Blue Marble Review

Literary Journal for Young Writers

Poetry

Maybe I’m Not Afraid of Failure, Just Witnesses

By Myra Arora

I could fall a hundred times
if no one saw it.
Spill the whole bowl of effort on the floor
and laugh,
if no one was watching.

But with eyes?
I flinch before I even move.
I double-check certainty
until it’s a cage.

Maybe I’m not scared of getting it wrong
just scared of you
seeing me get it wrong.

Of the way silence stretches
after a wrong answer.
The pause.
The sideways glance.
The subtle note someone files under
“not that smart.”

Isn’t it strange?
How the sting isn’t from the fall
but from the imagined commentary?

Not the act,
but the audit.

Not failure,
but failure witnessed.

We don’t fear the mess.
We fear the mirrors.
(please clap)

 

Myra Arora is a high school senior from New Delhi who writes poetry in lowercase and lives life mostly in italics. While her primary work spans AI research, social entrepreneurship, and editorial leadership, poetry is her pause—her way of navigating the unspoken parts of being sixteen and hyper-aware. Her work aims to sit somewhere between vulnerability and observation, laced with introspection, dry humor, and a little digital-age existentialism.

unbecoming

By Vanessa Chen

i want to be held like water in the hands, which is to say, i don’t want to stay at all. ma says even the riverbeds know i haven’t prayed since last may when the yolks pooled the night sky & i couldn’t tell whether it was dawn or Gods way of telling us that there was never enough time to begin with. today, i grieved over things i’ve never had, left tombstones crisscrossed in every corner of the house even my tears slit rivers into hardwood floors. because on a land where rubble courses through sidewalks like veins, i must breathe in its shame. dive, until my body is swallowed. swim, until i forget the shore exists.

 

 

 

 

 

Vanessa Chen is a high school junior from Vancouver, Canada. Her work has been recognized by the New York Times, Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, League of Canadian Poets, and John Locke Institute, amongst others. When she’s not writing, you can find Vanessa chatting vivaciously with her friends or singing (or screaming) her heart out at concerts.

(did i)
kill the world

By Makela Shen

This poem is in the form of a Golden Shovel. To read the hidden source text, take the last word of each line and read them sequentially from top to bottom.

ash fills his mouth as he wakes alone without recollection to a blood moon spiraling across the horizon. glass shards smudge his infrared vision; it could be that they lacerate him in crimson rivers, the backs of his hands grayed like withered snow. or maybe he’s already been sliced asunder as he gazes at the carcasses slumped around him, not unlike the pomegranate husks they gave him in the lab that he used to pry loose & discard. the buildings have fallen like matchsticks, candle wax–rubble & an empty combe the color of his metal eyes. the sky breaks like an open wound on water & now only that dream-catcher dangling above the gleaming curve of andromeda’s throne remains. but there is no shadow, only a silent wreckage in year two thousand & eighty-eight of los angeles where the titanium bones & cybernetic veins & blades of his flesh have killed the world. he has a question.

 

Makela Shen is a fifteen-year-old from California. Out of 177 schools from 33 states nationwide, she was awarded a First Class designation in the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Promising Young Writers Contest. Her work has been recognized by Stone Soup, Writopia, and the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. An avid reader, she nurtures an unhealthy obsession for Hello Kitty and has a boundless passion for dance.

Solve for x

By Makela Shen

This poem follows the “Solve for x” format, where each section begins with a sequential letter of the alphabet, from A to Z, using all 26 letters. The name comes from when one reaches the letter “x” and must devise a creative way to construct the sentence.

This is a 100-point test. You have an hour to complete one question.
Solve for x below.

abc + defghijklmnopqrstuv = x + wyz

where:

abc = american born chinese,
defghijklmnopqrstuv = the shit life gives you,
wyz = arbitrary excess parameters,
and
x = the meaning of life

 

Makela Shen is a fifteen-year-old from California. Out of 177 schools from 33 states nationwide, she was awarded a First Class designation in the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Promising Young Writers Contest. Her work has been recognized by Stone Soup, Writopia, and the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. An avid reader, she nurtures an unhealthy obsession for Hello Kitty and has a boundless passion for dance.

n in my name stands for

By Nandini Maharana

not letting mornings start without sipping warm water/ not letting grief draw tattoos on my elbow/ sitting straight on dining tables trying to figure out how to pronounce mojito/ dribbling tongue amongst englishmen in the flight to new york city/ n in my name stands for negotiation/ for two scoops of ice cream: gluten free/ for three days of tanning under sunlight & posting one picture on instagram with a brown filter/ for a text to appa: hide the waxing cream from mom/ n in my name stands for nebula/ for sighting in the telescopes scheduled in college garden with the boy i haven’t talked to in months/ my eyes are glued to constellations and his glasses/ for questions i leave in my larynx— anxiety wielding & birds chirp within the gut/ for the answers of the same texture as the bark of neem tree in the jungles/ for the accusations maa served with dahi in dinner/ the nine months of nutrition and shelter molded my bones and skin into tin and silver/ both same in appearance but linger as strangers in bazaars/ maa doesn’t believe what she birthed is the same as what she’s housed/ for the pain swimming in your veins with booze & serotonin/ for violence that cuts your innocence and peels it/ n in my name stands for nonchalant/ i chant for forgiveness in streets on mondays & spill all the equations i forgot in the middle of an exam/ on tuesdays the naan seller looks at me with pity lurking in his eyes/ he cannot sell money for hope & he cannot buy hope for money/ on wednesdays i visit him with a rose and a ten rupee note and bring faith packed to my hall/ n in my name stands for nandini/ a daughter & a girl (by definition) etched in blood and incomplete syntax

 

Nandini is a computer science engineering student studying in New Delhi. She grew up in the palpitating summers and chilly winters of this beautiful capital. She often writes poetry in her notes app on the metro and is intrigued by political systems in fantasy. You can find her at https://nandini.carrd.co/

 

 

Brother

By Kavya Gardiner

“You’ve come back, but I no longer need you.”

That’s what I wanted to say.

In all actuality, I needed you more than ever.

My whole childhood,

It’s all over.

You weren’t there.

My brother.

Gone.

 

 

Kavya is a fourteen years old, born and raised in Minnesota and has always had an interest in writing. Her parents named her Kavya which means poet in Sanskrit.