Young Writers Society

pride

according to statistics,
we're doing pretty good.
our homophobia isn't as bad,
they say. we don't have
the same kind of discrimination
that other places in world.
and when i look at
the news stories,
i think i can agree.

not as many people
are subject
to the same level
as hatred people get
out west and down south.
bathrooms are a tense issue,
but we're don't speak of it.
and we don't have
the same tendency
to exempt people
on the basis of
needing freedom
in a religion that's
supposed to care for all.

but i cloak myself in shades
of white, hiding the beautiful
array of colors
lurking beneath the surface.
i'm a concoction of
purples and blues
and pinks and grays
and whites and blacks,
but i pretend that i'm
just the same color
as the people around me.

i'm scared to say
that i'm something to different.
each time i do, i feel like
i'm a spy—
hiding behind
whispered secrets
when i think
the room's loud enough
for no one to overhear.

Whenever you post a poem, I literally love it to death (not real death, but you know what I mean, right?)! They are excellent!
Mind sharing any secrets...?

Aw, thank you @Liberty500!

I'm not sure how helpful I can be, but I just try to write whatever is on my mind. My topics usually aren't planned ahead of time - I just sit down and try to figure out what's the most on my mind at the time. Once I know what topic I'm writing about, I decide what my feelings are on it. I try to write however I feel about it, since I know that will make the poem seem more authentic.

I think a good example of that is with miles. I had just watched Into the Spider-Verse with my mom, and I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I pinpointed what I liked about it, and decided to write a poem expressing my love of the characters and movie.

I hope that helps!

k.h.

you were so small,
just a little plastic figure
not even two inches high.
i remember delicately
crafting you with
the miscellaneous parts
my brother and i had collected.

afternoons would be spent
sitting on the floor of his
bedroom, crammed in between
his bed and bookcases.
you would be my avatar
into the lands of our imagination.
even as the stories changed,
and our cast grew,
you were my constant.

you'd be put through
adversity like no other
at my hand—
my brother would always
get frustrated with how
eager i was to have
others jump to conclusions
about you and your life.

but as you transitioned
from a world of old carpets
and little plastic katanas
to words on a screen
and awkwardly-proportioned
figures on pieces of paper,
your life proved to my prophecy.

i put you through toil after toil,
inflicting wounds that mirrored
the ones i hid below the surface.
you and i went on adventure together
across a land with little company.
when i felt truly alone,
i could sit in my dark room
at my desk,
and imagine myself as the
literary counterpart that
would fight the world to save you.

we evolved.
i faded out of the story,
and you took the center stage.
i crafted a world that would
fit your narrative,
though it was only slightly
less clunky than the one before.
i thought about how, someday,
people would know your name,
and get the same joy
i felt.

but then doubt clouded
my vision.
i pushed you aside,
and turned to other projects,
saying that it was because
"i'm more mature".
i tried to find the right story
for you, but your life
only fits a single story.

i don't know
if i believe in
destiny or fate.
but i do know that
my future lies with
your story—
even if takes years
for me to tell.

That helps, Mage! Thanks.

You've given us lots of interesting narratives here, Mage! I particularly like i want to hold a sword - especially this bit:

i want to grasp the hilt
of a blade that has won
countless battles,
and lost some, too.

Thank you, @Cadi! I'm glad you liked that part - it was one of my favorite parts of that poem, too.

crushing

my first crush
was my childhood
best friend.
we had known
each other since
our years in soccer—
i still remembered
our dirty uniforms
and gaping teeth.
we'd get ice cream
in the park after practice,
kicking our legs
back and forth
on the swing set as
we sang pop songs
in our off tune voices.

it wasn't until eighth grade
that i realized how much
i loved your golden curls
that cascaded down your back
and the way they framed
your face.
i told myself
that friends just feel that
way about each other,
ignoring how
happy i felt when i found
out you liked girls.

in sophomore year,
i finally understood
that i had fallen in love
with both guys and girls,
and that you were the first
of them all.
i let myself imagine
an alternate universe
where i was your girlfriend.
i always thought you and i
as the perfect juxtaposition.
our names, our appearances,
our personalities—
they all complimented each
other.

but i had to let go of
my fantasies
because we were already
worlds apart.
i never saw you in the halls
and the days
we got together
were distant memories.

but now i see you again.
we talk about our favorite
animes and how our lives
have changed since
we were kids—it's
the senior nostalgia.
your hair no longer cascades
down your back,
but i love how the blue
shines in that little
ponytail every time
i see you.

dante

i remember
before you came
and how dark
and lonely
our house felt.
it had a family
and many pets,
but we still missed
the feline companion we
had lost several months ago.

then you arrived,
a cowering, little furry
mess. you hid under
my bed for the first
month you were here,
effectively shutting me out
of my sanctuary.
i resented you for
taking away
my shelter from the world.

but in the year
you've been here,
light has returned to the house.
you frolic
and play
and stick your little wet
nose everywhere
it's not supposed to go.

your head is always
peeking out of a window
or looking up at us
with big bright eyes.
it's become a game
to pass around
our furry bundle of happiness—
even though you hate
being cuddled,
you tolerate it.

i love your chirps
and the way you
dart from one room to
another.
you're like the little sibling
i've read so many stories
about. and even though
your fur is black as can be
(except for the two white patches—
one on your chest
and one between your hind legs)
you're the sunshine
in our lives.

perfectionist

it's always annoyed me
to not be able to
color exactly within the lines—
a stray dash of
colored pencil
always slips its way through
my sharpie creation.

i've always hidden
my insecurities
by ignoring that they
were there.
it's easier
to pretend a piece is
perfect than
accept that it doesn't
live up to expectations.

but it doesn't
stop other people
from noticing all the
numerous flaws
littered across my
pristine white paper.

when they point
the tips of their finger
at the extra bit
of color i can no longer
ignore,
i find i can't pick
up the pencil again.

history repeats

when i was a little girl,
my grandmother
gave me an old book
on extraordinary women.
held together by tape,
the book should have been
long forgotten.
she hadn't read it in years.
i like to think
that she spent hours pouring
over its worn pages
to the point where she had
the stories of the women
who had come before
her memorized.

by all accounts,
the book should have been
destroyed when she
entrusted it to me
and my pudgy, clumsy hands.
but i fixed the tape
and made sure no pages
slipped free from its spine.
i learned names of women
who have never once
been mentioned in my
history or science classes.
of barbara mcclintock
and ava lovelace
and mary anning
and rachel carson.
they taught me to persevere
when my womanhood
called my capability
into question,
and how to defy the odds
when reaching for the stars.

i may no longer
read that book,
but it will sit proudly
on my shelf
until i one day
pass it onto my
own granddaughter.

sea salt trio

sitting atop our own
ticking clock tower,
we swing our legs
back and forth
and eat sea salt ice cream
in the light of the dying sun.

"as long as we remember each other,
we'll never be apart."
even as the words replay
in my mind,
i wonder if the euphoria
is really worth the pain.
my heart breaks
at the thought of being
something other than together.

but we're nearing
day 358,
and it's time
for us to each play
our parts.
i know it's my fate
to forever
run after you,
and hold onto memories
that will eventually be
forgotten in the sands
of time.

let me pretend
if only for a day
that the three of us
can run off towards
the sunset horizon,
leaving this twilight-touched
town behind
for sandy shores
and rolling waves
of an island
that will never truly be our home.

our destiny

i remember
when we used to sit
on the shores of our
perfect little island.
i'd always stand
beside the fallen log
you two sat on
and we'd watch
the waves roll
into the white sands.

it was our utopia.
but i began to realize
that there were days
you went to the shores with
just the two of you.
you made promises
that i wasn't a part of,
and swore to fulfill a destiny
i couldn't find a place in.

i turned my back
on the friendship
we had all so carefully crafted.
i let my heart
fall into darkness,
and become someone
unrecognizable.
and when we finally met again,
i didn't know how to act
around you.

i should know better
than to go
chasing after you again,
but i still love our banter
and i'll give up everything
if it means
getting you back someday.

This is a great poem! But one question... What's an utopia?

I love that you take these familiar scenes (YES, I KNOW THIS ONE <3) and turn them into these gorgeous pieces that anyone can appreciate. It's very creative and well-executed.