Young Writers Society

I'm going to be hopefully doing more prose-esque/free verse poem/stories this year. It's a project I've been wanting to do for awhile now and I'm going to use NaPo to help me out! I'm not sure that I'll do 30 of them, but we'll see! Basically, I want to try writing stories for older kids who are struggling to learn to read. I've been mulling this idea over for years now and I've had troubling figuring out what I want those stories to look like- and I think I have a good idea now? So I'm going to try to do that. They're hopefully going to be a cross between poetry and prose- and very short stories- which I may expand a little more on later.

1. willow leaves
2. burn out
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1/30



willow leaves


I live where the willow kisses the water.
When the night ends, and darkness falls, I wake. Taking in the sky, stars calling me.
I tip-toe into the waves, ready for adventure.
Swimming now, I sing as my long elegant tail pushes me out to sea.
A sound makes me stop.

“Who’s there?” I say in the voice of a whale.

“No one.” comes a reply.

A dark shape is there now. My heart thuds, telling me to run, but I wait.

“Who’s there?” I say again.

The shape takes form and I realize it’s me- a tail to match mine, a face to match mine, and hands just like mine. I can’t believe my eyes.

There is one difference. Her fin is limp, and she is not moving.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She nods. Her eyes tell me it’s hard to admit. I want to help so I stay with her and make her chew willow leaves. It takes time but soon she can swim again.

It's definitely very poetic, Holy! I loved the lines:

I live where the willow kisses the water.

and

“Who’s there?” I say in the voice of a whale.

They're both very whimsical, and I can somehow see how the sense of questioning in the second one could be depicted as whale-like, because of how deep and echo-ey whale songs can be. A great start, Holy!

Thank you Lim <3 I was having some major self-consciousness going on.

2/30

burn out



she's gone
a heavy scent of exhaustion fills the room
moving on to better things
but she has to get to the point where
time is on her side.
fresh air seems out of grasp
and she tries to buy it but
sells her life in desperation
dandelion fluff is her compensation
delicate yet worthless.
it’s summer and
she’s lost in spring
one step ahead
but never in motion.
she needs to find time to breathe
where structure is interpreted
by mental energy.