Young Writers Society

It's been a long time since I've really written much. I don't know what the theme will be, but it'll probably be filled with teenage angst. Multiple crises regarding identity and other life things are fun.

Ahh, I did not expect to be doing NaPo, haha.

Poem #1
Day #4

Title: Broken, Mended, Holy

the best way to get better is to keep on trying,
with weary bones -- disconnected fingers falling off
onto my keyboard, as i type the sentence to its completion.
then i insert my fingers back into their broken sockets,
just like God intended on Monday morning in the office.

the best way to keep on trying is to never give up,
so that's why i wired my laptop to my pacemaker.
when the apartment threatened to shut off my power,
the shocks throughout my veins were enough to stop
any feelings of bitterness crawling through my heart.

to never give up is to never lose hope, funnily enough
so during my mandatory jogs, i watch as my leg slips
and stumbles behind me onto the jagged stone path,
as i bend down to pick it up and relish in the sickening
crack as my body becomes whole once more.

i'm told to never lose hope is to keep on living.
so i attend church every sunday, facetiming with God.
we have to keep up appearances, you know.
a lad from collections points the thumb i left in the dish;
i smile, keeping my teeth in place. "let Him keep it this time."

Poem #2
Day #4

Title: Nocturne


the undertaker wraps the shroud of the night sky over my body, encompassing it for the viewing;

yet my soul shies away from the material,
despite solace in eternity
next to the never ending crowd of stars
that i am drawn to call my friends.

red giants comfort me in the last moments of my essence, as the preacher says the final words. the gaps in my memory and scenery are wider now, as the wake finishes up and i lack the ability to piece the events together to say goodbye. my mother passes my resting place one last time.

a nocturne solo plays out as my souls joins the universe.

Poem #3
Day #14

(where has the time gone)

Title: Highway Hotels
Inspiration from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n35R5YL5RQo

i'm stuck off of I-90 in your old, rundown middle america
your new place is in an area where the grass always dies.
this hotel rooom only provides the thinnest of curtains;
you won't be stopping by, but please look in the window.

you and her will never see this note, i suppose.
it'll be left behind for housekeeping to throw away.
but it's on the bed if you ever want to read it, love.
you'll have to climb next to me in my hotel sheets.

answer your phone every once and a while,
maybe respond to a text or two or ten from me.
she could be what you want, but i'm paying
a hundred a night 'til you know what you need.

Poem #4
Day #18

Title: quartz (and that's only what you were told)

we sat together on the pier, surveying the ocean ahead.
i told you it was called 'clearwater', but it didn't live up to its name.
waves crashed back and forth, spraying us with brackish water.
yet you never complained about the wind in your hair--the salt.

our legs dangled over the edge of the water, with truth spilling out;
"i never liked the seagulls much," you confided, hoping the sea
would drown out your words, much like it drowned our friendship.
you leaned over and bit off the top of my ice cream cone, one gulp.

i didn't have the heart to tell you that a seagull had stolen my ice cream.
you picked up my fries and started to test me, taking them one by one;
i let you take the rest of my ice cream, like the seagull before you,
and i rested my head against your shoulder, despite the riptide in our lives.

"much of the sand on this beach is made up of quartz crystals," i said,
tasting the remnants of vanilla in the corner of my mouth. i smiled.
you combed your fingers through my blonde mess of hair, struggling
through the fine layer of aerosolized seawater, yet we both laughed.

"crushed seashells make for pretty beaches," was your only response.
i wondered if the riptide could overtake this moment, pulling you under.
the seagulls wouldn't save us, despite my previous (unwilling) offering;
so i held you tight on the pier, as you stole my food (but i kept my heart)

some white sand beaches come from parrot fish crap,
but i didn't tell you that.

i never told you how much i liked nocturne, so i will now. i love the mention of red giants.

also publicly declaring my love for the sadness of the unsaid words in your latest (quartz). <3

@Hannah omg thank you so much omg

I really like poem 4. You have a great way of storytelling in that, and it really makes me want to keep reading the story, but at the same time, the story is over, there's nothing more to add because we have it all encompassed right there, which is exactly what you want in a poem.