By April Halprin Wayland
My sister found them. Read them out loud. She’s so proud, she’s running to our parents waving my poems in the ...
Explore Poems: Being Oneself
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- By Nikki GrimesUp till now, the math of my life has been pretty simple: friends plus family plus sports. What more ...
- By Cornelius Eady—Mahogany L. Browne, “On Meditation” Which means, sometimes, you disarm The goon by acting the fool—what they ...
- By Suma SubramaniamYou cannot pronounce my name. “Soor-ya.” Not “soar.” Surya—the sun god. Mom always tells me that a smile...
- By Suma SubramaniamI come from a country so far away that you may have visited only in your dreams. My face does not bear...
- By Mahogany L. BrowneA fatherless child will do almost anything to receive approval from the world. A nod or really any sign...
- By Ari TisonMy dad used to call me Eagle Eyes. I was the one to find eagles, owls, blue jays on a dark day. He called...
- By Kim StaffordI guess you could call me broken, says one. I’m still lonely, says another, but now I can name it with a song. In my poem, says another...
- By Nathalie HandalHe said I was different because I was dark. She said I was different because I wore a scarf. He said...
- By Nour Al GhraowiTruth is I would like to escape myself. Detach my body from my skin, peel it layer by layer to uncover...
- By Pat MoraSpinning through space for eons, our earth—oceans, rivers, mountains, glaciers, tigers, parrots, redwoods...
- By Chera HammonsApart, we are two quiet things: a person and an instrument. I in my body, the clarinet in its case. ...
- By Chen ChenYou are the ice cream sandwich connoisseur of your generation. Blessed are your floral shorteralls, ...
- By Chen ChenSee the stars nightly disobeying the night. Watch the pattering rain sketch an anarchist’s map to the...
- By Kara Jacksoni look in the mirror, and all the chips i’ve eaten this month have accumulated like schoolwork at the...
- By Nikki GrimesI am hardly ever able to sort through my memories and come away whole or untroubled. It is difficult...
- By Nikki GrimesI come home, feet about to bleed from angry stomping. “Boy!” says Mom. “Quit making all that racket....
- By Dawn QuigleyLangston, we too, sing Turtle Island. We are the 574 Nations. They want to hide us In the past tense...
- By Renée WatsonMy body is perfect and imperfect and black and girl and big and thick hair and short legs and scraped...
- By Linda Sue ParkTurn off the lights. Wear another layer. (Sounds like a dad.) (Sounds like a mom.) You say hand-me-down...