Young Writers Society

you forget
the pain of ink entering your skin because
you smile every time you see jewel tones
peeking out from your shirt sleeve
a reminder of somebody there (for life)
hands held and even
your mother's sour face cannot curb
the desire for more

(you were there, for that, watching
her to say that there was no room
for hating me. maybe that's why
i forget the way it felt; that was
the first time i had no reason
to be afraid)

— April 1, 2017

I am in love with the image "jewel tones" I love the rebelliousness in this and the tattoo experience both as a symbol and transformative experience but also there is a lot of pain that comes across too. I have so many feels <3

an icebox of toys
is what you were given to play with
for your future. the warmth of
love frozen solid
because soft and squishy wasn't allowed;
you were too hard for that, she said, too
cold to return what others gave. it was
better to build with things that wouldn't
freeze (or melt, you were never
quite sure), so nobody could grow
to resent how you didn't play right (house
or marriage, or anything that resembled
a family) and at least careers
you could line up.

— April 2, 2017

I can really see the emotion in this second poem [an icebox of toys ...] so while I didn't enjoy the emotions, I like the poem. The most visceral part for me is:

"the warmth of
love frozen solid
because soft and squishy wasn't allowed;"

It really gives a sense of exactly what you mean by "box of frozen toys" which could just be someone who lives in a really cold climate, but this explains it exactly how you're going for it. That level of clarity continues throughout too which is really nice.

we stayed up late together when
the world wouldn't let us rest, tired
hearts mixing with orange juice,
an insomniac cocktail of i understand
allowing the air to feel less
like a knife edge and more like
a leaded blanket, heavy but
there is nothing that can hurt you
so long as you keep talking. we
drank terror like it was a happy hour deal
the type of sobriety where inhibitions
had long been brushed away by a clock's
ticking hands towards a dawn we only saw
because somebody else couldn't sleep

— April 3, 2017

you define romance as
the default is together, the
differences necessary but otherwise
exceptions and the concept
catches in your throat, you having
long ago defined love as please
stay here with me, but do not
smother, i can barely breath
already, a web of facebook articles
talking about how nobody under 25
wants relationships anymore and
you see yourself reflected as the villain
(as always)

— April 4, 2017

I see a striking comparison between April 2 and April 3. In April 2, the subject is told that they are cold and unlovable and will never fit in. But then in the April 3 poem, the speaker has found joy and a partnership that maybe seems strange to the outside world but works well for them. It almost reads like a sequel of sorts to April 2.

And yeah these are all wonderful.

your life since you were
eight years old has been punctuated
by the phrase if only
you worked hard enough, you wouldn't
be such a failure, efforts
ignored because if you were
really trying this wouldn't
have happened. you do not know
how to explain your aptitude on paper
does not translate into you being able
to actually do anything.

store bought neurotransmitters balance
out aptitude with performance, and
every time you buy them her voice
rings with the checkout:
why haven't you outgrown this
yet

— April 5, 2017

literally between you two and
(it is
my biggest fear to be here, knowing
how much touch is the language of lovers
and you made a promise in front
of everyone important in your life
to be lovers for the rest of your days.
while our lives as just as entwined
i am still just a sister with a love debt
that leaves me jealous beyond measure,
untrusting and possessive. i reach for claws
instead of compassion and i know
you say your skin is kevlar but even it
dents under pressure and i am so scared
my next blow will kill you even though
it never has. you kiss him over me before
the both of you hold me tight enough
i can maybe believe my body is not shattered
glass and maybe, just maybe, three
is not a crowd)
you're still disgustingly affectionate
towards each other

— April 6, 2017

I just get a happy feeling knowing how much you are going to love looking back on these and have them evoke the emotions of your memories!

Thanks for the comments, everyone!
-

planning the future means
existing a little to the left
where the past cannot have
a direct line to throw a knife in
your back, bite your throat and draw you
into the shadows, a reminder
there is no such thing as happiness
and trauma. you can own it as much as
you want but there will always be
the knowledge no matter how fast light travels
darkness got there first.

(maybe that is why
you try to burn like an inferno but
such a fire cannot sustain itself. it
eventually succumbs to the dark
pressing in all around it)

— April 7, 2017

i wanted to write more poems about you,
the way you make my heart swell and
a constant i'll see you tomorrow melting
away the coldness on a nearly starless night
(there are always three, even when
their light is obscured by clouds) but
i prefer to forget what i feel about you
unsure how to word it and never
wanting to trade your love for another
but wishing you could reciprocate
what i felt for you. we are
two sides of a coin, spine pressed together but
our faces never touching, never
going beyond nuzzles and most certainly
never reaching what i would see
in my wildest dreams. i know
you have your body against another and
there is space for me to love someone new but

i have never felt this way with anyone else
(and i fear that telling you any of this
will tear us apart)

— April 8, 2017

in a game of tracing back
every panic attack to its source you get
caught in a game of chicken or egg, wondering
which fear came first, being dependent
or being unloved. both twined
together with you know
deep down
i am the only one who loves you and
you stayed and stayed and stayed until
the lie was proven then you keep
going back to it because nobody else
is this close it's impossible to rely
on people the same way
as your mother
the landscape a barren wasteland but at least
with her you know the traps

(you know the answer to your question; you
have already made the choice
too many times to count)

— April 9, 2017

your university english class discussed punctuation
for a solid three hours, made interesting
because excitement over parentheses
is rare to find. he explains how it is all
based on reading aloud: a dash draws
emphasis while two curved lines
are not even a whisper, meant to denote
this is what should not be said.
citations suddenly make sense and dialogue
richens as now you understand this
is what it was made for. you start to feel that
beyond the confines of your mind
maybe your words can be heard

(you begin putting your asides between them
long ago having learned you know
what not to say, do not dare but
it is too painful not to have the world know)

(you don't want to admit any of it)

— April 10, 2017