Young Writers Society

A To-Do list

clean out the trash
wash the dishes without a splash

make a cup of earl gray
while letting the cat play

finally research for that paper
Maybe finish it later

Write a haiku or two
don't let it read like glue

Get back to my studies
and try to not cry with my buddies

CW: potentially darker themes could be extrapolated

[No one is entirely infinite;
It is no wonder humans used to assume
The earth was flat with edges hanging
Cut into the sky for falling,
You can only walk so far before
The light is no longer something you are chasing
But following somewhere behind.
No one is entirely infinite;
Each of us is a finite number of steps until
The galaxies become footpaths
And the ground the distant horizon.
It is no wonder we hate the dark.
It is no wonder fear is often shaped
Like the edge of the world.
Everything-everything, and then
The sun careening off her perch
As a bird dives into a frozen lake.]

Rain falling
dripping down my nose
onto my white shoes

she's bawling
fighting for a lover long gone
a dream forever lost

trapped in a task
you didn't volunteer to
do.
you drag your feet, going
about this job. you
wish you were somewhere
else, but you are
trapped.

Anybody here
Can do anything they want
But that is not true

Oof. X2.

I wish I were doomed from the start.
I wish the cards were stacked against me,
or perhaps the Gods envious of me.

If so, this failure would be written in the stars
Unavoidable, unshakeable, planned
Undeniably not my fault

Instead, the blame is on my head
I had a chance to reverse this
But I blindly ignored it, let it pass by

I wish I were doomed from the start
Then, and only then, I could scream at someone else
Instead of forever punishing myself

if you cut the earth in half;
you will find at its core
a bird severed in two
flying, each half, by one wing
and trying to find its halved-match

this is a mirror of the soul i suppose
broken down the middle
and always searching
and despite being hopelessly flightless
somehow, against the laws of gravity
she soars straight into the sky
and lives.

if you watch and wait
eventually she'll rest
and you'll wonder
if it has all been a trick of the light,
if everything has been whole
all along
but sure enough one wing
will stir, and the careening flight-dance
will begin again
and you won't be able
to look away.

I am quiet and full of ice,
a brown herbal concoction;
somebody forgot they were supposed to drink me
and I was left here on the porch.

I am not supposed to miss
Pancakes because I still have them
But I can't eat them without thinking about a recipe
That I shared in 2020 and that you always
Forgot the batter was too thick
And it made them doughy and stick
Because non stick is just a label on television when frying food
And you were a quick learner
Gifted I think
Now you don't need any recipes
And I am not supposed to miss
Teaching you
I am not supposed to miss you
But I do

isn't it terrible
how we all pretend
the earth is still spinning

i told my lover i was a poet
and she looked at me in horror.
she said are you sure?
i said no.

i write stories i wouldn’t
tell another soul. i’m not sure
why i told her.

maybe i am more of a liar
than a poet (we do the same things
after all). i’m not sure though,
but it’s better that way;
i started out misguided, and
that is how i will end.

i didn’t tell her this.
i think it’s something you live
rather than understand.