A Collection of Work from NGP’s Womens Caucus|kendra shiloh

Happy Women’s History Month!! This post is a very special one, it includes some of my beautiful friends from NextGen Poll’s Womens Caucus!

I don’t want to write an extensive intro, as the works below and beautiful in themselves and deserve the spotlight. At the end of the post you’ll find a short bio on each of the authors. Enjoy!!

“Trapped” by Rebecca Yanez
Marriage is when two people who love each other commit for life,
Or so that’s what they told me but I never believed them,
for my life has proven otherwise.
Bullseyes are placed on my body as I desperately try to cover them up
The needles hurt but I can’t scream because I’m not supposed to bleed.
“ this is love” they say as darts are thrown at each other, blood pouring out.
“ this is love” they say as glass hearts are shattered
“ this is love” they say as my mother watches my father beat his child
“ this is love” they say as their faces are bruised
“ this is love” they say, because marriages are always filled with love.
“ this is love” they say and I scream back “ this is not love”

But no one can hear me.

“Especially Not Like Other Girls” by Jade Tyra
He whispered to me that I was not like the other girls
That I was special
I was different
He said it as if it was a compliment
As if women are normally so horrible I should be happy I do not resemble them
He is so incredibly wrong
If he knew me one bit he would know
That words such as those make me want to leave him to crumble
Women with their warm hearts
Their honeycomb smiles
The powerful resistance in their souls

They have the ability to survive in a world catered to another
I would be lucky to carry on their legacy

“middlebury” by Chloe Moore

I am dimly aware of morning just before light enters the tarp and turns my eyelids red. It is, by my guess, 5:30 a.m., and if you looked on a map it would say Weminuche Wilderness, but the Earth does not care what measurements we assign to the position of the sun in the sky, nor what words we give our location. The Earth does not care that we are here, in the middle of what white Americans named Colorado, a name that comes from Spanish and replaced the tribal names that were used first.
Out here I feel the cold acutely. The wind whistles and soon it will rain, as it has rained every day we have been here. I am aware of the numbness of my fingers, the warmth of camping stove, the smell of gas that leaks out despite our best efforts to close the knob. I am aware of the hot breakfast food in my stomach and the layers of clothing I am wearing. It seems strange to shut the air out of my body when the reason my body is here is to feel the air.
Rock shards cover the side of the mountain before us. They scrape under my boots but do not give; I do not weigh enough. I am vaguely aware that my existence does not weigh enough to move much of anything in the universe. There is a contrast between the newness of my boots on these rocks, moving them in new directions, and the historical insignificance of these steps. By some feat that feels mighty to us and is nothing to the mountain, we reach the summit.
Suddenly the blurry notion that my existence may be meaningless comes clearly into focus, the lens of my mind adjusting, clarifying the subject of my thoughts. The sun hits the side of the mountain across from us, illuminating the rocks with its alpine glow, throwing its redness across the jagged edges of the peaks. I cannot say what changes the moment the sun rises. I only know that one ray struck my eyes and turned the world golden, and that in that moment I saw the world as no one else had seen it, and the world was seen in a way it had never before been seen.
It would be naive to suggest that the Earth experienced something profound in that moment, or that the universe felt my attention, or that this wilderness was redefined because I laid my eyes upon it. But the newness of the moment struck me, and once I blinked I could see miles and miles of mountains stretching out before me, the air unclogged by human pollution, the contours of the land unbroken by settlements. I think I breathed, I think I took the thin air into my lungs and held it and released it, dispersing some particles of myself back into the atmosphere, and I think they are still there.


Rebecca is an Oklahoman writer and activist who is studying political science. She is 19 years old and aspires to work in politics in the future.


Jade Tyra was born in Maui, Hawaii and currently lives in Norman, Oklahoma. She has grown up surrounded by passion and tries to harness it in order to help people. Jade hopes to move to Europe  when she turns eighteen and further her writing by experiencing new things and finding new stories. 


Chloe Moore is 16 and her interests range from art to activism and from poetry to politics. She loves being outdoors and apart from writing, she also plays guitar and does art. Of course, no introduction would be complete without mentioning my three wonderful dogs:Karma, Cosmo, and Luna. Through her work as an activist, Moore hopes to create positive change and empower other people, especially young women and other members of the LGBT+ community. 

Once again, I want to extend a huge thank you to the wonderful girls who participated in this post. Sharing your work to the public isn’t easy, but the end result is SO worth it. I encourage all of you to not only cherish the women in your life, but uplift them always. Happy Womens History Month!

kendra shiloh

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