Soft worlds,
loud heart.
Ivy Chen, 16. Poet (2x scholastic gold), contemporary dancer (10 yrs), and collector of 4AM thoughts. I write about grief, growing up, and the exact color of the sky before rain.
Poems I'm not scared of anymore
Every piece performed at least once — poems are meant to be heard breathing.
"What Grandma Kept"
"…in the freezer: dumplings folded like secrets. in the drawer: jade, რომელსაც she never wore. she saved everything except herself — so I am learning to spend…" — performed at the regional showcase, 400 people, hands shaking.
"Dress Rehearsal for Goodbye"
"…senior year is just grief in a party dress — we keep taking photos of rooms we're about to leave…" — team piece, city finals, 2nd place by half a point.
"Mitosis"
"…my mother and I splitting like cells — same nucleus, different directions. I call home and hear myself, delayed by one generation…" — school lit mag cover poem.
"Things the Rain Knows"
"…in seattle even the sky is always feeling something. today it cried quietly, the way I do in the shower. we understand each other…" — yes, the comments cried too.
And the body keeps the score
Dance team captain, student choreographer. Poetry you can see.
