By Zara Quiter, TIWP Student

As I listen to the creek
in the corner of my streets
I hear the whispers of stories,
songs from the grave,
hushed memories long forgotten
creeping through my window

They filter through my mind,
and return to the world
under cracks of doors
into the ears of few,
They are changed, revised,
reborn into something new,
So that they may land on the
potholes and sidewalks
softly, 
With grace,
with ease,
As to not disrupt them

But coming from my hands
is a stream that rushes strongly,
With such power and strength
even I shy away from
its pure simplicity and inexplicable relatability
I hide from the words,
the words that poured from my heart,
through my veins and tortured circulation,
to the page

Do not go gentle into that good night,
said a master a century ago, who understood his fear and conquered it
I don’t want to go gently,
I want the sentences I string together
to plummet the roads,
bash against the grass,
refract through the windows,
I want the words that I changed
to bring some change,
But I go gently into the night,

Swaying and sweeping
in the winds,
I cry faintly,
delicately pushing my thoughts
into a small, small world,
enveloped by a much bigger one
With tenderness, 
I share an open heart,
Carefully, as to not cause disruption
like the cats that slink through my yard,
I want to go somewhere without a sound,
Make a step without notice

That, I wonder,
is that why we are at a standstill?
Stuck like magnets,
but with enough momentum to
explode into space?
What if, to reach the good night,
I ignored dainty
I ignored polite
I ignored gentle 
and I cried with all the burning rage in my heart,
and devastating hope,
and pure, true happiness,

And when I go,
will I go gently?
Last time to die and strangled cries
engulf me as I look on
to a sunset or 
maybe a comet,
prepared to crush the Earth,
and on its rocky surface; the faces of those who 
were fought against gently,
not with the energy that rests
so, so close, but remains untouched

Braverism taunts me, luring me closer,
persuading me to leave 
my fragileness and safety
and unleash my poetry I hold tight to my chest
I want stanzas that scream,
scream and are heard
stanzas that pull people in
just like bravery hypothetically captured me,

These letters formulated into something beautiful
could also be something formidable
When I raise my pen,
One day, I hope it’s influential,
I hope random and weird
phrases that come from
my craziest dreams, my oddest nightmares, my strangest imaginations
become something real, something known,
Something that strikes terror into those who have done wrong

While I make my trek
through my own emotions,
experiences, fantasies,
mess-ups and accomplishments,
I want my logbook to guide others
As they make there way through this path
I will not go gently,
I’ll go through the journey
stomping and scratching,
crashing and falling,
rebuilding the old trails into 
new 

My words can cut through flesh and bones,
in the way sticks and stones cannot,
That is why the sharpest stay hidden
I think
maybe
I will show them to the world,
And if you wince, I am accomplished
I hope you feel, I hope you experience 
a moment you’d rather not,
because those are when we learn,
those are when we grow,
I will not go gently as I try
my hardest to improve,
me, this house, this crowd, this school,
this city, this country, this world,
I hope you don’t either