Young Writers Society

Day 7 - messages from another realm

This morning I felt my heartbeat in my fingertips
as I felt a cold gust of air against my pale legs
in a room with no air-conditioning.

And while I knew deep down in my heart
that there is no scientific evidence that would prove this,
something about it made me feel that you were there,
even if it was only to give me a quick hello.

Day 8 - late-night texts on fear and happiness

Tonight was the first time
in 1 month and 24 days
that I committed a crime.

No, not a crime in the traditional sense-
Tonight you told me you loved me
and I had to leave you on seen
in the name of self-defense.

Here’s the thing about being told
that I’m the cause of your happiness,
the thing about being told
that I’m your ray of sunshine
and a dream you don’t want to let go of:

You could give me an entire disquisition of your admiration,
telling me how you think of me when you look at the stars,
writing songs about me on your nostalgia-filled guitar.

But your goal shouldn’t be to make me fall for you
if you have no intentions on catching me.

Day 9 - painkillers and poems

Friday night risks led to Saturday morning hangovers,
some in the form of headaches
and others in the form of emotional pain.
She wore her heart out on her sleeve
when she should’ve had it hidden away.

But isn’t it, she thought,
better to have love and lost
than never to have loved at all?

Day 10 - an angel in disguise

Sugar didn’t taste as sweet
and the songs of birds weren’t as graceful
before I had met her,
the epitome of all things beautiful
and all things ethereal.

Her golden honey eyes, forever ingrained in my memory,
commanded power and attention;
they could feed my soul for centuries,
no need for food or pension.

I heard of her departure on a late summer night,
and I felt my heart break in two.
I swear the rain lasted for at least a whole week after,
for she was the one who gave all the world its light.

Day 11 - clogged shower drains and unconditional love

I stand still in the freezing shower water,
my goosebump-saturated skin turning pruney,
fully exposed and yet still hidden underneath layers upon layers
of unease and insecurity,
and I begin to wonder how long it’s been
since I’ve truly loved myself.

You see,
I want to give myself that unconditional love,
the kind of unqualified love my bones ache for
and doesn’t feel like a chore.

It’s 12:31 in the morning
and my blue hair clogs the shower drain;
my attempts to clear my brain
were all in vain.

Day 12 - if the weekdays were people i knew

Monday -
you are a rude awakening
but also a fresh start;
a chance to pick up the pieces
and fix what fell apart.

Tuesday -
you are far more realistic than Monday,
who is always an overachiever;
time-management is your forte
but you lack the confidence to be on Broadway.

Wednesday -
you are as wacky as they come
and sometimes let over-exhaustion overpower you;
do not forget to be strong
and remember to give your homework some review.

Thursday -
always being compared to Friday,
but nonetheless you bring your own joys;
sometimes you think that you often get overlooked
but you are anything but background noise.

Friday -
you are the epitome of working hard
and playing harder;
the definition of a good time
and Saturday’s best partner in crime.

Saturday -
you laugh at responsibility
and are almost always the life of the party;
your encouragement starts to make people undrape
so make sure you take the time to erase the videotape.

Sunday -
you are what it means to be a mother,
always left to pick up after the others;
you are known to cure all the headaches
and make the best fluffy pancakes.

Day 13 - another love poem

Sometimes it feels like love was never meant for me.

I don’t say this to get sympathy,
I say this because I’ve seen all the movies,
read all of the books,
and glanced at all of the magazines -
they tell me love is for the conventionally pretty.

Love is for the girls who win prom queen at seventeen,
not for the hopeless romantics who sit behind a computer screen,
writing silly little poems about being nineteen
and simultaneously learning how to draw tetrafluoroethylene.

Day 14 - reasons why you should date a poet

i.
They will use the most descriptive metaphors
and the most beautiful similes
when they are asked to describe you,
because you and only you
are worthy of those words.

ii.
There will, of course, come those days
when all they want to do is hide,
shut themselves away from the world,
but that’s okay;
It gives them time to think.
And time to write.

iii.
They know how to choose their words carefully,
with such precision and delicacy,
it’s almost like they constantly rehearse what they are going to say.
Be prepared to feel like you’re being outshined
by their angelic vows on your wedding day.

iv.
You never have to worry about whether or not they truly love you
(trust me, they do)
because if they didn’t,
they wouldn’t waste their energy writing about you
all the freaking time.

v.
At first, they might seem a little bit shy,
but give them liquid encouragement
(try some Bordeaux)
and they will blossom and start ranting about Poe
and invite everyone to their next slam poetry show,
and they’ll make it seem like they were saving all of this for you.
They just want to impress you.