Over the past five months, my world has opened up to poetry in a way I never expected. I used to think I could not write it, or that it was not really for me. But somewhere along the way, it became a place where I could put my thoughts and feelings into words. A big part of that shift came from my Honors 12 English teacher, Mrs. Williams, who introduced poetry as a creative project and understood that it is not for everyone. She gave us the freedom to write in whatever way felt natural to us, without forcing a certain style or “right” way to do it. Through these poems, I write about emotions I have experienced and ones I believe others can relate to as well. I am drawn to the way poetry connects ideas, people, and moments, turning simple words into something meaningful. This collection reflects that journey, a mix of thoughts, feelings, and experiences that show how powerful it can be to finally find your voice. All poems below are written by Lila Garrity.

Dear Class of 2026,

Look, we did it.

In just ten short days,
we will walk through these doors one last time.

Look, we did it.

In just ten short days,
we will close our lockers for the final time
and say goodbye to teachers
who became more like family
than strangers.

Look, we did it.

In just ten short days,
we will say goodbye
to the last four years of our lives.

And in just ten short days,
we will step into something completely new.

So maybe in these last ten days,
we slow everything down
and really see it all.

In these last ten days,
we tell the teacher
who changed us
thank you.

In these last ten days,
we hold onto the memories
and we make a few more
with the people who made it worth it.

In these last ten days,
we remember who we were
and notice who we have become.

Maybe these were the best four years.
Or maybe we started counting down
way back in 22′.

But in ten short days,
it all becomes real.

And in ten short days,
we step forward
into futures we are still learning to imagine.

So in these ten days,
look ahead with hope,
but do not forget
the moments
that brought you here.

Ferris Wheel

It was nothing, probably.

Just two kids,
a boy and a girl
at the fair.

She didn’t have anyone to ride with,
so he volunteered. 

And that was it.

Just a ride,
some laughter,
a small moment
that shouldn’t have meant
as much as it did.

But it did.

Life moved on
like it always does.

Different schools,
different days,
different versions
of who they were becoming.

And somehow,
he stayed the same
in her mind.

Then she saw him again.

Older.
Different.
Still him.

And something about it
caught her off guard- 

because it wasn’t just remembering 

It was something else,
something she couldn’t explain.

He didn’t remember her.

And maybe
that should have been enough
to let it go.

But it wasn’t.

Two years later,
and he’s still there;

in passing thoughts,
in quiet moments,
in questions
she doesn’t have answers for.

Now there’s one more chance.

One more “maybe.”

He shows up…
or he doesn’t.

And if he doesn’t,
she already knows
what she has to do.

Let him go.

Let it go.

Let that girl on the Ferris wheel
stay where she belongs
in the past.

Little kids,
a boy and a girl.

Young adults,
two separate lives.

Maybe it was never
about what could have been.

Maybe it was just
a moment- 

that meant everything to her,
and nothing to him.

Mommies

Little girls grow up
wanting to be just like their mommies
strong, beautiful,
confident without even trying.

They watch them closely,
learning softness,
learning love,
growing side by side
mother and daughter,
connected at the hip. 

But what about the little girls
who grow up
watching from the outside?

The ones who learn
what a mother should be
from friends,
from movies,
from someone else’s life.

The ones who sit quietly and wonder
why not me?

Wanting connection.
Needing love.
Trying harder.
Talking more.
Becoming smaller,
then louder,
then different

just to be enough. 

“Why are you like this?”
“I like you better this way.”
“Try harder.”

Words that don’t leave.
They echo,
long after the room is quiet.

And all she can think is
When will I be enough?

Little girls
who didn’t lose their mothers,
but lost something just the same.

Who grew up without guidance
in the quiet moments;
no one to show them
how to braid their hair,
how to blend their makeup,
how to become themselves
without questioning it.

No soft place to land.

Just the feeling
that who they are
is always almost right,
but never quite enough.

So they grow up.

And somewhere along the way,
those same little girls
become the women
they once needed.

Gentle.
Patient.
Loving in all the ways
they had to learn alone.

Becoming the mother
they dreamed of,

not because they were shown how,
but because
they knew what it felt like
to go without.

What Do You Want to Be?

Through the years,
we were asked
“What do you want to be
when you grow up?”

A simple question.
One we answered easily
doctor,
teacher,
farmer
whatever our little minds
could imagine.

It felt so far away.
Like we had time
to figure it out.

But now,
we stand on the edge
of all.
no longer little,
no longer waiting.

And that same question
feels heavier.
Louder.
Like we’re supposed
to have the answers
right now.

We look ahead,
into uncertain futures,
wondering
What can I do?
What difference will I make?

But maybe,
before we rush forward,
we should look back.

Remember the little you
the one who believed
you could be anything,
who saw the future
as bright lights
and endless possibility.

Take that version of you
with you
as you step forward.

Because the truth is,
you’re still becoming
who you are meant to be.

And maybe the best answer
to “What do you want to be?”

is the one you’ve carried
all along.

I want to be me. 

Should I stay or should I go?

The rain keeps falling.
Desire keeps calling.

Should I stay
or should I go?

The porch is safe,
hidden from the world,
dry beneath the roof.

But maybe
I want more.

What if I get wet?
What if I trip?
What if I can’t do it?

What if…
what if…

It’s easier to stay.
Safer.
calmer. 

But the rain keeps falling.
Desire keeps calling.

Maybe I could try.
Maybe if I just jump.

Could I go?

I look around.
My heart races. 

Should I stay
or should I go?

I hesitate,

One breath.

One step. 

And suddenly,

The rain finds me.