Young Writers Society

catching sand
disappointment has never been a stranger, but it has never felt this familiar.
i have slowly been learning that you cannot breathe blue ribbons,
that when gold veneers chip away to reveal a lackluster life
no one will remember you.
when the only thing holding you up lets go and everything is crumbling, dust on wind, dissipating smoke--
that's when your reflection matters most.
you can blend your tears into your foundation
but you will still wipe everything off at the end of the day and hate what you see.
you have said "i love you" to everyone but yourself
and now trophies are collecting dust in the corner of your room,
and you can't even sell them because they're really all plastic.
is that why you feel so empty?
and they say loneliness can't be seen, touched,
but it looks a lot like a room at 2 AM and dried tears.
when you feel a shard of glass, a smear of lipstick, sand slipping through your fingers,
tell me what you are.

Google told me I had cancer, pt. 2
The tail ends of questions float up, balloons that are let go
and can't be brought back. I have tried to ground myself
with facts, like how tumors grow for ten years,
so I can't possibly have one. I read them in locked stalls.
I still end up shaking. There is no pattern, nothing correct
about this fear, and yet.
I send I love yous to my sister at night, because what if
I don't wake up? I dream of drowning
and wonder if there's any relief in sinking.

seesaw world
seesaw world, seesaw girl,
you see yourself falling and blame it on the ground.
tell me why you hear wakeup calls every morning
but refuse to listen, because you could make the world turn your way
if you tried. and you dangle from gossamer strings
and call them chains, tell me, seesaw girl,
why you choose to be nothing more than a child's plaything.
i can see it in your eyes, the fear of falling
and never getting up, because at least on a seesaw
you can still pretend to rise.

mixed signals
green is your favorite color.
you tell me it's because of the plants that grow in sidewalk cracks
and the trees after long winters. a promise, a fight
to survive. i don't know what to believe
because i walked at arm's length from you
and felt a collar around my throat. you gather me in your arms
and hold me tight, the way a hug is a straitjacket,
the way your touch was gentle and your gaze was nothing but greed.
i watch my steps around you. i am afraid of the neon yellow
that stains your tongue, lightning strikes that pierce my chest
and send me reeling. there was gold in your smile once,
and you said it was the color that laughter stains the air,
but i'm beginning to think that yellow is of a storm, a fight
that leaves the air crackling instead.
and red drips from three empty words,
the ones you use to pin me down, pry me apart,
the ones that kiss the edges of the wounds they inflict.
you are green lights and stop signs, and when you tell me to stay
what else can i do but follow?

stigma
i used to think that i was made for more
than the fear that crept up my spine.
i blame it on the books, all the times i would imagine
i was a hero, ink-drunk and half-real,
half of me clinging to borrowed bravery.
i am sorry for being so mistaken.
there were tears in your eyes that night, but you didn’t let them fall.
you knew more than me then, more than
crumbling facades. i am sorry that i found myself frozen
when i saw your eyes foreign, glittering, a shattered aegis.
and maybe i am not a blustering villain or a charging army
but i stand across from you on a battlefield
and know why you fall.

080220
There is a smile on her face, and it does not belong.
Oh, it is natural, all the planes and lines just right,
And you could almost believe it,
Believe her. She makes sure to tell you she is okay
Every day, like clockwork, tidy grins,
Neat seams. Not a word out of place, no room for suspicion
To fester, nevermind that she’s all empty inside.
And you will watch her standing on a scale, watching the numbers,
You will see her hunched, shaking, a tired tilt stubborn on her lips, and it will scare you,
But you will never see her cry.
There will be a smile on her face until she breaks,
How sad no one pays attention to what lies underneath.

oops
I’ll do it tomorrow, she says.
She doesn’t.