Young Writers Society

tatteredbones I'm loving some of your poetry, I especially like this last one, you have put such effort into them, and I feel like with this last one it has such a deep meaning behind it, and some deep emotions, I really felt captivated to read on.

reflections falter and misshape, ripples forming new creases
in my tired face forcing me to recall how many lies i consumed
back when i filled my cup with them and hid behind many faces, others

these are my favorite lines of the last one, there was a deep meaning behind it.

I'm so happy that you are doing napo this year gem and I look forward to reading more from you, your an amazing writer!

the sticky old coffee on the counter of my mindscape
tries to break down and define things
in the most rudimentrary way
the most unpleasant awful tearstains
left behind by words i said before the afterthought
washed out like tar covering unsuspecting passersby
i am but a turned over cup of sludge
pretendinng to be coffee

in a temple on a hillside full of sunlight creaks a door-- a hidden door
the people on the inside try to find it they feel trapped in darkness---
despite all the light and everything they wanted within their reach inside---
and it creaks eternally but it cannot be seen everyone was told since birth
if you look for the door it isnt in vision you have to close your eyes and listen
and lean to follow the sounds of footsteps follow the sound of the creaks--
child dont open your eye for a second and you will be able to leave
everyone is afraid to trip in the dark when they cant see
so instead of closing their eyes to listen with them open they try to find the creak
and they waste the fragile lives they have with the other world they seek

my coffee cup spills over with all the lies they speak
a crystal ball of power a cross all dressed in white
blood trickles over materialized from spite
he who does love everyone must have looked on in shame
when a nutcase escaped the temple and took his name in vain
starting holy wars and killing the crooked strays
blood spattered temple and blind beautiful eyes
following the faith so hard they will follow lies

this pearl rimmed goblet of mud
ceramic and solid cracks against my teeth
pressing in so hard i think they will sink up
into my gums like white enamel splinters
splinters---
shocking me back into
why do you tell me this---
remind me of the wrongness
make me wish there was some harmony in my
SILENCE---
i would talk to you but then we would argue
i would be near you but then i would be angry
instead i bite into the pearly ceramic
stewing myself in the festering non-presence
when i say i love you
i mean im sorry
i hate the person i am around you
and i cant blame myself anymore
because im old enough to know
im not the one responsible
at least not directly

how to bake a hole in your chest - oven recipe

1. find someone who you could use to thicken your life and name them flour - pour your hands full of them and take a powdery bite- swallow; its probably all you'll ever have of them. dry sitting in your mouth in powdery crumbs traveling down your thoat in lumps and into your chest like rocks.

2. let the tears on your cheeks drip into the bowl until you fall asleep there- dont tell the flour or it may not rise - the shallowness of your breath (or your feelings) helped control the water flow; it was just enough

3. kneed the dough until you understand what you are trying to bake; and then admit to yourself you'll never get there - its easier than trying to wake up from this nightmare

4. the oven isnt functioning- and neither are you- good luck with never finishing anything.