z

Young Writers Society


After Long Exploring Yesterdays



User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Tue Apr 15, 2014 4:47 am
Aley says...



In the pitch black
I can see clearest.
The definition of your outline
betrays the weakness of your back
and the slump of your shoulders.

I can hear your heart thump
wildly against my untrained ear
when we lay in silence-
but only with my eyes shut.

They are white noise, disguising a cry
distracting me from the wrinkles I feel
sagging on your face.

You never say how tired you are
but I can see it clearest
as darkness takes off
your armor suit.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Tue Apr 15, 2014 4:48 am
Aley says...



It's hard to misunderstand
a cat's long purr as you rub
behind her lazy ears.

They aren't afraid to say
what's on their minds.

Give a cat a treat
and you know
she loves it
not you
even if you are always
the only one
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Wed Apr 16, 2014 2:29 am
Aley says...



Painting Raindrops

Red seeps into my blues,
purple is forgotten,
and all that's left is you.
Hidden in the shadows

you are what catches my attention.
Not pretty lights passing on a worn diamond.
Not the glitter of absence filled
but you,

saturating my blues
through taking away
bit by bit, working away.
With green and yellow highlights

I have only a line of blue
but there it is
more vibrant from
being just a wash.

As the frozen man left to thaw
beneath the sun's warmth
in the greenhouse,
I could see you before
but I couldn't feel
your rays digging out the ice.

It's no longer a question of hue;
the balance of scarcity.
Red creeps into my blue(s);
folded quaintly in the corner
like a well warn blanket
(w)holy and abused.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Wed Apr 16, 2014 3:05 am
Aley says...



You said I was an ingrate
It was not like we were being fair

You said,
And I Quote
"You're nothing but
a two bit hack
who should go die in a hole."

I said a lot of things.

How could you say that to me.
I said a lot of things.
I didn't-

You said you never wanted to talk to me again.
You said I was a mistake.

You said-
I said a lot of things
But so did you.

Are we going to fight again
or can we work this out
like two civilized people
speaking over coffee
out in a cafe?
The breeze is nice, isn't it?

No, we're not people
and we're not at a cafe.
This is you and me
and no one can come over
to take our order
just as someone is about
to make a breakthrough.

We are more like cats
facing off
two circling mirrors
of expanded fur
and chiding mouths.
Last edited by Aley on Thu Apr 17, 2014 4:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Thu Apr 17, 2014 3:52 am
Aley says...



Descending into reprieve the world from burns
it blankets slowly across the horizon
crawling slower than it wants.

As the stars twinkle through the clouds
we know we are not alone in night.
This night was known to others first:
England, India, China, Japan,
Even so close as Maine sees this night first.

It is not the setting of a day
but the fall of a tyrant.
The sun a living shroud of fog,
a blue cataract across our sky.

The night is revelations
whispering atop the mountain
screaming future into the valley
and it is good.

We can see the stars
as a common cause
unlike the simple blue of day
we can feel the chill of vast oceans
rolling above every head
as we spin uncontrollably
through space
like a tilt-a-whirl without breaks.
So let's laugh, clasp hands, and lean.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Sat Apr 19, 2014 1:56 am
View Likes
Aley says...



How We Lived

Closing my eyes
I feel the wind rush,
the tug of my long hair
tacked back
and whipping over my shoulders,
sharp ice teases my nose
with moisture as it melts
just on the tip
beneath my heaving breath.

As I open
my eyes
I realize I'm in
the blazing red sun
where it hasn't been windy
in weeks. The air
is as stale as twelve
day old chicken.

Sweat and steam
are the salty humidity
playing with the blacktop.
My hair is bobbed
and I am not running.
I'm listening to the laughter
of a couple children
too far to see.
I don't feel the build of acid
digging at my muscles.

Each time I blink
I'm back beneath the wind
shivering as I haul
a train behind me.

We feel fresh as we flip
between our lives.
I met him once
realizing he was near
because when I blinked
I saw the street.

We didn't need language
as I put out my hand
he ducked his heavy head
and I so badly wished to lead
him away. Give him rest.
Yet I knew too well I already did.

As we closed our eyes,
we stood on a corner street
tickling ourselves through nose and hand
whiskers playing like long grass

We leaned together for a moment
and he gave me a kiss
on my heavy head
then I went back to dragging my train
beneath the thick summer sun.

-17
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Sat Apr 19, 2014 1:59 am
View Likes
Aley says...



Theirs

I can't say I succeeded
when I jumped off the cliff
learning how to fly. I was defeated
standing at the precipice so stiff

when I jumped off the cliff
I was tumbled round. Fitting me in
standing at the precipice so stiff
was easy once my brain was tin.

I was tumbled round. Fitting me in
their sphere demonstration
was easy once my brain was tin.
However long my rumination,

their sphere demonstration
held me as tight as cellophane.
However long my rumination,
tumbling lived me in a hurricane

held me as tight as cellophane.
As they attempted tormenting
tumbling lived me in a hurricane
one combined barrel all fermenting.

As they attempted tormenting
my addled mind cried corners
one combined barrel all fermenting.
The hurricane knew my horrors

my addled mind cried corners
trying to find relief from cookie cutters.
The hurricane knew my horrors
and I could feel the shutters

trying to find relief from cookie cutters.
Some OCD PMS BS
and I could feel the shutters
each subtle distracted thought to repress.

Some OCD PMS BS
learning how to fly. I was defeated
each subtle distracted thought to repress.
I can't say I succeeded
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Tue Apr 22, 2014 3:04 am
View Likes
Aley says...



Who could I be after being nothing for so long?
After being the shadow on the wall
and the pillow on the couch
for the sick and the needy.

Who can I be after I was the only one
who knew how much it took
or how little it took
if we're being honest.

Who am I to believe I know
who I am when I don't understand
what I am to them. What does it mean
to be company when only company is needed?
What does it mean
to be sitting on the couch
watching pointless shows
and spending hours of your life
for this other person, this human
who has grown so weak
they cannot get themself a glass?

I am a kind person
a strong person.
I am my trials
and I am my successes.

I am the shadow
on the couch
which will ask you if you need anything
and if you don't, I will still be there.
I won't run away from you
just because your face is marred with scars
I won't turn away from washing your wounds
if you come to me as a battered mess
bleeding on my carpet.

I am strong,
and I am kind.
I can stomach dog vomit,
piss, and shit,
diarrhea, human puking,
weakness, dead skin
and the sound of scraping bones.

I am strong enough
to follow silently behind
as you bathe in the sun
shivering in my cold.

It is my cold.

This is who I am.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Tue Apr 22, 2014 3:06 am
Aley says...



A tattered glitter
sticky and sweet
like a drop of hot glue
stuck to the end of a tree.
It pools for days
the only jewelry of a pine.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Wed Apr 23, 2014 2:16 am
Aley says...



21 - "Clairty" Redo

The hawk circles around
the drowning building
searching for it's ledge
where the nest used to be.

Last week the eggs hatched
and as a reprieve, they both flew off
searching for food. Diving at children
and mice, and rats, and the fat squirrels
they searched desperately for food.

Today, rain drenches the walls
and gathers in the trenches of the roof
creating puddles of frigid water.

It's hard to see through the pelting drops
as they mist across all vision
and dig into the down feathers
even threatening to send the bird
to the ground.

Landing by memory, the hawk searches
but no sign of a nest is left.
No chirping cried like a squeal
from the baby emperor of their new lives.

It's not until the water dries that they can see
that the hawk knows the baby died
drowned in the new pond where the nest was.

Sometimes I feel like I am nothing
but a circling hawk searching in vain
for the dead chicklit laying there
lost in the misty ice rain.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Wed Apr 23, 2014 2:17 am
Aley says...



22- Mail

To: You
800 Where I Want To Be Boulevard
Left Hemisphere, Br, 41N3
From: Me
Email: IWishIHadAJob@YourLoss.edu
40 East Street of North 22 Degrees
Right Hemisphere, Br, 41N3

It is:

Just a formality that I am
writing this to you. Somewhere
in translation things are getting
a little skewed. I hope this message
finds you well. [I'm not sure we're talking
clearly now a days.]

You see, I really tried hard this time
and somehow you managed to jumble
my every word. I rehearsed, and you
well, you rehearsed messing me up.

Please try to understand that we are
together
in this. If I don't eat, you don't eat either.
I understand you want freedom
and buying into the society
is paying ourselves into slavery
but at the same time, I need life.
Freedom is an afterthought.

Cordially:

Me
Your Better Half.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Thu Apr 24, 2014 4:53 am
Aley says...



The pure ting of a soft glass
tapped by the softest tick
on the tip of the rim
rings purest. Like the wild
beast stopping for a drink
it is exactly what it can be
and nothing more.

Dragging out the ring
through recording
and put it with a door
or a dress up doll
smiling at a child
and something is lost.

A fog of what is real
like it's lying as folly
for the fraction of a second
it makes the cameo.

Can we see clearly
with a lie haunting our ears?
Can we believe
the girl is safe when a cello plays?

Can we feel safe again
in the concert hall
with a cello solo?
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Thu Apr 24, 2014 1:36 pm
Aley says...



Language.
Spoiler! :
At the threshold
I see a room filled with burning hearts
and drowning sorrows catching everyone.
It is a torrent of fire and rain
beating at the breasts of children.

Rib cages explode their content
ripping stomachs from the force.
Visceral organs fall to the floor
getting fags and stones stuck in
throbbing hearts and seething lungs.

Adrenaline isn't beyond this entry.
It stands outside rushing about
in the summer light. They see it
through the window when they are done

pawing at the stale linoleum
attempting to shove
their intestines (victims of overkill)
back inside their stomach,
to leave the Organs of Life exposed.

Some conjure sopping locks
waving their hands about; a conductor
of a silent symphony
only they care to hear.
Others play cards, praising,
worshiping, naming, bowing
disgracing, and exploiting
like their faith is new,
like their idea is a Chicklet
whom is an albino,
within a group of Great Egret.

attracted to carry the strange
the herons flutter in to see the 'albino'
They fly about shitting in hair
and on the bleeding visceral organs.

The room falls silent
as the conductor has spotted me
standing at their gateway.
They stare at my tear-striped face
and realize I'm not crying;
my heart is safe inside my chest
sewn up from the operation.

I tip my hat, my arm
breaking their bubble of extremes
and turn back to the sunshine
chasing butterfly feathers.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Fri Apr 25, 2014 12:40 am
Aley says...



laying on the stoop
head down bobbing tail
lazy ears twitching
and half-stretched legs
clawing at the dirt.

he doesn't want to come in
he couldn't even care
if you opened the door
or left him out all night
but he knows

if you open the door he'll enter
and then turn around
to go back out again.
there's joy, and greedy hunger
when you come home today
eager to sniff what's in your bag
where have you been
my scent from the outside world
coming in at last to greet him.

is that natasha from the lab
i smell seeped into your clothes?
who's the new one there?
they will smell me too
when i lay on you and claim
you as mine again.

it's the dog's life
lounging in your chair
staring gluttonously
at every bite as it slips
beneath your lips
drooling like a fountain
ready to spring if you drop
your hand for just one second
just one moment or a figment
of a flick for him to get it
and it's his.

I love you for your food,
Human.
  





User avatar
806 Reviews
Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806
Sat Apr 26, 2014 5:11 am
Aley says...



I want to say I'm shocked
or ashamed even
when I hear my name
said from afar

I want to stop
the illusion of individuality,
but others wouldn't accept it
Not a collective, not a whole
Somehow uniqueness
has become more important
than segregation

You, A-b-2-a-c-a
you, M-E-5-h-3-e
All yellow people
stand in line for supper.
All pink people
go to bed for the night.
You girl, you, American,
you English Major, Engineer,
Tutor

All our names, our titles
Who are you?
Are you a writer, a poet,
a name on a plaque
produced by the dirt
of your warn path?

How is this not segregating
the Left from the Right hemisphere.
Sorry, I don't fit into your boxes.
I refuse to believe
I do not have a cerebral cortex
connecting all the compartments
of my collective mind.
I refuse your idea that I can be
left, or right, dominant,
or that Math Teachers
cannot be good at drawing
and English Teachers
cannot be good
at math.

A religious whore exploring the Bible
sits upon salvation stoop, damned
and condemned as a darkness
before she speaks a word
or the case upon her is even cracked.

Is this naming?
A solution among the whores nation
is not to damn the nation any more.
We have no Noah's Flood but radiation.
  








trust your heart if the seas catch fire (and live by love though the stars walk backward)
— E.E. Cummings