Young Writers Society

8/30

I don't sleep on my back anymore.
that's when my nightmares come to life
night terrors
you've only sat on my chest once
but that's enough to grind my bones into
corn chowder
so I sleep on my side and
don't look at the door
because if I can't see you
I can promise myself you're not there
and I have enough courage to hope it's true
until the daylight comes to scold me
for being afraid of the dark
but too scared to be ashamed,
I plead for the sun to pull an all-nighter
and it reluctantly agrees
on the condition that I
go to bed earlier tonight

Holy I think many of these have really intriguing themes in them. I'm a big fan of poem 6 - the idea of someone trying to do "self CPR" and paired with the holes in hearts, and breaking ribs is really interesting - I think each of those snippets could be expanded into their own poem, though I really like what you've got for phrasing & imagery now!

The last 3 lines of poem 4 are very striking as well,

and nobody knows why I'm screaming
until I tell them I'm tired. just tired.
And I wonder why they're not collapsing too

It's like the idea that people are working themselves to death, and then think that the people who actually have to take the time to rest are the ones doing it wrong. Ah! Yeah busy-ness/overworked/tired culture is a great topic for poetry I think, because so many people can relate to it.

Thank you for sharing your poetry! <3

EDIT: Posted comment and then saw poem 8, so just adding that the imagery is really nice in that one too!

Thank you @alliyah! C:

9/30

I don't walk much.
hidden from the sun,
forgetting about the breeze.
I love the open world
I do.
but it's a place where many of my friends drown.
the sights, the sounds,
smells,
tactical experiences;
it pulls me in so fast
whirling around in my brain-
it's impossible to hear my mind,
calculate the kilometers ahead of me.
that's when I realize a temptation has hold of me.
walking.
I could walk forever.
away from home.
I could be the girl that walks,
and walks,
and walks,
never wondering where the path leads
what a satisfying feeling it would be
to run away from home

10/30

silk stitches
red stains- turned brown;
these are my memories
of picnics with you.
no amount of 'happy thoughts'
would make walking with you
safe.

but people still talk about you as though you're a hero
and in their reality I'm sure you are.

11/30

the grip on my ribs
feels like a waterfall pounding on my chest
and I can't escape the cage
holding me down
concealing me from the world
in an act of preservation...
all I can hear is the echoes left by
the fleeting droplets
running along my torso
trying to find a place to stop moving.

and it makes me remember what it's like
to lay in a busy intersection
counting the cigarette butts that land on my forehead

12/30

stop moving.
stop staring.
stop breathing in my direction.

my eyes drift to my happy place but-
to my horrified sense of self-worth
the door is shut and locked
and you're dangling the key on a ring filled with
taps on my shoulders and
crinkling wrappers and
intrusive paws stepping on my arms while I'm typing this.
a hum in my ear that's caused by the refrigerator door
slightly ajar
and ready to turn me into
the worst case of she-godzilla you've ever seen.
despite the fact that
I smile at passerbys

13/30

once upon a time...
my ankle was swollen
so I forgot how to walk and
someone taught me how to dance again.
but I didn't know her then.

I try to calm myself by chanting:
you love people. you love people. you love people.
so I don't withdraw into the trap that I've set for my fragile
expectation of society.

and then I remember that a stranger
taught me the rumba
and she didn't even know about the holes in my shoes

you love people. you love people. you love people.
repeat until you find someone worth cataloguing
in your family albums

14/30

I look at my fellow humans and I
can't help but notice
everyone knows who they are
and I
feel like I'm missing a manual
or a map
detailing,
instructing,
suggesting at least-
what to do. where to go. who to see.
there's a spot in my heart reserved for wandering
and I wonder how many miles I'll walk before it's filled and
how long can I go not knowing.
crawling along the highway
asphalt embedded in my palms. exhausted.
where does energy come from?
it seems to absorb into everyone else from the objects around them
the more they move
the more they interact with the world
the more they live-
it gives back to them
and they keep going
like a wined up toy
and I'm forced to keep up