[Y]oung Writers Project, an independent nonprofit based in Burlington, engages young people to write and use digital media to express themselves with clarity and power, and to gain confidence and skills for school, the workplace and life.
Each week, VTDigger features a writing submission โ an essay, poem, fiction or nonfiction โ accompanied by a photo or illustration from Young Writers Project.
YWP publishes about 1,000 studentsโ work each year here, in newspapers across Vermont, on Vermont Public Radio and in YWPโs monthly digital magazine, The Voice. Since 2006, it has offered young people a place to write, share their photos, art, audio and video, and to explore and connect online at youngwritersproject.org. For more information, please contact Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org.

What do you think about when you lie awake in bed at night? The dayโs events and tomorrowโs to-do list, maybe, but only until we are inevitably transported to a less concrete elsewhere by our sleepy brains. Julia Todd of South Burlington, this weekโs featured poet, drifts off willingly toward the imagined inner lives of others โ their histories, anxieties, aspirations โ in contemplation of her own place in the world.
In the dark moments
Julia Todd, 13, of South Burlington
Sometimes as I
wait for sleep to come,
I pack up my thoughts and drop them into
other people’s bedrooms,
those of friends, family, a kid I sat behind in class.
I try to picture them in bed.
Curled up? Lying flat?
Reading by pearly light or
trying in vain to undo today?
The man at the grocery store,
the girl on the bike with the yellow streamers,
the voice on the radio โ
I don’t know them.
Not even the classmates I’ve
labeled in my brain.
I can barely see into them, no clearer than
the nighttime outline of my familiar furniture.
Yet all these people lie in darkness now โ
what is it that keeps them up?
I want to know who they are in the dark moments.
When the daily happenings โ
the people, mealtimes, work โ
when they all fade into what was,
what parts of them linger?
What do they worry about and
what one hope do they
clutch to their chests,
even if itโs only
the promise that at this point,
their only job is sleeping?
It’s these questions I can’t answer.
Far harder than wondering if
someoneโs bedspread is covered in horses or zigzags.
We pretend to know each other.
I paint people with the words โsmartโ and โrowdyโ and โcareless.โ
But there’s so much more to everyone.
The air in the bedrooms I can’t picture
is thick with everything about them that I never knew.
But we all have this in common, right?
We all find ourselves at night in our own worlds,
charcoal scrawlings of thought,
messy reflections and being so ready to be done with the day,
and feeling alone, even if
maybe we aren’t.
If we added up all the darkness โ
the empty space, the worries, the hopes โ
in everyone’s bedrooms…
how much would it be?

