Young Writers Society

“Well at least it’s not that bad of a place,” I said glancing at the huge grand piano in the middle of the room. I looked over to my parents ...

I took it down, as I was informed that having a book I wanted to publish out all over the internet opens me up to be plagurized. Um... duh. So, ...

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 ...

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What is vanity among people? Over and over again it's beauty Beauty in the people O, but what is beauty? Is it in the eye of the beholder? Or maybe ...

Why does it always seem to be that way? You come up and I start to sway. I look in your eyes, my own mingled in hate. But I can't ...

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 ...

Thought I'd something contemporary, for a change...enjoy. *** My bike screeches to a halt. The tall, imposing Williams house looms overhead, the family Porsche lies right in front of me ...

(I've never attempted narrative poetry, so if I dropped the ball, let me know where this belongs...and don't say the trash or I'll cry) In the darkness, I reached out ...

I decided to take a walk in twilight, to try and clear my head you know. I stayed way clear of the forest and Orrin’s cottage, heading instead for Playman’s ...

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 ...

I've never given a 'title' to any un-ambitious, miniscule work, but if I'd have to name this poem, then I guess(these are on the spot) 'The Exiled', or just 'Exiled' ...

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 ...

Scars Prologue: He had scars that criss-crossed up and down both of his arms, scars that had formed under cuts so deep the bearer must have hewed away at his ...