Help Mahalia Go to Interlochen

My name is Mahalia Hill and I’m sixteen years old.  I am a creative writer. I mostly write poetry and some short stories. Writing is pure expression for me. I can express pain, hope or wonder in a few lines without much explanation. I’m extremely passionate about writing. 

I have been accepted into the creative writing program at Interlochen, a summer camp for young creatives. While the program has awarded me money, I still must pay 3,000 dollars for the full tuition to be covered. I am being raised by my single mother who struggles with debilitating rheumatoid arthritis. For this reason she is not able to work, which means we can not afford to pay the remainder of the tuition.

I would be overjoyed to attend interlochen in order to learn new skills and nurture my current ablities as a creative writer. It would mean the absolute world to me if you could donate to my cause.

If you’d like to send a check directly to Interlochen, just make sure to include a note that it’s for Mahalia Hill’s summer program tuition.

Here are two poems I’ve written this year: 

Red Sandstones


I am from the comprehension of true love

from the embrace of a self drained, resilient body

 a well damaged tenderness

jagged glass buried underneath my sunflower skin

golden thread magic that was woven into my DNA

 stardust and chewed up gum stuck underneath my Vans

I'm from olive oil slicked twist tight and heavy,

 shea butter and “Why do you wear your hair like that?”

I’m from the dismissive passed glances and “why are you crying?”

I am a divine creation, well crafted, well painted

 

I'm from the red, rich paint that covers the walls of my rib cage   

I am from an empty cup, I was sprung from the head of my mother

Like Diana from Jupiter

I'm from the shining coin moon, that is my adopted brother

An electric mindstorm, that whips me every which way

I'm from the 2 am debates, far too opinionated for my age

 “A child stays in a child's place”

But I've never felt comfortable in any space, let alone any tired

cafeteria lunch table any wrenched out laughter, like a cry for help

I'm from sitting alone.



I am from my casually ungrateful thoughts

I'm from made up songs on the back porch

I'm from muffled laughter in the theatre with my mother  

I am a hummingbird with cinder blocks tied around her throat

I'm trying to fly, I'm trying to fly, I'm trying again

I'm from the forest fire of good intentions

I'm from spinning in buckets of rain with my sister at dawn

I was crafted from that overwhelming tower that you feel when you are desperately sobbing in the bathroom. Wishing for an embrace.

I'm from seeing the cowardly emotions crawl from my chest like haggard creatures

and knowing that is what growing feels like

I'm from accepting that people are not going to care

I'm from figuring it out.






Dark Water

I am splattered ink on the walls

Blue midnight body of water

We are only whispers kissed upon dark palms

There for the moment our eyes

Colored black and brazen

Our grins shaking within the red snair

If I were a star I would name myself after

These moments of ill spoken children

all hungry mouths swirled like paint

The color washes us to bare and smeared longing

Longing deep within our blood

Lash my skin to black ribbon and

I will bleed for the ghosts


Fleshy sunken bodies with common faces

daughters and sons of great and stubborn

Brokenness

A need of flowing burden

Weighs heavy and plump with blood

With skin of coal and dark hair slick and damp with Olive oil

Our bodies’  hold knee deep in dirt

Oh, what a body can become