Selah.
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Selah.
an international literary & art magazine.

Selah Youth

   I remember driving to my grandparents' house when I was little, the flat swamps of Louisiana growing slightly to rolling hills in Georgia. When I started to notice hills I knew we were close enough to ask if we were there yet, without getting ignored. I passed the time by writing this seemingly never ending fairytale about a girl named Maribel. This is the first time I remember loving writing, adding details to daydreams, and creating new characters. Now, almost ten years later, I optimistically call myself a writer.

    Through the years I’ve had a love/hate relationship with it, sometimes getting bogged down with rejection letters and writer’s block. A few months ago I was in one of these moods, I hadn’t felt like I had written anything worthwhile in a long time. I felt like a hypocrite, calling myself a writer and working on Selah, without truly feeling the love for the craft.

    One of my sister’s friends is a young writer, when I told her about the magazine and saw her smile widen when I said I would make an exception to include her, I thought about that drive to my grandparents house for the first time in a while. I remembered how simple writing used to be, how fun. I didn’t want the kids to be an add on to Selah itself, I wanted them to have their own platform to be proud of. I wanted to foster this excitement, and extend their pure love of the arts as long as possible.

    Selah Youth is primarily a project for kids, of course, to encourage young artists of all kinds, give them the love of creating and a platform to showcase their talents. But it’s also for me, for all other disenchanted older artists, to inspire us to take things back to the basics, to remind us all how fun being an artist can be. 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                     -Holly Penta 

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I am the ocean.

     All day people come and visit me. At least, that is what I like to think. Correction, all day people come and visit the beach. It is just a coincidence that I am the ocean. I see families come and go, I give shelter to the fish. I am very important. Yet people still pee in me. It is like people don’t even care about what controls the ocean. It is like people don’t think it is disrespectful to pee in the ocean. But yet again why would they? The ocean is not a living thing it just holds living things. That is what they all think. I wish I was them, up on the sand having fun. I wish I could make new friends and live life to the fullest. But I can’t. All I can do is playfully splash people. Then they go home. They all go home. The sun sets and everything is still and silent. And repeat, over and over again. They come and they leave. They play, laugh, kiss, and cry. All day people come and visit the beach it is just a coincidence that I am the ocean.

 

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Road Trip

Katie sighed as she doodled tiny hearts in her notebook with her purple pen. “Ugh” she mumbled to herself as her brother kept on babbling on and on about recess games. 

“You know it’s summer, so we don’t have to talk about school, right?” she told her brother. 

“Whatever,” he said with a mouthful of M&Ms. 

Katie groaned, “How much longer?”

“Four more hours,” her mom responded. Katie sighed. They were going to Tennessee all the way from Mississippi. She looked out the window, tuning herself out from her loud family. 

It was so pretty. The land stretched out flat to the horizon, cows grazing in the distance. “AAAAAAA” she heard her brother say. “Just great,” she thought, being snapped out of her daydreams. 

Honk, honk! “Yay!” her brother said as she saw the sign: Welcome. We’re Glad Georgia’s on your Mind. She was getting pretty tired. She unbuckled for a minute, switched her hoodie around backward, and put her hood over her face. 

She drifted off to sleep to the loud sounds of the road and her family….. 

“Wake up Sleepyhead!” She looked outside. Now the mountains and trees filled the space around them.

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The Bike Ride by the Bayou

I saw a black goose and a blue horse,

a fishing pier and kids using

the leftovers of their lunch for bait.

I saw someone catching fish

big enough to eat.

I saw pine needles thrown together

into a makeshift bowl:

nests of unusual birds.

I saw the levee wall beside us,

a cloudless extra blue sky.

I saw the bayou like a ribbon

reflecting the morning light.

 

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