Young Writers Society

It is a time

For change and a time

For growth

Chain smoking and no boundaries

“is that really me?”

She asks herself

No.

It is a part of her

A path which lead to many

Some never to have been predicted

Others dreamt of

And more so than not

Absence

Paths lead to solitude

And reflection

In doses

Like those taken each waking, of a night

Or a day’s rest

That rest, not the usual

Bedtime is whenever you may 

Get around to it

And she

Only occasionally gets the norm

“fine by me.”

She says

But isn’t everything?

What is not for her

Others may wonder

What is serious to her

What drives her

What infuriates her

Nothing of the latter

Though driven by friends

And serious about their opinions

She judges not

Having been judged

Could be a reason to, in high form

Though oppositely affected her

“why?”

She asks

Does the soul choose

To fight

To yell, to cause discomfort on others

Of the same degree

They need it?

They cannot control it?

“they should work on that.”

She thinks.

And to participate in her thought

She hopes to benefit those

With the fury

Hoping, she chooses to be proactive

Study

Work hard

Love harder

Think deeply

Converse appropriately

Care always.

“I really do care, though.”

She tells another

Who cannot fathom the substantiality 

Of that remark

In time 

They may

And hopefully, they will strip

Shed

Evaporate

The fury beads 

Bursting inside

Still lovely beads

Of purple and blue

Meshing, mixing, sparkling

Sparkling like their eyes

Which tear with each deeper truth

Exposed

She loves them

“I choose to not specify their sex.”

She wants to add into

This 

Because they

May represent anyone

But to her

They represent a dynamic, powerful

Reasonable, independent, driven child

Having not yet extensively developed

Appropriately so

In some ways more than she

In some ways, not near

But in those, they may stride past her

And without the polar opposite tendencies

The two would not have been put in each other’s reach

They may have impacted others

In different realms

But in those which hold strong

And unique

To their companionship

The cherries dangle

Side by side

Full of tender, vulnerable details

Which are only cradled by a firm

yet supple shell

shiny, like them

shining for themselves and others

lasting briefly compared to the universe

yet able to pass on 

their goodness

for generations

and what she left with the other

and their mark on her

will, undoubtedly

show

in their offspring

time and time away from now

and maybe that is why

they were united

and for that

she will always know,

“love rules us, we may clash, but isn’t that what stands out about the eighties?”

And they respond, “worth it all, baby.”