Young Writers Society

Ley's Lyrical Laboratory

Follow me on this journey of getting into Poetry by teaming up with WeepingWisteria and KateHardy to write a poem a day based on Wist's wonderful playlist! The fun thing about this challenge is that inspiration/poetry forms are completely randomized. Comments are welcome!



Rules:
*the numbers are based on dice rolls, whichever number I get is which form/inspiration/rhyming I will have to do*

Song: Either 1st new song or 3rd song after pressing shuffle

Poetic style (dice roll):
1 - Freeverse
2 - Spoken word
3 - rhyming
4 - refrain
5 - visual/found
6 - dealer’s choice

Song Inspiration if not rhyming (dice roll):
1 - Song title
2 - Lyric
3 - Song theme
4 - Dealer’s choice

If rhyming (dice roll):
1 - Song Title
2 - Lyric
3 - Song theme
4 - Rhyme scheme

For Song Title and Lyric (Flip coin):
Heads: Use as prompt
Tails: Incorporate into poem

*The first and last stanzas are not my original activation prayers, derives from paganism*

oh, hecate, ancient goddess of the night,
your torch illuminates the mystic fight,
guardian of my crossroads, holder of the key,
unveil the path, set me free.

as I set up my altar,
I write down my intentions.
I will prosper. I will live a,
long and healthy life.

I place my black tourmaline,
in the center of the spread.
may it protect me through this chant.

and as I light my sage,
I take a deep breath and hum,
as that's the only way.
the only way I'll be successful.

I scribble down pentagrams and,
pentacles, my so ancient runes.
earth, air, water, and spirit.

feathers, bones, and leaves surround me,
and I draw their energy outwards into,
my body.
fill me until I am of the soil.

I light an incense, and smudge,
a palo santo stick onto my,
cold forehead.
cleanse this room, please.

next, I light my prosperity candles,
and breathe in the scent of,
mugwort and coffee beans.
give me energy, for I am tired.

oh, holy hecate, I pray you, grant me the knowledge of what is hidden in the depths of the cosmos.

grant me understanding of the secret thoughts, of the heart. let me know what is concealed within the innermost recesses of the soul.

oh, holy hecate, reveal to me the truth of the future.

guide me in the direction of immortality.

This place doesn't look like home,
it's covered in blood,
past remnants of what I used to be,
a cottage born into a ruined world.

And as I sit at the dinner table,
drinking my watered down coffee,
I feel along the wooden frame,
it's completely unrecognizable.

The smell is rancid,
just like my grandmother's perfume but,
not quite.
It's now rotten and bitter.

The stove doesn't work,
the lights won't stop flickering,
and the air is misty like an
abandoned graveyard.

And a graveyard, it is.
I am surrounded by ghosts of my past,
layered with obscurities and leftover
memories that refuse to fade.

Is this hell? Am I dead?
or is this just a dream,
please tell me I am dreaming,
am I?

The radio plays in the distance,
and it makes my skin crawl.
That was my favorite song,
I don't listen to it much anymore.

But I recognize that face in the
cracked and cloudy mirror.
She stares back at me with a
pained expression I can't quite explain.

I look away, disgusted,
and move swiftly towards the door,
struggling at the doorknob.
"Maybe I should go back home."

thanks.

i was born into a dysfunctional family.
my home wasn't a home,
it was a junkyard, decorated with
cardboard for windows and
plastic couches.

my mother was in love with the needle,
my older sister was in and out of jail,
locked behind bars until i was old enough to speak.
my brothers were outside most of the time,
picking trouble with our neighbors.

she was never home.
we relayed on craft meals,
spoiled milk, and molded bread.
but that was all i knew,
so i never complained.

by the time i was five,
my mother never came back.
my sister took her place,
sending us off to daycare with her last
three rubles.

it was always snowing,
and sometimes i'd make snow angels
with my closest friends.
and we'd cry when it rained,
because a gloomy life was no way to live.

a year later, i was ripped from my home,
by strangers with badges.
they banged through my front door,
and yanked me from my siblings,
and the whole ride away i stared out the window.

i still remember it.
the building they placed me in.
it was much colder than the snow,
and the walls were grey with
cracks that haunted me for years.

next thing i knew, five years later,
i was on a flight to another land.
and i was sitting in front of these new people,
who smiled and acted like they cared.
but they did care.

and it took me years after that to realize i was safe.
finally safe.
away from violence, the needle, and trouble,
i stood in my new room,
overwhelmed by the luxury they had to offer.

years went on, and i graduated highschool.
i searched for my lost siblings.
only to find out my brothers and my,
youngest sister were still stuck in that
cold, grey room.

my oldest sister was here,
searching for me,
and we cried when we reconnected.
i held her for so long,
we sobbed together.

when i had my first child,
she was the first one to hold her.
i didn't need my mother.
because my sister was enough,
and she was my mother all along.

now, i'm floating along the currents,
packing punches and taking on life by myself,
with only half a heart remaining.

so thanks.
thanks for being the mother i never had.

i wish you well

you grinded my bones into thin powder,
threw my no longer beating heart into the garbage,
decapitated my thoughts from my brain,
and shoved what remained of my body into a wishing well.

atleast, thats what it felt like.

and to this day, im still overcome with lifeless
dreams of you that haunt my thoughts.
i see you in every hallway, and each time i do
i feel like im falling back into the wishing well.

and i watch your life in pictures,
i sit on the bathroom floor and hug the teddy bear
from the county fair we went to last spring.
it still smells like you.

i'd wish you well,
but it seems someone already did.
because you're are doing much better
than you were when you were with me.

so i'll just sit alone in the shower
and let the ice cold water send goosebumps
down my spine.

i'll watch from afar as you marry her,
and forget me with
each passing moment.

and maybe one day, i'll take my heart back
and shove it back into my chest,
where it belongs.

so, here it goes. i will say it.
not for you,
but for me.

i wish you well.

The Desires of a Fantasy Writer

imagine flying on a dragon,
the feel of their scales on your sheathed hands,
the wind and spray of the ocean on your blushed cheeks.
the sound of cold coins jingling in your coat pocket.
I wish I was a character in a fantasy story.

imagine finding love so pure,
that you never need to question it,
because I tend to leave a trail of dead wherever I go,
every person I've touched became incapable of love.
I wish I was a character in a fantasy story.

imagine the sunsets, how they reflect vivid colors,
like greens, and oranges, and deep blues,
how they bounce off the main character's skin like
rays of outworldly glow and dominance.
I wish I was a character in a fantasy story.

imagine being so strong that you can take on a god,
with your magical powers and interesting lore.
but here, in this world,
I'm too bruised to fight, so leave me be.
I wish I was a character in a fantasy story.

I write words on paper hoping they'd become real life.
and I still ask myself:
why can't I fly on a dragon?
or find a love so pure?
and see prettier sunsets, or be strong?

because I'm not a character in a fantasy story.

A Superhero Story

I could crash my car on the highway,
pushing 200
and you'd still come,
rip off my door and carry me out,
you'd give me CPR until I was breathing again.

You'd carry my limp body to your house,
draw a line and cut a hole in my throat,
so that I could breathe again
and you'd do it with ease.

We'd spend the night talking,
catching up, drinking beers until
we both fell asleep,
and I'd listen to you snore, and smile to myself.

In the morning, you'd make me breakfast.
I'd praise you and thank you for saving me,
for being my real life Clark Kent.
you'd say, "it was my pleasure,"
and flip the pancakes, wearing your work apron.

Our daughter would burst through her room doors,
holding her favorite stuffed animal,
and slide into her dining room chair after
hugging my legs.

But then I blink.
and things go back to normal,
it seems our superhero story died long ago.
You're back to ignoring me.

And now, I realize that you'd never save me
from that car accident,
you'd never draw me a line,
you'd let me die right there and then.

Why can't our story go on forever?

Treading the Stars

The clouds are rolling in, I feel you drifting away
so I expand my horizons, and search for your aura
far and wide I'll tread your skies, until I finally see
a glimpse of what's left of us.

but lighting will strike my spine,
and I'll tremor with electricity until I'm nothing but a
burnt corpse, floating in the atmosphere
but I won't stop searching.

I'll astroproject out of my body and sky surf the stars,
I could make friends with the constellations and
draw our names in space so that you might see it,
and take that as a sign to make your way back to me.

Maybe if I make my way through the exosphere
and follow your footsteps, I could find you on mars,
setting your flag and creating your new home,
as that's where they plan to send all of us anyways.

But you're not there, so I keep searching,
I even leave the milky way,
and end up in oblivion, still calling your name
until my voice becomes raw.

We are bigger than the universe, bigger than Earth
and I have a feeling this will never end,
I'll keep treading the universe forever,
just longing for your touch,

One.
Last.
Time.

Shattered Sculptures

being a woman is like embodying a sculpture,
made of ceramic or glass, people judge.
lines so thin that we seem easy to fracture,
we wear water resistant mascara so it doesn't budge.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

we dry our eyes with damaged towel,
and try to wipe away our insecurity.
and I say these words with pain in every vowel,
because oh how I wish I weren't me, sincerely.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

i wish my chest was flat, devoid of any curves,
and i wish my lips weren't so full and misleading.
because all men say is "she got what she deserves"
and every time they do, my heart starts bleeding.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

i am woman, we are the only ones that truly create life
yet it still feels like we're still fighting for the right to live.
should i threaten the enemies with a dull-bladed knife?
i just don't think i have it in me to forgive.

self-mythology

my self-mythology is absolute,
it's a book that consists of heartbreak,
loneliness and fortitude,
it's what people see when they hear my name.
and it's beautiful,
because my ares respresents my bones,
and my aphrodite represents my heart.

my self-mythology is self-inflicted,
a jester card that only gets pulled last,
the reason i keep to myself.
its a story filled with lore, reincarnation, and
hopeless romance.
ive spent years studying it, but it's still
indecipherable.

my self-mythology is dark brown,
the color of blood when it dries, the
soil in my pots after it rains.
and I love every inch of this
fucked up story,
because its what makes others
remember me.