Young Writers Society

I'm left in a world where there is no escape
They reason I'm safe in a world without rape
No murder, no treason, and no thievery
They reckon my life's nothing but leisurely
But do they understand the danger of being left alone
I beat on my confines but no marks are shown
I fear not a sin, but of shattering glass
The tipping of tables that could bring a crash
They're clueless, the people that so often probe
No idea what it's like, to reside in a snow globe

He says my shakles are for safety,
that the chains and padlocked door are to protect me.
But does the prison-like cell protect me from the world
or from him?

A monster, caged, hidden in your soul
Every insult is a hammer
Pounding on the bars
Every mocking laugh, scornful smile
Feeding its strength
Rocky situations set the lock and key ajar
The door opens, slowly, and the caged monster breaks
Tearing, shredding, shattering
Everything, but mostly everyone
Kept at bay like a bottle of soda, shaken,
Until finally it pops,
Showering the world in its fizzy horror
The monster is you and the world hates your fizz

Child, you are so strong,
to brave the fire,
the ice,
the storm that is life.

Child, you are so weak,
to tempt the wicked,
the sinful,
the burned, dry face that is humanity.

Child, you are a rarity,
something to be treasured
respected
and loved.

But no, child,
you will be tossed and thrown by the wind.
Beaten down and spit upon,
for having ideas
we don't believe in.

I guess I win?

How dare you
Stand up against the crowd
Scream in the silence
Curse out the priest

How dare you
Smile as you're mutilated
Sing as you're held captive
Dream as though there's a tomorrow

How dare you
Want to live
Dare to live
Think about living

How dare you
Think you can overcome
The power we have over you
You will not win

Ever

So how dare you try?

He met her at the park,
his Jordans scruffy and grimy.
She was, what 17, maybe edging 18?,
bright-eyed with clear, porcelain skin.

He brought out that little baggy
and got her as high
as the kiddies swinging up, up; up
she goes,
on the roller coaster of doom.

He smiles, his face old with young age,
and she points,
what pretty teeth you have,
the wolf never had to hide.

His hands clasp hers and
she feels so out of place,
but he loves her doesn't he?
He needs her doesn't he?

The porcelain doll has cracked,
Mr. Wolf thought it was a pretty toy,
till nothing was left but sidewalk grime and
a lost mind.

~*~

It wasn't very good but 1. I wanted to bring this back to life and 2. NaPo just ended, my poetry skills aren't energized yet.

He first saw her at the state park,
staring past the cliffs
that led to the wide old river,
and he knew that she wasn't happy.
There was something in her pose,
her back arched in awe;
something about her longing sigh;
something about her tears,
falling down.
He wanted to talk to her,
ask her many questions
about life, and her past,
and about where she might be going.
But before he built the courage -
before he took the chance -
she rose and skipped away, heavy
laden, in a false-cheerful demeanor
he knew, without speaking
to her, was tortured
and captured, and a
last resort to cover her feelings.
Because by morning, she'd be gone,
and it'd be his fault;
for he never spoke to the girl
at the state park,
never uttered her name, never
asked her her story;
never questioned her motives
before she ended what could have
been a
beautiful life.

The falcon flies the fastest
Feathered lightning, Lord of Sky.
Beware all you other birds who see his glory
And wish they had it in claw.
For the falcon may appear to you
In his regal splendor
And tear out your heart
Because it is his nature.