Youth Voices
During Earth Month, Youth on Root celebrated the creativity, ideas, and voices of young people passionate about our planet. We invited youth to submit original work that reflects their thoughts, feelings, and visions for environmental justice; their relationship with the earth and their communities; and the environmental change they hope to inspire. We hope you enjoy them
Pulled roots, by Joseph Anthony Antunez Jr 17 years old
a fabricated fortress of fauna and flora,
where migrant workers posed as hills.
needed; but never wanted.
the American Dream, itself, a cheap thrill.
my tios—brown as any old tree stump—
washed, watered, built, and buried.
declared dirty and destructive,
equipping white masks in a hurry.
funneling carne asada burritos--
where no cameras could see.
communications from Jupiter,
different shades did they bleed.
they despised their oppressor—
but how else would they succeed?
standing tall on stolen soil and
shot down just before planting a seed.
Wishing Flowers, by Mari Sara-Marie Nuesca 21 years old
Kuyate. Mahal ko, hindi tayo mga damo.
(My Sibling. My love, we are not weeds.)
By Mari Sara-Marie Nuesca
They say we grow like weeds.
So they pluck us from our roots.
They bury our decaying bodies, never to be seen again —
too afraid of our beauty.
Dandelions have many lives.
One where they’re bright, yellow,
light, sunshine— filled like the sun,
before daylight is struck from them.
Then they have a new life, in death.
We are wishing flowers.
Whispers in the wind.
Even after death, we spread our seeds,
ensuring the community continues to grow.
They call us weeds.
Thieves on “their” soil —
draining the resources,
stealing the nourishment.
But they are fed by our hands.
They are healed by our hearts.
They are housed by our bones.
They are clothed by our skin —
blooming bodies, minds, souls,
rich with nourishing properties.
They are the ones who feed.
But to them,
We are just weeds.
“kahit damo, may silbi”
(but even weeds have purpose)
We came here holding only our dreams,
sunshine-filled pockets.
Our home, now entangled with overgrown wishing flowers,
where nourishing vegetables and fruits once flourished.
A once thriving community.
Now — teared — bare — roots sit in its wake.
Now we too blame these weeds for our fall,
further causing our demise.
Pulling ourselves out in false precepts
of hope and safety,
if we dissolve our roots.
“Isang Bagsak.”
But we are wishing flowers.
We have the power to change tides.
And even when we are uprooted and killed,
we rise as one...
Pamayanan.
(Community)
Isang Bagsak!
Isang Bagsak!
Isang Bagsak!
