Young Writers Society

OMYGOSHHHHHH. I'm sorry, I don't mean to get all immature about it but this poem is awesome. If I wrote something like this, it would take me years and years. ...

your golden green leaves decorate the feral branches, reaching over bypassers reaching into their hearts wild strands of bark, fluttering in the italian wind, mesmerising and free the simple flower ...

You said I was the “stupidest bitch” you‘d ever met, Then knocked me to the ground. Before that moment, I never knew, How to scream without uttering a sound. You ...

the quiescent melancholy of summer nights drowned in sun-dried spirits, twenty-first century suburban life marred by the ideas and thoughts of those dying thousands of miles away. the ancient radio ...

Wow. That was very romantic...that was the kind of poem that makes everything I write look like crap. I liked how you managed the long lines without over doing it ...

summer is really getting away while we french kiss walls and talk about jesus’ pound cake i will never tell anyone that because our virgin minds and sober thoughts are ...

I absolutely love the last line.

I think this poem is missing something but I can't quite figure out what it is so therefore I can't add it. Please help me if you can! you know, ...

the secret glances that we swopped across a crowded room filled with the smell of teenage hormones and suicide attempts we're an uneven pair in an uneven world and nothing ...

I like it, but the first stanza just seems not as useful as the others, and almost looks like it doesn't even need to be there. It seemed a little ...

the wind blows through your hair and your mind and it feels like breath of fresh air but you don't want to be blown away like all the rest there ...

This poem was written January 19, 2005 aka looooong time ago. I just felt like posting it.It's kind of stupid though. I dreaded all those hot summer days that never ...

no one sees what you put your heart into in a scratched up binder bent out of shape. their papers flapping in the wind you don't care when they get ...

Anyone who reads my poetry on the site knows that I am not a very good poet. Here's my final attempt at poetry, I swear. I'm just trying to get ...

the clouds were bleeding acid rain and they sprayed graffiti with messages of love the walls were illuminated in the moonlight and they recycled broken hearts for the poor with ...