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Young Writers Society


the art of living



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Tue Apr 09, 2024 4:34 am
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alliyah says...



Spoiler! :
hannah, these are so emotionally poignant - I definitely agree with momo's comment that to read these one experiences some heartbreak for the speaker. I hope that if these are written about real experiences, that if these are still things you are struggling with that you're able to reach out to someone irl to talk through some of these intense topics, because it sounds like so very much to hold. Your poems are very masterful in portraying some of the complexity of struggling with ones' self in a very brooding and thoughtful way.

Some of my favorites so far...

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


Ooof. That sentence. </3

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

to keep forever.

list one- things not to remember


AH! LOVE Love LOVE that opener. And that whole poem.

Keep up the wonderful work, I am very much looking forward to continuing to read along.
you should know i am a time traveler &
there is no season as achingly temporary as now
but i have promised to return
  





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Wed Apr 10, 2024 12:25 am
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starbean says...



Spoiler! :
@alliyah - thank you so much for your comment! it really means a lot <3 (and yes that "i'm playing tug of war with myself, and both of us are losing" is one i'm very proud of :)
she/her————pro-life————Christian————climber of rocks, trees, and rooftops----reader of poetry, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Pam Munoz Ryan, and Anthony Doerr
"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." -Louisa May Alcott
  





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Wed Apr 10, 2024 12:44 am
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starbean says...



napo day 9: maybe/is it possible?

i spend so much time questioning
my self-worth, comparing myself
to others, that i can't even
care about taking care of
myself.

i fall short, every single time,
and sometimes it seems like
going on isn't worth it.

(what is "it", exactly? there
doesn't seem to be something
good waiting for me no matter
how hard i try.)

i remember once, i found out that
a girl my height who people always
call skinny weighs twenty five more
pounds than i do. i looked down at me
and it seemed like i was suffocating in
my own body, like i was too much,
and i needed to s h r i n k.

all of these things i find out make
me happy inside, but also very
confused.

the mirror tells me
i have so much weight i could lose,
but i still weigh what my peers consider
"walking dead, dangerously underweight".

is it possible that my mind distorts
my image of myself? and that i really
am skinny enough?

could it be that i don't have to be
perfect to deserve love and
happiness,

and that just trying and showing
up or not showing up but still trying
is good enough?

sometimes i think yes, but mostly

i think

no.
she/her————pro-life————Christian————climber of rocks, trees, and rooftops----reader of poetry, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Pam Munoz Ryan, and Anthony Doerr
"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." -Louisa May Alcott
  





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Thu Apr 11, 2024 3:31 am
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starbean says...



i have a poem written for today, but then i had track practice/youth group and now it's late, i'll type it up tomorrow, just putting this to show i'm still writing a poem a day!
edit:
napo day 10: my words are not me

my words don't come freely
like they used to.

sometimes there is a storm
of them, swimming around in
my head, begging to be heard
but struggling to leave my mouth.

other times they all disappear
when i least want them to,
my mind a blank page,
i don't have the pencil to fill it.

when i speak:

my words hide in the corners
of my brain, and when i find them,
they run out of my mouth
quietly, stumbling over their
own feet.

when i speak:

i consider, question, confuse
everything i say because all
i can think about is what other
people think.

when i speak:

my words rearrange themselves
as they are announced to the world,
and fall down on the stage right at
the moment when
everyone is watching.

maybe i should never speak,
be
silent,
shut up,
quiet the storm
of unsaid things
in my mind.

maybe if i could bring myself
to talk/think about, to
acknowledge,
the bad (please tell me
it's not my fault)
thoughts and feelings
that come from somewhere
i can't name,

i'd have space to breathe,
move, think, grow.

but maybe the tighter i lock
myself up, the happier i
will be.
she/her————pro-life————Christian————climber of rocks, trees, and rooftops----reader of poetry, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Pam Munoz Ryan, and Anthony Doerr
"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." -Louisa May Alcott
  





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Fri Apr 12, 2024 4:20 am
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starbean says...



napo day 11: scattered thoughts

you told me that it was okay,
that it didn't have to be perfect,
that just doing it counted for
something.

i didn't believe you but i
really wanted to.

everything i make, say, do,
think, makes me hate myself
even more, and i want it to stop

but then i wouldn't have an
excuse to be sad.

every time i cut, the past
bleeds out of me, but
i can't stop

because then i wouldn't
deserve the love that i want
more than anything else in
the world.
she/her————pro-life————Christian————climber of rocks, trees, and rooftops----reader of poetry, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Pam Munoz Ryan, and Anthony Doerr
"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." -Louisa May Alcott
  





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Wed Apr 24, 2024 12:20 am
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starbean says...



napo day 12:

my blood is like a recipe dreamed up
by a child, full of imperfections,
and i am made up of three ingredients-
the past, pain, and ghosts.
every time i cut
they trickle out of me
and are washed down
the drain.
i haven't told anyone about
anything yet but i know what
they'd say if i did-

why?

i wouldn't say anything
back to them, but a million
thoughts, reasons, wishes

would run in circles through
my mind.

and none of them would be the
answer, because i don't know
why. why would anyone rather
starve than grow? cut than feel?

i used to be a chattering,
all knowing, smiling girl.

nothing has ever happened that
would make me this way,

and it's my fault, and if it's my fault,

i don't deserve to be loved.
she/her————pro-life————Christian————climber of rocks, trees, and rooftops----reader of poetry, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Pam Munoz Ryan, and Anthony Doerr
"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." -Louisa May Alcott
  





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Fri Apr 26, 2024 3:24 pm
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starbean says...



napo poem 13: forgetting how to feel

at the end of seventh grade,
when all of the sad things
piled up one on top of another,

i cried for three days straight
and then stopped because
it hurt too much.

things are so much worse now
than they were then, but i
can't feel sad, and i think
that i can't carry everything
that i have to hold.

i used to be like a shaken-up
bottle of soda, but now it's
gone flat and i don't know
what to do.
she/her————pro-life————Christian————climber of rocks, trees, and rooftops----reader of poetry, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Pam Munoz Ryan, and Anthony Doerr
"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." -Louisa May Alcott
  





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Gender: Female
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Reviews: 93
Wed May 01, 2024 3:02 am
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starbean says...



poem 14: things i am now/what i'm made of/how i used to be

one day, i will look back at this
time, tell stories about my days,
and the people listening will
sit there in shock, not knowing
what to say.

i know how they feel. i try so hard
to think of eloquent words that
would fit how i'm feeling,
but speech is unreliable
and when i think about this
i don't know what i could say
to help them understand.

but sometimes the words come
just right and they fill me and fill
me up, right to bursting.

i wasn't always this way, but i
am now-

a ghost girl who forgot how
to feel happy, a blanket
knitted with yarn from
unraveled sweaters and fourteen
years of clutter weaved into the
rows of stitches.

sometimes i feel like we all have our
own cloth, and the cloth is a patchwork
quilt wrapped around the earth to
keep her warm.

if this was true, my patch would
be made of scraps torn out of
book pages and sewn to fit me,
mismatched and wonky, not my
own.

(are we every really ourselves, or
do we get our defining traits
from a thesaurus of people who've
lived before us?)

i'm a three-ingredient recipe for
disaster dreamed up by a child
who doesn't know how to cook.

i'm hurting myself and i don't know
how to stop. (do i, really?) and when
i do i become a little less me.
red-tinged
water swirls down the drain as the
ghosts and past and pain leak out
of me, a little at a time.

(am i breaking myself even more or
putting myself back together?)

i used to be happy everywhere, no
matter what, as long as i had me
and my books. i forgot how to feel
this way, or how to really feel
anything at all.

i want to cry- maybe it will help
me prove to myself that i
need/deserve
help-
but i can't anymore. i walk around

with my hair in my eyes and arms
covered by sleeves i selfishly wish were
tearstained.

because if they were, someone might help me,
and i think that a squashed-down part of me
wishes someone would save me
from myself.

i wasn't always this way. i used to be
bright eyes, storybooks in hand,
skipping so high my shoes
punched holes in the clouds.

i wish i could go back to this,
but i don't know if i can.
(is that part of me still there?
i hope so.)

i think about all of this, and
i am shocked
to realize that i'm homesick
for a part of myself i didn't even
realize was gone.
she/her————pro-life————Christian————climber of rocks, trees, and rooftops----reader of poetry, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Pam Munoz Ryan, and Anthony Doerr
"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." -Louisa May Alcott
  








Writing is the geometry of the soul.
— Plato