Jan 04
Sidney B.'s picture

I Wonder...

Somedays I wonder if breaking my hands would be better than putting them on the keyboard hundreds of times
Typing up a storm of ideas and stories and happiness and pain.
Of wizards and dragons and hopers and shame.
Of sadness and despair and tragedy in rain.
So I wonder if breaking my hands would be better than all that,
Only to become dissatisfied and backspace my life away.
Sep 05
Sidney B.'s picture

The Man without a Name.

I opened the creaky door,
Within its tired frame.
To find a man at a table.
The man without a name.

He was so like a statue,
I stood there, stock still
Mimicking his static so
My eyes might get their fill.

I knew he noticed me
By the way his eyes flicked about
As if searching for someone here with us
One who should be without.

"Hello," I said, shutting the door
And moving to the table.
I pulled the chair across from him, sat
And smiled as best I was able.

"I'm Sidney." I told the man.
He remained completely frozen.
My smile didn't falter, it always was like this.
"You'll be glad to know that you've been chosen."

Now this made him move.
His bowed head came up to see me,
His eyes stared, wide, dumbfounded.
We sat through his quiet epiphany.

"I know it might be a shock..."
I dug around it my bag, holding my smile.

Jun 19
Sidney B.'s picture

Rain Dance

The heartbeat I hear booms like thunder.
The thunder I hear precedes the brilliant flash of your electric words.
The flash signals to hundreds of bullets of water that it's time to plummet from the eye of the sky, to explode all over me.

You're soaked from head to toe in those raindrops your lightning brought down.
Now I'm alone with these thoughts of blinding lights and frozen teardrops.
And you'll be alone too, y'know.

You'll be as alone as me,
With that thunderous heart,
And your lightning lies,
And the truth they impart.

Since you, pal, you don't know how to quit or stay quiet,
To take a cue and go by it,
To make an oath to die by it.

Instead, you jitterbug and prance and waltz your way through life.
Your lightning lies and thunder heart, just a part of the chorus in your rain dance.
The sky's eyes water with every step and lyric, but you couldn't care if you tried.
May 07
Sidney B.'s picture


I have no good reason for posting this.
Jan 27
Sidney B.'s picture


I hear it in my mind, near the back and by the piles of unfinished stories
That I'll never complete, because the noise gets louder the closer I get.
Haha, haha
I hear it louder now, slinking and creeping to my conscious thought
Making sure I understand that it's there because of me. It's my fault.
Haha, haha, haha
Now it's right next to me, one lanky hand upon my shoulder and its mouth near my ear
Making its wheedling mockery just loud enough to be everpresent. My stomach turns and I retch.
It smiles wide.
My head splits in two at the change in noise. I trip over my own feet and stagger, allowing it to seize my other arm.
I stare into its shadowy mass, petrified as a deer in the headlights, or an ancient Greek who looked upon Medusa.

Oct 24
Sidney B.'s picture

My Old Biology Teacher Gave Me A Prompt

You know, it's really good to be back. It's been hectic in the month since my last serious post (Ballad of the Magician, I think). My creative writing class has taken up a good chunk of time, as has physical school and its woes (leaving the house, going to class, watching the clock so often you learn what each individual minute marker sounds like, that sort of stuff). Anyway, I decided today would be the day I hop back onto the horse of prompt-based writing (I've been flexing portions of my writing muscles, time for a full mind workout). Here we go, preamble time.

Oct 24
Sidney B.'s picture


Today, at school, as it'd have to be at this hour,
I came to a conclusion that hurts me.
People who say 'Hi' to most everyone in the morning,
Passed by me silently.

At first I didn't mind, because Tuesdays are almost as bad as Mondays.
It didn't cut so deeply as it does now,
Until the person who habitually bothers me about the color of my shirts,
Acted as if I were a phantom - not even there.

That kind of broke it,
The shield of apathy I bear.
Crushed it and mashed it,
Into a dreadful despair.

I'm not one to whine, or cry or the like,
At least I don't think so, most of the time.
Hating myself? Melancholy and numb pain?
I handle those things fine, mostly.

But this. This insignificant thing,
That'd make no difference to a n y o n e else.
Compelled me to write this,
Whiny little lament.

What's so wrong with my voice?
Oct 08
Sidney B.'s picture

Right Now

It's been said on a few occasions that you can't write when you're uninspired or motivated. I am neither inspired nor motivated right now, so this is likely the worst post I will have made in my entire life...

Also, two genre tags!
Oct 03
Sidney B.'s picture

Where I Left Off

Pick up where I left off.
Take up my forgotten cause.
Do with it what I
Was too weak to.

It's not hard,
In truth, it's easy.
Make what I dreamt reality.

Someone has to do it,
Whether we like it or not.
It's better that an old dog like me
Hands this burden off.

Sorry for the trouble,
Sorry for the work.
Sorry for giving you my dream
And overriding yours.

But you're like a little me.
A little smaller, a little cuter,
A bit more headstrong, a bit more wild
A bit less an adult, a bit more a child.

But I know what's best,
Because I've been around the block.
I've seen things that you never will,
And done things you'll never do.

Like try, like win,
Like make a family, like changing course.
Like work, like love, like choosing the less-walked trail,
Like give, like take, like succeed, like fail.

Sep 28
Sidney B.'s picture


Count those genre tags, everyone. TWO! I have TWO genre tags! It only took me four months to learn the technique (Thanks gg).
Sep 15
Sidney B.'s picture

Black and Blue

Your eyes are black.
That's how I remember you.
My eyes are blue.
That's how you remember me.
That's the way it'll always be.

We're friends, pal.
And I'd never betray you.
So we'll just keep being together.
You and I, a wonderful two.
That's the way it'll always be.

We sit next to each other
In all classes we can.
You crack jokes that make me laugh
That's the way it'll always be.

We chat after school
Nearly every day.
You tug at your long sleeves
Even when it's a burning June afternoon
Is that the way it'll always be?

Then why? Why?
Can't you confide in me,
Your best friend,
The secret you hide.
I'm asking you to tell me.

I'll tell you if you tell me.
Why you scratch your arms every day.
Sep 11
Sidney B.'s picture

Some Random Person At My School Gave Me A Prompt

I sometimes find myself loathing humanity, this is one of those times. Some context may be in order....

I've been lazy with my prompt gathering, so much so I failed to get one from my Civics and Law teacher, my VHS Creative Writing teacher, and my Pre-Calculus teacher. It's a real shame that today, of all days, I managed to conquer both my procrastination and my dislike of public speaking (I slur words when spoken verbally, so I'm afraid I'll have to repeat myself) and go up in front of my entire school to ask the question I have asked too many times to count (since not all the prompts I get are posted here, for one reason or another).

Sep 08
Sidney B.'s picture

Ballad of the Magician

Come gather 'round, all of you!
Look at me!
See the person,
I want you to see!

Now closely view,
My magician's top hat.
Nothing on the inside,
Nothing to look at.

But not too closely, oh no
Don't look up from the hat
Keep your eyes on the trick
Not the performer.

'Cause if you did
I fear you'd find
The trick of mine
I'm most desperate to hide...

Sep 06
Sidney B.'s picture


A masochist,
That's what I must be.
Because I keep coming back
To the thing that hurts me.

Cuts, bruises, invisible scars
It leaves those all over my body
How can someone be such a glutton for pain?
That's why I'm a masochist.

These marks I speak of,
Strange as it seems,
Only serve
To strengthen me.

Not physically, in fact
I'm a real wimp!
But hopefully, mentally,
I'm getting stronger because of it.

Because the thing that hurts me,
Like the masochist I am,
Is my only real passion,
That I'll do if I can.

A masochist,
A glutton for pain,
A writer,
They're one in the same.
Aug 31
Sidney B.'s picture

Unplug and Disconnect

I never got the point of poetry.
Just some words arranged
In a particular rhyme scheme
What's so special?

Anyway, I just got onto YWP
And you know the first thing I saw?
A poem about daydreams,
No rhyme scheme in sight.

This poem I saw,
Written by Thenbenhappened
Gave me an idea
I wanted to spread.

I'd like to unplug
Not from computers or phones
That idea's done to death
If truth's to be told.

I'd like to unplug
Not from people around me
They're the ones that keep me
From feeling so empty.

I want to unplug
Disconnect, break away
From thoughts, and feelings
Just... everything

'Cause the world around me
Is filled to the brim
The one who contributes least
In my mirror, that's him

I'm not sad or angry,
Just speaking the truth
You've never even heard of