Yellow

Yellow by Olivia Weeden

A poem by Olivia Weeden

You are yellow to me.
Sunny, happy, bright.
But sometimes,
A little too bright.
A little piercing.
A little blinding.
Yellow speaks of caution,
To slow down.
But sometimes,
We see a yellow light
And go even faster.
A little too fast.
In the right shades,
In the right amounts,
In the right places,
You are calming.
Reminding me of how real
And vibrant everything is.
Keeping me grounded
In yellow.
Yellow is beautiful.
In the right light,
You are golden,
You are soft.
In the right light,
You are harsh,
You are reflective
Of everything I don't want to see
In myself.
You are a highlighter.
Pointing out the information
I need most.
But sometimes 
I get a bit carried away
With my highlighter.
Sometimes I look down,
And an entire page is yellow.
You are overwhelming and
Underwhelming and not
A single bit 
Too yellow. Not
A single bit
Too much.
Because you are you.
You are yellow.
And you are wonderful,
And scary,
And bright,
And soft,
And perfect.
And I love you,
And I thank you,
For being yellow.
<strong>Olivia Weeden</strong>
Olivia Weeden

I’m from Saratoga Springs NY and am a student at Saratoga Springs High School. I love to read and write, and music is also something I’m very passionate about. I love to play cello and am in a quartet and a youth symphony in addition to being a part of my school’s chamber orchestra.

I have also worked part time at a flower farm for the past two years. Writing is something I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, and I am often inspired by the people and places I hold dear. Although it is only a hobby for me at the moment, I hope I can use writing in a much greater capacity in my future.

My Instagram is @olivia_weeden.

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She was Manifesting.

She was Manifesting.

Poetry by Shantae Gray

She walked right passed him.
He who was a King.
It hadn’t been intentional.
And as he straightened his crown; flexing his pectorals.
Hoping that the sun’s rays would hit his kingly.
That this woman would see him.
That she would fall to his feet.
For he needed her to be his Queen.
She might have been if he had come months sooner.
 
For in her a sea of intensity had raged.
A hurricane of hunger surged through her.
Its lightning and thunder awakened her.
She could only see the very being she was striving to be.
She was manifesting.
 
Dimensions she hadn’t seen.
Dreams she hadn’t dreamt.
She was inspired.
She was ready to defy.
She was ready to fly.
She was manifesting.
Her being had been rebooted.
Schooled by knowledge that had been so empowering.
She was manifesting.
 
She didn’t dress like a queen.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail; sweat running down her face.
In her denim jeans were patches of dirt.
That represented the business she was building.
The degree she was completing
The integrity she held on to.
The book she was writing.
She was manifesting.
 
There, etched into her black skin were jewels of her hard work.
All the things her sweat, blood and tears had achieved.
She was manifesting.
The king went in search of her.
Resting his crown.
Putting on his boots.
Running towards her
Trying to catch traces of the beauty that lingered in the wind; gracing time and changing lives.
She was manifesting
<strong>Shantae Gray</strong>
Shantae Gray

My name is Shantae Gray. A proud Jamaican and a graduate of The Caribbean Maritime University. I enjoy long hours at the beach, reading and singing.

I can’t say that writing is just a hobby. For me, it is far more than that. It has become a way of life.  A God given talent that I appreciate each day.

It’s funny how my emotions and feelings are tied to my writing. If I can feel it, I can write it. I love that about my craft. It is my feelings and emotions on paper.

I am working on my first book of poetry and aspire to be a renowned self-published author.
 
You can follow me on Instagram @taestruth

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Wild by Zahra

Wild by Zahra

Wild, a poem by Zahra Zuhair

You will fail
to find that passion
you sparked in me
when you lie with her,
for she is the magnificent trees,
but never a lush forest,
and she is the ocean
but never the surfer's waves,
and she is the shoreline
but never the dotted seabed,
and she is the stars that light up for you,
but never the sky that changes for you.
And you, who wouldn't dare
preserve and explore a forest,
or ride the mighty waters,
or drown inside the quicksand that I was,
or push a little harder to reach the sky-
I was too great in my being for you.
It was not me that could not hold on to you,
but it was you that could not hold on at all.
<strong>Zahra Zuhair</strong>
Zahra Zuhair

I write poems about mental health, identity, faith and relationships. My writing comes from my own personal experiences, and mental well-being; a place within me that reaches out to the world, wanting to confront issues that people need to talk about. I think my writing is a form of rebellion against systems which oppress through conformity rather than liberate the individual soul and mind. I am always ready to share my work and contribute to larger causes. It’s what drives me as a writer and a teacher.
IG: @liminaling 

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The Little Shed

The little shed is painted blue
with two old chairs for me and you
We sit and talk till stars shine high
Discuss wild dreams and sometimes cry
The shed is dark and meant for tools
but staged just right for dreaming fools
One day we'll laugh and reminisce
Having checked off goals from
our shed dream list

Dedicated to my honey. ❤
-Deanna Ramirez ©

Masterpiece

Masterpiece

Poetry by Deanna M Ramirez

If I could paint you a color
I'd paint you the rainbow
Then I'd mix it all up
to make infinitely more colors
I would need to start there
and use up every one
each splendid color
to paint the masterpiece
that is you

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