Young Writers Society

So I'm gonna try to write stuff every day and I'm just going to call them poems. It probably won't be good content, but I just want to force myself to write every day.

2016

1.

I like to think of how your hands go up behind your head,
and you itch your neck.
it's a little tick you don't know you have, but I remember
when you did it all the time as a kid.

back when we played with dolls and toy horses
and we fell in love with the lost girl plot -
where a young girl loses her way,
and gets found by people (who just happened to have horses)
who want to help her.

I like to think of how your upper lip curls up when you smile,
and your eyes get all squinty, as they're shadowed by your thick lashes
it's a feature I know you notice, because you're self conscious

but I love it (and I love you)

I know that some sisters don't get along
and I know we haven't always
but I miss seeing you - having to now rely simply on memory.
missing out on watching you grow into adulthood
makes my heart ache.

And I know you want to see me (I want to see you)
And I know you miss me (I miss you)

but I like to think that you think of the way I laugh,
and throw my head back.
The way I'll snort and wheeze, and make every sound imaginable
just because you made a pun.

I like to think that you remember the way my lips spread
into a pleased grin
when you tell me stories about school
or something you did with friends.

I like to think you love it
(because I love you)
And although I can't see you, I hope you know
(I miss you)

So right from the beginning I already feel kind of intimate with the narrator and that is a pleasant feeling that we don't really experience much in poetry It is lovely to love someone to an extent of knowing all their ticks and those memories and bond that we get throughout is poignantly formed. Ahhh <3

2.

run me over again
with your big red truck.
spare my sister the crushing pain
of realization.

let my bones crack
beneath the weight.
it doesn't hurt me like the first time;
my skin is calloused (though my heart is tender).

roll your tires on my ribs,
and pierce my heart in my chest.
(I pushed her out of the way
just to take it.)

don't stop for me,
though I lie in front waiting,
laying in the dirt
like an animal, waiting to die.

3.

I'll clean the dishes
and you'll drink the wine.
I really don't mind.

I'm used to pulling everyone's weight,
except mine.

4.
My heart is pounding with anticipation and urgency
I breathe in

Lord my God you have not forsaken me
I breathe out

You guide me by your grace and by your mercy
I breathe in

Your Spirit and your lovingkindness comfort me
I breathe out

5.

I'm acquainted with the creaks of our old home:
The ice maker grinding, and the screen door's loose grip,
causing it to catch in the wind, and slam back on the doorframe.
The hum of the heater, the screams of the washing machine,
the groaning of the floor beneath our feet.

Often, when we let silence fill our mouths,
and we sit alone in our rooms, we can hear the pops
inside the walls.
Like a knuckle, shifting under pressure, air is released.

But it's home, for now - and we make do with what we have.
Now, at least, there are no more squeaks in the walls,
since we ridded the house of mice a few weeks ago.

6.

you would tickle me in my armpits and chase me
all around the house - you smiling, me screaming
"tickle monster! tickle monster!"
and unknowingly, you were too rough with me
but I enjoyed it when you picked me up
and threw me on the couch with a "wee!"

I felt like I was flying, for few seconds
when you'd lift me up in the air
and spin me around

with my daddy, I could fly
(when you were there, anyway)

you used to take me to Chuck-E-Cheese,
and I would play the reflex games and win
you would help me count the tickets
I'd get a bunch of tiny dalmations (plastic, in my pocket)
and we'd both enjoy pizza (not because you could eat it,
being lactose intolerant, but because you knew
it was my favorite)

you would bring home toys, little miscellaneous
obscure things, after every trip you took
sometimes, i would wake up to a little airplane on my sidetable
and hope you were home
but you had gone again

daddy, you would fly
(away from me,
more than I could understand, at the time)
I remember counting down the days
until I could see you again
I wished I could fly with you,
daddy

It's really a beautiful poem. It seems as though the speaker's dad left? <3

7.

9. it's a song

10.

hiccups steal my breath from me
and force me to convulse beneath
my skin

catc h i n g, a i r
in little gasps
forcing my throat
to relax

one, two, three, one, two, three
hold your breath and hold your tongue
wait it out, it too will pass

catchi n g, a i r
in little grasps

11.

lonely cloud, in the sky
swirling water way up high
little touch, here and there
to the mountaintops

lonely cloud, wandering by
drops of water way up high
little float, up and down
fading as it meets the ground

lonely cloud, in the sky
I wish I was a cloud
for you