Before i was myself i was myself 

Still i am myself 

Every second i am a different self

photograph by Steven Valladares Orellana

I could barely sit still in the cramped airplane seat—from outside the small window, the ground was finally visible again. I was finally in France!

The teenage years, a concealer a shade too bright

Masking the struggles that lurk in the hot and humid night

Outwardly a front of confidence, of grade, and of grace

Inwardly, a battle to find one's passion, talent, and place

Digital art by Ehsanu Ilah

As the incandescent light is reflected on the rippling water, I am swarmed by blissful memories of us.

photography by Sadie Kramer

The cold December wind is harsh against  the sand, brushing up the dark waves, curling on to the shore.

I spent far more time in my basement than the average teenager.

I chased him round and round until he fell headfirst into the fountain, then I picked him up by his shirt and looked him in the eye.

A weathered red sweater 

photograph by Neela Wadhwa

One day I will not be 16

Scrabbling for attention 

Rabid for the smallest

Droplets of love

Painting by Izzy Deutsch

Nowadays this building seems as familiar to me as my own house.

Does a human's thought default to a rational track in which the horses of his mind race for a winner?

Hold tight the thin sheets.

Stare into the empty darkness.

A consuming all eating monster of fear,

In the asylum of my heart,

Where shadows play their game

A melancholic whisper calling out my name

Bird on the sidewalk

On the way to school

Black, white, and grey