Young Writers Society

April 13, 2017
Poem Twelve

I was born into the wasteland of her absence,
woken from deep sleep, a statue crackling
as it shifts its weight. Fingers shoved down
my throat, but I cannot vomit, only stare
wild-eyed at the beasts surrounding me,
sun blazing bright over cracked earth, twining
weeds strangling marble busts of wise old women--
I am a night creature, unused to heat and the brutality
that comes with burning day-- give me the shield
of the moon; her alabaster aura drives away death.

April 13, 2017
Poem Thirteen

i am realizing now that i broke myself for you.
it seems like the smallest kind of revelation,
but a year after the fact everything makes a bigger impact.
ten years in the desert, ten years of winter-- it was never enough
to satiate your hunger for care. i don't blame needs,
not even yours or the symptoms of starvation:
the sharp impact of your drunk palm across my face
as i cowered beside the washing machine, scrabbling
on linoleum. i smiled then. i don't know why--

now i am shriveled up. i seek attention like water, but cannot
take it into my roots. i gave moisture to your dried-up soul.
but you're a raisin, and you can't become a grape again.

April 13, 2017
Poem Fourteen

My cousin slammed his fist so hard it bled
on the steering wheel that night,
as dry dirt clods rattled around in my chest,
as I admitted what that boy said to me, and I had to stop
him from turning around and releasing rage on that boy
in the bar parking lot.

My face smeared with mascara mud, I realized
that this must be what it's like to have a big brother.

Now we drive at night with the windows down
and eat drunk burgers at In-N-Out. And when he's too broke
for cigarettes, we lounge outside the brewery and split
a clove cigar, cherry glowing in the calming evening.

I hold his rage close to my heart,
like a precious small bird that will grow
to the fiercest eagle someday.

April 19, 2017
Poem Fifteen

Ray Bradbury dreams in Gaiman
overtones descend upon me like ink-black
rocket ships descend on Mars,
creatures in the craters.

All morning I've searched the cabinets
for something real for breakfast,
but nothing is. It's all in my head
and I'll starve, sci-fi visions of earl gray
dancing on the shelves just out
of the third dimension.

April 19, 2017
Poem Sixteen

leave me here in my room please
fuzzy pants and disastrous volcano
of dirty and clean laundry pile
with a garnish of cat hair

disgusting
but it is my nest

April 19, 2017
Poem Seventeen

routine is not the curse i thought it was
i find comfort in the same blankets,
same working hours, same white bread
sandwich for lunch.

i do not tire of the same people
coming in to ogle our store. i tire
only of the toothache of bad days
when they string one into another
like popcorn on a christmas tree.

April 19, 2017
Poem Eighteen

alcoholic

@Nikayla @Willard

April 19, 2017
Poem Nineteen

I'm going to shave
this cat and name it
Willard.

Its name is completely
dependent on its
lack of hair, its
poetry squeaking through
its whiskers.

A desert cat, perhaps
Willard will find solace
in a little less insulation.

inspired by @Willard and his NaPo thread, I'm going to shave a dog and name it Bruce
@Nikayla

April 19, 2017
Poem Twenty

Boredom is the Sickness of the Soul and the Beginning of Bar Fights

tonight i will go to karaoke
and drink dirty shirleys with a garnish
of sideways glances.

it's too cold to wear shorts outside
but i think i will anyway. i hope
someone gives me a reason
to be angry.

it's not a good karaoke night
unless the ambulance is called,
and i've been spoiling for a fight
for three months.

if they put me down, make sure
my head's against the permafrost.

@Nikayla @Willard

Eighteen is a short, yet powerful piece meanwhile I love how it contrasts from nineteen, a more silly and relaxed poem that references another NaPo thread. I believe you should be getting bonus points for that, because it's a fun piece.

April 21, 2017
Poem Twenty-One

I can imagine I am inside an egg here.
My room is pitch black. I am damp
and clean after a hot shower.

I could emerge at any time
like a newborn chick, down plastered
to my sides. But I understand
the value of eggs and other dark places
that allow fragile beings to grow.

April 24, 2017
Poem Twenty-Two

These days, I am dissatisfied even with how my teeth fit together.
Those sweet suicide brothers bump sore elbows
and crave all that will destroy them.

My wisdom teeth remain absent.
I know they're in there somewhere.

April 26, 2017
Poem Twenty-Three

Sentence

Capital letter.
Space, comma, semi-colon.
Exclamation point!

April 26, 2017
Poem Twenty-Four

I dare you to lift the stone that is my tongue,
to look beyond rose quartz lips
and into the cavern. You will find
not a crystalline cave, but loam,
the place small dark things crawl--
a house for spiders.

April 26, 2017
Poem Twenty-Five

fingernails clipped and preened,
room cleaned,

i have no need to fear disaster
but my uncle told me California's due for a quake

papers in order,
dishes done and dinner made,

it's gonna be a big one, he says,
so i'd better keep my soul clean.