Young Writers Society

Muscles clenched, coiled,
Ready to spring into action,
To become what I was meant to be:
Something exquisite, or
Something unbearable.

I’m ready to explode.


solivagant (2018)
evanescence (2017)
disenchantment (2016)

paroxysm i

Could it really be possible that i am living outside of my own life? that when the waters begin to rise, i let myself drown? the words seem too harsh on my lips to be true, but couldn't it be? (true, that is)

Of course it could be. it is.

Why must i always choose the path of least resistance? are there not other ways open to me, things i can decide for myself, so i can stand for myself?

As if you even know who you are. what you stand for. it's nothing.

Running can't always have been my nature--there must have been something else--before--how can i recreate myself if the foundation doesn't even exist?

Don't think about it.

Wow! I really like the play on an acrostic form here, especially having the actual term in the poem. Nice start to NaPo ^^ (sad message, but very good indeed)

Thanks, @fraey! It looks like I'm getting a little more experimental this NaPo better strap yourself in.

paroxysm ii

I've got thirty different things happening
all at once;
I have homework and a piano lesson,
besides cleaning my room,
reading a dozen books,
building a small model spacecraft to fly away in--
So you see, there's
so much I must
do before
I...

On. Nothing.Off.

I shake my head. Back to work.

Okay, I wasn't lying about the homework,
really.
But sometimes you can't help
sneaking glances away--
not that anything's more important than this--
well, maybe just a little bit.
And looking never hurt.
Right?

On. Nothing. Off.

I sigh. This is getting ridiculous.

So I'm not doing my homework.
But I swear I've got a lot of
other things on my mind,
not just this.
You see, there's this boy, and
I l i k e him.
And I'm thinking about him, not just
the text that he's sending me,
maybe,
unless I scared him off
(like that last time).
Let me just check--

On. Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Off.

Nothing! How can there be nothing?
It's been 2 minutes and
34 seconds since I hit send.

On.

Without my initiative,
the screen is glowing.
My heart is slamming into my
throat: a response.
Hands are too sweaty to hold,
breath too shaky to
keep my lungs inflated,
I suddenly want to look somewhere else,
anywhere else--

Unlock.

He said "hi"

paroxysm iii

o mind divine,
o mind of mine;
a place built of
m. c. escher's
stairways and
dr. seuss's
colors,
lined with words from
poe and tolkien,
atwood and steinbeck,
and thousands more
as yet
untouched.

o mind divine,
inner light can
always be found
against the
darkness of
modern politics and
consequences too-soon.
idealism is the
refuge for the soul.

o mind of mine,
you are your own.
no one will ever be
quite like you,
but too,
you can't ever be
one of the others.
draw the paisley
window curtains
shut;
there won't be any
seeing in.
or out.

o mind divine,
o mind of mine;
my lips can only shape:
'i'm fine.'

paroxysm iv

[Looking to revise and submit my works to some lit magazines, so I've taken this poem down! In case anyone ever sees this and is curious, feel free to PM me ]

Querencia! These last two have such nice little specific images and details - really nice sound too.

This imagery is great:

my neck twists to observe
the bruises on my back--
they're hard to see,
to touch--
I guess that's why I
forgot their history.

Ah, the turns there are just perfect for the "bruised friendship" metaphor. Looking forward to reading the rest of what you write!

Thank you @alliyah! <33

paroxysm v

I just thought I'd pop this in a spoiler because I talk about a funeral and it's a little bit heavy? and I'm probably disrespectful--nothing graphic, of course, though.

paroxysm vi

you always said that
you would catch me
if I fell
(you should've said when
instead of if).

but I'm falling at
9.8 meters
per second
squared,
reaching terminal velocity,
(terminal means the end)

and I no longer believe that
love works like that.

I really love this latest one, paroxysm vi. The lines in the parentheses are really gut-punching and probably my favorite lines in the poem - the blatant, sad voice it adds... Really love it!

Thanks bunches, @EternalRain! I'm glad that my gut-punching succeeded. (If it makes you feel better, most of these are fabricated or at least exaggerated--I'm not always so angsty! )

paroxysm vii

I've done it again
(& again & again
& again);
my own
disreputable history
passes before my eyes
like a never-ending
reel of film,
or some dismal
parade of failure
through the city-center
deep inside me.

When I said,
"We should learn
from our mistakes",
it seemed I meant those of
the entire nation,
our world,
not myself.
Next time I'll swallow the words;
if they dissolve
inside my stomach,
maybe I'll have a
molecular urge to find
a new path.

The first rule is that
there will always be
a next time.
Don't worry about that
worry about me

paroxysm viii

your words drip honey but
your eyes are riddled like
the holes of wasps nests,
and i never know what i will find
inside.

your cheeks are painted with
pollen, like blush, and
your ears are overcome by
the buzzing of the bees
(drowning my pleas).

your hair, sticky with sweetness,
oozes down my back while
we embrace; you say,
"shh, you're alright"--
strong words coming from

my nightmare.