Young Writers Society

It’s not as easy as I thought it’d be
Words so sweet and smooth like clotting honey
Ought to be easy to write, but that’s not the case.
They tangle and forget where they go, or who they are, or what they mean,
Like me I guess
That’s a metaphor, right?

Someone said write what you know,
But who wants to read a poem or hear a story about
Late-night TV, homework cramming,?
It’s not poetic, it’s hectic, and
You don’t want to hear it, and
I don’t want to write it.
I’m sick of it. I want to escape.
I want to create.

I want to write about soft flower petals,
And crystal rain drops, and laughter that bubbles –
Whatever that means, and every cliché you ever read
And then said, “that’s beautiful, what a nice thought, I guess that’s true”
And I want to know what the world means and who God is
I want to write that thought and make you smile with all your teeth
And just hold the words between them
Like a straw wading in sweet honey that you just want to drink up.

I’d like to add a little emotion in there too,
Love and hate, long walks, prayers, finding what is truly eternal
Tell you about wild adventures and secret whispers.
But it’s mushy, and it’s a combination of too fake and too real, and way too much of me.
The words are just too angry and sad and happy and weighed down with reality
And just wanting to write a poem that’ll make them care.
Like a kite reaching for heaven when it’s been tied to a tree
It’ll leave a bitter taste in both our mouths.
And that’s not what I wanted at all.

I guess if I can’t give you the words I want you to read,
I’ll just have to tell you how they sound, how they really feel.
They’re light and dense all at once
And they tell you it’s going to be okay.
And that you are important to someone, you know, you’re even important to me.
The words I want to hear and want to say
Caught in a beautiful endless loop -
Between those lines you’ve got flower petals, and rain drops,
And bubbling laughter, and something sweet.
The words shatter like glass in front of your eyes,

But it’s a twinkling sound that doesn’t scare you
And deep down you just know that it’s true.
Completely, seriously, totally true.

I know that’s the poem I want to write,
But it’s hard and it’s lost and some how
I feel like it keeps getting stuck between
Thick layers of artificial, inorganic fluff
And my never ending personal monologue.
The balance between the fake, and the way too real,
The praise and the burden and some advanced literary critique
That must have missed every word that I just wrote
But caught the grammar mistake in first two lines
It just doesn’t seem to be working,
At least not in the way I want.

I want to be real, but not have to spell it out
I want to be honest, but not put my heart on trial.
I want to comfort, without really knowing how messed up
And hurt, and confused everyone is, or I am.
And I want to write beautiful, sweet and sticky poetry
That burrows itself somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach
But it’s not that easy.
It’s not as easy as I thought it’d be
Words so sweet and smooth like clotting honey
Ought to be easy to write, but that’s not the case.
They tangle and forget where they go, or who they are, or what they mean
And I’m just desperately clinging to these thoughts becoming a dream – in the midst of a prayer
And just hoping that I figure it out.