Young Writers Society

A/N: About...my fifth poem ever. I'm starting to like poetry more and more! Any help is useful. Contains hints at sex between men, crude language, and a hopeful teen.


**


“Oh, I see. I understand.”



The defeated response is mundane,

The “story of my life” that is always said with a weak smile,

And a shaky voice that I hope they don’t notice.



I’m really trying not to fall apart,

Because I don’t see and I don’t understand,

And it hurts a little more every time

When the answer is, “No, thank you, anyway.”



**



“What do you do for a living, honey?



Wouldn’t you like to know

So you could arrest my dirty ass

And lock me away for eternity?



I see it in her eyes and everyone else’s’

That they think my job is probably

Sleeping with their loving husbands,

And being the home wrecker that I was born to be.



**

“Haha! Don’t you have a corner to stand on?”



And aren’t you just a library

Of brilliant comebacks and

Deductions for the common idiot?



I could say I don’t give a shit,

And that it doesn’t hurt at all,

But man, would I be lying my ass off,

So I always just walk away.



**



“Wow, what a fag…”



They laugh and sneer at a poor soul

And laugh harder when the guy tells

Them to “Fuck off,” while I hide and watch.



The leader, he’s the beautiful one

And, if it were possible, I’d like to

Brush aside his black hair and look into

His blue eyes and say, “Please love me.”



**



“Some never find it. Never.”



I wonder if I’ve found “it,”

Or if I even know what that

Special, exclusive “it,” really is.



Some kind of happiness?

I like to pretend, once in a while, that I might

Find it with Mr. Blue Eyes, and that he might

Turn to me suddenly and say, “You. Are. Beautiful.”



**



“Home is where it is, honey.”



Home is in the eye of the beholder,

Because the place I should call home,

Has never been just that.



Mother can’t see her own fingers,

Brother gets a look a death in his eyes

Every time he sees me, and father…

Well, father can’t look me in the eyes and call me son.



**



“Don’t rely on anyone to make ya happy.”



Ain’t that the truth, Mister?

But that’s where the irony

Is rich and tickles me red.



For I’ve tried trust and hope, and

All I’ve ever gotten is

Matching scars, painful aches, broken bones,

And blood out my ass. Oh my.



**



“It’s all a joke, kid. All a joke…”



Says my broken mentor

Whose addiction is a bottle

That loves him almost as much as he loves it.



He claims love is a joke,

A complete waste of time,

All the while spreading my legs

And loving me until I gasp and shake from ecstasy.



**



“Have you ever really been kissed?”



I think, once upon a time,

I might have almost loved someone,

To the point that every touch mattered.



And I think, possibly, that

Every time we kissed, there

Were those initial electric shocks,

And yes, even violins majestically soaring after.



**

“Fuck kid, what a body.”



Violins don’t exist anymore, not with

Men who have disgusting, vile mouths

That are not even good for sucking me.



A risk is hardly what I’m taking,

Because if eating a decent dinner

Means having to let morons fuck me,

Then it’s okay, the violins can wait. Really.



**



“The park is always alive! Always.”



The violins have no mercy,

Because it is when I’m alone now,

That I hear them, and man, do they hate me.



My bush and I cuddle close and let the crickets

Lead a triumphant sounding orchestra,

While the pain in my ass grows a little

More with every whiny violin hum.



**



“Won’t you sing a little louder?”



The leader with the black hair

And blue eyes always comes back

To the park at night, and sits at the swings.



He sings with a crystal clear voice,

While I hide in my bush, hearing the violins echo

And wishing he could sing “Silly Love Songs”

Just a teensy bit louder.



**



“All we have, finally, are the words.”



Pain, tears, betrayal, laughter, hunger,

Hunger, hunger, but hunger for what?

Sad words they are.



I climb out of my bush and watch the

Startled boy turn around, and

All of a sudden, he’s watching me, too,

With his careful blue orbs, and I step closer.



I want to believe he won’t

Turn me away with his awful sneer

And cruel laugh, while I

Try my best not to cry at his cruelty.



I want to believe everyone,

Mother, father, brother, was wrong

When they said I of all people would

Never find it, never possess it.



I’d like to believe that the slow

Alien-like smile on his face

Is a sign o f hello, and not the smile

Of one who will retell his experience to friends.



I gulp, and watch as the boy’s

Mouth moves to form words.

“Hello,” he says at last.

Hello, won’t you play that violin again?

Hey, so basically my review can be described in one word : WOW. Your peom describes in wonderful detail and i get this feeling of raw emotion. It's one of those peoms that makes you think about it after you read it. I have to say its really nice. Umm, one thing is that how it jumps from place to place seems kind of off. Perhaps make it flow alittle better or even cut it into seperate peoms.

Anyways, great job, keep up the good work

This has to be one of the most brilliant poems I've read in a long time. The emotion you caught in this... was just... awe inspiring? I think you shed light on an issue that not many people really think about, and you did it well. The explicit content is what really makes the story. It always makes me happy when I see a fellow writer use explicit language and not care if it offends someone. =]. It makes me smile. So brilliant job and a fantastic well done! I do believe I will check into more of your work sometime =]

Wow. Thank you SO much, guys. Somehow I missed these.