Young Writers Society

#15

Forget about falling
in love
out of grace
or into my heart.

Right now,
I'd take some solid ground.

#16

if someone had asked me when i was younger
(and shallower, and dumber)
to choose somebody to love
(to hold and kiss until the end of time)
i probably wouldn't have picked you.

in terms of society, you're no model
(but your laugh lights up the sky)
you are geeky and silly and just barely mature
(but you make my heart ache when you look at me)
you speak in languages that i don't understand
(google translate says you speak of love)
and it's confusing
because i never took german.

"ich liebe dich"
whispered on one summer's night departure
cracked my soul open and split me through the middle
and exposed me and tore me raw but then
you saw me
for me.

and vice versa.

i always said i'd never write a love song
(and you can never hold a tune)
but here's to hoping that maybe

one day we'll get there.

#17

Love is defined as
a violent collision
with a hand to hold.

#18

~my little pyromaniac~

you would hold me in one hand and
a lighter in the other
stress-ragged nails curled around mortality and
a tiny box containing destruction
you would smile at tendrils of
ashen smoke twining circles around
my love and
squeezing too tight, too affectionate, too strong
and i'd murmur sweetly in your ear
"turn off the fire, lovely,
do call it back"

you'd nod with understanding and switch off the flame,
throw the old lighter in a bush somewhere,
and hold my hand
like nothing ever happened.

one day i looked down and saw that
i was smoking
flames twirling patterns across my skin, and I
started pulling apart my own ribs to get away from it all
from the pain, when
i looked up and saw you standing there
smile on your face, as always, and
in your hand was the matchbox.

#19

I did not sign up
for this thing called teenage angst.
I want a refund.


#20

That awkward moment
when you dig to China and
no one wants you there.

A palindrome, and I'm finally caught up!

#21

i went home early today,
a note tucked between my nails.

"please excuse this young girl,
expectations,
desires, and
her dreams
just out of reach,
it made her ill."

with a neat signature twirled on paper
i walked home
sick.

~

sick,
i walked home
with a neat signature twirled on paper:

"it made her ill.
just out of reach,
her dreams,
desires, and
expectations.
please excuse this young girl."

a note tucked between my nails,
i went home early today.

#22

swish of air conditioned chill
goosebumps inching up forearms taut
i creep into a glittering trove of gems
firebrick reds and cerulean blues
turquoise dark, ghost white, chartreuse
treasures, all of it, bottles and bottles, shelf upon shelf
all mine for the taking, and
only one beast lies between me and triumph:
the art shop cashier.

#23

everyone trusts me with
everything, it seems
i sit for hours playing therapist
playing comfort
playing, pretending, a fake
i care for them, i do, i want to listen
i want to make you feel stronger
give you someone to cling to
and i do, everyday
but
when no one asks me how my day is
how i'm feeling
what i need help with
pauses long enough to play therapist
just once
for me
i get bitter
and bitter therapists never helped
anyone.

#24

we are tectonic plates, you and i.

hold me tight as the world spins, darling.

shaking and shuddering we
are constantly ripping apart and
smashing back together in
forced displays of affection,
wilted flowers trapped between
stiff joints and strained smiles.



you like to grab my hand but every time
you squeeze far too hard.

the earth adores change, and maybe
so do i.

#25

i've always had a
habit of being late to
save my most loved ones.

#26

Tomorrow I will be better.
Tomorrow it'll improve.
Tomorrow I'll make a difference.

But tomorrow will still fail to come until I
change today.

#27

~when passions turn to obsessions~

sometimes I'll look up the definition of success
and the results are unsatisfactory
so I determined that sensations of panic are nothing to fear
these mistakes and aspirations are mine to hold, anyway,
between the folds of paper and under a cross-knit sky
I dare to mar this purity bound by silver rings
yes, I dare to admire what I love most is this because
dammit
this is mine, I made it,
and maybe it will be enough to get me
out.

#28

minuscule in this
redwood forest, clambering
among behemoths.

#29

i want you to look at me
and when i smile you'll grin
softly, hesitantly, then in full
you'll lean in, to whisper to me
and instead of secrets in my ear
suddenly there's lips pressed to my cheek
and you form the words
"i love you," against my skin
as your arms hold me to you
and i'll smile,
content.

#30

~we made it this far~

there were poems hiding in my closet
in the shadows beneath my bed
in the solitude of the bathroom
within the shower head.

in the soft moments of silence
before i fall asleep
in the ceiling tiles above my head
but they're oh so hard to keep.

i tucked them under my pillow
hid them in the cupboards
under my eyelashes, little words fluttered
between the piano's copper chords.

but when i'd peel back the covers
layers of skin
there was rarely one poem
and that seemed like a sin.

so because i lost my poems
somewhere in infinite
i pray someday i'll find my lost inspiration
or perhaps it will find me.

Fin, Napo.