I am the tree that fades into winter when the warmth of your soul will no longer contain me.

I am the falling blissful wing followed by the crunch beneath your foot.
On me stands a river of raindrops withering away the solid ground.
What promises shall I stand upon this time?
If I should run through your veins…if I should cut out the dry roots…

Your skin is as smooth on the surface whilst my happiness ripples uneven,
And the way you speak of the approaching cold only makes me rush deeper,
And when you look at me, it seems impossible, because my own faith in myself
Has left be blind.

But still I feel you, I promise I do…

I’m fragile, and these notes which hang in the air
The sounds of many travelers,
Weary feet
The shuffling about as my colors turn bright,
Spreading my plumage
Making my voice known as rattles of branches
And grinding of bones grit against my teeth before I eat,
You do not like this…
But who will console the child who howls?

I’ve grown accustomed to the eastern winds in the silence of the cold night dawning,
The rapid rivers still yet to be slowed by the formation of ice
Their crystals an aged belief
My mysticism withheld, but oh I believe
And I believe now that you are my destiny!

Is it strange that I believe you should rise?
Like a seed, you rise,
The front like a thermal of warmth rushing into us, That we might take flight
And what does expectation cause, oh angels,
And how much faith?

To uphold the wind as a guide is much akin to trust in risk,
The losses like terrified men in tattered old suits
We could be circus clowns,
Emmett Kelly
Patches for pockets and clinks like rusty spurs
On the boot of some undiscovered hinge through a door kept locked
And what are the secrets of your heart again?

Tell me, love, for I wish to know…

When I was a child, I was king.
Monster madness, wild thing.

When I was a child, I was king.
Exiled sadness, evils bring.

Where meets these two extremes of hatred and love, I exist between. The shadows of comfort I expel from blinded eyes to brighten the darkness are but my friends. I lighten the path with shadows of odds and ends. I crawl within the space of free men and walk the planks of two-by-ten.

When I was a child, I was king.
Monster madness, evil thing.
When I was a child, I was king.
Blinded passion, won’t you sing?

When I met her, I was the worn-out sound of bells that ring,
The endless halls and hells I’d bring,
An infinite dark of hearts and wings,
The feathers of birds and herds of things.

When I was a child, I was king.
Evil monster, won’t you sing?

The Writer’s Food Pyramid. Sad and true.

I’ve honestly never felt so blessed in my life. During this contest, at the end of which the winner receives a publishing deal with Penguin Books and a $15,000 advance, I’ve been both nervous and excited, as well as feeling somewhat unworthy of such praise. But I’m extremely proud of myself for taking this chance, and I just want to say the following.

To those who have made the cut, congratulations and I wish you the best of luck. To those who didn’t, please don’t give up on your literary dreams! The opinions of one critic may differ quite substantially from another, so keep doing your very best and I have faith that you’ll get to where you want to be. You owe it to yourself to never give up =) And I fully intend on reading some of the novels that didn’t make it. You all have so much talent. Please keep writing, and I’ll definitely be reading!

And now, I want to share with everyone the Publishers Weekly review of my manuscript:

“Few young adult novels manage to convey an adult sense of the contradictions of the real world while remaining grounded in a teenage sensibility, but this manuscript accomplishes this delicate feat with skill and plausibility. Colin Dirk’s first day of high school recalls the sting of being an outsider during adolescence. Hounded by the class bully, Aaron Kinkirk, Aaron’s half-brother, Luke, and buddies Eric, Jonny, and Matt, Colin is wondering how he is going to survive the year. Then, unexpectedly, Eric, his former tormentor, defies Aaron and seeks to befriend Colin. Up to this point, Colin’s only friends are the memory of his dead father, a soldier killed in Iraq, the blue Hot Wheels car that was his father’s last gift to him, his mother, and the occasional sympathetic teacher. Colin is excited and needy, but wary. Why him? The answer that plays itself out over the next 300 pages is as complicated and incestuous as life in a small working class town in Montana can be. Colin’s world is fully realized in this novel, and by the time the reader completes Colin’s bus ride to school he has the full sense of being trapped by youth and circumstance. Colin’s days are a maze of evading bullies, teachers, and school administrators. Colin’s tormentors also have tangled private lives, which provoke them to sadistic acts worthy of the “Lord of the Flies,” and yet these are performed almost reluctantly in a desperate attempt to rid themselves of their demons. Nicely done.”

I’m so excited! Even if I don’t make it, I’m definitely not quitting what I love to do, and I certainly won’t be disappointed. I’ve come a long way, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

So have the rest of you, for that matter. We take a risk in putting our work out there for people to read, but just having that courage makes you strong.

Again, all the best of luck to everyone. Never stop sharing your stories, hearts, and minds with the world =)

Our hearts are time clocks
Stricken in stone to reprimand the silent
To impact fear onto anti-conformity,
None shall break the cycle
Or the wheels turning.

Keep peddling, keep pushing on
Shared destiny is manifest
A land struck in gold and traded away
For the heart we sold to ticking hands
Too easily passed through needle’s eye
Where angels dance
Where victims are made of circumstance
Squatters live by the seat of pants
And we justify it all by active hands,
For none shall break the cycle
Or the wheels turning.

Keep peddling, keep pushing on
Stepping stones rise when ego meets demise
The moonlighters will outshine the day,
Set in limestone with ghosts
A new sunrise
Carved by our hosts
But none shall break the cycle
Or the wheels that turn
Children to adults.

The clock stops for none
Better to starve
Better to run
As our hearts beat in time
Riding the gun.

For none shall break the cycle, or the wheels turning.

R.I.P. Rey Nino, the best friend I’ve ever known. I’d give anything for a hug from you right now. Keep watching over us as we continue to live every day like it’s our last in your memory ♥