Young Writers Society

hi, que! sorry i've not been around - i. needed a break?

but i'm back, and i've reread all your poems, and they're getting better everyday! i really, really love tacenda x - it's my favourite. tacenda xi and tacenda xiv are also spectacularly beautiful. so full of emotions.

i've noticed, your are so strong at describing feelings - every singe one of your poems is filled with so much heart, and angst, and sometimes hope, and moroseness, and it's all soooo beautiful. i love all of it it <333

Thank you for reading all of these @hiraeth! I'm glad you think they're getting better. <3 I do have oh so many feelings this month, I'm glad they're all coming through even though there *is* a ton of angst. XD I guess I'm just trying to follow the wanderings of my heart with words. <333

tacenda xvi


I think we’ve been misunderstanding each other, of late.

Meanings can be crossed
If you don’t read between my lines,
See what I want you to see, what you can never quite
See. It would be simpler to read your face if I could see it.

You always knew how to make me laugh when I wanted to cry,
Only now there’s nothing to hold back the tears
Until there’s someone to hold me. Read my lines, read my lips:

I
miss
you.

tacenda xviii

I am a pool of still water,
a reflecting glass.
I lie still and when you look into
me, you see only what you want to see.
You wish me happy, so
I match your smile.
We move our hands in sync,
making ripples across my heart.
They’re the only part of me that appears
disturbed.

But inside,
oh, my dear,
you cannot use your eyes.
My heart aflutter, my restless mind
my troubled conscience.
I’m not a good liar,
but you’ve never asked me how I’m doing.
My face is disguise enough
for your gaze.

And who has asked a mirror
what she dreams?

ooh this is such an interesting concept! I was definitely fascinated by the way you wrote from the mirror's point of view (especially where you wrote about the ripples and the dreams at the end)

Thank you @PrincessInk! I'm glad you liked it (I'm kinda proud that I only used the word 'mirror' at the very end hehe)

tacenda xviii


Nearly eight months and
I’m still learning just how to be
your friend. Maybe
I just don’t know quite how
to be a good friend to
anyone (after all, it’s
been so long since I’ve
had someone like that)
but most especially
you.

Don’t let my silly texts
confuse you; I’m
committed. Silence on
our long phone calls
only means that
I’m listening.

Sometimes I forget
that relationships are
always shifting, growing.
Our conversations seem so
perfect (sometimes)
that I don’t remember
the work it took to get here,
that I don’t remember:
this work is ongoing.
this work is us.

I guess it’s never too late to learn
life lessons.

tacenda xix

if you’re going to be
marooned, maroon
isn’t a bad color to be.

bold and bright, you’re
unafraid; less flashy than red, less
violent, you’re the steady purr
of a low-burning fire,
simmering down into glowing coals.

you’ve a stately air, one shade
closer to royalty, with all the
gravity of Jupiter, the passion of
Mars, the deep, sonorous keen
of a bassoon.
the beating of a sure heart.

there’s flash in you, all the
elegance of sparkling water,
and depth too; enough
intensity to hide some
darkness,
emotion. as rich and deep
as dark chocolate melting
bitter, on your tongue.

when I close my eyes,
I paint the world
maroon.

tacenda xx

I was a
dandelion-crown girl,
summers of sunlight and
crisp yellowed pages in my fingers.
Rapunzel in my own tower,
I liked it that way
and built my own worlds.

An autumn child,
the leaves tumbled down and I
fell in love, warmed by apple cider
and burning blushes.
It passed away like all the other
plants, temporary colors
fading away,
painless.

Winters shook me
to the very core, but I learned
that I liked the quiet
of a snow-swept evening,
the crisp feeling of knowing who I was,
stable on the ice
beneath my feet.

I lost hope of a spring,
but it came at last.
New buds and
finally, fellowship. Friendship.
Instead of
falling in love,
I learned one could
grow in love, instead.

Summer isn’t what
it used to be, not what I
remember.
No more nostalgia, it’s a
heavy humid heat,
the sun burning away all traces
of what once was.

I’ve grown soft since winter,
and I’m nearly
twenty.

Querencia, I've enjoyed reading your whole napo so far! It's been really vivid emotionally, and your phrasing always feels thoughtful. I'm especially liking the imagery in these last two - I always like a good color poem, and I enjoy the way you've woven diverse experiences into the perception of maroon, ones that aren't obvious, but still really fit. And then this last poem just has excellent imagery the whole way through, and I like how you've structured it with the seasons. The summer stanza has to be my favorite - I'd quote a chunk, but honestly I just love the whole thing!

You capture so well that bitter-sweet feeling of growing up and processing time passing & who you are. Great job! Looking forward to the rest of your poetry. <3

Thank you @alliyah! I am honored that you've liked my poems. <3 I was thinking about your dark cyan poem(s?) when I wrote about maroon, haha. Thanks so much for reading!

Oh.
Maroon was.
such a lovely poem. so deep. I love it. a lot.
And the seasons too! "Dandelion-crown girl" and "Rapunzel in my own tower" - like, unnghh I cant breathe that's so beautifulllll!!

also, yay! 20th poem done!!! great job!

tacenda xxi

living alone,
you develop your own
scent.

not that I noticed my own,
but when I came home,
everything smelled
faintly strange.

I was raised on
rock and roll, but
once I got a taste for
symphonies, sonatas,
I begin to prefer a suite to a "song."

back in a room
painted pink from years
long since past, I still see
traces of that little girl
in the trappings of childhood,
but not in the way I carry myself, a woman.

for now that I'm
my own,
all I want is to hold to my
independence, my triumph,
which slowly seeps away in this house.

like puzzle pieces apart,
we've changed, and we
no longer fit together
like a family.

I just want to smell
like myself
again.

tacenda xxii

google search:
it’s been six weeks since i’ve seen my best friend
tell me—howdoilive, howdoigoonlikethis

google doesn’t have a
satisfactory response, but then again,
neither do i.

i try to fill the void with
words, (poems, letters, mumbled
phone calls) but there’s nothing
that quite fits the
shape of a hole
left by you.

another search:
why is it that in the moment
that i posses my own free heart

i want it to be
yours?

answer:
((i still love him))

(why is it that in the moment
that i posses my own free heart

i want it to be
yours?)

bABe. these lines are GOLD.