Young Writers Society

Goodness, it has been forever since I posted a poem. I apologize in advance; it has been a long time. Too High to Land Green shadows fly high above the ...

- Synaesthesia is a condition in which one type of sensory stimulation evokes the sensation of another, in some cases triggering the perception of vivid colour. Creation is obsolete in ...

governed by that existential factor. unrelentingly precise, the logistics are laid out in symbiotic perfection, the white chalk blatantly deliberate on the blackboard. there is no room for life betwee

Is it much to ask, For normal? Work all day And half the night for me, Wake up an hour earlier, Get back a little later. Should I feel guilty ...

* this poem is a bit longer than my last, so i hope that it's better. it is still a work in progress, so please give me advice so that ...

* this is something that i wrote quite awhile ago when i was going through some things...i'm not the best.* The memories these bruises make are like the wounds themselves, ...

Here on my vanity are perfumes unsprayed, lipsticks dried and crumbled like dirt. A mirror so tinted with years of dust, so spotted with bright colorful kisses: A rosy red ...

Hm, arite. I can't say the first verse is very flattering, and who's Harold with the purple crayon?

I hear her from the shores, Crying out to me from across the sea. I fall motionless on summer sands, Packed away in the blue bag beside my bed. I ...

It's hard when your girl says "goodbye" and you don't know the reason why. It's hard when your girl says "it's over" and you know you've lost your lover. It's ...

Invisible Pain “Her stitches must be invisible”. Clawing away at her skin, She bleeds. The next day, she heals, No scars to be shown. She cries, Wanting help from the ...

i have no more poetry to give, to lay upon the altar of your shoulderblades; beads of words trapped as sweat in the valley of your back. i have barely ...

This isn't my favorite from you by any means... Your images were nice, but the ending left them with little weight. I felt like you didn't finish it... like there ...

stratosphericallyspeaking, time is nothing; up here, closer to the edge, danger should be bloodshot red, but the minutes pass like trivial anecdotes. there are no ticktocks, no alarms flashing. just ...

Enigma It is near, very near. Yet far, oh so far. It’s harder than rock, Yet softer than silk It is salty, it is sweet It is messy, it is ...