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  • Articles, Depression,, Poem, Tough Questions

    Poetry // Pain Doesn’t Last Forever but Suicide Does


    She leaves as she lives, without being noticed
    Many wish that she could’ve known this:
    She was loved truly and deeply by many of her peers,
    Though it was hard for her to see this through her depression and her tears,
    She left many scars the day that she committed,
    More than all the scars she had previously hidden,
    She left her family in turmoil, stuck wondering why,
    All her pain couldn’t have just vanished but they could’ve tried,
    To do something or anything but this,
    Now they no longer have their baby girl to hug and to kiss,
    I left this character only as she,
    Though there are many names that this could be.
    Many wonder now for a simple solution,
    What’s the best way to kill all the confusion,
    How can we promote awareness without hurting the cause,
    How can we put self-harm plans on pause,
    I don’t have the answer but someone will soon,
    In the meantime know that someone loves you,
    And if you’re struggling please use your voice,
    Know that you’re not alone, and suicide’s not the right choice.

    If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, the crisis line offers confidential help and someone to talk to.

    Crisis Line: 205.323.7777; Teen Link: 205.328.5465 (specifically for teens).

  • Articles,

    Before I Sleep

    Girl Dreaming

     “In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different.”

    — Coco Chanel

    — A poem about society

    Before I eat, before I sleep

    Pray the Lord, makes me sweet

    But years go by and i never change

    and I start to wonder,

    was this just society’s way?

    This can be interpreted in any way you feel fits into your life. Religion, careers, style, hair, or even education. Don’t feel pressured to live up to society’s expectations if you know you don’t feel right or want to do something completely different. Being vegan and questioned everyday by meat-eaters gets me thinking, “am i doing the right thing”, but i then realized even if i’m not, its right to me!

  •, Poem, Poems, Relationships, Social

    Walking Down The Street

    walking down the street

    Walking down the street

    Just trying to get to the coffee shop,

    Passing by a group of men who start whistling,

    Walking a little faster

    Trying to get away from their rude comments,

    Seeking comfort from a phone call to a friend,

    “Should I have worn something different?”

    Walking through the parking lot

    Just going to buy groceries,

    Boys hanging out windows yelling suggestive remarks,

    Walking into the store

    Texting a friend about the crude boys,

    Asking how to make the situation better,

    “I shouldn’t have worn my shorts,”

    Standing at a party

    Just trying to have a good time,

    A boy whispering vulgar things in your ear,

    Walking away from the intrusive teenager

    Trying to escape from his grasp,

    Looking for a friend to talk to and offer their comfort,

    “I should have worn a longer shirt.”

    Unfortunately, most girls will get catcalled in their lives, but we don’t have to let it drag us down! If you get catcalled or have ever gotten catcalled, here is some advice on how to react.

  • Articles

    Together or Not

    They tell us to pick ourselves up by the straps,but all of us don’t have boots

    Some are born into wealth while the rest of us are forced to loot

    We smile at the things that bring us SELF joy

    But yet there are still kids with only one toy 

    How can we go on totally self absorbed 

    Those of us that have enough spend until we have no more                                                                                                                                                                

    Enough isn’t enough like they say

    And good is not great 

    As soon as you have a lot you have to work the next day 

    The ones that live amongst the stars close their eyes

    They do this to pretend they don’t see the poor passersby                                                                                                                                                                

    We are a community built on false unity

    A place where the innocent are laughed at

    The guilty granted immunity                                                                                                                                                                 

    The small boy with the big heart dreams of being a baller

    The loud girl she—- Longs to be a doctor 

    But these dreams are hard to reach because someone miles away is the real shot caller                                                                                                                                                                

    The father tells his children “be different and not the same”

    The mom tell them that sometimes it’s okay to be called lame 

    But the children are naive to cons of the world everyday 

    They laugh and smile all the storms away                                                                                                                                                                

    It is true that together we are better but we are all on different teams 

    Some of us wait for our blessings while others get what they want by any means 

    Stand with your neighbors because you are so close 

    The ones that stick together and support each other eventually succeed the most 


  •, Poem, Poems

    The Labels of Society


    By Caroline Whitney

    The rain outside is turning into hail,
    Pounding down on the cars and making scratches and bruises appear.
    Just like labels do to people.
    Am I a nerd? I mean I care about my grades.
    Am I a jock? I do like to play sports.
    Am I too preppy? I like to always try and find the positive in everything.
    Am I a Democrat? I’m more liberal on certain things than others.
    Am I a Republican? Do I stand too tall?
    Is he a misogynistic male? Most definitely!
    But I have to pick and choose my battles,
    I need to try and let it go.
    Because there will be a time…
    When I’ll need to fight a battle that’ll be a lot worse
    Than a boy who was raised in a home and taught that women were “inferior”

    Is he racist?
    Is she a drug addict!?
    Is he gay? Yeah, so?
    I heard someone say that he thinks that guy is going in the wrong direction
    Because he gives out hugs with too much affection.
    So? I’m assuming you’re homophobic and I have to respect your view
    But just because he doesn’t like girls doesn’t make him any less of a person than me or you.

    I could go on and on and so could others,
    But the world is what we choose to make of it
    Judgments and all.
    There will always be stereotypes,
    Always be labels,
    There will always be opinions —that others have—
    That I absolutely despise.
    But I need to learn to respect them
    Because they’re still a person…
    Even with our contrasting perspectives.
    Am I this? Am I that?
    Am I good? Am I bad?
    Did she do this? Did he do that?
    I don’t know? Maybe you should just ask…
    Instead of forming an opinion of someone
    Without all the facts.
    (A person with a mind, a heart, and a soul.)
    Call me this, call me that
    But you need to have concrete facts to support your extreme beliefs
    We all have our opinions—similar and different.
    I just want respect for mine and for others.

    No matter their hair color, eye color, race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, mannerisms, their likes,
    or their dislikes.
    And I’ll give you my respect in return
    Because if we don’t learn to listen to each other
    The world’s progress will become stagnant for the days to come.
    Please make your opinion of me and others
    On what we do and what we stand for.
    Not where he, she, or me grew up
    Or how he, she, or me looks
    In the end, there will still be people who create and read the labels.
    It’s up to us whether they stick
    Or change into something better.

    Labels can bring frustration and sadness,
    But they could also be seen as a challenge or a tunnel that can lead to our future success.
    Because If we can overcome the mean comments, the crude names, or derogatory terms…
    We’ll be able to feel that much more confident and accomplished….
    The labels of society—will not win.
    It’s you, me, us, and them,
    Do not let the negativity in.
    I know we’re not made of steel,
    But we should always try our best to stay positive, whether it be mentally, physically, or emotionally, and give our wounds time to heal…

    Time for us to grow.
    Let positivity prevail,
    Even when it’s raining hail.

  • Poem, Poems, Writing

    You Taught me to be a Writer; a Poem for my Mother

    You taught me to be a writer

    Since this is Women’s History Month, and mothers can play such a huge role in their daughters’ lives, I wanted to share a poem I wrote dedicated to my mother. She has always been a positive female influence and someone I look up to a lot.


    you gasped as you looked at me for the first time.

    9 pounds, 12 ounces.

    you were just happy i was here.

    you told dad to drive so carefully,

    you were terrified i would wake

    to a loose pebble on the road.

    you named me Grace, cause why not?

    it’s a sweet name, and i was sweet.

    you rocked me to bed each night,

    eyes never leaving mine

    you filled shelves with children’s books

    and let me flip back and forth through them

    pointing to images along the way

    and gargling in glee.

    you got me a easel and teared up

    when i painted a blob and it called it you.

    you let me use all of our tape rolls

    to put together pieces of paper

    with incoherent sentences written on them

    and call it a story.

    you watched movies with me

    and then watched as i went to my bedroom

    to think about them for hours

    and came back with a new movie, created by me.

    at night, you let “i have a headache”

    be my excuse to crawl into bed with you

    and snuggle into your arms as if i was still

    9 pounds, 12 ounces.

    you brushed my hair as tenderly as you could

    even though i still hated it,

    and rubbed sunscreen onto my face

    while i was trying to get on the swing.

    you bought me birthday hats and

    and watched with amusement

    as i used them to throw my stuffed dogs parties

    (and later weddings).

    you smiled when i came home and told you about my elementary school

    reading awards and smiled, even more, when i showed you

    my a+ essays.

    you laughed when i showed you the “oscar-worthy”

    movies me and my friend, and then me and my cousins,

    had created using the power of my ipad’s editing software.

    you cried almost every mother’s day

    when i handed you a letter, or poem, or collage

    and told me never to buy you something

    if i can write you something instead.

    you sat me down next to you one day

    and showed me a website you had found

    for a school called asfa

    and then you celebrated when i became as excited

    about it as you.

    you squealed when i got accepted,

    and you told me i would write amazing things

    even if i didn’t believe you yet.

    and now you hug me and buy me junk food

    every time i tear up and tell you i’m overwhelmed

    you fold my laundry

    every time you can see i’m too stressed.

    you tell me to relax and watch netflix with you

    even when i tell you i have no time

    because you tell me i need a break.

    you ask to read everything i write,

    you give me books from your library to read,

    you told me when i told you

    that maybe i should just be an accountant or something

    no. you’re too talented to punch numbers.

    you need to keep writing.

    and then you squealed again when i got my first publication,

    and again when i won my first writing award,

    you enveloped me in your arms

    with pride i could feel radiating off of you

    and held me, although i may be half a head taller now

    as if i was still

    9 pounds, 12 ounces.

  • Articles, Poem, Poems



    Hearts beating,
    Faster and faster each time.
    Sweaty hands,
    Bodies shaking,
    Can’t feel anything.
    But the safety of your hug,
    My heart skips a beat.
    As your eyes glisten
    Into mine
    Made for each other,
    but not forever.
    That’s love.


    Like poetry? Do you write your own? Submit a piece to be published on Girlspring at

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