Photography by Silja Pietilä, 17, Finland
Photography by Safia Henniche, 16, Boston
Dear Readers and Contributors,
I would like to take the opportunity to personally thank you all for the continuous love and support, especially through the pandemic. In just under 6 months, we’ve come so far; the magazine has been featured on Publish YOUth Writing and Poets & Writers, and the editorial team reached a whooping milestone of 400+ Advice Articles written! As we continue grow our global outreach, we’ve published over 280 creators from 25 U.S. States, 25 countries, and 6 continents across the world!
It’s been a pleasure growing this community over the past three years, so I know I speak for the entire editorial board when I say we hold this magazine and our contributors close to our heart. It takes a tremendous amount of research and effort to manage the magazine, which is why we're so thankful for all of your support. We encourage you to share our publications and Advice Articles to help our other young creators who may be interested in pursuing their craft.
Founder, Nonfiction Editor in Chief
The Elysian Muse Youth Literary Magazine
My Dear Writing,
How are you today?
Because I am doing great
Basking in your presence,
Rolling in your cloying pages
As we sit together here
On this rough carpeted floor
In the midst of four walls
And a door
That can barely contain us.
I first knew you when I was broken,
But I met you long before that.
Back when the sun shined on my face
And in my smile
And my pudgy little palms could barely hold a pencil in them…
I met you
With your fascinating little tirades
And lilting moods and tones.
I met you,
And I fell in love,
Like I do with all of my friends.
–But we were not friends
Though I desperately tried to be.
I pushed and chased and begged,
But it made no difference
Not until I was eleven
No friends anymore
Just empty shells
Positioned around me
Like fallen soldiers
That were tired of holding nothing.
I had given up
At that point
But then there you were
Knocking at my door
And inviting yourself inside.
You didn’t wipe my tears
But instead made them into ink
And we were friends,
We are friends,
Because I have fixed myself
Pasted my pieces together with stolen tape and leather binding
But I still crumble
And when I do–
There you are
Just waiting for me
And sometimes you hold me close
Let me run my fingers over the curves of your vowels
And the ridges of your consonants
And others you push me away
Force me to run further
And I think that is the best type of love I can get.
I’ve resigned myself
To never being happy
Only dark chocolate bitter
But I can take it
If I’m bitter with you.
Because you can handle me when I'm angry
And I'm tearing our pages apart
And you can handle me when I’m sad
And our pages are threatening to tear themselves.
And better yet, you can handle me
When I’m simply being
By standing there next to me
And I don’t have to beg and cling
And neither do you
We just enjoy each other’s company
Like it’s all we want to do.
Perhaps you are more like a drug
Than a lover,
And more like a lover
Than a friend,
But I think I’ll take you
Any way I can get
Not because you’re all I have
You're all I want–
I want your sweetest embrace
And your harshest punch
I want one of your maybe-novels
Or the half-written poems
Crumpled up and tossed away
Living in a dusty old shoebox
As we sit together
whole and alone
On this rough white carpet
Between these plain white walls
I would like to tell you
You are all that I am–
Something so big,
Even when you sit there so small.
And maybe I am not anything but flesh and bones
But I can be with you
And that’s enough
This door may be able to contain us
But the world cannot.
My name is Anvi Joshi and I am 17 years old. I hail from the honorable birthplace of Frank Sinatra, New Jersey, and I’ve been honorably mentioned in the Scholastic Arts and Writing Contest for my poetry and my journalism. My favorite author (and one of my biggest role models) is Maggie Stiefvater!