Young Writers Society

It’s like some sort of weird spirit takes over
my body when I’m around you-I’m sure I
couldn’t have said that. My heart has somehow
lodged itself in my throat, and trust me, I’ve cleared
my throat enough times in feeble attempt to swallow it

When I see you, I automatically get cramps,
whether I’m pmsing or not is beside the point.
You’re voice alone is enough to send shivers down
my spine. Your touch will leave me reveling my hand
for days, promising not to wash it. What’s my problem?

You’re not like, a movie star or anything. And it’s not as though
I start screaming you’re name and chasing you when our eyes meet.
That would just be weird. But the affection I feel towards you is like
jamming a puzzle piece where it doesn’t quite fit. We don’t quite fit.
I just want us to. And I try to cut myself into shape, just like an impatient
child trying to fit the puzzle piece, just so I can be right for you. But
I’m not. We’re not, I mean.

We’re not right. And here I go again, writing a retarded poem
that doesn’t even rhyme, about you and me, and how we don’t
fit. And I’m using dumb metaphors and talking about cramps and...
oh, what are you going to do with me? We both just have those mood
swings I guess, like Milo and Gwen from Pepper Ann. We never can
end up liking each other at the same time. And when we do, it fades
just as quickly as it came. Why can’t I face the facts?

I can’t keep changing myself to try to please you.
I’m not who you want me to be. Well, you aren’t exactly
my ideal guy either. So what’s wrong with me again? Why
do I have to be so goddamn desperate? honestly! I’m so sick
of wanting to get with the hot guys I see in the hall. And settling for
less just because I want the affection. Well, we all want the affection!
but I just end up making a freak out of myself. A freak with no self-worth.

And I’m pretty enough-you wouldn’t be attracted to me at all
if I wasn’t at least pretty, now would you? And I’m skinny and in shape
And my hair is brown and flowing and---well, so, then what’s wrong with me?
And why can’t I just...I dunno...just chill, I guess! Why not? Answer me that.
No don’t. If I can’t figure myself out, how can I expect you to? We don’t even fit,
remember? We’re a puzzle...and I can’t even think of another metaphor.

some poem, huh?

It was good...I don't know what you mean when you say it sux. I really liked it...probably because it reminds me of my boyfriend. LOL but thats not the point the point is that it was good and I liked it. Can't wait to see more of your poems and also what youve said for my stuff.

"When I see you, I automatically get cramps,
whether I’m pmsing or not is beside the point."

pmsing? and this is...

Well, the poem in general, at least to me was a story. Or better yet, just a love letter which tend to be forever cliche and soap operish if you don't really take your time.

The idea was cliche. I don't know how many times...I have read poems of this same style...they seem to haunt me, agh!

However, the one good thing I pulled out of this poem was that it seemed like you really cared about the person you were writing to, and if this was to one certain person in particular, it's what they see in this poem that matters the most.

pmsing? and this is...

Lucky girl

I liked the poem. It's hard to pull off stream-of-consciousness and just plain rambling, but you did pretty well. Towards the end you sort of crossed the line, but it was a good poem. Nice work.