Young Writers Society

Cheer me and my partners KateHardy and Ley on as we use my playlist as inspiration to keep on writing. One year streak here we come!! Inspiration is completely randomized using these rules:



Comments are welcome and joining us encouraged ^^

The Cards May Lie

Today's Inspiration:




I look into the Hanged Man's face,
and I see bones: broken and dry.
I am wary of this disgrace
I've never known these cards to lie:
but I guess today's the day they try.
My lapis tells me I'm being a fool,
but I refuse to think I'll die.
My precious deck wouldn't be so cruel.

Home is Where I Am Not

Today's Inspiration:




Home is where the heart is,
but I think mine has wanderlust.
And I long for a simple place,
a warm place,
a safe place,
to return to.

Not all who wander are lost,
but I think I've strayed too far.
Life has led me somewhere strange
somewhere foreign
somewhere dangerous
I can't escape.

Home is not a place, it's a feeling
but it's one I have forgotten how to spell.
My stomach churns with turmoil
with confusion
with leaden fear
that clouds my every footstep.

Some things you can't discover without getting lost,
but I think I have found enough.
I have seen everything
and nothing
and nothing I want to see,
and I continue to drift forever.

If there is light in your heart, you'll find your way home,
but my heart only holds a candle long cold.
In the recesses you'll find spiders
and cobwebs
and the broken promises of home,
but nothing that will sustain me.

Maybe One Day We'll Meet

Today's Inspiration:




We orbit each other,
like Pluto and Charon,
and I wish I could reach out
and finally grasp you.

Our lives are built of distance,
and we built castles on a gap we could never close

Somedays, I think we're one and the same,
but sometimes, you're just the stranger I call Mother.
I think that makes us even more similar.

In the way that mirror images are backward,
I was given your entire life,
but took all the paths opposite yours.

Why do we never understand each other, Mom?
Why are we always just one room away from each other,
one phone call away,
one half an hour away,
but neither of us can ever cross the threshold?

We call each other when we need something,
and your greetings are usually full of upset,
and my goodbyes are full of hurt,
and we never say the words out loud,
but I swear we can hear them.

If we're so good at speaking in code,
why do we never speak plainly?
Wouldn't it be easier if our "I love you's"
weren't full of secret "but's?"
But you're frustrating me
But you never see me anymore
But you have failed everything you set out to be
But I'm struggling, and you've never noticed

Maybe we're cursed because I'm your daughter,
and I can only operate with the code you gave me.
We are two ends of a feedback loop,
exchanging hurt and blame like White Elephant gifts

And I can't find it in myself to blame you
because you've always taught me to be guilty,
and your mother always taught you to be defensive,
so we get stuck in another impasse.

I am fifty percent of your blame,
and together, we are one hundred and fifty percent of the problem.
I want to say the words, "I forgive you,"
and I want you to tell me to stop feeling sorry,
but I can't reach out over the gap
because I'm terrified of the moment we won't touch.

Good Luck out There

Today's Inspiration:




I don't have the energy to hate you.
I tried for a long time,
to hold onto your sins until they branded my hands,
but the wounds gave me infections.

You said you would always hate me,
but for your sake I hope you don't.
Six months ending isn't worth the pain
of papercuts from slashing posters with my face.

I pushed you to your own separate way
because I cared too much to keep you on mine.
We were water and potassium,
we always brought out each other's worst qualities.

I hope you find the reflection in your mirror
that assures you that you'll be okay.
And after that you'll find someone who slots into your life,
and you won't need them like you needed me,
but you'll love them in the simplest of innocent ways.

Coming of Age Story

Today's Inspiration:




Tell me a good coming of age story.
Start with the kid wide-eyed and tired,
soft hands wincing at every rough surface.
Show me the moment their stomach drops
as the floor of childhood gives way beneath them.

Tell me a good coming of age story.
Count the bruises on the kid's knees,
give me the hexcodes of every yellow and green.
How long does it take to get to their feet?
Which foot do they favor on the journey forward?

Tell me a good coming of age story.
Lay out every bit of criticism,
paint their face as it grows more mature.
Pause on the moment they smile for the first time,
and lead me through the dance number towards adulthood.

Tell me a good coming of age story.
Who are they when the credits roll?
Why do they stop clutching the dead skin of their former selves?
Don't skip the exposition.
Focus on every single detail.

Tell me a good coming of age story.
Then tell me my life will be the same.
Promise me I'll one day learn to love the growth,
and I'll stop flinching away from new roots.
Bandage my foot and tell me when I'll stop limping.

Six Inches of Water

Today's Inspiration:


Before you say you're hurting, see if anyone else is first.

Take a number, stand behind the dotted line, count the heads of everyone more important you. Realize that in this world, your problems are pebbles in the face of traumatic boulders. Pick a category, scroll to the top, and see that no matter which way you look at it, you are just one person in a long list of centuries of pain. So at the end of the day, why should anyone care about you?

Why would anyone care about me?

Humans are less unique than snowflakes. There is someone out there who has gone through everything I have. And they have gone through it more times. They one through it worse. They came out with less. And I have the audacity to sit here and act like I know what hardship is.

But I do, don't I?

Drown in six inches of water. Drown in six feet. Will the coroner tell the difference between drowned and drowned? I am drowning. it could be just from a drizzle for all I know, but I can't breathe. I haven't breathed in a long time. I've been too busy diving in to save the people in the deep end. But I never knew how to swim.

Put your oxygen mask on before helping others, but life isn't a place crash. I can't afford to wait until my next emergency to take up space. Because I will have nothing left to help others with. I am a well, but I have reached the bottom. I'm trying to squeeze water out of mud.

I am not important. But I'm tired. I'm human. I'm hurt. I'm drowning. Isn't that enough for someone to help me pull my head out of the water dish? I don't know if I can anymore.

I took my number and nobody listened. There are too many problems in the world to wait your turn to be noticed. But in the dark, when the people in line have gone home, can't I be selfish enough to ask for my turn?

Iris Reflections

Today's Inspiration:




Look into my eyes, baby.
See your reflection in my eyes.
What do you see?
What parts of you do you see?

Don't look away.
Look into my eyes, baby.
Do you see a goddess?
Aphrodite herself in my arms?

I feel your brow crease with doubt,
but I mean what I say.
Look into my eyes, baby.
See yourself for real.

Your scars are the petals of a flower.
Your flaws are the shine of the stars.
Your heart is my most precious treasure.
Just look into my eyes, baby.

Death at its Finest

Today's Inspiration:




Fill my goblet with liquid glass,
and I will swallow down the shards of myself
until my insides feel whole

Thinking about death gives me vertigo,
because if there's a god how do we know which one it is
and if we're reborn why do we remember this life and not the others?
And what is worse: torture or a void
and does it hurt to stop existing?

But nobody wants to live forever
Why?
Because all of your loved ones will die
as if that won't happen regardless
Because you'll never see them again
as if that's already a guarantee

Maybe all of our fears are stupid and pressing

The man who lives forever
isn't that a nice title?
Maybe then I wouldn't be scared of needles
or strangers
or the dark
because fear is only a symptom of morality
and I would take curing both for a chance to live

I'm scared
I'm scared of dying
I'm scared of death
I'm scared that I don't know what's to come,
and I hate that there's nothing to do about it.

A fate worse than death
is just waiting for it come.

Three Inches to the Left

Today's Inspiration:




Text version:
I can't breathe without you,
but you're holding my head underwater.
It's only in those brief moments when I surface
and look into your eyes
I finally breathe right.

You set my bones with rusty nails
cut my nails with hedge clippers
bandage my wounds with salt.
You are everything I want
maybe three inches to the left,
and I never realized how big three inches was before.

But somehow, you still hold me to your chest
like you care
like you love me
and I think losing that would hurt more than you ever could
so maybe three inches isn't much
and I can just make do

Ashes to Ashes

Today's Inspiration:


I never met someone so stunning. With the wild eyes of a forest fire and the tongue of a rip tide, you pulled me into you—oil on water, oil on fire.

We went together like a lit match and a stick of dynamite; we were each other's worst selves. I kissed all of your flaws with tongue, and you tied mine to the headboard.

We were miserable in the way pretty people are. Getting botox between the eyes and calling cigarettes our fountain of youth, inhaling each other's smoke like incense. And when the sun painted our sins red, we anointed each other in whiskey and tequila.

I said I thought I loved you, and you chuckled that hearty laugh that made my head spin. I knew my thought wasn't requited, but that was fine. It was half vodka and half a lie.

I remember the night I passed you the lighter for the last time. You had gone through a pack of Malboros and were holding on to your last one with a loose grip. You asked me, "Are you afraid to die?"

I laughed in the way that usually makes you kiss my breath away, but this time, you just looked grim. I stammered out a half-assed response: something about guessing everyone is at some point.

You just shook your head and tapped your ashes into the grass. "I don't think I am. I think it sounds peaceful."

I didn't know how to respond, so I said nothing. And I think you took that as an agreement.

The police found you on the riverbank two days later. Your body had long gone cold. Your case was cut and dry in a way you never could be. Suicide.

God, you must've been stunning. Your arms splayed open, fire eyes wide open and wild, hair blowing in the wind like a tattered sail—the explosion at the end of the dynamite's fuse.

In a sick way, I wish I could have seen. Pour Scotch whiskey over your head like you were Jesus Christ. French kissed your self-destruction one last time.

Now, every year, I take a shot in your honor. The tequila burns like we did. I fall in bed with leather jackets, and Malboro packs all the time, but none ever matter as much as we did. The explosion is never as bright.

Lonely

Today's Inspiration:


What makes someone lonely?
It's an equation I could never solve,
but the answer lies somewhere in the distance between
being in a room by yourself,
and being alone in a crowd of people.

What makes someone too broken?
Broken feels like comparing humans to vases,
but sometimes people snap like twigs,
and you can't glue them together,
but what mkes the edges too jagged?

What makes someone fixable?
And why do I never seem to fit the bill?
I try to shamble all of my pieces together,
but it all cracks apart once I let go.
Maybe nothing can be fixed.

What makes someone alone?
Is it because I isolated myself,
or because I'm terrified of their gaze?
Or is it because the only voice I listen to
is the one deep inside saying I'm nothing?

Story of the King

Today's Inspiration:


The old king is dead.

It's funny how we divide social roles into gendered concepts. Like Kings and Queens, Dukes and Dames, the powerful and the powerless.

Because Kings wear the iron-wraught crowns and carry the top-heavy scepters that crash down in a thunderous display. But Queens wear small silver-spun tiaras and hide in the shadows to go around the real men in charge. Men are the terrifying thunder, loud and rattling your windows.

But women are the lightening strike that set the town ablaze.

That's the thing with women being set aside, they learn to work from their place. Give someone a sword; they learn to swing. Give someone some iron; they learn to smelt.

So maybe Kings are loud, just, and brave. Maybe Queens are delicate and soft-spoken. And maybe a woman could grasp the scepter with just as much force and send the invading army flying.

But if she did, would you see her as loud, just, and brave?

Or is she spiteful? Is she crude? Is she just another stuck-up bitch thinking she can tell big, tough men what to do.

Call me a king, sir. Bend to your knees. Feel my iron sword rest on your shoulders as I tire of your disrespectful demanor. I'm a woman, but I have always been ready to get my hands dirty, instead of fumbling with strings behind the scene.

As my first decree, I command you to let women ascend to the heavens, a war horn on her belt. Let the women in dresses step on the enemy's throat and let the women in pants till the gardens in their absence. And let the men care for the village children. Let them make flower crowns in the field by the wounds and gather berries with smiles on their faces.

Make your next ruler a queen with a beard and rugged arms and a soft smile. Let him be the kindest Queen to rule.

The old rules are dead. Long live the King.