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With fresh blooming peonies, I stood at my neighbor’s back door. 

Waiting “patiently” like a dog anticipating a walk

 The sparkling clean pool seemed to gaze back at me. 

The radiant sun danced on the water, hoping I’d come and visit. 

 

My neighbor appeared with a bunch of fun new toys, 

 Floaties, water guns, and a huge bowl of watermelon, 

 The scent of new plastic filled the air. 

 

I jumped in with excitement.

Back then my only concern was how far I could swim

Now, I worry about staying afloat. 

 

Five fantastic summers later, the pool is covered 

The blinds are closed, and fresh fruit no longer summons me to the table.  

I no longer hear “Do you want a Nutella sandwich?” from the edge of the patio. 

 

The flowers in the garden crawl as nature claims the house.   

Beloved treasured belongings now sit dusty in an overfilled box.  

His tales of war have faintly faded from my mind.  

 

A flag of achievement flutters high on the light post along the street.  

“In Honor of a Brave Veteran”  

All he was to them was a soldier, but to me he was spark,  

Encouraging kindness, positivity, and gratitude.  

---

Kayla Sharp is a 17-year-old high school student, just starting her senior year at Franklin Towne Charter high school. She has loved writing since she was in elementary school, but throughout the past year she has been engaging more often with her passion for writing. She recently attended the Drexel writing conference and is currently in a creative writing class at her school. A majority of Kayla’s writing is based on her experiences in foster care and other events that have happened throughout her life.

 

When a plant fades, its owners are dismal. They struggle to thrive from too much or little

 care. The leaves wilt, not reaching their highest potential. 

You whisper to them, in hopes of comforting them into gleam

 

Like when the plant used to smile and bloom 

With graceful flowers, each petal a different hue. 

You forgot to offer care and came back to a withered view.

 

You reassure the plant they’re not forgotten 

You share how you long for old memories

And how things have shifted, changing for the worse.

 

You urge the dirt to accept hydration,

Even though they’ve been parched for so long. 

The skeptical neighbors tell you “It’s too late, the plant has lost its song” 

 

You tell the plant you will dedicate all your time to them

You will fight until your last breath. Words create hope,

Though actions create change. The plant held a grudge

 

Perched on yet another windowsill dreaming of change

 but met with Lack of care.

 Yet your thoughts wondered far away the window,

Frustrated with progress that was rarely seen, 

The plant fought to grow, reaching for light.

With your neglect, it couldn’t stand to fight.

---

Kayla Sharp is a 17-year-old high school student, just starting her senior year at Franklin Towne Charter high school. She has loved writing since she was in elementary school, but throughout the past year she has been engaging more often with her passion for writing. She recently attended the Drexel writing conference and is currently in a creative writing class at her school. A majority of Kayla’s writing is based on her experiences in foster care and other events that have happened throughout her life.

 

Out of the evil that covered me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole.

I thank he only God 

For the redemption of my soul.

 

By the power of the one who has made me bold

I am strengthened with strength untold.

Although my enemy seeks to make me feel dejected

The attempts are in vain as I am resurrected.

 

Beyond this place of sorrow

Advances the destroyer of tomorrow

Yet the executioner of years

Will find me without tears.

 

It matters not how tough the hate,

How tough the goal.,

Christ is the master of my fate:

Christ is the master of my soul.

---

Kayden McClain is a 14 year old student that is currently attending Julia R. Masterman Laboratory and Demonstrations School, located in Philadelphia, PA.  He has aspirations of becoming a seasoned martial artist. 

It was perfect. 

The most beautiful thing you may have ever seen. 

The petals were just the perfect bubblegum shade. 

Now they are slowly fading to a dead color.

The stem was a ripe green color. 

Now it is turning gray like a tombstone. 

The flower was constantly nourished. 

What happened? 

 

The petals are not just changing physically,  

The support that once held them up like a streetlight

It is gone just as if the streetlight was hit by a car. 

Falling limb by limb. 

 

The petals are not just slowly dying, but the stem has lost control. 

It won’t stay perfectly straight. It is bending to its side. 

It was wilting. It was folding forward as if it had no support to stand. 

It was perfect. What happened? 

 

It can’t support itself no more 

No matter the times it has tried to stick together. 

It wasn’t the lily itself. 

It was healthy until it got ruined. 

 

When it realized, that is when it started to get drained 

From its power. 

It was wilting. 

The once beautiful lily 

Was now a dead seed

That can never be sowed again.

---

Amayah Marrero, from Lawncrest in Northeast Philadelphia is a junior at Franklin Towne Charter High School. She loves to write, but uses her creativity in many forms of art. Amayah loves to draw, paint, graphic design, and can-do nail art. 

 

Their cries like whispers, soft and pure, 

Two tiny hearts, a love so sure. 

In your gaze, the stars align, 

Two souls in sync, a love divine. 

 

Oh, little ones, so small, so new, 

The world seems brighter just for you. 

Your hands, so delicate, hold my heart, 

From this moment, we’ll never part. 

 

I marvel at the rise and fall 

Of breaths so fragile, yet so strong, 

A month you’ve lived, but all I feel 

Is timeless love, profound, surreal. 

 

Your eyes, like pools of endless skies,  

Reflect the dreams that in me rise. 

Two mirrors of innocence and grace, 

The universe rests within your face. 

 

Autie’s love, though still so young, 

Flows steady, deep, as songs unsung. 

In every coo, each sleepy sigh, 

You tether me, I’m bound, I fly. 

 

The bond we share, through fresh, runs deep, 

I’ll watch you grow, wake, and sleep. 

To guide, protect, and help you see 

The beauty life will always be. 

 

Dear nieces, twins, my little stars, 

I’ll love you just for who you are. 

A sixteen-year-old heart beats true, 

Forever changed because of you. 

---

Abby Kucowski is a poet who lives in Philadelphia, attending Franklin Towne Charter High School.  

 

Endless Love 

Beneath the veil of stars, she softly stays,  

A whisper caught between the endless days. 

Her life was brief, a fleeting spark of gold, 

Yet love, a story untold. 

She watches now, a guardian unseen, 

Through shadows cast and spaces in between. 

Her cousin laughs, her voice a radiant song,  

The echo of a world where she now belongs. 

From fragile steps to strides of steady grace. 

The girl observes, a smile upon her face. 

The years unfold like petals in the spring, 

Her cousin blossoms, beauty shimmering. 

Each choice she makes, each dream she dares to find, 

Brings light to the one forever left behind. 

She feels no envy, only pride and care, 

Her spirit woven in the evening air. 

Though time and death may part their earthly ties, 

Her love endures beneath eternal skies. 

A quiet witness, watching from above, 

Her soul transformed by boundless, endless love. 

---

Abby Kucowski is a poet who lives in Philadelphia, attending Franklin Towne Charter High School. 

 

How many Issac Newton’s have spent their lives washing dishes?

How many Beethovens have spent their lives bent over kitchen sinks

instead of pianos because they had the misfortune of being a woman?

 

How many poet’s pens have turned into brooms and dustpans?

How many lawyer’s briefcases turned into grocery bags because they 

too had the misfortune of being a woman?

 

How many surgeons’ hands have mended broken homes, not broken bones?

Nursed the wounded souls of their husbands while theirs bled dry?

How many architects’ blueprints have been crumpled into grocery lists,

 building futures for everyone else but themselves, 

their ambitions turn to an unheard whisper.

 

How many voices that could’ve moved mountains were taught 

to whisper low, taught that silence is a virtue, but boisterous boldness 

is unbecoming on a woman?

How many women swallowed their thunder, taught that 

only men were allowed to summon storms?

 

How many discoveries never saw the light of day, tucked behind 

egg-stained aprons, sewn into the seams of frilly dresses because

 the world decided their worth wasn’t great enough. 

But how well she made the food, how often she cleaned, 

and how silent her distress was.

 

How many canvases remain white, not for lack of color 

but for lack of freedom?

How many symphonies remain unsung because society willed them 

to fade into the background, a deafening silence?

 

And how many mothers have become bent, cracked, and damaged 

under the weight of it all? Bearing not just children but the burdens of generations.

Her dreams crushed under the foot of tradition, her brilliance not seen

in history’s pages, forgotten and unspoken.

 

How many minds have died in the quiet, not from the lack of thought, 

but the lack of space to grow?

From the lack of getting the chance to be someone more than “his wife”.

How many times will we ask, “What could she have been?”

Before we realize we should be asking “What stopped her from being?”

 

For every woman who was told no,

Told that she shouldn’t.

Told that she couldn’t,

We mourn a million wasted lifetimes and the fire of a million more.

 

The time of silence is now ending.

Kitchens and cradles aren’t bound to the brilliance anymore,

No more Issac Newtons scrubbing floors,

No more Beethovens silenced behind closed doors.

 

We are not misfortunes.

We are the revolution.

And our genius, once hidden,

will no longer be ignored.

---

Savannah DiDonato-Garr is currently an 8th grader who lives in Delaware County and is heavily educated in political topics. She is an avid reader and traveler. Savannah lives with her mother and her dog Charlie. Savannah loves to learn about history, true crime, and the state of the world today. She also dreams of becoming a Forensic Psychologist.

 

I was the petal under a stone. 

It can’t ever move unless something lifts its weight.

It eventually did. I fell off the stem

Pushed under a stone

But now I don’t stand alone. 

I was free. 

 

It is not just a lifestyle, 

It is an influence. 

I had to change 

To feel the influence.

 

I was not me. I was them.

It was like I was a petal to a stem.

Completely attached to something 

That only if I fall off, I will stand alone. 

 

I needed to fall off, so I could be on my own. 

I didn’t want to be like those other petals attached to that stem. 

If I wasn’t set free, would I still be, 

One of them?

---

Amayah Marrero, from Lawncrest in Northeast Philadelphia is a junior at Franklin Towne Charter High School. She loves to write, but uses her creativity in many forms of art. Amayah loves to draw, paint, graphic design, and can-do nail art.  See www.philadelphiastories.org/junior for more of her writing. 

I held your hand in the mornings light

The breeze was soft and slow. 

By dusk you vanished from my sight,

Too fast for time to show.

 

Regret, a guest I can never suppress 

Sitting beside my every breath 

Reminding me of all I failed to guess 

 

Your coffee cup waiting alone

The steam’s warmth still quietly lingering 

The silent spoon a soft groan

 

Laughter shared on that ordinary night

Now echoes in the kettles scream

A fleeting sound too frightening to rewrite.

 

Chasing the sun through the cracked blinds

In the dust memories unwind

 

A robin hops along the garden path

It sings, nothing touched by grief or wrath.

 

The wind is blowing softly. Curtains lift then fall

I promise I hear you humming throughout the hall. 

 

So now I watch the sky turn blue

Enjoying the mornings stay

The world still spinning without you–

But somehow, that’s okay.

---

Gavin Fry is a junior at Franklin Towne Charter Highschool. He enjoys writing poetry, and believes that it’s a way to express suppressed emotions in methods we originally wouldn’t try. 

Beneath the surface, thought swirl, collide- 

The clock ticks loud in the silence of my mind, 

Anxiety crawls, a heavy weight inside, 

Each breath a struggle, each thought unkind. 

 

I hold my fists tight, as anger burns, 

The world spins too fast, too hard to bear, 

Sadness leaks out, as the body yearns, 

For something, anything – someone to care. 

 

I wear my mask well, but the cracks do show, 

The damage beneath, too raw to hide. 

Smiles slip off, leaving shadows below, 

A heart caged – afraid to collide. 

 

Stress pulls at my skin, tight and taut, 

Each step forward a mile too long, 

My head aches with questions I haven’t sought, 

While my silence hums a desperate song. 

 

I reach for hope, but it slips through my grasp- 

Unseen, unknown, lost in the fog, 

Yet somewhere in the dark, there’s a gasp, 

A whisper of light, hidden in the smog. 

But even then, the fight is far from done, 

My mind’s a battlefield – no place to run. 

---

Abby Kucowski is a poet who lives in Philadelphia, attending Franklin Towne Charter High School.  More of her work can be found online at www.philadelphiastories.org/junior.