Young Writers Society

9.

The Path of Distrust

To you, traveler,
I pen these words, a glimpse of my essence.

I am the messenger, the trickster's grin,
Wings (soft as thoughts), eyes (keen as stars.)

Do not mistake my (laughter for unseriousness),
Nor my (tricks for malice), for I am but a mirror,
Reflecting the shades of your world,
(The light and dark intertwined.)

I am the wanderer of realms unseen,
(The echo of laughter in forgotten halls.)
For I am but a prism, mirroring the hues of existence,
The bridge between worlds.

From mountain tops where eagles soar,
I traverse realms both near and far,
(In banter shared underneath moonlit skies.)

So if you ever (doubt) the path ahead,
Take the right one,
And know that in every moment of uncertainty,
(You are not alone.)

10.

Ares

* Rating 16+ Tw: Minor Abuse*

its unlike you to be upset,
yet somehow i feel like it's all you are.
and when i breathe,
i can feel you judging me,
so much so that i feel claustrophobic,
dreading every moment that could evolve into,
a sudden outburst.

and i hide more often than i live,
because to you,
living is not breathing,
and breathing is not enough,
so i hold my breath,
and wait for you to tell me to release.

and i know im just a woman,
but my hands work just as good as yours,
and did you forget, that we share the same blood,
or that we have the same nose?
of course you did,
because if you didn't then maybe,
you'd be the father i thought you'd be.

because to you, my hands are not hands,
they are liabilities wrapped in false dreams,
sheathed by desperation and a need to feel seen,
but behind closed doors,
you don't see the scars you so maliciously carved into my skin,
or the anxiety you drilled into my brain.

but i still sit here,
grinding my own bones because to you,
that is strength.

but maybe i should start healing myself,
and instead of grinding my bones i could slowly,
piece them back together.

would you just watch?
or would you help, and come to terms with what i am?
im sorry for asking, but what's the harm in that?
i am your daughter after all,
not just a pair of weak hands.

Amazing <3333

Thanks for the tag. I love Ares his poem! <333 It's so beautiful and pure, I can just feel Josephine's cry for help and accept. You're doing great with NaPo Leya! Keep it up ^^

Love the Daughter Of War reference in this one! Nicely done!

I'm sorry you feel this way.
although, am I really?
How could I be sorry for the way you feel?
'You are to stay hidden'.
From what?
Is the world really that menacing?

You say that waterfalls are made of false dreams,
and broken vows.
But I've read about waterfalls,
and they're made of my tears,
conjoined currents that break free at the thought of you.

You say that soil is made from grinded bones,
and lost promises.
But I've seen your garden,
and to me, it's made of my blood,
drowned in rain without a second thought.

You say that stars are souls of the tarnished,
and forgotten enemies.
But I've talked to the stars,
and they're nicer than you'd ever be.

You say that love is for mortals,
and peasants.
But I've seen love,
and how it heals even the deepest wounds.

You say that I could never fit in,
but how would you know that?
Being as you've hidden, too,
so what are you really saying?

Are you saying I'm different?
How could I be,
when you made me?
What was the point?

Was the point simply to,
turn me into a waterfall or,
soil or,
the stars?

Because if so,
I'd be the most beautiful waterfall,
flowing so gently that it travels away,
far from you.

Because if I was soil,
I'd be so soft and damp,
that I'd grow Poppies with no sun.

And if I were the stars,
I'd blind even the strongest gods,
with my elastic heart and glowing aura.

So, turn me into a waterfall.
Turn me into soil.
Let me become a star.
Maybe then, I'd be happy.

12.

Breathtaking, Deadly, and Brilliant

Athena

born of a king's mind,
yet as wise as a prophet.
growing pains,
the parietal lobe elongates,
and demonstrates nothing but potential.

pools of ancient wisdom,
longing for longevity,
like the vast oceans that never die,
nimble, poised, rhythmic.

as breathtaking as the luminous stars,
as deadly as the sharpened knife,
and as brilliant as the unblemished diamond.

14.

Haircules

Heracles

Beard made of courage,
as the young ones say.
Eyes made of lavish insecurities,
brushed by hair product and braiding rituals.

Is he a hero?
Haircules, slayer of men,
the Erymanthian Beard stood no chance,
slain by he who uses hair gel.

Hair as long as the Nile,
he is the demigod of L'Oréal,
a cosmetology legend of Greek myth.

Even Aphrodite is swoon by his,
ability to rapidly grow the most,
luminous and healthy hair.
Yet beneath the showcase,
is a god of power,
as strong as Axe Body Spray.