Young Writers Society

for there are times in life wherein
one must grasp for the right to breathe.

and within those moments, one can find a bloom
unknown to all.

So, this is yet another attempt at NaPo. I'm not bound to a true theme this year, but I want to work on reflection, not just with how I am feeling but how I am imagining my past, present, and future. April has always been a stressful time for me, and it's no different this year being my graduate education work and teaching at the same time.

Actually I think my goal this year is just to get back into the practice of writing poetry, so I’ll go for about 15 poems and write about anything xD maybe my camp nano idea!

Past NaPos:
23 - light, ethereal, bliss, awe.
22 - a summation of my schooling
21 - stuck behind the scenes, between the notes.
20 - i liked it better when my fears were faceless
19 - these benedight flowers
18 - my hopes are as strong as bubbles

Thank you both so much !!

@EllieMae — I’m excited to see what you write!!

@AmayaStatham — Awe thank you! I’m going to read your thread as well!!

04/01/24

Alone in the town stands a single clocktower.
on the longest and shortest days of the year,
the folk rejoice and commemorate those who
have waked the earth before them and those
who will walk after their souls have departed.

Amongst the loud music and dancing and clapping,
stands a sole figure, a young girl, her light eyes dripping
and her small face shattered, begging for mercy,
begging for a greater entity to cast their hand to
change fate, to use a dark drop of power unselfishly.

And on this one night, when the cold winds bare
one down to their soul, a lonely being answers
her plea. But this was no ordinary shadow, and
this was no ordinary ask by this innocent child,
and the eventual consequences will shake this
entire, weary town to the depleted, stomped ground.

04/03/24

there's something sinister
about a clocktower striking
loud for the midnight hour
and every tick after that,
the rings and booms and
thumps narrating a girl's
travel down a single street,
lonely with nothing else
than a sister's ghost following
her every movement and
a tiny, dark wisp longing
for something past their
underground home with
no exits or doors to leave.


and then at the witch's hour,
under this so horrifying clocktower
with its painted gray bricks
and small windows, too small
for anything besides squinting
out at a town that beckons
travelers to lose themselves
amongst the shadows that line
every home, every storefront,
every breath that one takes
since all this place does is take.