Young Writers Society

once you've captured, you're there forever
records held tightly beneath their manicured fingertips
your numbers are precious to them, you presence is necessary
they'll keep you healthy and if you fork enough money over the counter
only if you stay with them until the end of time
water falls behind their marble desks
with information collected to help others move on
but you can never leave
the door is too heavy, even if you've been gone for a while
they'll greet you with a smile, even if you don't smile back

"that'll be $150"

childhood is flicking copper roaches off your coats before heading out the door
throwing out hours of preparation to the trash, "dammit, they're at it again."
spray down the baseboards, close your eyes and pray, these pests won't leave you

childhood is learning to not touch the little black squares that line the walls
keeping sticky fingers away from the fridge and smashing roaches under feet
the "no food" upstairs rule was only to keep them away from where we sleep

childhood is eating a pb&j sandwich while withholding large tears
"it's protein, kid" after watching little legs scamper across the plate
bile in the pit of your stomach as you want to throw up

five spanks if you waste food

childhood is not being able to play because you're cleaning
washing the dishes by hand, pruned fingers, hot steam
they can't get a new dishwasher until the roaches are gone

childhood is watching a copper roach crawl across the floor
it's the 57th you've seen that day and hope has left for good
you're going to be stuck here forever, kid. face it.

have a sandwich

broken imagery appears on torn pages in the middle of August
with disconnected words holding together meaningless phrases
because you've never gone to school for this and it doesn't work
wrapping thoughts around your fingers never succeeded somehow

spilt ink bottles with shards of glass spread across the floor
you've never seen a mess like this so you take out a notebook
some say poets are crafted underground in the forges but you
don't know what to believe, so you write in small font and cry

the mid-summer sun almost seems a bit too late in the year
you've never noticed the burn until you could peel your skin
your skin was too sensitive for the flannel and you couldn't
wear the glasses and you couldn't rock the look, so you wrote

you need to wait for it, they say. for fleeting inspiration to strike
your thin-paged book tucked underneath your arms, your lifeline
air-conditioning blows in your face as you stare out the windows
the academy didn't need you, want you, have you, so you left

broken imagery appears on your torn pages in mid-September
poets are crafted in forges of bubbling ink, you found yourself
the summer left you ready for something new, so burn up
lock the book away and move on, the academy can wait

requirements signed off ripped pages
with absent signatures from leaders

the scouting group was pieced
together from cookie-cutter houses
because they'll put others down to build
themselves up into the castle in the sky

blue pens sign off their names on my book
"you'll contact me this summer, right?"
sheltered for the rest of the world

requirements for the rich girls
forgetting the poor kids

i can't travel across the world
for your badge

okay?

his name was, "the empty void in their hearts, young men dying"
thuglyfe selfies being shown around, but he and his little sister
can't get the time of day in her fuzzy pink shoes as they smile
the flashing camera takes a photo for widespread media to ignore

five days dead.

mothers write up long posts, mascara leaking down their faces
shaky hands over keyboards, words like lightning on the page
her baby sits in a cell, schrödinger finds this scene fascinating
"she's never wanted to die, you have to believe me. save her"

#sayhername

cameras with sound are ideal, but kid, please don't go out there
"i have to do this, no one else will" you're charged with shooting
if you have an iphone, because wounds of flesh hurt less than
a corrupt officer's paycheck and publicity "don't slander, don't hate"

shoot children up

violence and brutality leaves marks on cultures that echo
we're painted as violent to slander us but my little brother
he plays outside with the toddler and gentle souls connect
they connect in powerful solidarity, that we all should have

"hands up, don't shoot"