Young Writers Society

i need to get back into writing poetry. this is an attempt. i'm not sure what the theme is or anything like that, but i hope i can use this as some kind of poetic outlet. i have lots of ideas, but i can never expand on them. this is an attempt. ever since napo, i haven't been able to get any words out. i want to change that.

i need to stop writing for other people. i need to start writing for myself.

i see a body,
feet planted on the ground.
i see it in the stains on the couch,
the boundaries between skin and upholstery.
i see a brown carpet, spilled milk from
2018 that never got cleaned.

a light upstairs turns on.
it flickers, slightly. our silhouettes
can be seen through the curtains.

there is nothing to be said here.
i see you sitting next to me,
but you are not a body anymore.
you are holding my hand and laughing,
laughing at it all.
i think i've finally lost touch.

i leave the voyeurs where they stand
and i sit in the way back.

i think of trees
in fall when i think of her;
auburn fluttering when it hits the light
the right way, brown in the dust kicked up
when the trunk topples
from the storm.

she wants to show me the world.
i want to sleep on the couch with her
when she's scared of the thunder.