Young Writers Society

CATAGELOPHOBIA • FEAR OF BEING RIDICULED
……………………………………………………………

a shuffled step.
a slip of murmur.
the curtains condense their width
to allow something else into the frame.
curiosity and desire
fuel their eager eyes
to expectation.
perfection and fear
fuel the performers’ tremble,
their wavering, withering, worry,
quivering like a taut string,
twitching like grainy tv static.
do they fear the expectation
that climbs into the sky
like a rocket, spewing dust?
or do they fear
a uncentered step,
a crooked arm?
the lights seem to careen
their glowing eyes,
waiting for something beautiful.
the speakers seem to scream,
reverberating rings of sound
in their cavernous ears,
scolding, taunting,
waiting for something in return.
every sense overflows, overheats,
every nerve
feels everything
every nerve
feels nothing

MONOPHOBIA • FEAR OF BEING ALONE
……………………………………………………………

silence is a deadly weapon.
any noise can be produced from silence.
the rustle of the leaves after a short stillness of the wind,
the ripples made from wading duck after a stagnant pond.
if the air is already plastered with noise,
wouldn’t it cushion the shock of another?
if the air is cold and sharp,
wouldn’t our heat make it warm?
if the air is invisible,
wouldn’t our breath make it seen?
the brick would slam itself against the concrete
if not for the presence of the tree;
the tree would look crooked and barren
if not for the presence of the leaves;
the leaves would stay, unchanging, on the branch,
if not for the presence of the wind and cold.
it takes many atoms to form a molecule,
and many molecules to form matter,
and much matter to form a star,
and many stars to form a constellation,
and many constellations to form a map, a guide, a destination.
but what if there was only one atom?
on brick, one tree, one leaf.
just one thing is just nothing.
the universe cannot be vast without others.
if we never merge and combine,
we’ll never know how vast we can be.
just a fraction.
just a piece.
just a tiny dot.
but something so tiny is just nothing.

CACOPHOBIA • FEAR OF UGLINESS
……………………………………………………………

mirrors are wise yet deceitful,
each reflection reveals a fragment of ourselves,
but is this fragment really who we are?
why do we cut our hands on their sharp edges,
or keep in our pockets as it bores a hole through the fabric?
do we fear our own fragments of mirror
or that others will see them?
dreams of hair that appear slicked and wet
and faces like cake fondant
are what make our hands bleed
and our pockets tear.
and yet we trust these mirrors
like it knows what we do not,
that it navigates our thoughts like a transparent maze,
that we’ve clouded with our own ideas.
do they define us?
or do they destroy us?

/ AGORAPHOBIA • FEAR OF OPEN SPACES /
///claustrophobia • fear of tight spaces///
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

/ If the world is so vast, we are a mere particle compared to it. /
///why do we take up such a large space? then others will be shunned to a corner///
/ If we are so small, do we really exist? Do we really matter? /
///why fill precious time and space with our presence? do we really matter that much?///
/ If the walls are so far away, who will be there to watch your back? /
///if the walls are so close, who will save you from suffocation?//
/ We are simply stuck, /
///our free will wrenched from our souls,///
/ Destined to forever be small and helpless. /
///destined to forever be caged and useless///
/ Who knows what monsters hide in the corners we can’t see. /
///who knows what monsters curl and contort us into sacks of nothingness///
/ If our entire world is limitless compared to us, why do we exist? /
///if our entire world is just us and our own thoughts, why do we exist?///
/ Time and space seems /
///eternal and unforgiving///
/ So we paint the ceilings with a wash of blue, /
///in hopes of a sky or some escape///
/ We are lost, /
///but we have found the worst parts of ourselves///
/ Are we in the wrong place, /
///or is this the wrong place for us?///

ALGOPHOBIA • FEAR OF PAIN
……………………………………

your skin,
so carefully pulled over
every surface of your muscles and bones.
who would pierce through such a delicate masterpiece?
your blood,
so carefully filled perfectly
to the last drop,
to provide health and warmth to every corner of your body.
who would spill such a precious solution?
each being crafted to perfection,
yet we cut off this beautiful bliss
with our sharp weapons and words,
like a tossing a skipping stone
into the still and smooth surface of the water.
why poison the innocent air
with screams and spit and smoke?
why flood our carpets and floors
with washes of tears and blood?
are rushing rivers just
overflowing our minds with fear and anxiety?
is climbing a cliff over a cavernous canyon
just our own thoughts echoing worries and doubts?
why do we push the oars
if they can snap and break?
why do we pull the ropes
if they can twist and split?
shouldn’t we please our eyes
while they’re open?
shouldn’t we let sweet smells drift
while we can still breathe?
perhaps our tears and screams
were a viscous caged animal
we were supposed to lock behind bars.
perhaps our woe and misfortune
was never meant to be free.

CHRONOPHOBIA • FEAR OF TIME
………………………………………...

how many grains of sand can we carry?
are we just supposed to let them slip between our fingers,
cascading from every crack, fold and crevice?
a small loss, measured in tiny increments,
but with frightening consequences.
what shall happen when there are no more grains of sand?
will they fade into the dust of nothing?
will they be squandered and squashed under a heavy weight?
will they twist and melt to an unknown substance?
it’s all so fast,
every ticking of the clock
overlaps and shakes,
threatening all with its shrieks.
what if our future is swallowed in a drain,
the top of the mountain we wanted to reach,
the bottom of the ground we wanted to touch?
what if the sand seizes it from us,
twists it into a wormhole, a tornado, a sandstorm,
until it fizzles out and disappears?
time.
it can be nothing and it can be everything.
if one does nothing with time,
it is taken and lost.
if one does everything with time,
there is still something it still holds for you.
time is the most limited concept,
and time is the most infinite.
and yet we all live by it,
as it holds us in its grasp.

THANATOPHOBIA • FEAR OF DEATH
…………………………………………….

we throw pebbles and rocks,
breaching the surface of the water,
even though they sink to the bottom,
crossing the border of light and darkness.
we hand out bunches of flowers,
our eyes swarming with pride and joy,
knowing that eventually,
they’ll just wither and shrivel in their glass homes,
their petals teeming with color and life,
bringing peace and purity to eyes,
and yet they disappear in a n instant,
sunk to the bottom of a pond’s depth,
pulled into a dark abyss.
a place of unknown.
how can we breathe knowing one day,
we’ll just lose that privilege?
how can we feel our heart beat if we know one day,
we won’t hear it anymore?
if we’re just just cut like a wire,
snapped like a rope,
splintered like a twig,
were we really worth that much
if we’re Gone so easily?
how can we swim if
the waves can grasp us like a bony hand,
cut off our breath like a sharpened scythe,
wrap itself around us like a hooded cloak?
whenever it pleases,
and whenever it seems fit.
we put our life in the hands
of something we cannot comprehend,
trusting it is for our own good,
not something darker.
the end
of anything
decides its fate,
reflects on everything it's done,
ties off a knot.
but what if there are still loose strings?
The End
is the call of judgment
and fate.