Young Writers Society

i keep ending up with stupid cliches
forced enjambment that does
n't fit, similes with no depth,
with sentence structure that is
repetitive enough to be noticeable yet
inconsistent enough to be gross -
rhymes that are as sticky as floss
between plaque-ridden teeth and
emotions that are too blurry
to be compelling. and where do you?
put the punctuation: what will be stark!
enough to look clea nupo n the page or
l,a,c,e,y. enough to add frills to this gross
(repetition of gross used to emphasize
how utterly gross I find this poem;
gross. gross. it is gross. gross like too-short nails
that reveal puffy pink nail beds. gross. gross!)
poem?! and i can'T even decidE on How
to caPitaliZE aND slOWLy EVErYTHiNG
BUILdS INTO An UPPERCASE SCREAM -
HAVE YOU GLEAMED
ENOUGH FROM THE BROKEN SEAMS
OF THIS NOT-SO-ICE-CREAM
OF THE CROP SCHEME
TO DEEM (blah to even out line size)
it trash. (more blah blah blah aaaah)

you slip into your dad's baggy winter coat,
hoping you will find solace in the oversized
hug and the heaviness of the sleeves.
younger you used to bury her nose
in the scratchy material, sawdust
licking her cheeks, and lose herself
in the sharp smell of broken grass bits
and the tang of gasoline that seeps
between blades of a whipper snipper.
you try to inhale deeply like she used to,
but there is no comfort to be found in it.
perhaps it is because the ultimate pinnacle
of tragedy used to be losing the left
stiletto heel of your favourite Polly Pocket -
and you would've never fathomed
anything could be worse than having your
whole entire Polly Pocket stolen from you.

@Charm AWWWW THANK YOU! actually I kid you not, I was kinda lacking inspiration and thought it might help to mimic someone else's style and was attempting to mimic your style in that one xD <3

@whatchamacallit omg hahah that's so funny!

@alliyah Thank you!! <3 8-year-old whatcha may have had a literal breakdown over the lost shoe but you didn't hear it from me >.>

I'm scared of losing things. My whole world revolves around that fear, a hula hoop that barely manages to stay in my sway, woozy with the knowledge that anything has the potential to disappear. Every time the plastic ring swings away, leaving empty air to wrap its iron grasp around my hips, I can feel my brain blip and curl up in itself, neurons crossed that the neon tube will hit bone again and I'll know this is "not quite lost".

Everything that is found might imminently fall out of my orbit and crash against the ground. Everything I have found is rolled up in the hollow core of that hula hoop, a map superposed between two states: torn or whole and folded into infinite origami loops. And I know, even if I find it whole and I unfold it, even if I follow the grid to each x-marked destination, I might find nothing there but me, and the only placation is breathing lonely air into my lungs - filling me with splinters that I cough up and pierce my tongue. I will welcome oxygen starvation.

I'm an endless game of juggling things around my waist, hoping this hopeless act of acting as gravity won't go to waste, every rotation of my core another chance to hold my breath and wait, telling myself I have lost nothing - yet. Though it is only a matter of time before I forget I am a self-imposed planet, and I lose my rings and I am lost in the wreckage of losing things.

@veeren awww thank you :'))))))) that's so sweet <3

22. a unicorn emerges calmly from the chaos

the unicorn with
the purple felt coat folds her
hooves beneath her chest,
stirring the silver water
and sinking into bubbles.

a tattoo on my tongue that clings tenaciously to tastebuds; i thought promises were truer. the tang of other words might disintegrate in my mouth after a few moments, leaving only a trace of sticky residue on my fingers that is rinsed away the next time i stick my hands under the tap. but promises, those are different. they may slip off my tongue and bury themselves like a ship hull-up between my cheek and gums, but still they remain timelessly, a treasure resistant to the waves, something that cannot be tugged away in a tide of mouthwash.

but i am starting to realize that a promise, overturned and anchored in the corals of molars, slowly loses its lumber. golden paint flakes away like shiny braces being peeled from teeth, except braces leave teeth resolutely perfect while shedded paint leaves a ship nameless and aimless. and then as the frame drains away, and all that is left are bits of driftwood, the promise is unstuck from its perch between gums and cheek and i swallow it like the harmless seeds of a clementine, picking out the few bits of leftover pith with floss.

a promise is a thing that is forgotten but never fully lost. somewhere in the pit of your digestive tract, the splinters of a mast float through acid and the fibres of rigging ropes wind around bubbles.

24. the truth about explosions

with a bright yellow chick
cupped in my palms,
my doubts all agreed it was a jailbreak.
like a scoop of stardust,
how chaotic and distracted
We met at the end of the ladder, and i
was easily unscrewed.
i can't imagine how dandelion down
can become the night air.
autumn leaves, already waiting,
gave to us a crushing hug and black rain.
Apparently, we had whispered backing.
i saw the loop of brown red and orange
float into view past the edge of the roof
and though i know even suns have timers
I peeked over the roof to see
a window waving up at me.
i refuse to believe
I closed my eyes and stepped.
"Don't fall".
I don't remember this fluffy little thing
shattering my load - There seems to be no steel edge.
I will one day burst into a supernova.