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My mama always told me to double check.
Again and again she would say, “Did you lock the door?”
Again and again I would say, “Yes mama, the door is locked.”
But she always made me double check.

Now it’s late at night, the rain is tapping on the roof.
The wind is rattling the windows.
Only I know it’s not the wind or the rain,
Just the demons.

I curl into a tight ball, the salt from my tears sting my eyes.
I can hear their claws nearing my bed
As my tears stain my pillow.
Why won’t they leave me alone?

I am so scared, trembling even, I can’t feel my face anymore.
My covers lift off me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and hope it is just a dream.
“The salt in your tears isn’t working, is it my darling?”

“You should be gone!” I scream.
“Dead! In hell! Where you belong! Why isn’t the salt working?”
Its voice is deep and scratchy.
“Because we’re monsters not demons, silly girl.”

I am in multiple pieces now:
My dark skin has gone pale, my hazel eyes are glassy,
My dark curly hair is sprawled out around me.
Never forget to double check.

My name is Ayah Pearson. I am Homeschooled and I am in the ninth grade. I like to write horror because I’m a big scaredy cat. That along with my vivid imagination gives me the fuel to write scary stories and thrillers. When I’m not writing I like to draw, read, design characters and ride horses. I live in Philadelphia with my mom, my brother, and my stuffed animals. I am a proud Mighty Writer.

Philly tastes like
The sweet effervescent drinks from corner delis, tickling my tongue with tiny bubbles,
My teeth breaking through the Philly pretzel’s bronze outer crust,
Water ice melting into a colorful syrup and pooling in my mouth,
And, of course, the Philly cheesesteak drooling cheese over all of my fingers.

Philly smells like
The pungent aroma of perfume and cologne,
And the tangy scent of various cheeses to the subtle smell of succulent fruits and vegetables from local farm stands.

Philly looks like
The kaleidoscopic rose maze at the Wyck House garden,
Tall buildings piercing the clouds and reflecting the sky on its panels of glass,
The red glowing lights that read ‘Reading Terminal’ in the dark tunnel,
The shimmering dragon following a meandering dance beneath the soft glow of lanterns floating aimlessly like jellyfish during
Chinatown’s New Year’s Eve,
The glimmer of the Fourth of July fireworks before they fade into the inky black night on the pier,
And the many faces of the diverse community that lives here.

Philly feels like
My hands tightening their grip on the cool metal poles on the Septa bus as it skids to a halt,
The vibration in my feet at my train approaches,
The mist resting on my face as I walk by the Love Park fountain,
South Street’s unique art, food, and people that reside there,
The shining bronze light that reflects off of the hulking Liberty Bell, and its renowned crack,
City Hall’s intricate architecture and its proud, elegant stance.

Philly sounds like
Shoes clicking on the sidewalk,
The Silverliner V rattling the rusting train tracks,
The mellifluous sound of saxophone echoing through the train stations,
And the hum of construction drills.

Thirteen-year-old Ma’at Smith attends the Waldorf School of Philadelphia as an eighth grader. She has been a resident of Philadelphia for thirteen years, along with her three siblings, mother and father. She loves the outdoors and nature, the fine arts, reading, and writing, mainly fiction and poetry. Some of her many cherished books are the Harry Potter stories, as well as the Mrs. Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children series.

Swimming in the ocean
I let myself get a little too deep
The current pulled me down under
And I could finally see

The land is constantly booming
People, places, everywhere
Under the waves I can finally think
Alone, with no air

I can see the light begin to grow
Time zooms by in a blink Seeing the waves flow by overhead
Lower and lower I sink

On land I wasted so much time
I stressed over little things and details
I should have savored the important things
What we worry about is so trivial

I see that now as I drift deeper under
Yet I don’t try to bring myself back up
For there is nothing I could do to fix the
Mistakes I made on the land, no cleanup

She’s in the sky above me now
And I’m down here, deservedly under
Still unknown to her is my appreciation
Too late I realized how much I relied on her

Just before she went to sleep
The last I saw her awake
My anger boiled over
I couldn’t stop telling her my hate

The next morning I was alone
And suddenly I saw
Dripping tears with no other soul
She believes she did wrong

To think her final memory before
She moved beyond the land, that dreadful place
Was filled with hateful noise
She thinks her sacrifices were mistakes

Regrets of wanting not
Course through my veins and beyond
Her gentle touch that I took for granted
Is forever gone

The land seemed to make me
Oblivious and unaware
I couldn’t recognize what was being done
How she could’ve chosen anything, but chose to care

I took these things as givens
Until they were taken away
She had to leave this earth behind
Knowing I ignored her generous ways

Deeper I sink
Alone now forever
Wave after wave
She deserved better

This is a ballad about an adolescent girl contemplating the loss of a parent, her mom, while in her last moments alive, as she is drowning, written by 13-year-old eighth graders Renee Begley, Lucy Czechowski, and Arianna Harris. Renee, Lucy, and Arianna all live in Haddon Heights and attend Haddon Heights Junior High in South Jersey.

her eyes flutter shut

she sleeps like the dead

her dreams become nightmares,

she lives in her head.

a moment has passed

outside of her dream,

but a mere second is years

in her mystic extreme.

all the while she lies

convulsing in fear

for outside her subconscious

a monster is near.

but she can do nothing—

she’s trapped in this prison,

she cannot wake up—

for her monster has risen.

the monster’s eyes twinkle,

leaning back on his throne,

no one can save her—

for the dead sleep alone.

Sarah Uhlman is a junior at Pennsbury High School who likes art, traveling, and watching the X-Files with her family. She’s a Hufflepuff and her favorite Broadway musical is Phantom of the Opera.

I want to cover my cities in magazine
and floral applique. Plaster all the concrete
vineyards with paths or tear in typing.
I want billboards showing pocket watches and
telling all the mountains that time is up.
Tick tick to the terror house of street men
and buggers we always formed, and
never wanted. I know of a boy who sleeps
in this city. He wants to live in a box with
baseball cards and blue. A warm city sound and roads making anew.
When skies have fun and cities sleep,
you know it mustn’t end. You glue on paper
stars to paper cars and polish crowns.
Bakeries rolling dough and pastries handmade.
Recipes to fill your stomach ease with chug
after chug after chug. Typewriters in our
pocket hands and hopeful of what is to come.
Around and sound a string bulb blanket
covers a city with narrow
curves. Girls and more in streets adore a city
finally
Fulfilled.

Kristine Kearns is a 16 year old aspiring poet at Souderton High School. Kristine publishes her poetry on her personal blog, kristinekearns.blogspot.com, where she also expresses her creativity in fashion, beauty, and baking. Kearns also runs cross-country and track and is in love with running, as well as English, poetry in particular