May 02
wondering about rain's picture

Patterns in the Rock

You can't walk across hot coals,
I found out, without a stinging sensation.
I take a step and I am seven again,
walking across the worn down
rock driveway on tiptoes feeling
the smooth sharp edges on my feet.
I am there again,
walking, with a friend
who holds me.

Once the rough rock patterns
from a climb marked my hands,
shaping the life line
that runs across a palm.
The click of metal as I swayed,
the shock of height drove my heart to
a snare drum beat.
The next suspended plank a step ahead.

Maybe the coals followed,
each step golden, red, glowing.
Marking each footprint is the past.
Worn down rocks, a old rope bridge,
May 02
Lorr's picture

Last Chance

This is your last chance, your last chance for glory, fame, and fortune. Your standing back stage waiting for them to call your name, your hands are sweaty and stomach is in knots, you’re filled with nerves. You have to wait, everyone says that you’re good at what you do. You don’t think so, but you’ve made it this far. The people say you’re good. Even if you don’t succeed you still have popularity. You get this feeling everytime, you know that once you get up on the stage your nerves disappear, but you can’t help it. You’ve learned to live with this feeling all your life, almost everything you do gives you this feeling.
Apr 15
Larrylovscats's picture


Twirling colors
And engraved
Into each other
Like the water
brushing my toes
Like a blooming
Like a soft-setting sun
The color of the metal we won
The color
Of a evening sky
The silhouette of the birds
That fly by
Like the grass
Under my feet
the colors
Of the people we meet

Mar 14

The Trip Away

2 months, 3 weeks, 6 days, 17 or so hours.
​It has been a long journey.
​When the cruise ships to the Red Planet first voyaged 
​out of Earth's atmosphere and into
emptiness, I knew that I would one day go.
I didn't want to go. 
needed to.

I wished
​to stand upon a foreign, celestial body,
​hundreds of millions of miles away from
​the azure of home's familiar oceans
​and the green of home's comforting forests.

​I wanted to see the unthinkable rivets of ​Valles Marineris,
​the largest canyon in our solar system.

​I wanted to gaze upon the irregular faces of
Deimos​ and​ Phobos
from a desolate,
​mountainous world: 
a world where none can live.
​A world where the insignificance of man
​can truly be realized.

​It has been a long journey.
I am tired and old.

Mar 09


Breathe, breathe you’re alone,
no one to judge, no one to make your teeth grind like a tool.
No one.
You may open your page like eyes and show the sun your words.
Sip your coffee, it will get cold.
See, look at the rising sun. Look at the orange and how it melts into the yellow,
red, orange, yellow, pink.
Look at its beautiful eyes, it gives not warmth but song.
No it may not sing, but it may talk through the birds,
song of the birds.
It is starting to die.
Wave it goodbye, but it may keep a promise.
It will fill your eyes with words you lack and sounds you crave.
It will be back tomorrow.
Wait for me. I'm coming back.
Feb 21
Larrylovscats's picture



what I see when I look into a person's soul
is not the color of their skin
that I see
and how some people think that
color makes them have differnent
I do not see the person's gender 
but I see who they are on the inside 
I see in their hearts
I see how they feel 
if they feel
but sometimes
and right as I am about to go along with
the hate
the loath
the envy
I see the time they helped a friend in need
or gave up there things to help others
and I think
how it does not matter our race
our gender
or our belifs
we all have a soft spot in our heart
we all have love
in our hearts
we all some day
Feb 16
wondering about rain's picture

i love the rain

Its raining today.
The soft glow of the cloudy
and weeping sky calms me.
I love it.
I love it almost as much
as I love you.
The way your presence holds me
in a comforting nostalgia.
How the skies voice makes
me smile at the prospect
of a good nights sleep.
How when months without
you go by, suddenly I search
for signs of you everywhere I look.
Its just another love poem.
A first love poem.
My first love was the rain
and my world crumbled without it.
The crackling laugh of thunder
lit up the sky in contradiction
to everything.
"Why do you love the rain?"
I don't know.
The rain doesn't love me.
It only falls unheeded to the earth
washing away everything.
I fought my way to adjust to the desert
you left me to make hospitable.
When you came back it only taught me
in force how much I missed you.
The first rain.
Feb 08
poem 2 comments challenge: Forest

On Facing My College Applications

I am growing on my own
in a forest full of growers.
They jostle at my elbows, crying
pleas to distant stars.

Swaying and touching for desperate support,
twigs meet branches meet trunks
in crowding harmony rife with hopes--
they call me ever higher.

Down on the ground in slithering moss
stretch curling, creeping roots.
They snatch my ankles and caress my stilled
toes with promises

of strength far below the earth.
I stand on my own,
pulled above, cajoled below,
and I am growing sideways.
Feb 01
tyrus.rosten's picture


Sometimes, things don’t go according to plan. Most of us, when we have a friend, plan for the relationship to last forever. However, sometimes things happen to derail your path of eternal love for each other. Maybe one of you hooks up with the other’s boyfriend. Maybe one of you gets a boyfriend and then slowly starts to cut the other out of their life. Maybe you just slowly grow apart. So then, after it all goes down, you have a few different options. First, you can be a mature almost-adult person and respect their decision, and when anyone asks what happened to you two, you can say, “Oh, you know, we just grew apart; it’s whatever,” and leave it at that. Or, you can cry about it for a few days and then just get angry. Tell everyone that will listen how badly they screwed you over, just really go off. Either way, after a while you’ll heal from it, find new friends. Sometimes, after it’s all over, you’ll realize that this was for the best, and that you’re happier now.
Jan 30
OopaLoopaTweete's picture

Some words against you, Mr"President"

Dear Mr."President"
I have some things to say
as a woman
a rebelious one
and I have some words
against your own
So here it goes, 
I hope you understand,
or others
will convince you
because I do not stand alone
we will stay strong
band tougether
us woman
against you
using words that sting 
like a swarm of vicious bees
fighting for what they know is right
even though some say
you are right
for us
you are a monster
I say it now
to you
with many others
"Your little hands off of our planet!"
Jan 29
OopaLoopaTweete's picture

One of many

I am like a shining star
lighting up the night
those who dare look
but I am one of many
in this buzzing sky
this city
I am one of many
but I am not
one of those
sparkling pipionts of light
I look up at them
every night
I am a blinking light
one of many
in this city
looking up at the stars
until one by one


Jan 29
OopaLoopaTweete's picture


There are always these thoughts
at the back of my mind
pointing out
my mistakes
when I trip 
and fall
filling my head
with doubt
of myself
what I have done
I learn to block it out
stay strong
I know those voices
want me to fail
dragging me
into a deep
holding me down
laughing in my face
so I keep those thoughts 
at the back of my mind
ignoring the snide comments
ignoring the words
that cut like knives
ignoring that self-doubt
at the back of my mind
Nov 29
poem 0 comments challenge: Forest
Manatee12's picture


There is a thousand choices under every rock.
Nov 29
poem 0 comments challenge: Wonder


I wonder why the world's so persistent and endurant.  
Why does the grass grow after each winter?
Why do the leaves give up and fall in autumn?
Why do we keep fighting?
Why do wars keep coming?
Why do the deer still risk crossing the road?
Why does anyone risk driving?
Why leave the safety of your house?
Why would one risk anything?
It's almost like we're playing fate's game of cat and mouse...
Nov 28
poem 1 comment challenge: Mundane
meface's picture

The Book

I look at the cover and wonder,
What adventures lie inside?
A knight slaying dragons,
a crime-fighting hero,
or a talking animal ride?

You could lie on the beach of a vast ocean,
and never know what lies on the bottom,
but a book could take you
wherever your imagination can go.

A blank paper holds a thousand possibilities,
waiting to be written down.
So when an author gets the chance,
a thousand things could happen.
All you have to do
is read it.

Anyone can be that author.
All you have to do
is have an open mind,
an imagination,
and somewhere to start.
Nov 15
mbove's picture



By Carrie McKinstry
    One thing that everyone should do once in their life is to go somewhere quiet, and think. Just for a couple days. They should think about how they got to this point in their life. Think about the choices they made. Go somewhere quiet. Away from the noise. Away from the people. Away from the confusion. A place no one will find you. Somewhere they can hear themselves think. Somewhere there are no distractions. Somewhere you can let go. A place where you can do what you want. A place where you can let your anger out. A place where no one can stop you. Just relax. Let all your worries go away. Away from the world. And out of your mind. For good.
Oct 27
BlueEyedRose's picture

The White Lie

So I know it's late... but I just joined YW and I wanted to answer this prompt... 

Question: If you had to choose one color to stop seeing, what would you choose? 

I first want to think about this question: "if you couldn't see one specific color, what color would it be replaced with?" This question means, if you couldn't see red would you see purple instead? Or green? If you think about it, it would probably be replaced with white, because white is a the filler color. White is blankness. 

If I had to choose a color to not see, it would be white, because it would probably be replaced with white, so I wouldn't be missing anything. 

But the thing is, is white even a color? What determines a color? 

The definition of color is, "the property possessed by an object of producing different sensations on the eye as a result of the way the object reflects or emits light."
Oct 23
wondering about rain's picture

Clair de Lune

Clair de Lune played over and over in my head
as my fingers followed each note,
gently grazing the keys on the piano.
I imagined I was debussy under a full moon
with its light spilling over me,
playing to my little sister as she falls happily asleep.
The rolling of the music matching the lethargic rolling of the oceans waves
on a beach from a summer long past.
The stillness of the night stood unbroken
except for the occasional laughter as a couple in love walks by.
Stars streak past and the world is spinning as
the notes come faster and faster reaching a crescendo.
Then for a moment everything stops.
It's just a moment, but it's filled with the quiet night
and the warmth of a happy memory.
When the next note falls all is calm,
the song is ending and the moon is still crawling over head.
My little sister slowly wakes
and waves to someone waiting for us
both to come home to our warm beds,
Oct 22

Shoes tell a lot about the person wearing them.

Shoes tell a lot about the person wearing them.

When I look down I see, black shoes with lime green stripes. My shoes have white laces, the bottoms of the shoes are also white. Mud, and dirt stains splattered across them, like spots on a lady bug. If shoes tell a lot about the person, what do mine mean? Maybe blackness of the shoes is what I have overcome, and the green is the twist I put to everything. Maybe the black and green work together to make their own art, and own spirit. The white, are angels keeping me up and moving on my feet. The stains are challenges that I have walked away with a smile on my face, the stains are just showing that I will not give up, and it will pass. The laces are like my family, they hold everything together, I love my shoes, mine tell my story, let yours tell yours.

Oct 20

Grey Hairs

Whole wheat bread and peanut butter start my morning,
maybe some bitter tea that will make my eyes open wider
if I have time between
fretting over my clothes 
and wondering how I compare to other girls
and then getting mad at myself 
for even thinking that
while I drive to school
my two brothers are silent 
our dark eyes watching the early morning rise up behind each road we climb
and I try to count how many days are left
until all the hairs on my head
are grey and wiry and old
so I can finally call myself wise
but am confronted by the thought if we are actually ever really wise
or if it's all some sort of joke
and the grey hairs don't symbolize anything but our own existence 
coming to an end.