Young Writers Society

[I haven't written any poems in way over a year. And I haven't done NaPo since 2011 or something. And I won't stress about it this time either, but I'll try to write at least a few. I just really wanted a thread.]

#1

on the day I met karma,
she wore a see-through cloak
edges frayed, as if
it was worn a little too often
a little too long
I nearly offered to fix it
for her
but at the last minute,
I closed my eyes and
walked on

#2

your words lingered less than
dollar-store fragrance mist
on a sweaty Sunday
but they were as sticky
as sickly
and gave me the same
cheapskate stigma

#3

emotional turmoil,
really?
try having a mother
who offers treats
after treats
and stands in the corner
to watch you eat,
never a crumb passing
through her lips,
only distaste,
disapproval,
diseverything
well, I don't have one
but I know of one
and I'd much rather stay awake,
stay until the iron in my lids
is creeping back in

#4

it's all fun and games
until the blinds are up;
you expect to find sun
but it has been sucked up
by the big hoover of a sky
and with it,
the last hope of ever
finding shade again

#5

waves hit the cliffs at our feet
like hungry beggars
and the unforgiving wind
pushed right through us,
as if seeking our bones
to strangle them
like the necks of mafia men's
incapable cohorts
and I wondered, just briefly,
if I wouldn't prefer the Baltic
over a cup of cocoa

#6

on his wedding day,
she hid her tears
in her nifty little hat,
coral coloured like her suit:
far enough from red
to stop the bride's side-eyes
but close enough
to catch his eye,
remind him again
of a missed future

#7

superstar echoes inside the rock
Judas in red leather,
tears of guilt and frustration
with his long blond locks
he looks more angelic
than any of the others
but he never got to be

close your eyes, close your eyes
and relax, think of nothing
tonight

#8

your eyes are tumbleweed,
vacant as you stroke my cheek
and I return the gesture,
meeting gorse where you meet silk:
was it always like this
or was I not old enough to see
that in your head you threw sand
on the flames that scorched your words
when there was an audience

#9

grey eyes, blonde
past teenhood but
not saving
likes beginnings,
middles,
and zebra crossings

please contact
if you have brown eyes
and sold coffee on the metro
on the fifteenth
otherwise don't bother