back home in August. When Claira is not writing, she can be found at home with her family, working, or spending time with her boyfriend. She is looking forward to her future in Kingsley as well as with writing.
BY: Carson Yencar, Ionia High School
You may think that hands are useless,
That they can’t do the impossible things,
Or even the simplest tasks.
So what’s the point of having hands?
Well, I will tell you,
That hands can lead to the greatest discoveries,
Or even to the smallest successes,
Of our daily lives.
They flow across a piece of paper.
They awaken a world unknown to humankind.
They have the soul of a lover,
And a feeling of love is transported to others,
With one single touch.
So, to think hands as useless,
Is to think less of ourselves as human beings.
For our hands define who we are,
And who we are meant to be.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Carson Yenchar is a senior at Ionia High School. She loves to write, read, put on theatre productions, and hang out with her quirky friends. She wants to be a writer when she grows up, and is not very good with talking. Thank goodness writing comes in handy because without creativity and wonder, the world would be a less interesting place.
BY: Krystal Steele, Harrison Community High School
I hear many a tale,
Of it sacrificed, stripped, stolen,
And even offered up willingly,
To one who’d spend it on pleasure,
Without a second thought.
Yes, I’ve heard and dreaded,
Choices coming my way,
To keep it would be a struggle,
To lose it just too easy.
I’ve wondered if now,
Those spent, worn, used,
Feel they’d bought anything,
I speak of purity,
All in good measure.
But not exposed.
What I have seen is people,
With regret and tear filled eyes,
Telling their tale,
And how much they wished,
They’d save their body,
Their innocence, their love,
For the one they’d hold for life:
A husband or wife.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Krystal loves to write and to climb trees. She has a twin brother, and both Krystal and her brother are hoping to attend college for the a career in the medical field.
BY: Brittany Davis, Ionia High School
I am from knives, from bleach and vinegar
I am from the couch that eats you every time you take a seat
Dim, quiet never really felt like home
I am from the giant blossom tree, the wilted rose in the dirty vase
I am from the loud laughter, loud fighting, from the strangers I do not know
I am from the loud parties, and the heavy drinking
From the “I will never leave you,” and the biggest lie ever told, “I love you”
From the getting up for church every morning pretending to be someone they are not.
I am from brokenness and pain
But I am from standing tall and living through it all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Brittany Davis is a senior at Ionia High School and an editor of MIteen Writers.
BY Kaitlyn Richardson, Ionia High School
We’ve been so many places.
We’ve been far and wide.
I’m with you everyday,
always by your side.
We’ve been on great adventures,
that often left us torn.
We’ve been through quite the weather,
snow, rain, sleet, or a roaring thunderstorm.
I was with you on the field,
the battle of the bands.
How could I forget?
I witnessed it all first hand.
Although sometimes you stink,
leaving me to deal with the smell.
I regret none of it,
and we get along quite well.
Youth pushed us to explore,
To discover new ground that were under.
It has been truly beautiful to experience
the wonders of the younger.
I get you where you need to go
No matter where you are.
I’ll always travel with you,
So please, my friend, travel far.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kaitlyn Richarson, a senior at Ionia High, is the embodiment of an M. Night Shyamalan plot twist. Likes to think she's cool but makes puns like there's no tomorrow. Looks like a hawaiian tourist, hip grandma, or an edgy tumblr aesthetic. Enjoys cold pizza, tie dye shirts, and Korean hip hop. Dislikes bananas, clowns, and unrealistic and idealizes images of female beauty in our corrupt modern media discourse. Most likely to be found wherever the latest theatre production is, the band room, or in her car, on her way to another activity. Gets too excited over high quality marching band performances. Is bad at segues and math.
BY: Layna Buskirk, Ionia High School
He is your cup of tea
The perfect mixture of milk and black coffee
He is so tender and sweet
A breath of air for starving lungs
Compared to the others.
But he loves you
He is so tender and sweet
He is a breath of fresh air
Compared to the others
They are all dead to me
He is your favorite candy
That mix of salty and sweet
He's the first boy to meet your family
Everyone says he treats you so sweet
He is your everything
People start to notice
Don't let them see he whispers as you drift off to sleep
you wince when he moves
you cry because you're starving
Your ribs are showing
The bags under your eyes
Are permanent shadows of every time you lied
To protect someone who only causes destruction
But he is your world
Or so it seems
You're in the ER and don't know how or why
Your parents say he beats you
But you tell them thats a lie
He loves me you whisper
For your voice is to hoarse
He is gone none
Completely out of sight
But he held such love in his eyes
He prized me
He would never hurt me
But he did.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: I have a long story and I tell it through poetry. Layna Buskirk is a sophomore at Ionia High School and a member of the editorial team at MIteen Writers.