Young Writers Society

poem #52: tree climber

she lives in the trees
she climbs to the top
she loves the trees
she really hates people

she goes up there every day
she looks down from above
she sees all of the problems but avoids them
she is her own problem

she doesn't know
what she would do
she doesn't know
where she would be

she doesn't know
how she would still exist
she needs, really needs
that specific tree

she doesn't like to play games
or waste her time inside
coming home with moss in her hair
every single night

she is a tree girl
yes she is
there is no denying it
that she is unlike others

can't really help it
said the tree girl
they are my life
i can't give them up

i've never gone a day without
watching from up there
gaze down at the earth
and think, think think



(did you notice a pattern in here?)

poem #53: lone rock

driving four hours away
to a place far from home
small, 21 people only
who farm and work all day

when we get there
after we unpack
we go to explore
the little stream

and the big hollow tree across the road
along with the ravines
and roast hot dogs
over the fire

we climb tall ponderosa pines
and stomp on crackly pinecones
go to the trailer in the morning to
get donuts

sleeping outside
getting bit by mosquitoes
and hot sun
and cold nights

roasting marshmallows
and never wanting
to
leave

poem #54: inside out and back again

this year turned me
inside out
but i want to be normal again.

my clothes are the same
and so is my hair
but my mind is

tumultuous

and i don't want to know what tomorrow brings
because tomorrow means
no one there to help me

because they are gone
and all i have is the future
because the present doesn't exist anymore

and the past means nothing
nothing to me
for no one is there anymore

poem #55: waiting for my life to begin

when will my life begin?
when will the cherry blossoms peek out
from the bare twigs of winter?

when will trees grow leaves again?
I am tired of looking out the back window
and seeing winter amongst the neighborhood

but most importantly
when will my winter end?
the despair of nothingness

and having no one to run too
when no one understands
and crying because crying

just has to exist
why? why can't everything be good again
and everyone have real friends

who don't leave when you need them the most
for someone else who doesn't
why is there so much hate

that we inflict on each other?
why am i reminiscing on this
when I could change it?

because that is the world
lazy and horrible
and cruel.

most of the time,
at least
but not for me

i have nothing left to despair over
so why despair?
I am just wasting my time

p r e c i o u s t i m e

poem #56: i don't speak to you (based on a fight me and my friend had)

yell at me
beg and plead
but my mouth won't move

send rude notes
and tell your parents
hide in the closet

but i will stay stone
no matter what
i can't open my mouth

or i will tell my secret
which i can't do or
i will lose everything

i wish you could understand
but you are much too sociable
that you can't

you think i am doing some kind of
YouTube challenge
but i'm not.

why can't
you understand
me at least a little

poem #57: different

they say being different is good
but i don't know about that
because everyone I know
hurts me

they call me nerd
dork
show off
wallflower

but just because i am those things
doesn't mean your better
so why do you treat me this way?
please stop, i don't want anything from you

i won't bother you
i will shut my mouth
i will stay out of your way!
only if you leave me alone

fine, they say
they leave
but tears stream down my face
where have my friends gone?

poem #58: synesthesia and humanity

color isn't just rainbows
because those aren't all of them
colorful is

humanity
friendship
letters
numbers

life is colorful
for some people
other people live on the streets
and get kicked around like a ball

because they aren't like you and me
but that isn't all
some people were abused
or have disorders

and are teased and ridiculed
without even noticing it
make the world a colorful place again
i am tired of seeing black and white.

poem #59: death and rebirth of seasons

we will start with spring

after winter
spring comes
and gives us hope for the new year
for life and love

and nature
and long days of playing outside
and riding through streets
covered in cherry petals

summer is long and hot
and some things from spring die out
and the buds turn into berries
and we pick them all day long

then fall comes along
and turns the leaves bright red
and they fall off
leaving barren twigs swaying in the autumn wind

then winter comes. the end of the year
encases everything in white
and the twigs that once held leaves
are covered in ice

but once again
spring comes around
and things start to happen
in life

poem #60: if i could

if i could be anything outside
i would choose a mountaintop
because then less people would come
and try to hurt me

if only i could
go away
and stay there
never thinking about the past

that would be better
then i wouldn't have painful memories
of the deserted, non existent past
that have haunted me my whole life.

poem #61: molly

when i was little
and it was night
my dad would take out
the little red light

and she would chase it
with out tiring
and one time she knocked me over
i pulled myself back up and laughed.

but that memory is gone
like she is
just died when
we were on vacation

makes you feel like it was your fault
because of the what ifs.
What if we had noticed something?
What if we had took her to the vet?

but it is too late for that

poem #62: Oreo

running to the backyard back from
to see her
for just a short while
training her

and petting her
and letting her lick my face
and sit on my lap
and play fetch

that was my last memory of her
and it was short lived
because that night
she was struck by a car and died at the vet's office.

i blamed myself and still do.
if I had been there...
if I had been there...
she would still be alive

and she would have my support
and I would help her when she needed it
and she would do the same for me.
but it is too late for that now.

poem #63: piano keys

I sit down at the bench
and put my fingertips at the top of the keys
and slide them down into position.
They are smooth

but dusty and
I get the feeling they have been long awaiting
the feel of my soft fingertips
pressing them down in perfect march time.

Or in rag time. I wish that I could
feel that warmth that i did
when i learned to play Fur Elise
but now

that feeling is gone
and I leave the bench.
the keys deserve someone else
now. The past is yesterday

but they call out to me
and even though I don't want too
I slide back down
and play Fur Elise

Feeling that feeling I did long ago.

poem #64: spring and desks (a metaphor poem)

the cherry flowers sit in a bowl on my desk
petals scattered on the hard surface
the stems are short and they are
piled up on one another

and they are still alive
and my room smells sweet
and even though that may be true
I am sad

because their are no blossoms on the trees
anymore.
only in
my bowl.

poem #65: curtains (haiku)

the window is cracked
and the curtains are flying
today is peaceful

Oh hannah, I am jealous of you. You are super amazing, how can you write so many poems in such a short time. And they all are nice, my favorite one from the recent ones is poem #59: death and rebirth of seasons.

It talks about the seasons and how beautifully you have described every season.

My favorite paragraph would be this

then winter comes. the end of the year
encases everything in white
and the twigs that once held leaves
are covered in ice

How nicely it describes winter and it rhymes perfectly.

I see that you have not posted the links of your poems in the 2021 Badge and Contest Information Forum, do it so that you can get badges for your amazing work.