Where The Water Speaks Submission

Welcome to our creative corner of the internet—a space where stories, voices, and experiences converge. Whether you’re a writer, poet, artist, or someone who’s never shared your work publicly before, this is your invitation.

What We’re Looking For

We accept submissions that speak to identity, culture, social justice, and the human experience. This includes:

• Poetry

• Short essays or reflections

• Spoken word videos or recordings

• Visual art with an accompanying story

• Podcast pitches or audio storytelling

If your piece has heart, we’re listening.

How to Submit

1. Send your work to neil.barot09@gmail.com or DM us on Instagram @WhereTheWaterSpeaks.

2. Include your name, age/school (optional), and a short 1–2 sentence bio.

3. Let us know if you’d like your work posted anonymously or under your name.

4. We’ll reach out within 3–7 days if your piece is selected for feature.

   
   

A Note from Neil

You don’t need to be published or polished to belong here. This platform exists because young voices deserve to be heard—and yours might be the one someone else is waiting for.

So take the leap. Speak your truth. Submit your story.

Poetry by Anonymous (New York)

He wanted in

not into me,

but into everything that surrounded me.

The orbit, the heat,

the way my name unlocked doors

he dreamed of walking through.

He mirrored my laugh

until it felt like theft.

Studied my friends

like blueprints for belonging.

Made a home inside my circle

and locked me out.

Still,

I let him use me.

Still,

I embraced him like I didn’t know better.

Like he didn’t flinch

every time I shined too loud.

He made me feel small

and then blamed me

for noticing.

I wanted to hate him,

to scrape him off like dead skin,

but something about the way we burned

the closeness,

the whispers,

the desperate reaching

made me stay.

I hated how I wanted him.

Wanted the parts of him

that were stolen from me.

The way he wore my light

like a costume

and convinced the world it was his.

So I smile now,

soft and hollow,

letting him think he’s won.

Not for him

for me.

Because pretending is easier

than admitting

I gave myself away

to someone who only ever

wanted the illusion.

Poetry by Gunjan Y.

In a street,

full of lights,

There was a flickering one.

Hiding behind the shadows.

The omission.

Exhausted, flawed and burnt out.

Binded itself to the sound of wind.

The beauty of the flawed one was seen by a moth,

The moth that followed the Beacon,

Now devoted itself to the glinting one.

Mesmerized by the imperfections

The moth followed the light.

How dumb.

Mesmerized by the imperfections,

I followed his light.

Blinded to the cracks,

Just me and my omission.