Young Writers Society

Yay, NaPo!!!! 2024 yessss!
This year, obviously, my thread is titled the art of living. I chose this title because:
1: I could write so many poems from this theme- think of the possibilities!
2: Because of how hard simply "being" can be.
3: The past year living has been hard and I want to write about it.

So yeah. I'm aiming for 30 poems, won't be mad if I don't make it though because along with living poeting and writing is also very hard. Hopefully this will help me get in the habit of writing more- next year when I'm not bogged down with homework from my hard high school classes I'll have lots more free time to read and write. I feel like the poems I write keep getting better the more I write- even though they're still very rusty- and it's only up from here, right?
Table of contents will be here:
1
2
3

I love the picture your created and the title is really beautiful <3 Good luck on your poetry journey Star! You can do it

day 1: remembrance of a past self

tw: s*lf h*rm, e*t*ng d*s*rd*rs


i haven't felt like me for a long time.
the knowledge of who fed me lies
about myself has escaped me,
but i do know things i wish weren't true.

could they be lies?
truths i wish would go away.

uglyfatstupidannoyingneverenough

for months now, a voice that no one else hears
has been screaming
at me
telling me things that make me stop and
tell myself not to cry
catch my breath.

for months now, the mirrors i stare into
beg to be broken because i don't like
the person i see.

for months now, i've gotten better
at things that will only hurt me.
things that leave crooked scars on my
forearms,
wasted muscles, and jutting bones
in their trail.

for months now, i've been telling myself
i don't deserve happiness.

for months now, i've been believing it.

old me would have talked to mom
or asked for help
or told myself it wasn't true.

old me would have walked to dairy queen
and bought a milkshake.

i used to bake pies and be proud.
scars and bruises made me strong.

that person is gone, and sometimes
i want her back
and on other days i wish she had
gone down the rabbit hole earlier

so that she'd be better at
starving/cutting/controlling
than the ugly girl staring back
at me in the mirror today.

This is extremely relatable. These lines particularly hit deep

for months now, a voice that no one else hears
has been screaming
at me
telling me things that make me stop and
tell myself not to cry
catch my breath.

for months now, i've gotten better
at things that will only hurt me.
things that leave crooked scars on my
forearms,
wasted muscles, and jutting bones
in their trail.

Thank you for sharing this beautiful masterpiece <33

day 2: things i wish that will never be true

they say we all have our good days
and bad days. i don't remember my
last good day, but i could talk for hours
about the bad ones.

but i can't, because no one is there
to listen.

what they say in school is a lie-
you can't tell them anything,
and no one really wants to hear your voice.

before, i liked who i saw in the mirror,
because i used to be happy. my eyes
were bright, and my hair was messy
like i had just run across a field in the wind,
which i had.

now, my eyes are like funhouse mirrors,
distorting my reflection,
and what used to make me happy
fills me with worry and insomnia.

my eyes are tired, dark, and sad now,
and i don't know why.

i wish i could run across fields in the wind
and get my hair all messy and laugh.
i wish the old me would come back.
i wish people wanted to hear your voice,
and i was pretty again,
and my eyes lit up like lightbulbs when people
said my name.

i wish people liked me
and i could know when to talk
and when to shut up.

i wish self-love worked
and i could choose to feel good enough.

maybe someday memories will fill me
with joy instead of remorse,

maybe someday my eyes will turn bright
and my hair will be messy and i'll be pretty.

maybe someday people will love me,
and i'll have too many good days to count,
and i'll talk and people will listen.

maybe someday i'll be good enough just
because i believe in myself.

but daydreams aren't good for building houses on.
messy hair isn't an ingredient in the recipe for success.

i don't think
that girl, who somehow was me,
will ever come back.

i have a poem written for today, but i'm busy w/ life and won't have time to type it up until tomorrow. just putting this here to show i'm still writing a poem a day!
edit:
day 3: spring and growing

spring is here. the rain
announces it's arrival first,
and after that it's the flower buds,
and then finally the cherry trees
beginning to bloom.

spring is when things are green
and young and growing,
coming to life and being
reborn.

soon summer will be here,
her heat drying the
rain-soaked pavement
and giving room for
others to grow.

spring goes first, pushing its way
ahead of us. summer steps aside
and lets the children steal the spotlight.

children grow in summer.
their legs turn stronger,
their skin tans in the sun,
they gain more freedom
than they dreamed of before.

they run around morning, afternoon,
evening, and night,
and laugh with their mouths
wide open and no cares in the world.

i am jealous of the children i see.
spring is all about growing, and all
i want to do is shrink, shrink, shrink,
until i disappear into thin air.

summer is for learning
to stand tall, and i would
rather be beaten into the ground
by a stick than for people
to hear my voice.

i'd like a redo of october til now,
know how to silence the voice
that screams not good enough
whenever i take a bite of food.

was last summer my last summer
of being seen? is this spring
the first one where i'll
shrink instead of grow?

do i ever want to change?

the voice in my mind whispers no
but somewhere deep inside of me

says yes.

napo day 4: questions, words, and the places i hide them

tw: s*lf h*rm, e*t*ng d*s*rd*rs

sometimes i wonder
if i should tell someone what
is hurting me.

i imagine, write stories about,
the words flowing out of my
mouth in a river of tears

and warm arms hugging me
and telling me it'll be okay.
but then i remember

there's no one to tell.
my parents would
pump me full of guilt
and send me to the doctor
ten pounds heavier.

my teacher is wonderful,
but she is too nervous
about getting sued for not
reporting things she's supposed
to.

friends don't understand,
therapists try to change you.

so i live off of daydreams and stories
written carelessly, quickly, in an
attempt
to keep me from crying a little
while longer.

i wonder why this is happening
to me. why i feel even more
inferior every time i take a
shower without cutting
my arms with a razor blade.

why a voice screams not enough
at me every time i look at myself
of take a bite of food.

i question: should i speak?
let warm arms hug me
and believe that
just being here is enough?

should i stop
the things that truly hurt
me the most?

the answer is
self-evident.
why should i stop
if it makes
the pain go away?

so i throw away
the key to my words
and bury it in the chambers
of my lungs.

everything
chokes me with
every
step i take.
life weighs
down on me every
second i go on, and i
stumble over words
like tree roots in the dark.

they come out of my mouth
thick and slow and bent out
of shape, in a moment of silence
or when no one is listening.

they beg to be heard
but they never are,
and so i live off of my
stories and my
daydreams about
letting it all go.

the only fuel i need
is fantasies.

napo day 5: learning to feel

i used to beat myself up
over the smallest mistakes
and misspoken words.

these thoughts run in circles
around my brain as i fall asleep
and i clench my fists and shut
my eyes to make them go away,

and it never works.

i haven't been happy
for a long time without
faking it,

haven't been excited
because the things to be
excited about always
involve food.

girls like me are supposed
to cry themselves to sleep
every night,

wish for death when they
eat too much food,

but i think i forgot how to cry.

i am sad, anxious, fearful,
angry,

but those things never show up
on my face.

i want someone to notice all the warning signs
and put the puzzle pieces together
and save me from myself,

but being numb comes too easily

and i don't know how to stop.

everyone has a breaking point,
and things have been bad for months
but i haven't reached mine yet.

do i even have one?

i mess up and instead of trying
to figure out how to be perfect

i hurt myself to make it go away.

if starving keeps me skinny
and all cutting does is leave tiny scars,

why stop? what is so wrong
with it?

i think i might be maybe
possibly learning the answer
to this question, even if
part of me doesn't
want to know.

i still don't know how to feel
or how to cry.

i don't know if i can again,
or how to.

will this ever be over?
my lungs are knotted up

inside of me, and i've never
been good with those kinds
of things.

asking for help is even harder
than going on, and

i can only ask for help
when i reach my breaking point,

but i don't think i have one.

i'm playing tug of war with myself,
and both of us are losing.

napo day 6: hiding tears

lately i've found that things are easier
when i hide myself from people.

i think about crying on someone's
shoulder and being hugged
constantly, and i want it so badly
it scares me

and it scares me so bad
that i close myself off
even more.

i haven't told the truth
when someone asked me
if i'm okay for
as long as i can remember

or

let myself feel sad
when i am.

my two favorite people
outside of my family are
my English teacher
and my youth group leader,
and they
share the same name- sarah.

it is soft and quiet and humble
and kind.

once, at school, in English class-
i hadn't eaten all day
and it was raining outside and
kids in the class opened the windows.

i sat there shivering, teeth chattering,
wrapping my arms around myself,
so cold that my teacher
offered me her jacket.
twice.
i refused it, said "i'm okay, thank you so much
though," but
her kindness was so warm
it penetrated my bones
and almost broke me,
and the words
almost fell out of my mouth,
and tears almost spilled out
of my eyes.
but i didn't let it happen
even though a part of me
wanted it to.

a few days ago at youth group
we played a game out in the field
and i ran around and
actually did okay,
excited at the opportunity
to burn calories.
my team won, and sarah
touched my back for a few
seconds in celebration and to
say "good job."
i was barely able to stop myself
from flinching
and i stood there
awkwardly, frozen,
my skin aching
with want.

every day there are new things
i am bad at, lack in, am too much
of, wish was different,

and i imagine being good
and loving and
loved.

i used to think i wasn't sick
enough to need help,

sad enough to
receive the right
to cry.

then i started cutting,
and wanting to die
when i ate too much food,

and now i know that if i
wanted to
i could cry and get a hug
from either of them.

but i don't know how to cry
anymore, let alone
ask
for help,

and wanting to deserve that
makes me sick(er) of myself.

so, i could
cry and ask for help
but i still
couldn't.

napo day 7: things i want to remember

if i was a person who was good
at making lists, i'd have two

to keep forever.

list one- things not to remember

1: the mistakes i've made.
the words and stupid things
i've done
that haunt
me every night as i
try to fall asleep.

2: how scared i feel sometimes.
the hopelessness that settles
over me like a blanket,
how i freeze when i'm
anxious
and can't make myself
move at all.
i can't ever remember feeling
brave, and i want to be remembered
as strong.

3: the things i've felt this year.
my self-hate is crippling,
the sadness silences me,
and i'll admit that sometimes i
feel like
dying.

thirteen-year-old girls
aren't supposed to
starve and cut
and constantly be
thinking about
starving and cutting.

thirteen-year-old girls
are supposed to
laugh and eat ice cream
and hang out with friends.
have crushes and grow up
instead of in, and
make cookies instead
of problems.

i don't want that to be me,
because i'd rather stay
skinny than be happy,
but i want it to be
for every other reason.

i'd write a list of things
to remember but
there are too many to count.

how grandpa calls
me hannabelle
and watches clouds disappear
in the Oregon desert,

how me and my cousins
would play pretend even
when we were too old
and argue over who got
to be the youngest orphan,

how i used to be loud
and proud and
climb trees even
though it was raining.

i think the thing i care about
the most is the other people

in my life. my teachers, espically
in the first three and last two
years of school

who shaped the best parts
of who i am,

my friends who bring those
parts of me out,

and the neighbor kids i
don't see anymore but still

remember my time with like
it was yesterday.

we ran around in thunderstorms
and ate each others food

while we flew too high
on the swings.

there are things i don't want
to remember, things i want to
remember, and things i
wish i could do for the memories
but can't let myself.

maybe i should remember
it
all.

napo day 8: the art of storytelling

i have told myself stories
all my life. i remember
when i was six, i convinced
myself that jesus would come
to my birthday party, and crying
when he didn't.

they weren't all happy stories, though.
i used to worry so much that all
i could do was if, then. i once
got lost by staring at the ground
and walking, my mind far away,
my feet in a trance.

i like to pretend i'm a character in
a book, just waiting for a happy ending,
like my whole life is a plot diagram.
i keep thinking i'm finally at the climax
but the "action" keeps "rising".

now i know where to walk
and how to think with my
eyes open, but i still

tell myself stories
and daydream all day.

i go from a shivering girl
in the library with scars on
her hands to a girl who is loved,
with a shoulder to cry on
and someone who cares about
her who isn't just a family member.
who loves her by choice, not
responsibility.

i pretend to be a girl who is
pretty, who is perfect, quiet,
inoffensive, camouflaged.

just like girls are supposed to
be, just like everyone wants
them to.

these are the stories i tell
myself: one where i'm
the perfect girl who's
unlucky enough to deserve
attention and love.

i can almost feel the warmth
of a hug on my back and
tears of relief slide down

my cheeks, but reality
always reminds me that'll
never happen.

the desire to be anything
but myself is so overwhelming
i can't think about anything else.