Writing Our Stories

Learn More

Youth Spotlight of the YEar

Lost in the Haze

Sometimes I feel lost within my emotions,
trapped within a dense, misty forest with no
release. I feel as if I have no escape
from this endless maze of pressing haze,
no outlet to give me comfort.

Sometimes I find distractions from my
discomfort that give me peace, but they
are only fleeting shadows in this misty haze
that can be taken from me at any moment.

Other times I’m left alone with my sorrows
and my worries, left to my thoughts and
memories of my mistakes. It hurts
when they take away my distractions,
when they don’t listen to my pain.

Rarely, I find people who listen,
and they give me hope. Hope
for a better future. Thus, now I
force myself to come to terms
with what I’ve faced. I know
I have people at my side to keep
me out of the haze.



Snapping Turtle

I am a snapping turtle.
My environment is brackish,
and sometimes I’m salty,
aggressive when needs be.
I don’t like being troubled,
that’s what makes me briny and mean.
My thought process stays the same.
Survival is my natural instinct.
Subsistence, that’s what I know.

I stay just above the ceiling of water,
and float to keep the heat in my body.
I swim to keep cool. It’s calming to me.
But secure your words and don’t make me mad.
The rumors are true. I can bite off a finger,
but if I’m just curious,
I may only bump you with my nose.



The Lonely Writer

Oh, Mr. Writer, won’t you tell us a story,
a story of all the endless nights you spent
dipping your quill in an inkwell of your own dark tears,
hoping to embellish the emotions you feel within.
Tell us a story of all the dismal days you’ve suffered
screaming poetry into the atmosphere,
trying to seal the empty spaces in your home
or all the times you’ve stabbed words onto the parchment
so violently the ink bleeds through.
Tell us how easily you can manipulate words into something of beauty
but could never communicate you own deranged desire
because your emotions speak for themselves.
Tell us a story of the many years of built-up tension
waiting to be poured onto paper,
pleading to be heard by someone,
praying for the perfect moment
to let the world know of its presence.
Oh, Mr. Writer, won’t you tell us a story?



Mt. Meigs Campus Gallery