Young Writers Society

~sell me the stars
and i'll tell you the words
in which you can derive
the temple to my soul~

epeolatry (n.): the worship of words

pleonasm (n.): the use of more words than are necessary to express an idea; redundancy

sabism (n.): the worship of stars

LMS poetry thread, I can't sum it up in anything more or anything less. I'm a worshipper of words, it's taken my soul many years ago and I've been trying to reclaim it ever since.

[more to come]

First week!

sisters.

mother

second week~

meaning:null

Week 3

tea//wine

week 4

lifehack

week 5

photosynthesis

literally a mess

masquerade

week 7

week 9

7 milliseconds

week 10

history is everything until it isn't

kintsugi- a call to arms

week 11

week 12

home is this
smoke curling like shaved wood up the chimney.
our hearts balanced
on white blinds, mobius strips of light
bending over our ribs
illuminating the capillaries, we’re nomads
believing in the illusion of a home

rose gold sighs, pity because
we’ll never be an ageless gold, we’ve never been under the weight
of mountains,
we’ll never sparkle like diamonds
but light continues to find a way to seep through
regardless
of what we are


line count: 14

week 13


i think I'll leave for real this time
for one, I've ran out tissues to dry the tears
and I can't work with a perpetual snow of kleenexes on my desk


two, it seems the stitches I keep sewing for both of us fall out the second when I'm not looking, because you keep picking it apart in your sleep
and then in the morning I wake with blood all over the sheets
(and every time I'd think there was a murder in the night but the culprit in the room is sleeping right next to me)


there's gashes on my throat, lacerations on my hands
But I'm still here because you assure me each night that the cuts will heal in the morning
then when I rise the sun is so bright, i’m blinded until the moon comes out but by then you're here again,
whispering in my ear

this time, I'll block out the sun until the eclipse is complete.
I’m leaving because the sky is a perpetual cycle of waiting for an answer that will never come. a perpetual eclipse where you're the hand covering the sun and i’m not
tall enough to push it away

so I'm leaving
because another sky awaits me
one whose soil is not burning with want to become an ocean.

Line count: 28

week 14:

they're selling bottles downtown
down by the river where people go to die
thinking they'll float

bottles of stardreams like the one you sold me
smear it across my eyes so all i could see
was the galaxy when
all the while, there was a supernova building from the
blackhole between us

the bottles are cheap, but price doesn't matter
when it becomes the only source of why you're alive
and breathing

day in, day out
i am breathing in stardreams of lives
lightyears away where
reality doesn't leave bruises
that don't fade on your sin

line count: 16

week 15:

here and there
we have scrawled our hearts onto electric lines
at night they glow neon
when the rest of the world sleeps

i am awake
wondering the day where the lights run our of fuel
because loving these days seems like a never ending race
to see who had the brightest lamps

we're forgetting that
our heart is a tinderbox, and there are only so many times it can be set afire, forgetting our skin is not a temple
but a forest, that despite being burnt, there
is always
growth
and there are only

line count: 15