Young Writers Society

Control

I sat alone, in bed till the morning
I'm screaming, "Go away, you're not real!"
I tried to make the voices leave,
But they wouldn't go

I can't make them leave,
They just won't go
They are weeds stuck in my brain,
And they poison my thoughts

I've spent enough time in my head
Listening to lies that poison my body
They tell me "You're not good enough!"
Of course. I listen

Words are left in my mouth
Everyday they are left untouched
If I tell, no one will listen
At least that is what they tell me

The Court Date

I am not an expert like I pretend to be
I stand before this mirror in a wig
with pants too big to cover my hips
and shirts to hide my chest, covered
by robes of black. I am "right".

I preen my hair's white curls as they ask
if I wish to have tea or coffee on my gavel.
Neither is my preference. I choose tea.
Sophisticated, Refined, Judicial tea.

I galavant into my domain and ascend
to my pedestal, presiding like Zeus
over his constabulary. Beneath, I am cold

shivering. A bag of ice has tumored
itself in my lungs. I am housing butterflies
in the empty tumult of my stomach
as I must now pass judgement on this
human before me. She cowers, hair chopped
like a boys, a hollow stomach rotting
and lumps protrude from her everywhere.
She gazes up, defeated, presents me
her hands, pleading I look to see the work,
to feel it on my tongue, and taste it like wine,

Stealing a look at the clock that halos her head,
I see no time, and spot the dirt upon her left hand,
the callouses overlooked, the hard work forgotten
and I bang my gavel hard upon it's stand
send her flying away in tears rather than lingering
because I have twenty more to judge, no time.

Another comes before me, cowers at my feet
and I hide my cooing graces, my praise, my softness
so I may be this man on a pulpit, which scars me,
breaks me out in hives. I am no expert, but I judge
I am no ruler, but I sentence. I am no better than her.

I am her.

vii-b. angel in the shallows

1. you cannot forget
ocean blue and how misty fragrance
embroidered in the contours of my mind
out in the shallows of caye caulker
floats a sun-tanned angel unbelievable
may i pray to you each night

2. you cannot repair
limitless blue above savannah
the jets roar overhead and i think
of the sands you've held me on
the footprints we've left together
_______________________parabolic
and the deafening silence
of each and every kiss

3. you cannot move on
stormy gray of the potomac
and i see the time on a watch old and graying
imagine you guarding the citizens innumerable
silent as a stone, still as my
hands and knees in the sands
as seafoam wings took you away

Lie with me

The sonorous beep of your heart will lull me to sleep so wake me.
Don't leave my hunger unfed, come to me, come to bed; lie with me.

Tell me boasts of your day, of the dragons you slay in the light
and of the maidens who swoon when you leave them too soon to meet me.

Though it's dark under cover, it's warm with a lover. Let's not fight
and don't let it end, build a fort and pretend to defend me.

Describe the fair land, help me understand the heights of your sight
but don't forget the old, there are still dreams to behold so unfold me.

And if you must leave, don't deceive me, but first reprieve me of this night,
come tell me the truth at the phantom tollbooth where you left me.

"Ongoing Battles"

They told me you had to be strong
to go to war;
___the body is weak
___but the soul can be
___made rugged.
My father always respected sweat
while tears were worse than worthless,
men fought and boys cried.
In war those distinctions were lost to me.
___Once you've seen blood
___pooling like sweat down
___another man's forehead
___you need something
___stronger than tears for solace.
I won't describe killing a man
as an act of strength or weakness;
___war is war and hindsight
___is just too clear and yet
___I can not see the answers.

They told me it was okay to cry
when I came home;
___my body weaker
___the soul hardened
___but cracked.
I still remember running with rocks
and sticks as a child, pretending
I was charging into battle, victory in sight
my enemies dragons and ghouls
not men and guns, and tears or blood.
___Now my memories duel with me
___the new and the old and
___what is to come and what it is
___to exist, to live and to kill.
I've seen bodies twisted and torn
so I will not say I'm broken,
___but I don't think it's true
___to say I'm whole.
War is war and sometimes
the damage done escapes
the body but hits the soul.

late summer fog has no place in april
[nor does flooding or warmth or foot tall grass
that grows faster than weeds can spread]

early spring sun filters through,
breaking rank to give way to brightness blinding
in unexpected brilliance
that burns skin and leaf and soul -
late summer fog has no place in april

Why am I the one that trips,

the one that spills,

the one that falls,

Why Always Me?


Why am I the one that stutters,

the one with no laughs,

the one with no style,

Why Always Me?


Why am I out of balance,

the one without karma,

the one without…wait...she looked back at me.

and she smiled.

Today is a good day.

Cold
It's cold
cold down to the bone.
And you aren't here
I must bear this cold alone.

It's a hollow cold
not one you feel at night.
It's a hollow cold
not one you find at height

No, this cold is empty
like the cold of a sore heart.
It's been cold since you left,
cold in a world that fell apart

My heart aches without you
Without your warm touch
You gave me support I needed
You offered me a crutch

you were my warmth
without you i feel the cold
a hollow cold, not one you feel at night
it's the feeling of colorless gold

F - failing grade, female, part of the ionosphere, and the Dominical letter for a common year starting on Tuesday
F (the 6th ring of Saturn) is a feisty one. It changes its looks hourly.
But this is another story of moons.

Prometheus (who we all now know as Forethought)
also brought fire to man. The Gods punished him
and all mankind. Part of this punishment
was the creation of the first woman.
Her name was Pandora
and the gods loaded all the gifts of seduction they could onto her.
Her very name means "the all-endowed,"
and she and her descendants would torment men
for the rest of time. A "beautiful evil."
But it wasn't just her mere existence that plagued mankind.
For the gods had given the All-Gifted a gift.
A box.
You may have heard of it.
Prometheus warned his brother Epimethius not to accept gifts from the gods
but Epimethius accepted Pandora. How could he not? She was everything beautiful.
She fell into his arms and opened her box behind his back.
Plagues and pestilence, toils and tribulations were unleashed into the world.
Only hope remained within the box (the poet never told us why).

Now Pandora and Prometheus ever circle around Saturn,
encased together in F, the ring that formed
when they collided.
Perhaps their constant bickering is why F's shape changes so often.

deleted