Young Writers Society

"all I can think about is standard deviations"-quote from LadySpark that would be a great prompt
-play with form. Sestinas seem like a beast but I could give it a shot. Maybe try a sonnet or a ballad again?
-perhaps a notebook from an instagtram ad could save me (I actually did buy a journal for burnout from an instagram ad. Time will tell if I actually use it.
From a poetry prompt book I bought a few years back from Five Below
-include the words flowers, bloom, wax, wane stem-bonus if poem is NOT about flowers or the natural world
-lethologica-when you can't think of the word for something (prompt is to describe it without using the word
-mesmerism-a compelling attraction, fascination
-phosphenes-the colors of the "stars" that you see when you rub your eyes
redamancy-the act of loving in return
-trance, electric, dance floor, twist, mirror-bonus-do not write about dancing or a night on the town
-the concept of feeling like the "keeper of memory", like it is your job to remember the things that sane people have long forgotten.

@Snoink-sorry lol. Socks have been kind of a trope of mine so seemed like a good way to start off this year.

Your poetry is absolutely stunning, niteowl! I can't believe I haven't left you a comment yet; I've thoroughly enjoyed every single one of your poems so far this April, and you have SO many beautiful lines throughout each one that it makes it difficult to choose favorites, but here are a few standouts:

Another Sunday up in flames,

Your ability to capture the tone of the poem and imagery so cohesively here is amazing!!

That I am but a hollow shell, cracked open
By words, by rain, by fear of the day.

OUCH this one hurts, but I can't stop going back to it <3

niteowl wrote:
and people are squishy and weird and unpredict-
able and kinda gross, and i can barely cope with my
own squishy weird grossness, so is bring another
squishy gross person into my space truly an
aspiration?

This is such a mood, omg. That, then coupled with the last two lines? Oh heck yes.

i met my quantum selves last night.
perhaps i should have had something better to ask
the beings that were just one decision removed
from me, like how are we meeting and why
are we here, but i asked about you instead,
because you're the most that's ever happened to me
and i had to know if any of our quantum entanglements
had a happy ending.

most just shrugged at the name,
the picture that showed up in my hand,
(blink once it's a rose-hazed painting,
blink again, it's a too-real photo).
a few said "oh, that mother-fucker?"
one cussed me out for sleeping
with her husband. that i had never slept
with you, and you were not-quite her husband,
were facts that could not be explained to her-
"y'all are hurtin' my head with this quaternary bullshit".
somehow this conversation
gave me more closure than you ever could.

and i wake up in a starbucks, where i had been revising
an email to angela for the millionth time
the logo on my empty coffee cup is blue. that seems weird to me,
but i'm not sure why. the starbucks logo is a mermaid, after all.
why would she be in anything other than blue water?

i scan the email, an eternal resident of the drafts folder.
who is angela?

for a split second, i have forgotten you,
and it is terrifying and somehow freeing. but then i remember
your shampoo smelled of lilacs before you cut your hair,
you playing footsie with me in the cafeteria, only to deny
it when confronted, your tequila-soaked lips touching mine
briefly on your 21st birthday, the drunk texts declaring we could be
soul-mates "if only you had a dick". i hated when your 3 am texts
woke me up, but i loved that you texted me at all. until you stopped.

i fix a typo in the email, as if it matters, then close the laptop,
order another chai tea latte. i wait next to a man
whom i've seen before, but where? he's no model, but
his eyes remind me of the sea. he turns to me and asks why i'm staring.
"sorry, was just trying to remember where i know you from."
"you don't, i'm just in town for business." he looks me up and down. "sorry, no time for pleasure, i'm late". he grabs my drink and leaves. the barista rolls her eyes and re-makes it.

that night as i'm almost asleep, i see him again, dancing with angela on a tropical beach. she looks at him as if no one else has ever existed. i hate her i love him. wait that's not right...i crash into dark, the room of a million mes, all questions and photos and dissecting all their decisions. why are we here? no one seems to be asking. i meet the me with a picture of the coffeeshop man. i tell her he's an ass and she agrees i can slap him if i see him again. she doesn't know angela, but she'll keep an eye out.

i wake up again in my apartment, in the world where the starbucks logo is green (though it really should be blue, or maybe dark cyan), and angela is just a stranger again, and i think that next time i'm dargged into that room, i'll have to ask if any version of me has figured out how to stop chasing love that never deserved to exist in the first place.

Ummm? Yes please sing us number 7. The first four lines just by themselves are so, you know.. chef's kiss! Homophones are boss.

(also if you sing yours I'll sing mine... : D)