Young Writers Society

2/29/24

lemons

solemn lemons.
//why is yellow considered cheerful?
after all, the sun will eventually boil the earth's oceans and
most life on earth will end.
//there is a "yell" and an "ow" in yellow--
signs of distress and pain. again.
\why do we associate colors with false emotions?\
(emotions. e motions. movement. to where?)
->fish swimming in rivers but the current is unkind->
salmon. no alms. (or almonds.)
//sal significa "salt" en español
supposedly salt is flavoring. salted almonds-- delish.
le dish. revenge is a dish best served cold.
so many food idioms, pero lenguaje es una cosa extraña.
//comment ça va? ¿cómo se va? and look at me commenting
on cosas que i consider & contemplate.
i think
my brain
is liquifying
like lemon juice.

3/28/24

white-out poems, at the suggestion of my friend while we were talking about college decisions coming out today! rejection letters turned into nonsensical poetry ->







3/29/24

my last rejection

4/2/24

venty/nonsensical poetry/late-night ramblings pt 4?? XD

dream schools dissipate at dawn

reading the college rejection wasn't what crushed me.
(have i ever been crushed? i've always managed
to crinkle and scrunch up crushes into oblivion,
crushing them before they crush me.)

i laughed it off. i said, "it's okay. i'm not disappointed."
i truly thought i wasn't.
but.
later.
it was the thought that i'll never be an undergrad there.
the "never". the closing of a door, the soft shut in my face.

i don't think i feel things in bursts; it's more of a steady trickle.
i go with the flow but the swirls and eddies slowly drown me.
smoothly, gently, so quietly that my awkward silence drowns it out.

i smiled it off. i said, "it's okay. i already got into some schools."
and the next day, i got into a college i think i'll love.
but.
still.
it is the collapsing of infinite possibilities into one.
the condensing of the myriad threads of my future into one string.

the sine wave of my emotions has a low altitude.
i do not waver very much from my default state.
so why does jealousy cause a sharp dip in my graph?

i shrugged it off. i said, "it's okay. i can always go there for grad school."
and it's true. i hold no resentment. there are still possibilities.
but.
just.
it will be different; that "never" is still written in permanent yellow.
i thought yellow was a cheerful color, but in reality, it is a "yell" plus an "ow".

i never thought i deserved to be jealous.
i had (have) a life some people would do anything for.
but there are lies in smiles and utopia is three letters from dystopia.

and even writing this brings guilt because there are those who are not as fortunate as i am and i cannot even imagine being rejected from every college one applies to (or maybe i don't wish to imagine) and there is so much i should be (and am) grateful for but writing poetry is how i vent emotions i don't want to show is how i process is how i rationalize is how i occasionally criticize is how i make myself feel better by counting off my shortcomings and wrapping them in pretty giftwrap words as if spraying perfume on expired food ever made it come back to life.

i have lost track of my metaphors just as one loses track of time and railroad tracks converge in the distance but i converge on my late-night thoughts.

putting these poems here so i have them in one place =P

3/12/24

number theories

supposedly i am a natural intelligence yet sometimes i wonder if i am artificial
like sweetener in coffee or plastic straws or you when you said you were a friend.
(maybe my flickers of emotions are my only true friends and my lack of them will be my soulmate.
e motion. yet i do not move. do you ever feel like you are a piece of fake snow in a snowglobe?)
wait. let me start over.
(let the white plastic settle.)
fact 1: i have only ever relied on myself
fact 2: some days, i cannot even rely on myself
fact 3: the reason is because emotions are irrational and thus unreliable
fact 3.1415926535897932384626433: i memorized the first 26 digits of pi when i was younger. how irrational of me, i know
number 7: lucky numbers. hah.
number 13: unlucky numbers. aha.
thought 19: funny how we pick and choose favorites. the numbers don't care whether they're lucky or not. we attribute significance to the most random of things
thought 100: but we are irrational creatures, after all. much as i try, a computer will always beat me in terms of calculations.
question infinity: what if i'm artificial in all the ways that matter & natural in all the ways that don't?
i shake the globe. do you feel it?

originally posted in the Free Verse Club


4/3/24

everything i say has been said before

all of my words are stolen.
i am a copycat concatenating commas and colons.
nothing i do is original, least of all these lines.
i need so many synonyms to say the same thing.
press pause…

now (word)play.
the wind shivers palms until they sound like rushing streams.
my palms sweep away the syntax error in my sense of self.

{twist your tongue until you're tongue-tied.}

am i only an amalgamation of grammar
and parts of particles, stolen gram by gram
from those who think more than i?

hush.

what if self is only a lapse in speech?
i whisper to a spoonful of sleet:
sometimes i think i lisp in my sleep.

{redo replay rework remake yourself
over and over and under and under until
you finally find what remains resides in
a restricted rezoned redefined reason.}

u & i r 1

we listen to the palm of our hand.
the lines are like shivering streams of wind.

look.

we are the beauty of weeds poking out from
between a tired wall and a jaded ground.
green against sun-faded red and travel-worn gray.

originally posted for April Madness


4/9/24

losing another grain of sand

every day i send desperate thoughts into the universe,
hoping for the health and safety of my parents and loved ones,
as if i could keep injury and death away by force of will alone.
i don't know why i am so arrogant as to believe that i,
not even a millisecond, a nanosecond in the eyes of time,
could influence anything. i don't know why i try
when i know we'll all die
someday. but can you blame me for my
futile efforts to appear like i
have some semblance of control over my life?
and look at me trying to rhyme
like i'm wresting control of my language yet trapping myself at the same time.

one day, in the future, i will know grief. and my heart melts like
icicles dripping dirty water into grayish puddles
at the thought of that future loss. of my future dead.
of my parents growing old and me,
unable to stop the steady stream of time,
despite the watch i wear and the clock i consider.
already there are gray hairs. already i am drowning.

they say time heals all wounds but
they don't mention that time is the one that causes them.
and maybe i'm terrified that when the time comes my eyes will be dry.
if i could, i would take the salt and pepper from your hair
and rub it into my wounds, giving you my life force through my tears
and making you young again. but then again,
sometimes i think grief is yet another performance put on for society.

when it is my time, i hope they will read my will. i hope they won't grieve for me.
i hope they won't weep or whisper about what coulda shoulda woulda been.
my last wish will be for them to play games over my grave.
please. lose track of time as flowers grow over my headstone.

(originally posted for April Madness round 2)

saving this worst poem here because i think it's funny XD

cliched love poem

roses are red,
violets are blue,
sugar is sweet,
and so are you.
your eyes shine like stars,
in my stomach, butterflies fight wars,
seeing you is always a treat,
and i feel sad when you're on mars.
you make my heart start to thump,
as if i'm driving over a bump,
and i like the way you make my heart beat,
the only thing is, in my throat there is a lump.
because clearly i'm breathless at your beauty,
and you have stolen all the wind from me,
you thief, you eater of meat,
and now all i can do is sit here and be.

a collab poem with the wonderful @EllieMae! =D
(image credit to Ellie)



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