Young Writers Society

crossroads

i've traversed far and wide
for a semblance of peace
of romance
and fulfillment.

my step is weak
and still i endure.

and yet,
the farther away
from the hamster wheel
i turn
the more it seems to scream to me.

the sun is out today
the feeling of dirt and grass beneath my bare feet
on this path i walk is warm against my feet.
the scent of wildflowers and lake water
fill the air and birdsong
is omniprescent.

my pain has scarred me for eternity,
my shoulders are permanently sore
my gait forever wobbled.
i am out of place in such a beautiful world.

i thought the path would heal me
and yet
i'm left waiting,
hoping,
searching,
for a future that might not come to pass.

still, i press on,
because some part of me
still believes.
always believes.
always.

tomorrow and tomorrow

and tomorrow -
a line from shakespeare
that's been stuck in my head
for the last five years.
gnawing at my skull
as i hunch over a computer
my shoulders
my wrists
my body

the weight continues to grow
until i'm like atlas holding up the world
no friends,
no lover,
a corporate identity
as worker 2051.

maybe tomorrow
or tomorrow
or tomorrow
it will all be okay.

morning

another day,
another dollar,
another chance to dream.

as each sip of dollar-store coffee
hits my lips
another reminder
that I'm alive
in this moment
in time.

alone though I may be
I like being alone
because I'm often
lonelier with people
than I am with my own thoughts.

it's alright, this life,
and yet, I wonder if there's more.
every morning,
the promise of it
hangs in the air.

Yesterday and Tomorrow and Today

Everything feels new
at the precipice of change.
Mistakes don't matter.

The Dreamer

The girl you used to ignore--
she was a dreamer,
after all.

the one you thought would never amount
to a single thing
the one who wondered

she has the capacity
to make her dreams
come true.

and when she does
you'll be wishing you believed in her
all along.

the liminal concert hall

it's the dead of night and all is still.
there was a concert here,
not so long ago,
it shows in the greasy concession wrappers
and the smell of stale
soda, alcohol
and supermarket cleaner.
now, the only music
is the sound of crickets from
outside the half-cracked window.
it's like any other place.

once a source of connection,
now empty
until the music comes through once more.

The Morning Rush

I waited in line today
gazing at a queue of
motivational quotes
and vintage memorabilia
(there's Juliet and
Steamboat Willie,
plus Mike Wazoswki
and a Pixar movie on TV)
for a spot of breakfast
to begin my day.

The air is fresh and warm
and the sun is shining
through the trees.
my mornings haven't been as heavy
since I came to this sacred place.

I breathe in the morning air
and while I wait
I know that I'm where I'm meant to be.

Could this be?

all is quiet,
and nothing in the world seems real.
sometimes I doubt
that my existence is, too.
all I can think of now
(on the precipice of something, maybe?)
are the poets who said it
better than me.
maybe is the calm before the storm
the start of something wonderful
or I'll end up where I was before,
another tumble from the cliff
I've been trying my whole life to climb.
until I have an answer,
the quiet
has been
all-consuming.

Good News

Good news is coming;
It will whisk you away
From your present fears.

Waiting

in my life
i've always been
on the precipice
of something great
waiting
and wishing
and wanting
for something to change.

sometimes it does
sometimes it doesn't
and still
i wait,
i wish,
i hope,
i dream.

golden hour

in the land of milk and honey,
the land without winter or spring or fall
(just an occasional smattering of thunderstorms
here and there)
the air is thick with the promise
of new beginnings.
the sun is low in the sky,
and golden light
whirls around my body,
washing away my worries and my fears,
telling me that all is going to be okay.