Young Writers Society

i need some help on thinking of a better title but here is the poem -------------------------------- Here I sit ignored each day. Who am I to be seen. I wait ...

What has this World Become? One of us dies Another one lies What has this world become? We commit the crime But can never do the time What has this ...

Unwanted, Empty locker room - cold You can hear the crowd cheering, and you feel all alone. No one to look for you, but not that you deserve. Still wouldn't ...

I can't feel your soft touch I can't see your green eyes I can't hear your angelic voice I am dead inside I miss your hugs I miss your love ...

“Let’s try this one more time with feeling” A utopia of artists that yearn and ache, swoon and paint in scarlet hues, erratic slashes at the dripping canvas. The poet ...

once it's the new year, it's all over sitting in a crowded waffle house just off the interstate. and everyone's saying, "hey, it's been raining all year" as the drunk ...

...beautiful. I particularly liked the line "the whole-cloth/that is Monday" and the ending was perfect. I also think the structure was well done; it put me off a bit in ...

One little misfire It may be a nuclear weapon Or a few harmful words A mistaken wrong move I causes a world of difference Chaos unravels Disorder erupts Nothing is ...

When I was five I used to see Boys as disgusting as dead birds And the also had cooties Then when I turned eight I started to realize Those boys ...

Behold what’s beyond as we conquer this geometric object, remembrance anguished trough divinity resting at its pace Abstract images sustain, fooling those detached from their source. The universe pa

There is a path that runs through sugar grasses and corn mazes, by streets with roaring disks of light, stars streaking through uncounted trees and unmapped farmland - this road ...

Explanation: Some broken promises, some broken dreams, more broken promises, more broken dreams, a bit of French, and a curious ending. MEDICATE IT! He promised to kill me quietly under ...

Eleven-thirty. The cook handed me an apron and eyed the cellphone in my pocket. "Hide that," he said. Shrugging, I slipped it into my coat, balling it into a corner ...

cigarette smoke hangs in the air like gunsmoke, the sofa has become a battleground. its soft cushions hold nothing but fear. my policy is appeasement - i distract you with ...

It was good until the last two lines; okay, good until the last line, which is cheesy. A nice, short read.