We sat together, dangling our feet over the frigid water below. Together we watched as the sun faded from blue to cotton candy pink, the air cooled down to a sleepy state, clouds covered the slivers of light that remained. We watched as groups of kyakers passed underneath the broken old bridge, and laughed when one tipped in the rapids. Soon, thick drops of rain slashed around us on the oak bridge, as the last of the warm breeze faded with the sun. We got up and ran for cover from the storm to come.

For the first 18 years of my life, I was Mormon. For my first 10 years I went to church, unwillingly led young women, and bore testimony of things I didn't believe. For the first 18 years I was unhappy, until I found my purpose: Writing stories that inspire. As a child I spent a lot of time locked in my room. Often mom yelled at me for everything in the universe and participated in a church where nothing added up, and I felt like a liar saying the things they wanted me to believe. I learned to stay in my room; I couldn’t do anything to get yelled at and could stop acting how the church wanted me to. Alone there wasn’t much to do, so I learned to love books. I learned to love living in a world where anything was possible. Anyone could say whatever they wanted and there was no one to judge. I learned to love the possibilities imagination gave. Eventually I found that no matter what I read, it wasn't perfect; so, I began to create my own unlimited possibility. I kept my stories to myself, they were my guilty pleasure; if no one else saw them, they couldn't tell me it wasn't Mormon enough or that you are showing the mother as a bad person. By the time I turned 15, I started to question if I should stay in the Mormon church; I didn't believe what they preached, and had come out to my only two friends as bisexual. After realizing I was not a perfect Christian girl and was going to hell for homosexual behavior; I fought with myself for years. If I came out, I could lose my family and go to hell, but why would God want me to go to hell? I wasn't a bad person. Freshman year of college, after getting some air away from my parents, I had room to explore who I was without someone strongly suggesting how my life was supposed to go. I began to seemy issues with my family and myself were from what the church taught. I was a closed nonbinary pansexual ex-Mormon with something to say. I needed to say that people shouldn't be treated differently for who they were, or who they loved; and people shouldn't have to follow their family footsteps, or blind themselves for the sake of a religion. I had hit my limit trying to change who I was for someone else; if I hurt my family to be myself, no matter how painful, it had to happen. Unburdening myself from my parents' expectations allowed me to see I loved writing, and knew that I could help others like me not struggle as I did. I believe that people shouldn’t have to suffer from emotional, domestic and religious abuse and not be able to do anything about it until they are an adult. I believe that providing creative educational resources to the younger generation will help them to see what is wrong and address it before it affects them for the rest of their life. I believe that by getting the best education I have, I can provide young people with the opportunity to escape trauma and be able to live their childhood. I can help the LGBTQ preserve their family situations when possible. I believe that I can help those struggling with religion to break out and find what is right for them. And lastly I can help people experiencing domestic abuse recognize they are being abused and help get out of the situation.

People as They Were By Kaylie R. The white flowers grew grey, Green grass covered in a sheet of ash. Pale pink sunsets faded to charcoal grey, Dry rain smothered hog-nosed bats. People as they were, Lay trapped in their paper houses Waiting for the sky to clear, Running out of air in a helpless state; Waiting for the deadline, the final tax of life To take hold. The final breath, Choked out by the poisoned sky. This is a poem that I had created a few weeks back, it aims at taking on the perspective of people who are trapped inside thier houses after a volcanic eruption, My vision is to draw attention to inequlity and get people to help those in need; not every voice is heard, but when there is a shared expirience it makes it easier to feel at peace with something that has happened. As a student I dont have many expirneces personally, but I have seen the terrifying effects tramatic situations can have on individuals, families, and communities. For me, it is more of an emotional family problem created by a religion, but i do not think that anyone of any tramtic situation should be left to suffer in silence. My artistic dreams for the future are to produce more poetry and novels drawing attention to trauma victims and to help others be more sensitive to thier situations. I plan to continue my goal towards an English degree with this in mind, so I can create the best work for them.