Young Writers Society

want
was the biggest sin you could ever commit, the
parable of apples meaning lust applied
to the flesh and blood that hummed
every time you saw desire
in all its forms. god had a plan and
he would provide everything you needed;
want, they said, was playing god, the ultimate
betrayal of why did you not believe he would
give you the best even if
the best didn't feel good enough. you had
to trust that his plan was the best and your
desire was simply an ego wanting to play with powers
not meant for you, how you were
too narrow minded to see the bigger picture where
what you wanted had no place.

yet if you did not
voice a single want then you would never
get what you asked for. the secret, they said, was
only voice it once then you had to trust
provisions would be made but there were terms
and conditions of only if god wills it.

he was your father and he
knew you better than anyone; you must
be grateful for what he gave or else
it would all be taken away

— April 1, 2016

three words are too small to describe
the pull of a neutron star holding a galaxy together, its
gravitational field so strong we do not know
how to measure its effect on those around it, drawn
close to its light that might not be everlasting but
it is long enough to find each other. its strength is enough
to take everything scattered around the universe
and pull it into a cluster of creation, the cradle all
other stars are born in, and among
the brightest objects in the universe, the neutron star
outshines them all. its light whispers across a void,
you are safe here, you may rest and become
who you were meant to be, allowing what was once
so thin it might as well be empty to collect and gather
into its own star system (but never too far for
even if there is enough to form a second neutron they
almost always swirl in pairs).

and i am expected to summarize i owe my life to you
both in the literal and figurative sense, for without
a goal to stay here i would never
work towards a better place and would have nothing
to show for my time here, every word too small, cups
running over into so many there can no longer be
a number, down to three words, for english is imperfect and
even though you know four languages and i know two,
crossing them all would never be enough to say
what i can only do in the most inadequate sentence:

i love you more than life itself
for without you
i would not exist

— April 2, 2016

spirals and spirals wining up and down too fast
and not fast enough the demands of the world
far outpacing anything you can produce and
you were supposed to get better by now, that's
how getting help works but the change
is supposed to be gradual because
jumping into warmth after frostbite
is the most painful sensation in existence.

the slow rise in temperature makes nerves
scream for respite on both sides. it's too cold it's
too hot there is no relief here and even though
ice nipped at every one of your limbs
the warmth seems to simply drive pins and needles
large enough they feel like daggers under
your skin, hiding away where it has permeated
deep to the point your blood can no longer carry
the warmth slowly dying in your chest. it
takes time to properly tend a fire and
your hands have grown clumsy with numbness
and you can only rely on external heat that
is out of your control and it is the scariest feeling
you can think of, body at another's mercy

and you have never known a mother's touch

— April 3, 2016

i hardly recognize you
anymore are words uttered
between ghosts of fantasy
and moments that have yet to occur.
they are taken in and out of contexts for
you know your parents better than anyone
the way they believe actions speak louder
than words to the tenth degree
where nobody is ever anything themselves

if they were then maybe
she would have to admit even the most broken
have inherent worth.

— April 4, 2016

classified

your childhood was underpinned
with an interest in all things code
that never could quite manifest because
what good is a cypher when your spelling
is the best encryption you could ever ask for
(and you worked hard at everything else
for this was a deficit that your parents insisted
be polished out).

no education in the world could prepare you
to handle data truly locked, guarded by whispers of
you need to learn not to ask questions, god
is absolute in his direction, authorities meant
to protect simply using the illusion cast
when smoke meets mirrors, everything reflecting
back on your refusal to be disciplined enough
to reach enlightenment. you were the bright one, they said,
but your light got scattered amongst mirrors held by
gloved hands meant to hide fingerprints (you could
track those, they knew, for codes were your weakest
and you were damn good at them) and look like
you had failed by not knocking them down. a true
devotee saw the world as dark and god as
the only light, every question you could have
hidden by a man behind the curtain not meant to
be exposed as a mere mortal construction.

god was a classified relationship where
if you asked where the wine came from
you were stoned until your blood
appeared on the table, next

your body is a temple situated
between the cracks of a fault line,
worship interrupted every few days, weeks,
months for a tremble enough
to send the whole structure tumbling. it
is always rebuilt but simpler than
before, conserving resources because
you cannot always return to what it was
before, especially if the upkeep is
not worth the devastation. the low moans
that come from either worship or pain, you
cannot tell, drowned out by screeching stone
attempting to find its place as external pressure
forces it together in ways it was never supposed
to go (they say it will make diamonds but
you have not even found coal to keep yourself warm).

— April 5, 2016

life is a collection of stitches holding
raw skin together when it never
quite seems to heal. you
take the bus down to pick up
a prescription you never thought you'd need
passing through the university campus and
remembering this is the first place
you felt the edges of belonging, the
warm comfort of here you know
there are others somewhat like you but
it never was enough you were
mislabeled and misplaced down to
somewhere higher, a first year
master's candidate instead of a freshman
bachelor degree (not even with honours you
did not want to put yourself through that).

the wounds of college seemed closed and
no matter how much you tried to tie yourself
to a continuing education the stitches
had long since fused down. it felt like
you were taking a knife to them instead of
sinking in but other parts of you, the ones
only starting to be exposed to air yearned
for a thread to tie ripped skin (potentially infected,
you hadn't changed the bandage in so long; it
had never been safe to) back into some semblance
of together.

you never did stop going, one part of you
always lost in the world.

— April 6, 2016

of course it never gets better you
should have known by now your life
is a collection of miracles overshadowed
by pain so heavy you wonder
why the mountain grew beside you instead
of crushing you under its weight. it
looms large over the horizon and
ironic isn't it, how the longest days
you have ever known came
in the foothills of the rockies.

the sunlight is harsh on genetics with
the accountant telling your parents
how much you look like your father and
you can feel her stiffening from
across the room without her even being
in your line of sight. i used to be like you
she said too often for you to count in
part as a caution not to ever make
a comment on her size (she never was
exactly overweight. size 12 is common) and
a cautionary tale to never eat this much or
else you would balloon. thank god you
never want to get married, you're not the type
and children ruin your figure and yet
despite using your existence as
the excuse she never did make her life
happier because i am always here for you
(those words have become poison
you are never quite sure is supposed
to harm those saying it or those
who they are directed towards. it
seemed to be both in your experience)
turned into you never support me in
anything i do and talk of trapped
financial situations, never become dependent
or else you will be stuck with a child
you never wanted and can somehow never leave.

stockholm syndrome is an illness you
have never been diagnosed with. in
your situation it is often simply called
a will to live

— April 7, 2016

playacting

i was never allowed happy endings the concept
that you could be moral and joyous never
crossing, always parallel. you may have your
cake of life but the icing of love comes
separate and when you taste it
you will die of a diabetic coma before you get
even a quarter of the way through dough, never
enough to satisfy even the hungriest of appetites

the world does not see how this is a problem their
eyes are too focused on the struggles and sometimes
all we want is someone to say you can have your cake
and eat it to, our stories do not always
end in tragedy and maybe if somebody did
i would not be tempted to recreate the only narrative
that lets me exist at all

and suddenly
you are using a word you hate because
it breaks the suspension of disbelief but
the pause and rush and lampshading is
exactly what it feels like, realizing time
does not end tomorrow and no,
it was never your fault even if it it did. the
phrase anxious about a future
you don't even want makes sense
and you realize you never understood it
until it stopped feeling true, even though

the future is not a place you want to live its
unknowns overwhelming despite its shining
promise and you had never been allowed
to think in narrative this far. maybe that's why
you never did truly finish your stories and
wrote hundreds of years instead of admitting
(to yourself) that stories come to an end eventually
and their stories ending meant
so did their lives and you know what it's like
to have one life end when the adventure was over
lying in a hospital bed waiting for a CAT scan
realizing that you could not go and finish
what would have been your second degree the
tenure track of a master's too far out
of your reach for you to ever write the thesis ideas
you had filled a space of time with. this
had been the future: achievements
and research, productivity, milestones
you could work towards because it was
the expected thing to do and nobody
would question whether or not you liked it.

and suddenly
not everything happens at once even
if it doesn't have a set track of career climbing
where nobody ever asks and
you don't know what to do with yourself
when the future isn't determined
by somebody else

— April 8, 2016

you are standing in a fitting room where
mirrors reflect every loose seam and
too tight band. you know this is not how
everything fits but there is too much
on your chest the strap at the back
digging in to the point you cannot breathe
under your own weight; the hum
of fluorescents a backdrop for words
you've heard more times than you
care to count, a reminder the world
is not made for you it demands you
be smaller and demand less for
who could ever carry all that you are
until you are ordered to sit down because
you have been standing too long you don't
need to stop breathing for us

the solution is you have added
too much padding to your chest once
you take extra cups off it's perfect and
it's a metaphor for something, you know
because you always were too much but
you had initially done it to mask what
was considered an imperfection, your mother
saying how a padded bra was so much better it
hid that you were heavy on one side, lopsided
and this was something to hide even at
the cost of your ribs' ability to expand
in and out, in and out, a rhythm you
try to remember even when bands
you never wanted there (she said
it was important for good posture)
dig in so much your shoulders scream
to the point you nearly faint

you have forgotten what it is like
not to have blood on your skin

— April 9, 2016

you were the first time i realized
this is what home feels like but
i was unable to put it into words
until five years later when the temporary
became a place i never wanted to leave.

mysteries behind why you, why
does this work when on the surface
we are never meant to fit but
you were the first time i exhaled
after holding it in and barely
surviving because carbon monoxide
is not what humans survive on (as
much as i tried to believe it). shared
breath from huddling together
against the cold reality of the world
that has already frostbitten my fingers
(all the while you murmur it's okay
you're cold and it's
normal this hurts, just keep
breathing you're not getting poisoned
anymore). the concept of sharing
beyond me because it always used
to mean you need to give for
we have already shared too much
by letting you stay alive and not
you have made my life warmer
no matter how cold you are
it is easier to tend the fire
with you here.

it took me years to realize
that staying beside you so long
had built up security and
home only had one definition
one that is holding your hand
and whispering please
do not leave

— April 10, 2016

the concept of private property
always escaped you, for nothing
of yours was private, even though
it should've been natural because
you never really could inhabit the world
that was private. but the idea
that there was universally accepted
ownership that applied to everyone
who could own something, words such as
privacy, autonomy, sovereignty
evading any attempts to spell them for
how can you write what does not exist.

you did not understand how anybody
could be trusted to make the right choice
for themselves. it was never allowed
because mistakes were tragedy
and nobody made them but you

— April 11, 2016

you get on a bus you haven't been on
since you left an explosion in your wake
and never looked back except for maybe
sadistic (or fearful) glances at the wreckage,
mouth dry remembering the heat as if
it had happened yesterday.

you tell yourself do not be afraid these
cold streets took care of you, buses
a cradle that brought you home even
when you didn't know what home was and
this store is a place that still brings up
a word that has weight in all four letters,
loss both inside and out. you do not remember
walking through but at the same time there
is security in the knowledge this place
has everything you need. even if you must tell yourself
even the coldest nights have softness
you do not need to fear blades
anymore

— April 12, 2016