This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Jake Walters, hoping to get a home run someday

I never was the hitting type
But this season I practiced more then ever
A ball over the fence
Is any hitter's dream

It's time for the first game of the season

The leather gloves fill the air with a strange aroma
Wood is cracking as it hits a hard ball for practice
Dirt is in my eyes and they water up
My hands are soiled and dry

I glance around and take some swings
And I feel the tension rising
I pull my arm above my head
Wince, then stretch

The cold of Autumn
Gives me goosebumps and the shivers
My warm hands rub my skin
It isn't very effective

I forgot my gloves
And my breath is clearly seen
But the dirt of the field is satisfying
When it hits me and warms me up

Salt and butter is the new smell
My family bought popcorn
The concession stand opened up
That means only one thing...

GAME ON


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I am breathing heavily
I am extremely nervous
I am next up to bat
I'm not ready yet

Two outs
Bottom of the ninth
No one on base
Tied up

I grab my helmet
And step up to the plate
The pitcher looks at me,
Then the catcher

He is concentrating where he will pitch
And what pitch he will throw
The pitcher pulls his glove in
And throws the ball

I swing and miss
"Steeeeriiike one!" yells the ump
The pitcher repeats
So do I

"Steeeeriike two" shouts the ump
His loud voice makes me mad
I make sure to hit the ball this time
I step out of the batter's box to take a breather

Back in the box and ready to go
I pull my bat up to my shoulders
The pitch is fired in
And I swing with all my might

As I swung I closed my eyes
The only thing I heard was a loud ping
My eyes excitedly burst open
The bat drops and my feet thrust dust and dirt

I round first base
The ball is still sailing
Second base
I am sprinting as fast as possible

So fast like my butt's on fire
I squint my eyes and and focus
Third base and my coach tells me to slow down
I pretend as if I didn't hear, smiling

Had I glanced at the outfielders climb the fence
I understand why Coach is laughing now
And I hit my forehead with my palm
I am thinking I should have jogged

It would have made it feel much cooler.

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

I met her the summer before her sixth grade year. She was so different back then. When you spend enough time with her, however, you'd find some things haven't changed. Now she's in her senior year, and it's hard to believe she'll be heading off to college soon.

I still remember the way she was back then. Her hair was always back in a ponytail. Thin-wired glasses framed her big, bright eyes. Her favorite color was yellow. That's how I came to be. I look at her now, and I'm always amazed. She no longer wears glasses around her blue eyes. She rarely ever wears her perfect blonde hair back. At one point, she was oblivious to her looks. Although she's still modest, it's now no secret how beautiful she is.

I've seen her when she was weak, proving she was human and not some fictional character out of a fairytale. I was there when her father remarried without notifying her. She didn't know she had a new step-mom until three days after the wedding. She wasn't surprised when he called her to wish her happy birthday two days after she turned sixteen. He didn't want to drive to pick her up on Christmas day her junior year. She didn't understand why, but once again, she wasn't surprised.

I remember her first true love -- and her first agonizing heartbreak. She had never felt so strongly about anyone ever before. She cared about him so much that love made her blind. It wasn't until he left her for another girl without even telling her it was over between them that she realized she had been played. She realized she had been used and thrown away. I watched her cry herself to sleep every single night for months and months without exaggeration. I watch her cry occasionally about it even now, after all this time. I've never seen so many mascara stains on one pillowcase. She'd shower multiple times a day, trying to wash the guilt and feeling of stupidity off of her. I watched her get up at three in the morning to just clean the kitchen and wash the dishes.

That betrayal was what triggered it. No one realized what was slowly happening at first, but the signs were always there. I watched helpessly as her jeans stopped staying around her waist on their own. I watched as her shorts seemed to grow larger each week. Her belts eventually wouldn't tighten anymore. I watched her spine and shoulder blades stick out from underneath her skin, slowly becoming more defined. The knobs that were her wrists and knees grew more pronounced.

Time seems to stop now. I wait for someone -- anyone -- to help her. I wait for the boy that broke her heart to come back and fix her, because she deserves it. I wait for her new boyfriend to notice that she shouldn't be as thin as she is. I would do something myself, but what can I do? I am simply just a yellow wall.

If you're struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorders helpline at 1-800-931-2237.

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Danielle Osero

I was nearly shaking with nerves. He would be here any minute. Would he think I was beautiful? I hoped so. My crush on Jackson had only grown since he first sat with my friends and me at lunch our freshman year. Until recently, we had been just friends. Then a month ago, he texted me the one word that changed it all, “Hey.” We had always been school friends, nothing more, but as our texting increased, so had our interest in each other. Every text had me diving for my phone like a star athlete after the ball. I prayed each night that he felt at least half as interested as I did.

I’d known something was up when he asked me to come on a walk with him two weeks ago at lunch. After a few minutes, he paused and inhaled deeply before plunging ahead, “I’ve really enjoyed texting you Kailey. You’re funny and unique.” He handed me a bag of my favorite candy. The pieces were Caribbean blue, my favorite color. Confused, I smiled, “Thanks Jackson, this is really nice of you.” As I was about to put one in my mouth, I noticed the square white card attached to the bag. Picking it up in my fingers, I nearly gasped. In tiny gold lettering it read: Will you go to Homecoming with me? I looked up into Jackson’s hopeful green eyes and smiling face. I giggled, “I would love nothing more.” He gave me a hug, and held me tight as I held onto the hope that in the future he would ask me more than just to Homecoming.

For the next two weeks, the anticipation heightened and I scrambled to find the perfect dress. I finally chose a satiny dress with a sweetheart neckline the same shade of blue as the candy. Pairing the dress with black heels and silver accessories, I decided to curl my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. A silver butterfly clip with rhinestones held back the left side of my chestnut brown hair. Carefully manicured nails and my favorite flower-scented perfume finished the look. As I studied my outfit in the mirror, I hoped Jackson would like it as much as I did. More importantly, that he would like me. Then the doorbell rang. The object of my wonderings had arrived.

I descended the staircase as my father opened the door. I prayed he would not make good on the promise to completely embarrass me by interrogating Jackson. Reaching the entry to the living room, I took a deep breath and walked in. Jackson stood up, a dozen peach colored roses in his hand. He smiled and handed them to me. I took them and saw a card just like the first one. It read: Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend? The moment I had waited so long for was finally happening and my “Yes” began one of the best nights of my life.

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Laura Smith

My clothes are color coordinated in my closet, thanks to my mom’s organizational influence. By being an encouraging role model, my swim coach taught me to never leave a task without giving it everything I have and that quitting is not a real word. But, their influence on me was still not as great as was my best friend Jordan; she left a footprint on my heart. I needed somebody who would stand by me through every up and down. Jordan, the best friend I ever had, did just that.

“Do you want a goldfish?" was all it took, and my third grade self already considered her a friend. It was destiny; some greater power had to have control over this situation because the friendship ahead of us, for the next seven years, was indescribable. Not long after we met, I was walking home and staying with her after school every day until my parents got home. Time flew by and you never saw us away from each other. Before we knew it we were completing each other’s sentences.

At that age, with any other girl you could not have a five minute conversation without them bringing up the most recent drama. Nope, not with Jordan; we could talk about our hopes, dreams, and fears all night without feeling judged. We clicked, and at that critical point in my life that is exactly what I needed, someone to relate to. She knew what every smile, laugh and cry really meant because she was me. Everything I was not, she was, and everything she was not, I was. I cannot say that about anybody else. It was not all rainbows and butterflies though; we had our disagreements. We would bicker and pull the silent treatment every now and then, but it never lasted longer than fifteen minutes. But even then, the fights were far and few between.

Then came our junior year, it may be surprising, since we had been inseparable for years, but we drifted apart. The separation was sad, but it was also reality. We smile at each other in the hall and have sleepovers every now and then, but it just is not the same, and we both know it. I thought Jordan and I would be friends forever, and maybe we will be. In a fairy tale ending, our friendship would reconnect to how magical it was in the third grade, but in reality what we had could never be duplicated. I mean lightening doesn’t strike twice in the same place, right?

Wherever we go in life, I will forever remember her because she worked her soul into my heart. I will never forget our hours of laughter, days of crying over boys, and all our crazy memories on vacations; for those are the times that influenced me so deeply. I was a caterpillar when I first met her. She helped me through my metamorphosis and is the only reason why I fly as a butterfly today.

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Christopher Anderson

These words that I write capture a moment.

A snapshot in time, of a glimpse from my mind.

With colors and shading, a painter’s creating

An image to be explored with the eye.

With talent and skill, and the creator’s will,

A moment is captured with dye.

But upon the page, my world you can gauge,

By not what you see, but by what you read.

At the click of a button, that which you see,

Can be captured and stored digitally.

In the future retrieve, these memories,

By viewing them all on the screen.

But upon the page, my world is displayed,

Not by pixels in sync, but how you now think.

From lowest of A’s to the highest of C’s,

Tones can be made for the ear to be pleased.

Melodies and lyrics with tempo and beat,

A symphony of feeling you love to repeat.

But upon the page, my world is arranged,

by not what you hear, but which words do appear.

So as you read, look past what you see,

To the affects that happen inside.

Deeper than feeling, masterfully revealing,

My thoughts no longer I hide.

What I see, feel, and breathe, I do not keep pent.

For these words that I write capture a moment.

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Julia Rutledge

My grandmother and grandfather have been happily married for 60 years, but they never tire of telling the story of how they met.

Grandfather’s first job was a sailor aboard a merchant ship. Every two weeks, his ship would come into the harbor. As he unloaded the crates, he’d wink at all the pretty girls watching the young sailors. One girl, however, caught his eye especially. She hung back from the other girls, not giggling or staring at the men. She stared, instead, towards the horizon.

That girl was my grandmother.

One day, when Grandfather was done with unloading and he had some time to get dinner, he walked up to Grandmother in that swagger all confident young men have.

“Hello, miss. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” Grandfather may have swaggered and winked, but at his core, he was polite.

Grandmother turned away from the horizon to look at him with eyes of the deepest blue. They reminded Grandfather of the ocean, and he felt unsettled as she looked at him, as if she was weighing him up on great invisible scales in her mind.

Finally she said, “All right, sailor boy, I’ll go to dinner with you. On one condition: we talk about you only.”

This surprised Grandfather, because most girls he’d met only wanted to talk about themselves. He wondered what was in the girl’s life she didn’t want him to know. But he smiled and agreed.

She did not take his proffered arm but walked briskly ahead of him, saying,

“The best place to eat in town is Ma Woolsley’s. It’s out of the way and not too expensive. Follow me.”

They ended up having a lovely dinner together, where Grandfather entertained Grandmother with stories of his adventures at sea, and stories he had heard from older sailors, and stories he had made up. But he never learned a thing about Grandmother.

Two weeks passed, and when Grandfather came back to the harbor, Grandmother was there waiting for him. This time, they went for a walk around town. The one thing Grandfather knew about Grandmother was that she loved flowers. They passed a flower stand, and he bought her a bouquet of violets.

She accepted them from him with those soulful blue eyes, took a deep sniff, and then said,

“Mr. Tadd, if you were to ever bring me back flowers I had never seen before from one of your salty sea adventures, I’d marry you.”

Grandfather was both delighted and a little shocked at this. He’d only known the girl for two weeks, and now she was talking about marriage?

“It’s hard, being married to a sailor,” he cautioned her. “You never know when he might come back.”

Grandmother took his arm and smiled, the first time he’d seen her do so.

“Oh, I have faith in you.”

Grandfather left that evening, and did not return with the ship. Grandmother waited all through the summer, the sea spray cooling her sweaty forehead. She stared onto the horizon, but no longer without purpose. She was looking for Grandfather.

The autumn was cold, but still she waited, leaning on the pilings, sometimes feeding the seagulls, sometimes rubbing the petals of a faded, dry violet.

In late autumn of that year, the ship arrived. My grandmother, holding a sign with a single word written on it, stood at the dock waiting.

Grandfather was the last man to get off. He did not look at Grandmother as he helped unload. Grandmother did not look at him. She stared at the rigging of the ship, still clutching her sign. One could only imagine what she was thinking.

Finally, the men were let free for a few hours, and Grandfather swaggered down the dock, holding a bag. He smiled and winked at the other girls, who were looking winsomely at all the sailors, as usual. Then he came to Grandmother. He read her sign.

“Faith, huh?”

Grandmother dropped the sign and stepped so close to him that their chests touched.

“And faith I still have in you, though I waited all summer and all autumn, Mr. Tadd.” She breathed.

He dropped the act.

“Oh, Miss Katherine, it took me so long to find flowers! I asked all around the ports we went to, and all the flowers you’d heard of. But then there were these…”

He drew from his back a bunch of tiny, creamy yellow flowers and handed them shyly to her.

“They’re from these islands called Hawaii. They fellow I bought them from called them plumeria. He said that they symbolize perfection, and new beginnings.”

Grandmother smelled them. Their scent was strong and beautiful—much more exotic than the flowers she bought in town. She dropped them to the dock, onto her sign. Grandfather was hurt. But she took his hands in hers.

“I still like violets the best,” she whispered.

They kissed, and the rest, as Grandfather likes to say with a chuckle, is history. We never tire of that story. But my favorite part is looking into Grandmother’s twinkling eyes, still deep and blue.

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Melanie McCormick

I believe there is a force in this land that lives beneath the surface of the earth,
Something savage and untamed that awakens when you need an extra push to survive.
Like wildflowers that bloom after fire turns the forest black.
As death falls to the trees, ash feeds hundreds of acres of new growth.
It’s the beauty of change, the power of life.

Most people are afraid of this power, and keep it buried deep inside them.
But as a tiny seed must push through layers of dirt,
We must push beyond the negative forces that surround our lives.
We must have the courage to embrace our future, make it count, shape who we are.
We must see the beauty of change, the power of life.

People fear what surrounds them -- the landscape, the air, the universe... The connection they hold.
Of course, there will always be a few people who embrace this power;
Who have the courage to change… The courage to accept, the courage to move forward.
To love what is natural, different and real inside a person.
To the love the beauty of change, the power of life.

There was a time when my father brought my mother to the country to discover their destiny.
Away from city life, where people seem to move around every which way,
Restless and unsettled, looking for something, but not knowing what.
Finding only days of activity, yet no moments to remember.
Never seeing the beauty of change, the power of life.

I found my moments, as my parents did; the breeze blows softer, movement are slower,
Neighbors are friendlier, and work is harder. I believe though, many are still looking
For a place where they can find hope, for life to make sense, to realize their purpose.
Yet, they continue to search… To want more, need more, rarely satisfied;
Never realizing the beauty of change, the power of life.

Their lives swirl with confusion and anxiety, moving so fast,
Never stopping long enough to look around and see life.
Beauty of color, stars winking, sunrises tiptoeing us into the day.
Many will never see, never experience, never know… This is their moment.
It’s their chance to see the beauty of change, the power of life.

Moment? A single flower surfaces from its winter dormancy to embrace the spring.
It awaits the temperatures rise before emerging from the long hibernation.
It sees spring for what it is, life reborn, growth evolving; poetry in color.
As our road darkens, and our faith is shaken, we remember the strength of this single flower.
Life reborn is the beauty of change, the power of life.

The country is where I find my peace, my faith, my strength; my place in this world.
As the trees burst with their fluttering leaves, and flowers bloom, stunning me with their drama,
This is my home, where the forces beneath me take over as I attack the ground with fury,
Transforming mere dirt to magnificent displays of color. This is my moment.
This is my beauty of change, my power of life.

This untamed power has taken over for a season and the world will barely see me.
Surrounded by plants and compost, shovels and spades, out at dawn, in at dusk.
Then suddenly in late autumn or early winter, after the frosts blacken the leaves,
I will sneak back in, to once again embark on my winter hibernation.
In this darkness I will again experience the beauty of change, the power of life.

Knowing I have absorbed the force beneath, I find my place in life,
I revel in the power that the earth has transferred to me in the past months.
Allow this to keep me sane, while the earth is dark and stormy for the seasons to come.
I find my days of meanings, and my moments to remember…
I find the beauty of change, the power of life.

While others still fear their future, scared of what surrounds them.
The landscape, the air, the universe; unsure of what their connection is.
There will always be people like me, who understand this linking.
Who have the courage to love what is natural, different and real inside of a person.
To embrace the beauty of change, the power of life.

To embrace today, be excited for tomorrow and face my future…I am home.

According to this infographic from Goodreads, the number of dystopian-themed books is at its highest since the 1960s. The resurgence of this sub-genre could be attributed to the mass appeal of The Hunger Games (or troubled times), but regardless of the reason, dystopian books remain highly popular.

Having read and loved tons of dystopian books, I can't get enough. For those who feel the same way or just caught the dystopia bug from The Hunger Games, below is a list of promising young adult dystopian books that will be published in 2012.

2012 Young Adult Dystopian Books

Partials by Dan Wells

- Publication date: February 28, 2012 (read it now!)

Engineered beings that look like humans ("partials") and a deadly virus have killed off all of humanity... almost. As one of the thousands of humans left, Kira decides to find the answers to what started the war with the Partials in the first place and discover how humans can continue to survive.

Masque of Red Death by Bethany Griffin

- Publication date: April 24th, 2012

The only thing Araby wants to live for are ways to forget. Her nightly adventures into the Debauchery Club help her forget the plague that wiped out the population and her fear of what the future may hold. But meeting Will, the owner of the club, and Elliot, a dashing aristocrat, just might change all of that and give her something to fight to remember.

The Hunt by Andrew Fukuda

- Publication date: May 8, 2012

Gene is human and that's a huge problem. As the beings around him have lightning-fast reflexes and a thirst for human blood, Gene knows he must keep his true identity a secret. When Gene is chosen to hunt the remaining humans, he must fight harder than ever to keep his humanity hidden... and avoid falling in love with a human girl that crosses his path.

For Darkness Shows the Stars by Diana Peterfreund

- Publication date: June 12, 2012 (enter to win the book on Goodreads)

After failed genetic testing, an anti-technology caste system has taken root and created the Luddite nobility. Elliot is part of the elite, but she sees her world changing as a group of rebels forms and challenges the old class system. As she struggles to keep up her family estate, she must face her childhood sweetheart, Kai, who she once rejected and has now became a renowned explorer. (The book is based off Jane Austen's Persuasion.)

Glitch by Heather Anastasiu

- Publication date: August 7, 2012

Zoe, along with the rest of humanity, has been implanted with a computer chip by The Community and has been wiped clean of emotion. When she starts to malfunction, or "glitch," she begins to have feelings and develops an identity. After she meets fellow "glitchers," Zoe and her new friends plan to free themselves from the The Community who fights to control them.

What's Left of Me by Kat Zhang

- Publication date: September 18, 2012

Everyone is born with two souls: during childhood one becomes more dominant and the other fades. The problem for Eva and Addie is that Eva was supposed to fade... but hasn't. They've formed a "hybrid," a forbidden abomination. After discovering the secret that terrible things befall hybrids, Eva and Addie must fight for their survival.

Breathe by Sarah Crossan

- Publication date: October 2, 2012

Breathe, a corporation that manufactures oxygen-rich air, is the only thing keeping people alive on dried, dead Earth. Yet, Alina, Quinn and Bea test fate as they steal two days worth of oxygen and venture into the Outlands. What they find there shatters everything they ever believed was true...

Beta by Rachel Cohn

- Publication date: October 16, 2012

The wealthiest people in the world live on the island paradise of Demesne. Everything is bio-engineered there -- including servants like Elysia. She's a 16-year-old clone who is an empty shell of a teenager with no experiences, feelings or personality. Despite the perfection of Demesne, Elysia and the servants seem discontent... a problem that only increases as Elysia begins to feel more and more emotions. Elysia must hide her emerging self and especially her increasing humanity in a world that doesn't tolerate imperfection.

Gravity by Melissa West

- Publication date: October 16, 2012

In the future, only one rule will matter: Don't. Ever. Peek. Seventeen-year-old Ari Alexander just broke that rule and saw the last person she expected hovering above her bed -- arrogant Jackson Locke, the most popular boy in her school. She expects instant execution or some kind of freak alien punishment, but instead, Jackson issues a challenge: help him, or everyone on Earth will die.

Ashes of Twilight by Kassy Taylor

- Publication date: November 13, 2012

After 200 years, England's former royalty is still living under a dome that was constructed when scientists saw a comet on course to crash into the Earth. Wren MacAvoy is starting to wonder if there is life outside the dome or if the world is still on fire. When Wren's friend Alex escapes the dome and is burned alive, his final words haunt Wren - "The sky is blue."

What YA dystopians are you looking forward to reading this year?

As a side note: Dystopia and post-apocalyptic are terms that are used interchangeably, but technically they represent two different types of books. Dystopias describe a world that is repressed (usually by the government) but is under the disguise of being a utopian society.

Post-apocalyptic books show humanity struggling to survive after a global catastrophe (like nuclear warfare or genetic testing gone wrong). Many of the books I've listed could be considered a combination of both genres.