Sep 23

Braille

I was going through books of
the history of the United States 
in a back room of the library that
smelled like pages about to fall apart
when I found a section that held
books written in braille.
I opened one and was struck
with wonder because all those
little raised dots were words.
They were a language with power.
They were understanding.
And I had no clue what meaning they held.
Sep 23
hmseymour's picture

future as an ocean wave

the future is scary.
it is as if everything is hitting me
all at once.
like a crisp ocean wave
that knocks my body 
into the frigid salt water.
sound emits from my ears
as my head hits.
my eyes sting,
and my lungs burn,
and i can’t escape.
i reach for air,
and my hands come up empty,
but finally,
my body emerges.
i take a deep breath,
and i’m the happiest i’ve ever been.
 
Sep 21
katharina's picture

sunset

sunset

why
me
frequently asked
rarely answered

why do I exist
on this dock
     in this country
         this world
                universe

                                                                        i n f i n i t y

                watching the sunset
            feeling the motions of earth
        as if by magic
     it turns peacefully
 without changes

c o n s t a n c y

the thoughts work diligently like ants in my head

     do they
       or do I just think they do
         and now think about that I think about it

                                                                        d i g r e s s i o n
                 look at the sun
a bright red shining emergency exit
to escape                         this world

               again and again

                  unassailable
Sep 21
Ordinary Owen's picture

The five colors of the setting sun

Fast feet that cannot flee from Grief,
seek shelter in the sunset.

Five colors at the sun-dried dock

Yellow
Reality aside,
a blatant refusal of truth.

Red
Rage does not ebb like the tide,
its flood washes other emotion away.

Orange
Sorrowful tears,
the only currency tragedy will accept.

Purple
Rage subsides,
but in its place is only carnage.

Pink
Devoid of emotion and lost,
only to vanish with the setting sun.
 
Sep 21

Natures Grace

She walked down to the dock
As the sun began to set,
The beautiful array of colours
Behind the tree line.
Quiet and peaceful,
It's exactly what she needed.

Her mind was buzzing with thought,
Mostly things she did not want to think.
The cool crisp air calmed her mind,
And she relaxed.
Listening to the trees move with the wind,
And the water splash against the shore.
She could see the silver scales of fish
As they move gracefully
through the water

She let her mind wonder elsewhere
So she wouldn’t have to think about
The tragedy that had happened.

She stuck her feet in the water,
It chilled her to the bone,
And slowly she grew used to it.
She moved her feet aimlessly
Through the water.

 
Sep 21
ccdussault's picture

Colors of the Sunset

I walked down the long, creaking dock.

I had sat down and dipped my toes into the clear, glass water.

I watched the waves my feet made as they touched the water

and wondered how such a small touch of the water could have made such a big effect.

I look up at the sunset,

except this time I study it hard.

I am curious if sunsets are just sunsets,

or if they mean something more.

I was looking for something in that sunset,

but all I could see was how the bright colors beamed off of the sun.

I realized that much like my toes had caused the waves,

the sun had created this sunset.

I start to feel the sunset running through my body,

as if I were drinking it’s colors.

I felt that, much like the sunset,

I was glowing.

And if anyone saw me from afar,

I would be screaming with color.

 
Sep 21
khbeaudry's picture

I run

I run.

The cold, sharp rocks under me
Towards the sunset illuminating the lake
The pinks and blues felt like home
The chilly air
Needles on my skin

I run.

Towards the lake, so many of my memories
With every step feeling more myself

I run

Towards home

 
Sep 21
Katielab_5's picture

Pink Sorrow

The warm water lapses over my feet

lead on by the slight breeze that tickles my skin
I wish I could bathe in the hue of the sky

I imagine it would feel as soft as a cloud

A step down from being wrapped in your arms
Clear your mind

called out the dock

but you had another idea

A permanent spot in my mind,
   
                                             front and center

So instead of the muddy water

     I am staring into your hazel eyes

And instead of the whistling wind I hear you whispering
Making me laugh, our own secret

And I am left wishing to make more

But if I talk

The only thing left to listen is the wind
Blowing      

                      my

                                        words
Aug 20

i love you out of necessity, i couldnt choose to love you anymore than i could choose not to

your fingers are willow tree branches,
trace latitude and longitude lines
across my body.
map my scars as rivers, my curves as 
mountain ranges. 
kiss me with dandelion breath and
hold me like i’m your sweet september breeze. 
you got me in a honey bee haze, you are my 
cool purple nights and the fresh yellow days.
with your vanilla skin on mine, i want to meet your mind. 

can i turn our fingers into friendship bracelet string?
blue over green over blue over you over me
over
us

sleep isnt easy without you.



 
Aug 17

The Tomato Hornworm

Fat and plump from tomato leaves.

Inching across on tiny sticky legs.

Stuffing its ungainly body.

Stripping stems bare.

Leaving only shreds.

It dared to show its face.

It was frighteningly ugly.

Not even birds would peck it.

The worm was gargantuan.

Flailing its jaws.

Rearing its horn menacingly.

A not-so-miniature monster.

Sentenced to banishment.

For slicing tomato stems

Enlarging its pudgy temples.
Aug 08

A Celestial Body of My Own

I.
He told me to stop being an atheist.
He acted as if my tortured soul
couldn't be salvaged
unless I repented
and believed wholly in something larger.
He looked at me with sad eyes
and begged me to believe
with my broken hands in his.
I remember turning away.

II.
It's not that I was worthless,
I just found it hard to bring myself
to give credit to something else out there.
My successes were mine to claim,
to flaunt and love.
My failures were mine to accept,
to acknowledge and internalize.
I refused to credit something else
with my own growth and progress.

III.
I broke open my ribs,
split them clean in half at the sternum
and scooped out every last piece of me
with open hands.
He only realized what I truly meant
when I showed him my bare beating heart.
I remember him turning away.

IV.
I didn't know how to love myself,
Jul 12

How to be empty

The branches project a shadow 
onto my paper thin skin.

I can see the sun sipping the clouds
sweet water as they float by.

Everything is soft around me
and even my eyes are quiet
against the wind.

Birds fly ahead
whispering secrets
this is what peacefulness 
feels like.

The sensation of being fully 
willingly 
taken.
 
Jul 09

red brick ribcage

looking through windows lit by yellow light from dusty
bulbs inside as dinner ensues:

a table.
five chairs. 
a man. three children. a woman. or just the empty outline of one. 

the peeling wallpaper is saturated with the ghosts that accumulate in a place after a century of standing still. 

who will wake them up to dance when family has fled and rot replaces the rhythm of life inside of you?
 
Jul 01

A Goodbye

Author's note: This will be my last post on young writers project. Thank you for all the encouragement these past few years.


There is a certain melancholy
In a bare wall.
One that you can't find
In a bare floor.

A wall stripped naked
Marked by stray push pins
Leaving millions of pinholes
That once held up the world.

Little reminders
Marks that connect sisters
Each one passing through just the same
Leaving traces for the next to discover.

This room will transform
Rooms are magic like that.
But no matter how it changes
I've left my mark too.
Jun 08
Lyra's picture

A lesson of the heart

A lesson that many miss out on, but are always hurt by, is the lesson that your heart is never your own.  From birth, your heart is taken by those who show you love and compassion, and you may never regain it. Hidden behind a glass wall, your heart sits awaiting a gentle hand accompanied by soft words. As you go through life, you allow others near your heart, and you can only sit and watch as they either care for your heart or hurt it in one way or another. The key of trust is given to those you care for, but when betrayed by that trust, your heart grows more and more callused. More and more scar tissue builds up with each stab and tear, causing the soft words and gentle hands of those who truly care to be unable to reach it. Soon enough, you give a key to some, but those few who enter and closely watched, and lashed out on when touching your heart.
Apr 30
emily.hess's picture

It Does Get Better

i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

sometimes i still think about it 

sometimes it still makes sense

but i remember that 

when it always made sense 

i then met you

and i realize how silly it is now. 


i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

because i think you needed to meet me 

as much as i needed to meet you

and there are more you's to meet 

more time to be had.


i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

i'm glad i'm gonna be here for a while. 

 
Apr 13
Fading _Into_Darkness's picture

The Horizon


The Horizon where,
In It´s pinkish-blue,
Softly shaded hue,
The grass does lie.

The Horizon where,
Opposites do meet,
Hot and Cold
Dark and Light,
Meek and Bold,
Wrong and Right,
Joyous and Sad,
Peace and War,
Good and Bad,
Fact and Lore.

The Horizon where,
Everything collides,
Emotions, pain, and great divides.
The rumbling tumult of chaos,
Masked by still on the outside.

The Horizon where,
I long to be,
Chaos, confusion, yet right at home.
Fear, Pain, Love, and Joy,
Whispering thoughts to a lost young boy.

The Horizon,
Just beyond my grasp.

 
Apr 11
J. Scott's picture

How Ought We to Live?

Existentialism is my vice of choice
my bad habit,
for to theorise and ponder over how we ought to live
misses the point of living.
It squanders our time
assembling a puzzle 
we have but half the pieces to.
It is a game for cowards,
those who fear the deep, guttural 
truth of life,
those who waste their scarce years
asking questions
rather than seeking answers
I know this.
I understand the futility of philosophy
and yet I count myself among their ranks.

 
Apr 10
poem 3 comments challenge: Last

the sunset and night

This is your last chance,
before the day becomes the night,
up at the sky i glance,
the sky has colors so bright,

as soon as you see the color,
it all fades to darkness,
you are like no other,
for most others are heartless,

watch the sun set and the moon rise,
you start to feel a little blue,
as the darkness multiplies,
the days demons you thought were slew
In the night, yet again.They arise.