Young Writers discussion

(ghosts)

I believe there is a ghost haunting me and I want it to leave me alone.

I sit looking through old photos of us and I feel a presence in the room with me.
The presence is warm, protective, caring -
it hugs me tightly. I try to reach for it but it dissolves into the air when I move.
I look back at the pictures and I think I see your face shift into longing before it goes back to normal.

Now I know that my ghost is not dead,
even though the past is.
This ghost will keep haunting me as long as you’re breathing.
This ghost is you.

This ghost is the life I had before you left,
the life I had when I was glowing in every picture I took and you were too.

(in love with a memory)

I think I am in love with the memory of you,
not the “you” that you are now.

Yesterday, I was talking to a friend of mine and he said
he doesn’t think you treat me like you should.
I was taken aback by this, because before everything changed you treated me like I was royalty;
like an angel sent from Heaven above;
almost like I was a little glass swan - delicate, easily shattered, and so very precious to you.

But, you changed - as people inevitably do.
You dropped me.
I broke, and suddenly I wasn’t important anymore.

(Rise and Fall Between a Dream and Reality)

In my dreams, you are happier than you are now.
In my dreams, I am happier than I am now.
I believe that is because in my dreams we are still
deeply in love with each other and our bond is never subjected to outside influences.

When I was younger, I always believed reality was better than a dream.
Now I’m not so sure, because
in my dreams I can still feel you holding me, your heart beating in time with mine, but
then I wake from my peaceful slumber and I live every day knowing that I
will have to go another nine months without feeling your chest
rise and fall against my blushing cheek.

I understand now that reality is only worth living when
you have someone from your dreams to live it with.
So, for now, I will live in my dreams - in my childish hope.

(A thought on how to make the world a better place)

I think the world would be a better place if we were all a little bit more open about our emotions - maybe even a bit vulnerable - because if we all wore our hearts on our sleeves, we would be reluctant to judge others, and we would all understand each other a little better. Maybe more sensitivity to what our fellow men are going through is all we need to stop the constant flow of hatred in our day.

(An open letter to my body)

I realize now that I have not been treating you as I should,
and for that, I am sorry.

When I was younger, I called you fat.
I told you that you were ugly.
Clumsy. Weird. Awkward.
Not what anyone wanted these days.
I ordered you to change. I wanted you to change.
I begged you to just be different.
You never did change, so I was ashamed of you.

You never left me.
Whenever I hurt you, you just stood there and took it.

I eventually got used to the fact that you were not going to become better,
so I learned to live with you.
I discovered ways to make you seem more attractive to people.
They didn’t work. I got mad at you. I thought you were the only remotely good thing about me,
and you failed me.

You never left me.
Whenever I hurt you, you just stood there and took it.

Soon, I became angry with myself.
I hated how I thought, how I acted, and who I was.
My dear body, I am so sorry for hitting you when I was mad at myself.
I am so sorry for digging my nails into your skin.
I’m sorry for stuffing your bra so maybe someone would want me;
so maybe I’d feel important for once.

Above all, I’m sorry I wanted you to die.
I’m sorry I almost tried to take your life away from you.

Even after this heck I’ve put you through, you’ve never thought of leaving me.
You always just stood there and took my crap.

I know you don’t blame me for any of this, even though you should.
I know you’re not mad at me. You’re too good for me.

Body, I love you.
And I intend to show that love from now on.

A Humorous (Yet Heartfelt) Encounter - a girl's thoughts on playing chess.

Okay, Me, you know how to set up the board.
You can set up with board without messing up. You shouldn’t be this nervous.
Just act like he’s any other opponent. Stay collected and cool.
Radiate confidence. Guys like confidence. I read that online.
He likes confidence.

You flash him a quick smile, hoping it says you aren’t flustered at all.
(It probably says the opposite, but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t see it anyway.)
You watch intently as he moves one of his pawns. His hands are so
sure of their movements, so graceful and -
“Go,” he says quietly, glancing up at you. Under his raised eyebrows you
can see that his eyes are gray today - a light, creamy gray;
smooth, charming -

Crap.
It’s my turn.
Okay, I’ll move a pawn.
But which one?
Crud, he’s staring at me. He hasn’t stared at me for this long in months.
I can’t do this. My hands are shaking. Stop shaking!
I’m taking too long to move.
He probably thinks I’m crazy. I am crazy. (Crazy about him.)
Okay, stop thinking. Move a stupid pawn.

You move a stupid pawn.
It was a stupid move. Turn after turn, you become trapped.
You can’t stop fidgeting in your seat.
You’re losing the game.
You thought you could predict his moves and react accordingly, but
he plays differently with you than with anyone else.

Maybe I shouldn’t have told him I was in chess club.
He’s probably expecting too much from me.

You manage to check him.
At least you’ve showed him you are capable of catching him.
He smirks a little and says, “You dare check me?”

Oh, heck yes I dare check you.
I check you out. Because you’re freaking hot. Get it?
….
Okay, I’m not going to say that.

He escapes you.
The game moves on, even though part of you doesn’t want it to.
It ends in a draw. You may not have showed him what he wants from a girl, but at least
you showed him you are just as sharp and cunning as he is,
even if you were having a meltdown inside; even if he still doesn’t care about you on as deep a level that
you care for him.

That was the longest he’s paid attention to me in ages.

Even though you lost the game, you feel alive for the first time in what seems like a lifetime.

(Airstrike.)

You told me hope is just a word.
It’s just a dangerous thought - that it doesn’t change anything.
You told me that a military man hopes the airstrike comes soon, but if it doesn’t,
he fights until he dies.

You called me a puppy dog because I believe in hope and you don’t.
I believe in hope, you said, but I shouldn’t because
“the world doesn’t work like that.”

Maybe the reason the world “doesn’t work like that” is because there’s
too many snakes and not enough puppy dogs living on it.
Maybe the world is hopeless because there’s too many people like you in it.

The military man hopes the airstrike comes soon.
If it doesn’t, he fights.
Why does he fight?
He fights because there’s still hope that his side will win -
even if he does die.

Okay so this is a song I wrote....

Ghosts in Rome

The ghosts in Rome used to rule the world
before it came crashing at their feet.

The ghosts in Rome can't breathe anymore.
They are shaken to the core
because their city had taken so long to build but now it's different somehow.

There are still ghosts in Rome.
They still hope that things don't really go
away.

They don't understand that when things change they don't go back.

Their city is gone -
It's gone for good.

There are still ghosts in Rome.
They still hope that things don't really go
away.

You don't have to be dead to haunt the living.

You still haunt me.

choke me to death, love

I wish I could control my dreams, because
if I had the power over my subconscious mind, I would stop dreaming about
your gray-green eyes dancing over me, a knee-buckling smile tugging at your lips.
Instead, I would force myself to dream about you slowly choking me to death,
admitting that everything you told me was a lie and that you hate me you hate me
you hate me, because somehow, thinking you’ve always hated me hurts less than knowing
you once loved me.

Darling, I dream of warm embraces and honeyed kisses, but
secretly I plead you to finish me off.
Finish what you’ve started, I pray.
I promise it won’t be hard - I won’t even cry as you wrap your hands around my throat.
Whisper one last carefully crafted sentence in my ear and I’ll die believing you care.

All I ask for is a quick, painless death,
a quiet slipping out of reality, all ghosts from our pasts erased with the finality of
a haunted, tortured life ending.

But, you’ve never been the coldblooded type.
I know that no matter how much I beg you to choke me to death, love,
all you’ll do is gently calm me with your resonant tenor, your tear-stained shoulders,
your too-good heart,
as I slowly, painfully, die in your arms.

(hiding alone)

I’ve learned that if I don’t keep myself constantly busy,
the hurt from you will creep back into my heart and
I won’t be able to hide it.
I need to keep hiding it, because if I don’t hide,
people will see the real me.
If they see the real me, they’ll hate me (like you do).
If everyone hates me, I’ll be alone.

If I’m alone, all my worst fears will be true,
because if I’m alone, I’ll be
worthless.