When you are angry,
If you feel you will explode anytime,
Let those emotions flow,
Give a poem life,
Sell your soul to your story,
Put your heart in it,
And make it the best it can be.
You would be relieved,
As the hatred leaves you,
And peace settles in.
Gone are the negative thoughts,
Only the satisfaction of having written something meaningful remains.
There's no need to hold on to your anger,
Pass it down to a piece of paper,
With the power of a pen,
The effect is unbelievable,
All you got to do is trust me,
|i love writing, music and novels.
How can we say
we are right,
when we do not know wrong?
How can we say
we are good,
when we do not know bad?
Our existence is before us,
not upon us
we are merely tools.
What right do we have
to slay imprison and deprive
those of our kind?
It is our job
to keep order in the world;
how can we lead
when we only follow?
When does a leader
emerge from the crowd
to truly show what is good and right?
After standing up
for dreams and equality,
who is shot down from the clouds?
because of prejudice.
How can we say
we are civilized,
when we do not understand
what is barbaric?
Why must one die
for the world to see
we are not a perfect country?
Why must a tragedy
bring us to reality,
drift in and out of our lives?
We remember our friends,
our teachers were close;
seemingly insignificant people
touch our lives the most.
So why is it
that you never hear
of the death of a dreamer?
plastered with fame
never a local,
are we ashamed?
those who affect our lives.
Remember the little
remember the trivial.
those in our lives:
leaders who know right,
heroes who know good.
Pleasanton, Ca, USA
I'm just a little tired
Just a little weak
I'm just a little stressed
Find it hard to sleep
I'm just a little hurt
Just a little mad
I'm just a little sick
And way beyond just sad
I'm just a little poor
Just a little tattered
I'm just a little lifeless
And more than just a little
You said you would be there for me,
When I needed to talk.
When my heart feels empty,
And I can barely walk.
But when I need you to lean on,
You are just never there.
So I think you have withdrawn,
And live your life in despair.
When my life is at worst,
And I'm about to break,
I wish we could have reversed,
Living life as a mistake.
So all I am asking of you,
Is if you are my friend,
Are you willing to help me through,
Life all the way to the end?
wishing for tolerance----
what did i do
to much to handle
past crawling with future
blurring the edges when it was suppose to stop
you said it would be ok
everything had to get better
will it get better
when will the screaming stop
the ridicule end
the ugly things stop taking me in
what happened to me
i could deal with so
not even flinch
i could leave
i could hold myself
knowing i was the only one
who would hold me
you ask why i don't hug you
stuck with myself
"Feb 03 01"
You make me so mad
So mad I wish I were dead
So you couldn't hurt me anymore
With these games you take to my head
I wish I was no more
So I could watch you hurt and cry
Wondering to yourself
Why is it I wanted to die
I wish you could understand
That I don't want you to control me
So you could feel how i felt
Maybe then you'd see
I'm not your puppet
If you cut me I'll bleed
And cry with bloody tears
It's you I don't need
Cut my strings
So then I have freedom from life in chains
And I can be my own person
And let my broken heart drain
Inside I think your heartless
That you don't care at all
I feel you wouldn't catch me
If I ever had to fall
Stab me if you will
So I can be free from you
Cuz hurting me
Makes you enjoy what you do
I wish I could leave this broken down life
Just let me be myself
Or watch me
Take hold of this knife
|My name Is Ashley Oteney I am 15 years old. And this is how I felt about my mother one night when we had a fight. I would never do such a thing or even
tell her how i felt. I love my mom with all my heart and I don't wanna see her heart like I do. She's a good person and she only wants what's best for me
But sometimes she takes it to far. So I use poems to express myself and im sorry if you think this poem is real because frankly im not sure what it is.
Caught in the Web of You
you whisper to me with frozen lips
voice warm with calm
I thaw in the blustery wind
of my bleak dark home
early morning rings of gold
passageway to your depths
you speak of normal things
jobs, money, me
sometimes at night I hear
soft whispers of you again
I tremble in your breath
of heart-beat shaped words
In my sullen world
of tall thick black doors
you stroll down the way
walls crash, mouths part
we sing a song
only a few days long
cherished forevers to come
held in the palms of our minds
|17/f from Utah
Even though you are gone,
you are remembered,
maybe not by a plaque,
but in the hearts of all you met,
from the person you waved to on the street,
to your mother and father,
they will always remember you,
you will be given a special place in their hearts,
though your place may become smaller,
it will always be there.
Now you sit on God's lap,
and you look down to the Earth,
and you see us all,
laughing, crying, loving,
Please pray for us,
for we hope to see you again someday,
when we will both sit in God's lap,
for it is big enough for all.
|I wrote this poem shortly after my Grandpa and a small boy from my school died. I was crying on night,
when I decided to just pick up my pencil and write a poem. This poem has been edited a little, but it is still
basically the same. My Grandpa died after a long battle with cancer on February 14, 2000. The little boy died
February 16, 2000 when he was hit by a car a week earlier (he was about 8, I think). Both of the happenings devastated me. I was mad
at God and the world. After I wrote this poem I felt a sense of relief.
I am 14 and female. My name is Katie. I like to write, but I like to draw and sketch better.
Thanks for reading my poem. =) God Bless ?
Deathbed Wishes and Lifelong Dreams
The setting was San Francisco, on an unusually warm day. The year was 1857. A very religious family was sitting around their living room, grief stricken. The family's grandmother was in what was called the sick room, on her deathbed. Though she was resting peacefully, there was too much emotional stress in seeing her withered body. The sick woman woke up suddenly and started calling for her 5-year-old granddaughter. The little girl was filled with fear of the sick room, because that is where sick people go to die, but she tried to be brave for her family. She walked slowly into the room towards the bed. "Go over to the night stand," Grandmother Abby told the small, frightened girl. "Do you see a nightgown, Emily?" she asked her. "Yes, I do. What should I do with it?" Emily said in a small, barely audible voice. "Bring it here, dear." Emily didn't understand why her grandmother would want a nightgown at a time like this but she didn't dare object to the wishes of !
elders. Grandmother Abby told the little girl to sit next to her on the bed so that she could hear a nice story. Little Emily waited with anticipation for the tale because her grandmother made up the best stories for Emily and her friends. Holding the flannel nightgown in her hands she began the story, which was more like a history of the sleeping garment. In the story there is the conversation between Emily and the grandmother.
"This nightgown has special powers, and someday you will understand my words more but for now it is somewhat like a fairytale." Emily was already held in a trance by Grandmother Abby's story telling abilities. "Grandmothers give this gown to their granddaughters." The grandmother began to get sleepy from her illness but she continued for the benefit of the small child. "The girls are always very young so they don't understand stories such as these. When those girls wear the nightgown they can go off into another world. A world filled with happy people, bright flowers, and lots of room to play. Everyone in the world knows everyone else and there is no reason for anyone to be uncomfortable ever. There are a lot of people that believe that such a world could not exist for it is not logical. Grandmothers know better. We have lived and know much. We hold the secrets of life and eventually death. Much can be learned from people of old age for they have the experiences o!
f life." Emily had a puzzled look on her face because her grandmother seemed to be rambling on without cause or reason. "I see the way you are looking at me and no, dear I am not crazy. Many people believe that grandmothers are because often life will drive you over the edge." There was a nervous laugh emanating from the little girl. She didn't know exactly how to respond to such a comment. "I can still think straight but when you hold the secrets of life in your mind the knowledge may be too much to bear for even the strongest of souls." Grandmother Abby's face twisted up into a weird position. "You don't think less of me because of the things I am telling you, do you dear?" The girl thought for a minute because she wasn't sure what her grandmother was saying but she thought it meant did she love her less for it. "No, of course not. I love you and nothing you say to me will change that." Emily was perceptive for her age. She understood most of what she was told e!
ven if it did not make an impact for a few years. "Don't say that yet. Before this day is through you will think of me differently. I cannot begin to tell you if this change will be for the better or a turn for the worse. I cannot read the expression in your eyes the way I could your mother's." This truly did sound like a fairytale because Emily was beginning to fall asleep and that is what happens whenever she hears a fantasy story. "Well, this particular nightgown is the first of its kind. It is special to me and I hope that it will be so for you. Not only does it allow you into the world that I have already told you about, it lets you bring all the people that you love with you." The small girl sat wide-eyed with fascination. Nothing had ever caught her attention like this before and even the grandmother was amazed. Emily had a very short attention span and it was always hard to try to get her to sit still. This story had done both and it was truly shocking. "I!
t is my one wish that you will one day have a big enough heart to invite EVERYONE into the special world. Everyone should know the happiness I am sharing with you." Emily sat there and nodded because she was always willing to do what her grandmother asked. "I did not have an opportunity to do such a thing because my grandmother died before she finished the story of the nightgown's magical powers." "I'll do whatever you want, grandmother," Emily said. "I know you would, but, it's not that easy. You have to really want everyone to be there with you and you can't have any hate in that little heart of yours." Even though Emily didn't really know what Grandmother Abby meant she agreed and asked her to keep going. "You have to keep an open mind and never judge anyone harshly. In order to do what I have asked, you must always keep an open mind and forgive those who intentionally cause you harm. Trust me, this will be a very hard thing to do. I know for it has been my life'!
s goal to live just as I have described." Little Emily was smart enough to know that the words that sounded strange now would one day make sense. She stopped understanding Grandmother Abby's words but one day they would all make sense and be words that she would try her best to live by. "There may be people along your path that will think of you as a mad person but you must try to make these narrow-minded people see things as we do without telling them the story of the magic gown." It didn't make a whole lot of sense that she couldn't tell people of the gown for it would surely make them understand. "I know what you are thinking", the grandmother said, "and the reason that you may not tell people of the nightgown is that it will only ensure your insanity. People will think that you have no place among normal people and they will put you away for life. You will have no freedom and no life left after that. I know this because I have seen this happen to many people." The!
extent of Grandmother Abby's knowledge amazed Emily. She didn't know how one person could know so much about life and all that might happen to people in it. "I am not a mind reader", the grandmother said, "though I can sometimes tell what people are thinking by looking into their eyes and seeing the expressions on their faces." With the words "good luck" Grandmother Abby passed away holding Emily's little hand. She went back into the living room to tell the rest of her family that the grandmother had passed away. When Emily went into the room with her family, and they pulled the quilt off the woman Emily saw a nightgown of the same kind as the magic one she was given. While everyone else mourned the great loss, Emily knew that Grandmother Abby was off in that special place she had just learned about. She also knew that if she did as her grandmother told her she, along with her family, would see her again. Emily's parents could not understand why their little girl did !
not miss Grandmother Abby. The conclusion they came to was that the little girl did not understand the meaning of death. Perhaps that was true but armed with the knowledge she now had Emily knew that everything would be all right and the grandmother was not gone in all senses of the word.
Emily grew up a happy person. She never lost her temper and had so much patience that people couldn't understand it. She was great with children; somehow they were attracted to her warmth, and grace. Emily always had a kind word and a smile for strangers and friends. Towards the end of her life she realized that even though she loved others with all her heart, and had the patience of an angel she couldn't fulfill her grandmother's wish. The only conclusion was that since she didn't love herself she couldn't truly love others. So on her deathbed she found herself beginning the magical story to her granddaughter, Catherine. "This nightgown has magical powers.," Emily began.
The moral of this story is you have to love yourself before you can begin to love others. Only then will you be able to accomplish dreams and the wishes of dying grandmothers.
Brooklyn, New York, U.S.A
Doing things you like to do,
And being happy means having fun,
Being with the people you like,
Happy doing things with everyone.
For me, if you want to know,
I like to do things that give other people pleasure.
I like to watch their faces when they see,
And that for me is my form of treasure.
When they read what I have to write,
They see what is in my eyes.
And every time that they read it,
It gives them their own form of a surprise.
So as I tell you one last thing,
I will show you what being happy means to me.
I will tell you of all my dreams,
To make me as happy as happy as can be.
|I love to write stories, and to publish them. Right now I am trying to get some of my stories in Chicken Soup For The Teenage Soul(C). I hope you like this, and thank you for reading it. If you would like, I also have a story for March, 2000 under Essay's called 'Things That I Dread', if you would like to read it! º~Thank ¥ou!~º
A Deep Slumber
not only long but also deep
as peacefully as possible
Boulder, Colorado, U.S.A
Jaded by a haunted past,
Never though that life could last.
When out of the darkness,
I could see you breathing.
You came along knowing just what I needed,
You got me believing that you would die for me,
And for what? Nothingness?
Now I am fearless,
With nothing left to show,
When you are at my side.
You have stripped away the walls of pride and greed I raised,
Your light shown brightly through the darkness in me.
You show the way through the haste and lies.
Through the hate of this world,
You showed me love through your blood and pain.
All for us, when we have given nothing,
And for what? Nothingness.
Now I am fearless,
To thank you would small,
For the way I feel.
I will give my life, for you giving yours.
Boise, ID, USA
|About the author of Jaded.
Hi, I am Nate, or my pen name Tab. I am 15 years old. I have been through hard times. But meeting God has helped me see the light, and through my art pieces, poetry, and writings, I express how my life used to be and how I changed. I just hope that you get as much out of my work as I do. Thanx
Always, in the name of Christ
Margaret Manfield stood in the back of the empty drugstore, seeing what needed to be done. She looked down at the white tiled floor, so dusty and dirty that it appeared to be grey. She glanced up at the white walls that the floor was supposed to match. "I'd almost rather leave it dirty," she thought as she pushed her dark curly hair away from her face. "Maybe then it wouldn't look so much like a hospital." However, she went to the closet to retrieve the broom.
Margaret heard the bell above the door jingle as it swung open, and walked to the front of the store to see who it was. She smiled when she saw little Jane Wilcox standing at the counter, staring at the candy.
"Hello Jane," she said, walking behind the counter. She pushed her hair away from her wrinkled face again, allowing her light blue eyes to show through.
"Hi, Mrs. Manfield," Jane replied absently.
"Margaret, dear," she corrected.
Jane smiled. "Margaret." She shifted her eyes back down to the candy display, searching intently. Margaret laughed to herself as she saw the little girl's short black hair, the only part of her that stood above the glass counter. The store was silent, except for the ticking of the clock.
"It's been a long time," Margaret said. "I haven't seen you around lately."
"Yes, a long time," said Jane, running her small, dark hands over the brightly colored jars. Her face lit up as her eyes fell on one in particular, and she chose two peppermint sticks and placed them on the counter. Margaret rang up her purchase and handed it back to her.
"Bye, Margaret," Jane said, as she turned to leave.
"Wait, Jane!" she called after her.
Jane turned and walked back, looking to see if she'd forgotten something. Margaret nearly winced as she saw her turn. She had no reason for detaining her, she simply didn't want to be left alone in the big, empty store again.
"So, how's school going?" she asked casually.
Jane stood there, shuffling her feet. Once in a conversation with Mrs. Manfield, it was not easy to get out. Jane liked her, and thought she was a nice old woman, however she didn't believe any ten year old really had the patience. Still, she tried.
"It's good," Jane told Margaret. "I like it."
Margaret nodded. "You've made some new friends this year?"
Jane hesitated, and the continuous ticking of the clock made the silence even more awkward. "Yeah, I met some nice kids," she said. "They're all nice."
"Well, that's good dear," Margaret said. "I'm such a pathetic old woman," she thought, shutting her eyes in embarrassment. "Keeping the poor child because I'm lonely."
Jane replied, "Yeah, it's fine. Nothing too exciting." Her eyes glanced quickly around the room.
Margaret sighed. "I can see you're getting antsy, dear. You can run along. Stop in and see me some time, though."
Jane smiled. "I will Mrs. Manfield. I mean Margaret. It was nice to see you!" She walked out the door, and the little bell jingled again, this time announcing her exit.
The sound of Jane's bare feet slapping the ground as she ran off faded away, and Margaret was alone in the shop again. She shook her head sadly, and walked slowly back to the rear of the store, where she'd been before Jane entered. The broom she had dropped when she went to see who was at the door still lay on the ground, reminding Margaret of the job she still had to do.
"What's the matter with me?" Margaret thought, as she picked up the broom and continued sweeping. "I've been alone for some time now, why is it bothering me so much?"
She stopped sweeping and leaned her chin on the broom. A pensive look came over her face. She touched the locket she always wore around her neck. The thin silver chain felt tighter as she grasped it. Margaret looked around the room quickly, even though she knew no one could be watching. She then opened it, and looked down at the pictures inside. Her eyes welled up with tears, as they always had when she did this.
"Oh, Robert," she thought, looking at the photograph of her late husband fondly. "Why did you have to leave me?" Looking at his photograph, it felt almost as though he wasn't dead. His clear brown eyes seemed to stare back up at her, and the warm smile greeted her as it always had all the years they'd been married.
She heard a sound in the front of the store, and quickly composed herself. Margaret dried her eyes, snapped the locket shut, and went back to her sweeping.
She swept quickly as her boss, Jamie, entered the store. He was a young man, only about 25, and Margaret felt a bit strange taking orders from him at times.
"Hello, Margaret," he said, his green eyes sparkling as he gave her a big smile.
"Hi Jamie," she replied, not looking up.
A concerned frown formed on his face. "You know, you don't have to work so hard, Margaret. I understand if you need to take an extra break every now and then"
Suddenly, Margaret felt indignant. Who was this child to be telling her to stop working? "Jamie, I am perfectly capable, thank you very much. If I felt I needed a break, I would take one. I know you're my boss, but I have been working since before you were born. Now if you'll excuse me, I should start mopping." Jamie held up his hands in defeat as she walked past him to the back room. He decided not to ask whether or not she really knew he was the boss. Perhaps he had overstepped his bounds.
Margaret held the heavy wooden door open with her foot, as she shoved a chair into it so she could walk away. She pulled on the thin chain that dangled from the light bulb, and it's dim light filled the narrow room. Margaret grabbed a pale green painted stool, as she looked up at the shelf high above her head that held the ammonia she needed.
She placed the stool next to the shelf, and uneasily placed one stool on top of it. With her hands, she grasped the shelf in front of her, and tried to pull her leg up. She tried several times, but it didn't work. Margaret was becoming very frustrated, and was temped to ask Jamie for help.
"I'll just try once more before swallowing my pride," she thought, as she braced herself for what would be her final attempt. As she pulled her weight up with her arms this time, the stool began to give way. She tried to steady herself, but before she knew what was happening, the stool tipped over and she was on the floor. Margaret cried out in pain, and Jamie ran in.
"Margaret, what happened?" he asked, panicking.
"I fell," she said weakly. "My hip." Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes.
When Margaret awoke, she was laying down, facing a white ceiling. She looked around at the four white walls, and heard a repetitive ticking sound. For a moment she thought that she was still in the store. She soon realized that the ticking was not that of the clock in the store, because it was now mixed with the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. Margaret looked down at the bed she was laying in, and realized that she had been taken to the hospital. She groaned, feeling the pain of her injury.
A nurse poked her head in the door and walked inside, seeing that Margaret was awake. "How are you feeling?" she asked, flashing a fake smile.
"All right," Margaret answered, sounding dazed. "Who brought me here? What happened?"
"You had a bad fall and broke your hip," the blond woman answered. "The manager of the store you were in called an ambulance.
Margaret laid her head back down on the uncomfortable pillow, a look of defeat clouding her features. "Broken?" she said. "How long will it take me to get over this?"
The nurse appeared upset at her question. "Well, there's no real way to know. You'll have to go through a lot of rehabilitation. The policy of the hospital is that you must be able to walk before you leave on your own."
"Yes," Margaret said. "I thought so. But how long will this take me?"
"Anywhere from weeks to months," the nurse replied. "It depends on your will to get better and how hard you try. Is there any family member you'd like me to call?"
"No," Margaret said firmly, closing her eyes. "No."
Margaret lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. "What am I going to do?" she thought to herself. "How am I going to get over this?"
Just then, a young looking woman in her thirties appeared in the doorway. She glanced at the chart on the doorway and walked in. "Hi Margaret," she said, looking and sounding very friendly. "My name's Judy, I'm a volunteer with the Elderly Visiting Service. I saw your chart downstairs and thought you might like some company."
Margaret blinked in surprise, listening to the woman's speech. She wasn't used to anyone being so forward. "Yes, I suppose that would be nice. Have a seat, Judy."
She pulled a chair up next to the bed. She shook her head as she sat down, rearranging her dark brown hair. "So, how are you feeling Margaret?" she asked. Before the woman had a chance to answer, Judy jumped into her next question. "Margaret, that's a beautiful locket! Where did you get it?"
Margaret smiled, glad that she had noticed the simple necklace. "Oh, thank you Judy. It was a gift from my husband for our fortieth anniversary."
Judy gasped. "Forty years! That is amazing. Has he been in to see you?"
Margaret's eyes fell. "No," she said quietly. "He died a few years ago."
"Oh," Judy said, putting her hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
"That's alright," Margaret said, smiling sadly. "We had a lot of good years together. I'll never forget the day he gave me this. I came downstairs to the kitchen that morning, and he'd made breakfast, which was quite unusual. So I sat down at my chair, and there on my plate was this box. I opened it and I just thought it was the most beautiful necklace I'd ever seen. We didn't have much, and I just didn't know where he could have gotten the money. I know it looks simple, but it's actually a fairly valuable antique. Robert always did know the perfect gift to get me."
"Margaret, that's such a nice story. Do you have Robert's picture in the locket?" Judy asked, studying it carefully. She held the small silver oval between her thumb and forefinger. The intricate Celtic designs caught and reflected the light.
"Why, yes dear, I do. I put both of our pictures in the day he gave it to me." Margaret told her, as she opened the locket to show Judy. Robert's face smiled up at both of them, and Margaret smiled back, seeing the face of a much younger man than she usually remembered. Judy held it closer, to get a better look at Robert's features.
Suddenly, Judy stood up. "Margaret, I'm sorry, but I really have to go. I'll be back to visit you tomorrow, if you'd like."
"Certainly, Judy," Margaret said. "Stop by anytime."
Judy walked out quickly, and Margaret felt a little sad that she had to leave so soon.
"At least she'll be back to visit me tomorrow," she thought. She reached to her neck to close her locket, but found it missing. Margaret began to panic as she looked around on the bed, but could not find it anywhere. She felt the blood drain from her face. Running her fingers over the thin, scratchy blanket, a new sense of helplessness settled in her stomach.
"It must be here somewhere. The clasp must have opened by accident, somehow," she thought to herself, even though that had never happened in all the years she had it.
She looked on the table next to her, and noticed that her purse was gone as well.
"No," she thought to herself. "No, not this, not now. Not after so many years." The heart monitor and the clock continued beeping and ticking in her ear, making her feel even more frustrated. She began to frantically ring the buzzer next to her bed, to call in a nurse. A woman she had not seen before quickly ran in.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "What's going on?"
"Nurse," Margaret said, visibly upset and shaken. "Is there a volunteer Elderly Visiting Service in this hospital?" She spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing each word, as though that could change the answer she knew she would hear.
The nurse looked confused. "No, there isn't. I never heard of that. Why? Was that the big emergency?"
"Yes," Margaret said sadly. "I'm sorry to bother you. Never mind."
The nurse shook her head and walked out. Margaret laid her head back down on the pillow. "She could have left the pictures for me" she thought to herself. "She could have the money." Defeated, she closed her eyes, and listened to the ticking, counting away the seconds.
Brooklyn, New York, USA
|About the author of Ticking.
I wrote this story for a creative writing class at school. I started out with no direction, but the story ended up working out for me. For the class, I had to take on a very different style of writing than I am used to, so I was interested to see what others think of it.
Bessy Black came home, after a long day at school. She stepped through the front door of
her house and dropped her book bag on the floor. "Mom!" she yelled, "I'm home." Bessy waited
for a reply, but didn't get one. She stepped deeper into her house searching for her mom. She
finally found her sitting at the kitchen table absorbed in the magazine she was reading. Bessy's
mom looked up as soon as she felt the presence of her daughter standing in the kitchen. "Oh, hi I
thought I heard you come in but I wasn't sure. How was school?"
"It was all right," Bessy said glumly, thinking about her boring day.
"You know Bessy, I don't like this attitude of yours that you have towards school. Can't
you get more enthusiastic about it?"
"No, I'm sorry I can't. History lessons about the past, hard calculations and equations just
don't interest me. It's all a waste of my time. I don't have the energy or the will to study any of
them. The only class in that school that I enjoy taking is Phys. Ed. because at least I get to free my
mind and dance."
"Dancing," her mother said curling her upper lip in an exasperated motion. "Dancing," she
repeated the word in a disgusted tone. "Dancing. What good will that do you? Why is it always
about dancing with you? Is that what you want to do? Why can't you make something more
productive of yourself in the future."
"Mom, can you stop nagging me about what I'm gonna do. I don't know what I want to
be! All I know is that dancing is more interesting than schoolwork and I'm definitely more talented
at dancing than studying."
"You just don't try," Bessy's mom replied dully.
Bessy didn't reply. Everyday Bessy and her mother would have a similar conversation
about the same topic. As much as she tried to prevent it from being brought up, the topic always
seemed to creep into Bessy's life. Feeling the stress and pressure of this recent argument, bessy
turned around and left the kitchen. Her mother called out after her, "Oh good, you're going to do
Bessy stopped short, her back turned to her mother. "No," she answered plainly.
"Then where are you going?" her mother snapped
"Out," Bessy replied simply and ran out of the house leaving behind her mother's angry
and disappointed face.
As soon as Bessy stepped off the stairs that connected her house to the Arizona sand, she
spread her arms and started twirling around in circles, heading deeper and deeper into the desert.
There, Bessy ran around practicing the different dance steps she had learned at school. Bessy
moved in rhythmic motions to imaginary music playing in her head. Hours passed by and still
Bessy danced, kicking up the sand behind her.
That same day in the late afternoon, Rose Greenburg stood on a wooden porch, leaning
on the frail railing, staring at the setting sun, all with magnificent colors. Yellow, orange, and red,
all dancing and blending in together and painting the white puffy clouds a fiery shade. Rose took a
deep breath of the fresh desert air. She had just finished her chores at the Thompson residence,
where she lived and worked as a housekeeper for the rich family. Now having some free time,
Rose stood outside taking this peaceful moment to relax from her hard labor. Staring straight
ahead of her she noticed a figure moving around in the distance. It came closer. Rose recognized
the figure. It was her neighbor, Bessy Black, a 17 year old African-American girl with a ton of
energy within her.
Rose often saw Bessy running around in the desert, carefree and happy, dancing and
laughing in the privacy of the sand, cactuses, and the beaming sun. Rose always thought Bessy
was a little too carefree. She spent too much time in the desert not worrying about her
schoolwork, family, or other responsibilities. Rose envied Bessy's spirit every time she saw the
young girl, but she also worried about her future. At 35, Rose believed she was leading a wasted
life and she didn't want the same to happen to anyone, especially Bessy. Rose looked out at the
dancing figure in the desert and sighed. She saw much of herself in Bessy. I would give up
anything to be free like that again. Instead I am confined to my chores and my miserable job,
Rose thought to herself and looked back at the big house looming in front of her. It represented
all that she had lost a long time ago. All that she could never gain back.
When she was younger, Rose dreamed of becoming a dancer. Just like Bessy, she spent all
her free time memorizing steps and dance moves. But with her talent came a price. Rose dropped
out of high school to move to New York in hopes of starting a career there. She joined a dance
studio that promised to get aspiring dancers auditions for shows. Standing on the porch, Rose
pictured her time in New York clearly. She remembered her high hopes and expectations. She
worked hard each and every day to try to accomplish her goal. As soon as she came home from
her waitressing job at 5, she practiced for 2 hours, then rushed to the studio. Rose was leading a
hectic life full of struggles, but her hopes never ceased.
Until one day when Rose was rushing to get to the studio after already being late on one
January evening. As she was running, she slipped and fell on the ground, breaking her leg. With
that one fall her hopes fell. When she came crashing down, her dreams came crashing down with
her. Although Rose's injury was a minor one (she had to wear a cast for 3 months) Rose always
felt that she missed out on opportunities. Eventually when the cast came off, her became swollen
and stiff. She would have to exercise it regularly to get back normal movement. She missed 7
months of new routines that the studio learned. Although Rose came everyday to watch the steps,
she could not memorize them without regular practice. After her injury, Rose became lazy and
completely gave up on her dream. She came back to her hometown in Arizona. When she went to
see her mother, Mrs. Greenburg had slammed the door in her daughter's face. Rose was left to
survive on her own. Ever since that day Rose and her mom had been holding a grudge. Without a
high school diploma, Rose was only able to get a job in housekeeping - the work she has been
doing for the past 18 years.
Rose was jerked from her thoughts by a gust of wind. The pain of the memory was too
much for her to bear. She pushed her thoughts back into a corner of her mind. As Rose stood
staring out at the setting sun Bessy came closer to the porch. Noticing that Bessy was within
earshot, Rose called out, "So, you like dancing?"
Slightly embarrassed and caught off guard Bessy answered, turning a light shade of red.
"Yeah I do. It's so much fun. I hope I can be a dancer someday, but I don't know if I'm any good
"Oh I think you're good at it," Rose said in a reassuring voice.
"You think so, Ms. Greenburg? How do you know?"
Rose paused for a moment, wondering whether she should reveal her past to Bessy.
Finally she answered, "Well, I used to dance when I was younger so I know what it takes to be a
dancer. Judging by your energy, I think you have what it takes."
"Really? Honestly, Ms. Greenburg, I've never heard anyone say that. Everyone in my
family has been trying to discourage me from dancing."
Just like my family did so many years ago, Rose thought to herself. "You know, Bessy,
sometimes your family can be right. Sometimes you have to listen to what they're saying," Rose
said still looking back at the mistake of not listening to her own mother and dropping out of
"You don't understand. My mom is completely against dancing. If I listen to her then I
won't be able to dance. She'll take that away from me," Bessy complained. Both women were
silent for a few moments. "I just wish I could get better at dancing...maybe develop my skills
more, so that my mom could see how good I am and maybe she would accept me."
Rose stood there listening to Bessy. Bessy's words touched her deeply, and she wanted to
reach out and help the young girl. She felt a connection with Bessy. Rose didn't want Bessy to
regret not being able to dance in the future. She didn't want Bessy to feel that she had missed out.
She knew that feeling all too well herself. In that one moment of thinking and feeling sorry for
Bessy, Rose saw her own life and the chance to relive it through the young girl. To somehow
make up for lost opportunities. Finally she made a choice, "How about if I teach you some
lessons? It's been years since I last danced, but I'm sure I'll remember some of my old dance
routines from New York."
"New York?" Bessy exclaimed. "I've always wanted to go there. I can't believe you
traveled that far. That's so impressive. I'd love for you to teach me, but..." her voice trailed off.
"I don't know if I have enough money. My mom would never pay for dance lessons, so I
would have to use my own. I really don't think I have enough."
"You wouldn't have to pay me anything. I'd be more than happy to do it for free."
"Then that's great. I can't wait to get started."
"Bessy, just remember that dancing takes a lot of hard work and determination," Rose
"I'm prepared to do it. I promise."
Since that pact in the desert Bessy and Rose spent a lot of time together. They learned
from each other's lives and became good friends. Slowly they worked at making Bessy's goals
come true. Spending time with the young girl, made Rose feel younger, freer, livelier, and happier.
* * *
Rose walked up the wooden steps to Bessy's house, as she had done every week for the
past few months. She checked her watched. It was exactly 8:00 PM. She was punctual for her
appointment with Bessy. Rose knocked loudly on the brown door. It was answered by Bessy's
mother, a fairly young woman whose aged, ashy skin made her look about 50.
"Come in," Bessy's mother said in a cool tone. As Rose entered the house, she caught the
mother giving her an annoyed look. Rose smiled uncertainly at the woman and tried to ignore the
dirty look. It certainly wasn't the first one she had received. Although Bessy's mother did not say
much, Rose knew she was against this. She didn't want her daughter to practice for a dancing
career. Mrs. Black worried it was a waste of Bessy's future.
"Bessy!" her mother called out sharply, slamming the door loudly when Rose had stepped
all the way in. "You have a visitor."
"That's all right you don't have to call her. I know my way to Bessy's room. I'll just go
there myself." Rose was glad to escape from the scowling woman. Being near her made Rose feel
extremely tense and uncomfortable.
On her way to Bessy's room, Rose passed by the kitchen. It was a small room with simple
furniture in it. Along one wall leaned a counter with brown shelves. An old, scratched stove was
on one side of the counter. On the other side stood the refrigerator. In the middle of the room a
wooden table was located, surrounded by 6 matching chairs. Rose noticed the pile of dirty dishes
sitting in the sink. She smelled the strong aroma of this night's dinner. The air was heavily
perfumed with curry powder and other spices Rose couldn't name. She smelled cooked vegetables
in oil. The scent smelled appetizing and Rose found herself hungry from it. But that would have to
wait. Her first duty was to Bessy and so she quickly passed the kitchen, the hallway, and ran
upstairs to Bessy's room.
Rose found Bessy stretching on the floor, exercising her muscles for the two hours of
dancing they were about to endure. Upon seeing Rose, Bessy looked up. "Hi! Did my mom give
you any trouble today?" she asked and giggled.
"Of course, doesn't she always?" Rose answered jokingly, not the least bit bitter about the
mother's attitude downstairs now that she was in Bessy's presence. "OK, let's get started. I see
you have already started warming up. That's good. Take a few more minutes and then I'll start
playing the music. I brought something new in today. I have a Latin CD. The music is much faster
and upbeat than what we've been working with." Rose moved over to Bessy's CD player and
turned the music on, so that Bessy could get a preview.
Meanwhile downstairs trouble brewed. Bessy's mother sat rigidly in the kitchen, her hands
folded in front of her, her eyes staring straight ahead at the white wall. Her face was grim. her lips
had formed into a straight line. Her brown eyes had turned as cold as glass. She sat there thinking
about her daughter's betrayal. She believed that her daughter left her wise words for those of a
stranger. Mrs. Black's face hardened as she thought about how Bessy was throwing a successful
life away for an unsteady career. Her angry thoughts jumbled together. She thought of Rose and
how much she detested the woman who lived next door. Her thoughts raced back to Bessy then
back again to Rose. Desperately she tried to save her daughter from a terrible mistake. After two
hours of sitting alone, she had formed an idea.
It was now past ten o'clock. Bessy's mother saw Rose heading out towards the door. She
raised herself quickly and marched after Rose, like a lion creeping up after its prey. "Rose! I want
to talk to you!" she called out.
Rose stopped walking and turned around. "Yes?" she replied cautiously.
"I will make this as short and as clear as I can to you. I don't want you anywhere near my
Bessy. You are a horrible woman. Stop trying to ruin a young girl's life. I see the way you live
and how you work. I will not let Bessy struggle like that when this dancing business fails. You are
no longer allowed in this house. Get out!" Mrs. Black said all the words slowly to make sure they
would get through to the woman. Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits challenging Rose to try to
utter at least one word of defense.
Rose stared back at Bessy's mother, stunned and red. She was hurt that Bessy's mother
decided to bring Rose's own life into the discussion. It saddened her that all she was seen as was a
housekeeper. She blinked a hundred times, trying to stay strong and keep her tears away. "You
know, dancing is Bessy's passion," she managed to stutter.
"I don't care. Get out!" The mother's stern face signified that she meant business. She was
out of control with rage. "Get out!" she repeated.
Rose slowly walked out of the house with her head bowed down, her loose black curls
falling over her red, fiery face.
Bessy stood on the top of the staircase, staring down at her mother with a bewildered look
in her eyes. She looked down at the red kerchief clutched in her hands. It belonged to Rose. Rose
always wore it to keep her dark, long hair away from her face. Bessy noticed that Rose had
forgotten it in her room after taking it off. Bessy had rushed after Rose to give it to her, but
stopped short when she heard the confrontation between her mother and Rose. Bessy stood still
on the top of the stairs. The red kerchief became wrinkled as she tensely wrung the soft piece of
cloth in her hands. Still looking at the material, Bessy ran back to her room and sat at her desk
with a heavy plop and exasperated sigh. She took out a pen and paper and started scribbling
I saw what happened between you and my mother. I'm sorry that she caused you such
pain. I never thought this would happen. My mother is usually a peaceful person. But why I am
making excuses for her? I'm so angry that I think I hate her. I hate her outlook on life. Why does
she have to boss me around? Doesn't she realize I am capable of making my own choices. I feel so
trapped, Rose. I want to run away from this crazy house. Will you come with me? I can't run
away on my own. I need you. You've become my best friend. We can run away together. We can
support each other. After the past few months I've gotten so close to you and I drifted away from
my mother. Who needs her anyway? I wouldn't be able to stand looking at her face everyday after
what she did to you...and me. She can't stop our friendship. She can't stop me from being a
dancer. Please don't give up on us. Don't let her scare you away. Meet me in the desert and write
back soon (I hope).
Bessy read over the letter with tears in her eyes. She folded the note and put it in a plain
white envelope. After sealing it she wrote "Rose" in blond letters on the front. After hiding the
letter in her drawer Bessy lay down on her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and wept.
That morning Bessy woke up earlier than usual for school. She was hoping to use the
extra time to sneak out of the house to go over to the Thompson's residence to give Rose the
letter. Bessy counted that her mom, usually a late sleeper, would still be in bed. She didn't want to
get in trouble with her mother for disobeying her. Bessy just wanted the plan to go as smoothly as
possible. She quickly got dressed, took the letter addressed to Rose and left her house quietly.
She stepped into the brisk morning air and walked over to the Thompson's. When Bessy walked
onto the porch, she bent down, and slipped the envelope under the door. She stood there a
moment, thinking about her written words concealed in the envelope. Am I really going to run
away? she thought. She slowly walked towards school, her mind still occupied with her troubled
When Bessy came home from school she saw Rose outside, cleaning the porch.
"Rose!" she called out. "Did you get my letter?"
"Yes I did. Bessy, we have to talk. I don't think you know what you're saying. You can't
run away. You need your family and they need you. Think of how worried they would be. I can't
let you do this. It's crazy. Plus, it would be completely irresponsible of me to just leave my job."
"But you hate it!" Bessy shouted. "It's not fair. You're always complaining about how
much you hate being a housekeeper. And now you have a chance to change that and start a new
life you'd like. It's a great opportunity to become something better."
Rose cringed at the words chance and opportunity. Ever since she came back to Arizona
she had been haunted by missed chances and opportunities, and now there was a possibility to
redeem that. Bessy's crazy plan was suddenly sounding appealing to her. "I don't know," Rose
said softly and sighed.
"Please, just think about it," Bessy pleaded urgently. She sensed the change in Rose. All
she had to do was keep begging and she hoped that Rose would cave in. "I have to go now. I
don't want my mom to see me out here, but I want to talk more tonight. Meet me at 12." Bessy
looked at Rose intently, willing her to agree.
"OK, I'll be here at twelve."
Throughout the whole afternoon Rose thought about Bessy's words. She thought of the
possible consequences of her actions. She thought of the beneficial possibilities as well. Rose
remembered what she had said to herself on the porch that day when she was watching the setting
sun: "I would give up anything to be free like that again. Instead I am confined to my chores and
my miserable job." Her mind was jumping in a thousand different directions, but by twelve
o'clock Rose finally made up her mind.
Rose met with Bessy outside of the Thompson's house. They walked deep into the desert
in silence, where privacy could be ensured. Finally Bessy was the first one to talk, "Did you think
about what I said?"
"Yes," Rose said slowly.
"Yes." As soon as the word escaped her mouth Rose felt relief. This was something she
definitely wanted to do.
"Yes? You're going to run away with me?"
"Yes," Rose repeated the word again.
"That's so great! It will be like Thelma and Louise. Pack your bags. I have already packed
some of mine and I'll meet you outside in two hours."
"What? Wait! You want to leave tonight?" Rose asked shocked.
"Yeah, why not? What's the point of waiting? If we're going to run away we might as well
do it as soon as possible."
"I guess you're right, but I need to bring money with me. How will I make a withdrawal at
"You can do it tomorrow. We'll stop by at the bank. I just have one question?"
"Where are we running away to?" Bessy asked. This was the first time she realized that
she didn't know where she was heading.
"I have the perfect place," Rose said, glad that she was finally able to take the initiative
with the planning. "Las Vegas."
* * *
After living two months in Las Vegas, life for Rose had not much improved. If anything it
worsened for her and for Bessy. Both women were trying to make ends meat working during all
possible hours. Rose held two jobs. She worked at a hotel as a receptionist in the morning and as
a waitress at night. She got a few measly hours of sleep in the afternoon. Bessy also worked as a
waitress at night. During the day she practiced dancing and searched for auditions. Her talents
suffered, though, because of the lifestyle she was leading. She was always tired and didn't have the
energy to perform complicated routines like the other dancers at the auditions. She never received
any parts. Bessy was always congratulated on her good and hard work at the audition and then
dismissed. With time, Bessy became less and less motivated to pursuing her career.
Bessy and Rose grew apart. Rose no longer taught Bessy dance lessons. She was way too
busy either working or sleeping. They hardly ever spoke. When they did it was to argue about the
bills and rent. They struggled to pay for what they owed but somehow after a period of two
months they were lost in debt.
Each an ever day for the past two months Bessy missed her family. She worried about
what her mother was going through. Bessy realized the painful affect of her actions, especially in
her lonely hours of solitude when Rose was out cold sleeping and Bessy had no one to talk to or
ask for advice. Bessy realized how much she needed her mother. She realized how right her
mother had been all the time. Going to auditions from day to day made her see that dancing is not
an easy goal to achieve. Within the first few weeks she had realized that, but was too ashamed to
ask Rose to go back.
Then one day Bessy found unexpected courage to go back to her home in Arizona. It
happened when Rose and her received a letter in the mail from the landlord threatening eviction.
After reading the notice, Bessy burst into tears. This was not at all the way she imagined of how
an independent life would be like.
"Rose," she moaned through a waterfall of tears, "I think we should go back. I wanna see
my family. This was such a mistake. I can't take any more of this. Please let's go back."
"Go back?" Rose snapped. Her once tired eyes, now full of vibrancy, flashed angrily.
"Wasn't this your genius idea! How can you expect me to go back? I made such a fool of myself. I
gave up a steady job for this -this," Rose shouted and pointed with her hands at the tiny cluttered
apartment her and Bessy shared. "I can't believe I listened to your stupid ideas. I can't believe I let
a 17 year old drag me into this. And all because I was hung up over some demented fantasy of
being able to start my life over again and be what I always wanted to be. I can never go back to
the past. I was so blind."
Bessy stared at Rose, afraid of the other woman's hateful words. She slowly sank into a
couch and cried. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here," she wailed over and over
Rose stood immovable, her arms folded across her chest, looking down at the crying girl
on the couch. She had not moved since making her speech a few moments before. Staring down
at Bessy did not soften Rose's cold and hard features.
"Don't you dare cry!" Rose yelled. "You think you had it bad? What about me? I had to
work more than you. I have already ruined my life because of you. You still have a chance to
make something of yourself. It's too late for me." The last sentence came out in a choked whisper.
Rose started crying, too.
"I'm sorry," Bessy said looking up at the older woman. "I didn't meant to do this."
Rose just shook her head. "I'm sorry, too. Pack your bags Bessy. I'll take you home."
"Are you going to come back with me?" Bessy asked hopefully.
"No," Rose said sadly. "I can't, but I will try to make a better life over here. I'll try to pay
off our bills and find some better jobs, if I can."
Bessy nodded, then left the room to pack her clothes. A few hours later she was sitting in
Rose's car. The same car she had been sitting in when they first arrived in Vegas, full of hope.
They arrived in Arizona at dawn. Rose wished Bessy good luck. "Remember keep on dancing -
"I will," Bessy promised, leaned over and hugged Rose. After their embrace Bessy stepped
out of the car and waved as Rose sped away. She ran up to her house half anxious to see her
mother and half scared of her family's reaction. When Bessy walked into her house, she
immediately recognized the familiar old aroma of spices. Back in Las Vegas, Bessy always
smelled like smoke from the restaurants. Her house had a more inviting and pleasant scent about
it. Bessy slowly walked towards the kitchen and peered in. She was amazed to find her mother up
so early, sitting at the table, her chin cupped in her hands with a far off look in her eyes.
"Mom," she softly called out.
Mrs. Black looked up and stared at Bessy a couple of times, not believing her eyes.
"Where have you been?" She screeched and started crying. She buried her face in her hands and
let out loud uncontrollable sobs, with her shoulders heaving up and down.
Bessy rushed to comfort her broken mother. "I'm so sorry," she said and hugged her.
Bessy sat there holding her mother for hours, rocking back and forth, in silence. Finally her
mother dared to ask, "Why did you do it?"
"I'm so sorry, mom. I just wanted to dance. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to
"Dancing, huh?" her mother replied bitterly. "Was that little stunt worth all the pain we
had to go through?"
"I don't know," Bessy whispered. "It's hard, but I still want to dance. That's what I want to
Bessy's mom sighed heavily both out of frustration and out of relief. "If that's what you
really want to do, then I guess I can't stay in your way. I will try to support you as best as I can."
|My goal in life is to be a writer. Hopefully, this story will be the beginning of a successful career.
I'm falling for you
I think I'm falling for you
but I don't know
what to do
I think I'm in
love with you
but love is so
tricky how sure
can I be
that I'm falling
in love and am
I really falling for you
is it really true
I don't know what
falling for you
I just hope
your love is true
as much as my love
is for you
I've fallen for you
I hope you don't play me for
a fool I don't want to
end up feeling blue over you
The Voices in your head
Adrian Cahil was the type of person you could trust.
You could leave a small fortune with him and come back
in a week and find not a penny missing. Everyone knew
and respected him. Yet one day last year he lost all
that trust and respect. This is what happened to him
from his point of view.
The sun was setting coloring the sky orange. It was
the end of a beautiful day as I walked home from work.
I had the choice to get a lift off a friend, but
seeing has how it was such a lovely day, I decided to
walk home. The sun shone off the sea with a dazzling
yellow. I watched as cars drove past me on their way
to the beach.
After five minutes I came to a fork in the road; one
road lead East and the other lead West. As I stood
looking at the two roads, trying to remember which way
to go, my eyes glanced over something. It was a black
suit-case. I turned around to check if there was
anyone around me. There was no body behind me. There
was not anyone as far as the eye could see. My eyes
glanced over the suit-case again.
"Go on," a voice said that caused me to jump in
shock, "go on, take it. You know you want to!"
I turned around and saw a blonde headed person
standing behind me.
"Who . who . who are you?" I said curiously.
"You just do not get it, do you?" She asked.
"No . no I don't."
"I am you," she said angrily.
"What . what . what do you mean?" I asked trying to
work out what he meant, "I am me!"
"I am not you," she said as she stepped forward and
tapped my forehead, "I am your mind!"
"What . what . what do you mean?" I tried to say.
"Enough questions! Just pick up the suit-case," she
said angrily interrupting me.
All of a sudden my feet began to move forward, but
not under my control. The suit-case came closer and
closer to me. It was right in front of me know. I
knelt down as if someone was pushing me from my back.
My hands moved forward but I did not want to them.
They began to open up the suit-case. I could see the
person standing behind the suit-case. She was making
me do this, but how? The suit-case popped open and
amazement filled me when I saw what it contained.
Inside it was piles of money. It looked as if there
could have been at least a million pounds, maybe more.
My hands moved towards the money.
"Stop and put your hands in the air," a voice shouted
that shocked me although my body or face made no
My head turned around and I could see at least 30
police officers in a circle around me. Some of them
had shot-guns in their hands, others had hand-guns in
"Do not touch the money, Hawk," one of the police
officers shouted, "stand up with your hands in the
air, and tell us where the girl is."
Words came out of my mouth but they were not the ones
I was thinking. I wanted to say "I'm not Hawk! I
cannot control my body" but all that came out was "I
am not gonna tell you Pig!"
I gained control of my body and I stood up slowly. It
looked as if there was no way out of this. Then
suddenly I had an idea of how to get out of this mess.
I saw a hole in the circle of police officers around
us. I took a deep breath. "I have nothing to lose but
everything to gain," I thought to my self.
I ran towards the hole. I was running quicker than I
ever have in my life. I was nearly there! BANG!
Something hit my in the shoulder. BANG! Something hit
me in the back and I fell forward; I got shot twice. I
hit the ground. Everything flashed from red to grey to
"Hold your fire!" The police-man shouted, "We need
My vision came back and I could see the person
standing over me. She was laughing; it sounded like a
banshee's wail. I watched as my life's blood drained
away. She kept laughing and laughing. I felt so tired.
My eye-lids felt heavy. I needed to sleep. My eyes
closed slowly .
Here ends our tale, dear Reader. Yet there is a
lesson that we should all learn in this little story
of ours. Never listen to the voices in your head; no
matter how strong they may be. Thank you and good-bye.
Galway, Connacht, Ireland
After that long recession,
In the midst of depression,
I walked my winterish walk,
Barely able to even talk,
I was one with frozen waters.
I placed my eyes on the ice,
The texture smooth and precise,
And then my eyes went deeper,
Some life and movement were steeper,
Hope flourished beneath the waters.
And so I kept on going,
My blood continued flowing,
Due to the fact that I knew,
That the dream of warmth would come true,
And life would arise to the surface.
During one summer morning,
My cold life started warming,
And then I began dancing,
Around the room, I went prancing,
Life and movement reached the surface.
Farmington Hills, MI
|My name's Adam and whenever I take a step outside I observe nature. Observing nature is a way to get to know our Creator better and love Him. I see within nature a message. For example, when pulling the weeds from the earth, I think about the bad characteristics about myself that I need to pull out and so just like people pull weeds from the earth, they should pull out the bad characteristics from within themselves. Just like a flower opens and shows the beauty within itself people should open and show the beauty that is within themselves. For those who are reading this please do yourself a favor. When you go outside don't just walk and speed through life but stop and listen and become connected with God's beautiful creation. You only have a lifetime and if a year seems like a second than a lifetime will only seem like a minute.
land of nod
off to the land of nod I weep
deep is the water in the river in my soul
try to love, try to sleep
they didn't follow the rules
reckless yet weary
i try to sleep
the water of my soul
i cannot sleep
i try to swim
your Guerrilla love is drawing me in
into your hatred, into your need
all I want
is to get away
off to the land
of nod to sleep
|ive been writing for about 7 years now, but im still not as good as i can be
So Called friends
They leave you behind
You can catch up
They break your heart
You can mend it
They steal your boyfriend
Just look for another one
They ignore you
Make them sit up and take notice
They talk bad about you
Prove them wrong.
You still end up alone
Like an unwanted piece of trash
You know you're worth more than that
Shout in their face
Tell them you've had enough
Seduce their boyfriend
Spread rumors about them
You know better than that
These 'so-called friends' are worthless
Of your breath
Or your voice.
Instead, be nice
Make new friends
Make a name for yourself
Make them regret
Make them yearn to be your friend.
If that's the way you go
That's how many friends you're going to have
Take these two cents from me
Earn millions from it.
A Thousand Times Before
I remember hitting the cold bathroom floor, puking up all that wasn't even in my stomach.
My hand slowly reaching for the sink,
I gasped for air, raising myself up only to collapse down again.
As I lay lifeless on that cold floor,
I remembered back to a thousand times before of being in this same position.
Feeling drunk with sadness once again,
I gazed over looking into my angel's eyes as he asked me, "What's that devastating look for?"
And with blood flowing tears pouring out of my eyes I replied, "He doesn't want me anymore."
Antioch, TN, USA
|My name is Ashley. I wrote this peace about my experience with a lost love. It is a true story of my actions after the episode occurred.
Attorney Career Essay
Throughout the ages, a career as an attorney has been highly regarded. Not only for the education and work experience that this profession requisites, but for the practical usage that can be gained as an attorney. The skills an attorney learns in law school can not only be applied to the law, but almost every other facet of life as well.
Attorneys act both as advocates and advisors in our society. As advocates, they represent one of the parties in criminal and civil trials by presenting evidence and arguing in court to support their client. As advisors, attorneys counsel their clients concerning their legal rights and obligations and suggest particular courses of action in business and personal matters. Whether acting as an advocate or advisor, all attorneys research the intent of laws and judicial decisions and apply the law to a specific circumstance faced by their client.
Formal education for attorneys include a four-year college degree, 3 years of law school, and successful completion of a written bar exam. After those three prerequisites are met, the student will have a law degree and a license to practice law.
Several classes in high school can help you prepare and get a head-start in the legal field: Law Studies, Debate, Legal Aspects of Business, Criminal and Juvenile Justice classes, and US Government classes.
The beginning salary for a first-year associate in a private sector company/firm is approximately $39,000. However, it varies tremendously based on location, education and law school attended. For example, the Law Firm of Goldman & Spitzer located in New York pays their first-year associates an annual salary of $125,000; whereas, the Law Firm of Droigt & Donaldson located in Georgia pays their first-year associates an annual salary of $46,000.
An attorney's lifestyle is directly related to the specialization of law practiced. For example, many corporate attorneys can expect a lifestyle of middle-class to wealthy; whereas, public interest, or poverty attorneys can expect a low middle-class lifestyle. This is so because of the sufficient funds of a corporation to pay an attorney's fees, and the insufficient funds of a poor individual to pay an attorney's fees. In addition, law firms generally pay substantially more than government agencies.
An attorney's working conditions vary from position to position and specialty to specialty. The majority of attorneys work full-time from 9a.m. -- 5p.m. in an office; although most attorneys frequently visit courtrooms, client's residences, or corporations. It is also true that attorneys can spend long nights preparing briefs and gathering information for their client. These attorneys usually work with other attorneys from the same firm or agency. The minority of attorneys might work outside (i.e. environmental attorney) or at a shelter (i.e. public interest attorney.)
|The author of this attorney career essay lives in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. and is currently writing a novel entitled, The Immortal Desire.
Happiness will not seize my forlorned soul
An intense feeling of dismay confined
Agony penetrated clearly whole
Convictions invade my credulous mind
Anger approaches like a thousand knives
Betrayal present in every word
Harmony diminishes from out lives
My devastated heart failed to be heard
Deception separates you from the rest
Honesty foreign to deceitful eyes
Severe backstabbing is what you do best
Distrust embraces your devious lies
The intense pain so hard to endeavor
A damaged friendship displaced forever
Reynoldsburg Ohio 43068, USA
I sometimes felt that my love
was like a dry leaf in autumn,
Swept away by a strong wind,
carried a short distance,
To a fast flowing river,
being dropped upon the water,
Then swept away free at last
until I am caught in a whirlpool.
I find myself fighting,
not to be pulled down and crushed.
Then a hand touched my life,
taking my love,
Holding it and keeping me safe
from the wind and the water
And all that can hurt me.
Oh to find such a love,
Before the end comes,
is like having
The breath of life
breathed into you.
Mancelona, Mi, USA
|My name is nicole (nicki). I live in a small town, surrounded by small towns. I use you love people, but now not to sure. I play many diiferent sports, and i love to laugh. I am a very outgoing person and i totally speek my mind.
The Loveless sight
When you walk by.
Did you choose me
As you please.
Like an Emotionless doll
Made of rags, thorns, and weeds.
You call this love!
Defined to you it is not the
But the Taking
|Hi, my name is Megan. I am in ninth grade, and always write poetry to express my feelings, much as most authors, especially after a relationship that doesn't end the way you wish it to. I hope someone out there can relate to my poems.
To love you
To love you is to fear you,
to cry when you're away,
to see you in my every thoughts,
to want you every day.
To love you is an addiction,
to want you, makes me ill.
Every look I lay upon you,
makes my world stand still.
To hear you is a living dream
of words I've heard before,
to touch you is like a dangerous drug
that leaves me needing more.
To smell you takes my every breath,
I get lost in your cologne
To love you is to hurt inside
whenever I'm alone.
To taste your lips leaves me numb,
to hold you leaves me whole
to love you is to need you,
to know you, moves my soul
|About the author of To Love You. I am 14 and this poem is about someone I loved and it ended up in heartach I hoped you liked it
I know the way you talk isn't how you really feel
You need to keep your image up but your feelings for me I know are real.
You can't ignore the hurt
You can't brush your pain away
You can't hide all those feelings you seemed to have just yesterday
I know you miss me
I know you do care
I know that no matter how much you try to ignore me as I walk bye your eyes always seem to meet mine.
I know it hurts you to see me as hurt as I am
I believe it's you that could have avoided all this pain.
I am moving on, you must now be left in the past
You hurt me, and I promised myself that you would be the last.
Massena Ny 13662
|I am a young red headed senior in high school you used to be too outgoing. I have learned to filter my thoughts into poetry and writing is what I plan on doing for the rest of my life I have feelings I know others must feel or at least want to feel and this is my way to show them.
I lowered myself onto the sand, smooth and soft beneath me. The sea stretched as far as the eye could see and the distant seagulls could barley be made out on the horizon. My hair blew silently across my face- I felt a breeze catching on. The air around me tasted salty and the waves were lapping playfully against the shore. A fine layer of seaweed was pushed out-looking like a wild witch's untamed hair, or a bird's nest. The ocean was calm and serene; one could truly be at peace here. Next to it I felt insignificant, as if all my love problems were worth nothing and tiny things that could be solved instantly. I hugged myself remembering how coming here to this beach with **** made me feel so perfect-as if I was the most loved person on this planet.
The sun was descending from the sky, breathtakingly beautiful in vibrant striking colors bouncing on the water. The skies turned into magnificent ribbons of pink, purple, orange and yellow. The lulling rhythm of the waves was hypnotic and the crash of waves on the shore was in tune with the nature and peace surrounding me. Not one person was in sight, yet I wished **** was with me.
It was getting dark. Reluctantly I stood up, brushed the sand off me and started walking along the smooth shore. The water was ice-cold beneath the soles of my feet, but nevertheless, refreshing. Suddenly, I bent down and scooped a shell from its nesting place between the silent, sturdy rocks. Etched into each fold were centuries of age and at least six different shades of pink. Each shell was exotic and unique, with a story to tell. I ran my hands over the rough, crumbling rocks, wondering who had trodden here before. Who had walked, who had smiled and who had cried. All were mysteries, concealed deep within time, as deep as the blue silent sea.
|About the author of Memories.
Hello everybody! I'm new here and don't really know how this works but if anybody can post replies to my poem telling me what they think of it then it'd be great! I'm just starting off writing poems/short stories and i'd love to know what peeps think of them!! I'm 14 [well tommorow is my birthday anyway! :)] I come from cairo, egypt (yes EGYPT-don't be shocked) i'm in a british school in grade 10. Feel free to read my other piece of writing in short stories called "The beach" Hope u like both of them!!
A Forgotten World
I walked back in the woods today
to a forgotten world of childhood play.
Everything was grown up and green,
none of my childhood was left to be seen.
The soft mossy spot where I used to daydream all day
is now a forgotten story of a girl who is far away.
A girl who loved to sit and dream,
and watch for fish in a nearby stream.
A girl who wished she could fly away
to a magicial world of fun and play.
A girl who hoped to someday be queen
who's rule with fariness, but never be mean.
A girl who walked back in her woods one day
to a forgotten world of her childhood play.
Milledgeville,Georgia, United States
|About the author of A Forgotten World
I love to write...stories, poetry, lyrics, just about anything. I really like to sing, and I am in the process of learning how to play the guitar so that hopefully I will be able to write my own songs.
Alfred Lord Tennyson once said:
It is better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all
A friend once said:
It is harder to have loved and lost
Than to have lost a love for life
I have committed the most infamous crime anyone could have committed. That is to take ones love for me and throw it out the window.
My punishment is to live in emotional anguish, thinking of the way it could have been, knowing that my poor actions in my once blissful relationship have lead me to the sadness that now has overtaken me.
I don't look forward to doing anything. The things that I do sadden me. Having the feeling that someone out there cares and loves me has been taken away by my own selfish actions is the most pathetic feeling in the world.
For years I have awaited this one, the person that will complete me, the one that I can say "I love you" to and always hear it back.
It is terrible the way that I feel right now. My tears run dry from the hours of immense pain and yearning for this love that I have taken away from me.
Why? I keep asking myself, waiting for a reasonable answer, any answer. Why did I do this to myself as well as the one I love, I still talk to her. I put on fake acts almost every time I talk to her to keep myself from turning into an emotional ball of pathetic sorrow, just to be sure that she will be all right.
One week has past, just one week. I have felt the same sadness that had fallen over me the same instant that I have torn her away from me.
I just wish that everything will be better, be the way it used to be when we could hold each other tight, hold hands and make passionate love.
I have a feeling that it won't be better, I can't hold her, touch her or be with her. This is the melancholy the overwhelming emptiness that lies within my heart. This is what I have done to myself; I have taken true love for granted.
Out of all the things that I may wish for in my lifetime may it be money, women, or fame. For one to come true this is the one, for anyone out there take your love hold it tight and never let it go no matter what. I never wish the pain that I feel right now on anyone.
I do not ask for pity, I do not ask for sympathy, I simply ask for love to come over me once again.
Love doesn't hate
Love doesn't get jealous
Love doesn't ask why
Love loves all
Love never fails
So.. Mr. Tennyson;
If it is better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all
I ask you, how strong was your love.
Not as strong as my love for Amanda.
|I am a person that has a hard time showing my feelings, at which had lead me to my loss of my girlfriend.
I am going to be attending either WCTC in Wisconsin or Universtity of Waukesha Wisconsin this coming fall to major in Architectual
Design and English Literature, fun hey:)
Believe it or not I am a regular guy. I spend most of my time on the computer keeping my mind busy.
Time has left me here
a struggling bird
on the blanket of the world
longing to get the splinter out
one stuck so deep in my heart
Tears soaking up
the softness of my feathers
ones I let caress you
ones that resulted in sweet whispers
the wind warning of me burning embers
Time has left me here
and the once warm sun
making me smile
is now burning my blood
and driving me wild
Time that made things drift away
It's not fair
that you have faded away
not watching me
lonely as I lay
a painful bird without the will to fly
watching the clouds she was once amongst
pass her by
|I love to write and hope to become a famous best selling author one day of fictious novels...till then I practice by writing novels, short stories and poems.
My angel has a halo
I saw it one day
She came from Heaven
To tell me I would be okay
Even though the doctors said
I wouldn't live much longer
Not to get my hopes up
I wouldn't get much stronger
But I believed in my angel
She never tells a lie
I just knew it
I wouldn't die
Now today three years later
I'm still here
My angel was write
There is no longer tears.
|My name is Ashley, I have been writing poetry for a while now. I enjoy it because its just a way I express my feelings, since I have a hard time just speaking them out though words just talking to people. I now have about 80 or 90 poems this is the first I have actually posted any where. I hope you like it.
Girl of the Light
I think I must be grieving
For something I left alone
In mourning over the empty spaces
That burn between my bones
I'm lost inside the absences
Of my self-reliant heart
I'm waiting for the light to shine
From too deep inside the dark
And I always thought the weaker ones
Were those who talked to that dark
But now I see that being weak
Means keeping us apart
How long am I supposed to be
This picture of reality
When no one really understands
That just isn't me they see
The storms that rage inside my heart
Can be healed with just one touch
But vessels always sail away
When the seas ask them for too much
This black hole sits in waiting
For the chance to bring me down
When will I learn that this is me
To keep pretending just can't be allowed
It drives me away to the bitter outside
Then pulls me back home until
There's nowhere else for me to go
And I'm left here standing still
This monster of darkness
This girl of the light
Fight a new battle everyday
Until I give in to the night
I cannot wake now
From this dream induced reality
And I cannot find myself
I'm not where I used to be
So I keep trying to retrace the lines
To figure out where I went wrong
'Cause I need to be one step behind
I loved it when I was strong
Branford, CT, USA
Gasping for Air
A surge of lightning, going through my body,
Like a dagger piercing my heart, over and over.
Drowning in my blood,
Gasping for air.
Being swallowed by a sea of destiny,
When will this despair world ever end?
Being sucked into a dark black hole,
Trying to get out, gasping for air.
Engulfed with flames,
Don't feel the pain.
It'll all be over soon,
Try gasping for air.
Will anyone ever notice?
Doesn't anyone care?
A cry for help,
Just gasping for air.
Preston, Mn, USA
| I wrote this poem when i was very depressed and suicidal. (obviosly) None of this has happened, but some days, i just wish it would and life would be over.
A Brush With a Devil
And you think that's what I wanted;
All that pounding in my head?
You think that's what I wanted;
All that wishing I were dead?
And you think that's what I wanted;
all that time when I was gone?
You think that's what I wanted;
To end up your little pawn?
Well, guess what, your turn has come;
It's time to fill my shoes.
Revenge is mine and to say nothing is what
I'll surely choose.
Water's flowing all around
Stained by the blood of babies drowned
A mother's fear unfolds
Another heart grows cold,
And the red water falls
Crashing to the ground
Red water falls
On the people in the crowd
Water rolls into the shore
Tainted by deceit
Another dreamer admits defeat
Overcome by the worlds harsh lies
And another run away dies
From life on the city streets
And the red water flows
Causing another war
Red water flows
Clogging the worlds pores
Red water flows
Breaking down the doors
Always craving more
fayetteville, AR, US
|About the author of RED WATER
Hi my name is Heather i love to write pomes and short stories. I also play foot ball with my friends.
Love of my Life
Oh little townboy, I love thee!
As I sit upon my favorite tree.
Watching you travel along,
Makes me think of singing a song.
Singing a song of peaceful doves,
Singing a song to my sweet love.
How I dream of you day and night,
My Heart and Brain struggle and fight.
Who's to decide which boy I pick?
My Brain? My Heart? It's making me sick!
As the years pass, I remember back then,
How I thought of us as a great kin.
And now we are married and have a kid,
Thanks to my Brain and my Heart and my souls bid.
|I am a fun loving 16 year old that loves to write, read, draw, and snowboard. I plan on finishing my Sophomore
year, including the rest of highschool.:)
Of Mice and Men: More Than Just a Story
Through this tragic tale of a man and his simple-minded friend, John Steinbeck addresses many social issues. He writes about mental retardation, African Americans, and women during a period when being anything except for a "regular" white male was often punished. These pressing topics are still a problem in society today. Steinbeck's novel allows us to see how violent and separated our world has become because of his knowledgeable look into a society filled with prejudice against people with disabilities, African Americans, and women.
Steinbeck's story is centered around the issue of mental retardation. He illustrates the behaviors as well as the feelings of a man who has always been retarded. One such illustration is that of Lennie being often confused and scared by fear or anger of others toward him. On multiple occasions in the story, Lennie doesn't know what to do in an awkward situation, and, without the guidance of George, he gets in more trouble. The reaction of most people to such behavior is clearly displayed through the character of Curley, the owner of the ranch's narrow-minded and stuck-up son. Curley, although physically smaller than Lennie, is constantly badgering Lennie because of his disability. He is always picking on the "little guy". Curley believes that he is superior to Lennie because he is "smarter". This attitude is only stopped when Lennie physically hurts Curley (page 63), which proves that Lennie was the "smart" one after all, for Curley finally realizes that his father's po!
wer won't protect him from something he deserves; Lennie knew that all along. This display of intelligence by Lennie communicates the fact that people with disabilities are still respectable and undistorted human beings, even more so than people like Curley.
Another "little guy" that Curley antagonizes is Crooks, the only African American on the ranch and the stable hand. Through Crooks, Steinbeck relays how African Americans were treated and how large a difference skin color actually is for some people. At one point in the book, Lennie, without George, wanders over to Crooks' room in the stable (page 68). Crooks tells him to leave because he does not know that Lennie isn't there to make trouble, he just wants to be friends. Crooks eventually realizes this fact and ends up telling Lennie about his past and his ambitions for the future. Through this simple act, Lennie and Crooks were conveying the message that appearance doesn't matter.
Quite a different message is sent when it comes to Curley's wife, however. This woman, who would obviously be more at home in a burlesque house, wreaks havoc upon the ranch by parading around in front of the men. Curley, of course, is always jealous and is constantly trying to find the latest "culprit" who said hello to his wife, which is more than he does himself. Their marriage is pointless, loveless, and, most likely, a waste of time for both of them. His wife admitted that she does not, and has never, loved Curley; she only married him to get out of a bad situation (page 89). She believes that because she does not love him, she does not have to value their marriage. Curley sees her as he sees all women, just there to entertain or take care of him, and because she has grown up in a society that preaches such unfairness, she believes this as well. Curley does not value the marriage because he does not recognize the fact that she is also human. Many men of the time, along with numerous modern men, share Curley's way of thinking. They regard women as dumb, less athletic, and, generally, not as capable as men.
Steinbeck cleverly slipped these political messages into his novel to address the growing problem of prejudice against the disabled, African Americans, and women during the period he wrote this book. These issues are still applicable today; although many people like to believe that we have cut down on or altogether eliminated them, we have not. Throughout the world, people are being discriminated against and punished for their culture, background, lifestyle, or gender. Such injustices have not lessened in occurrences, and, in some cases, there may be more now than ever before.
On Circus Road there we are,
And there are clowns there and songs and dances,
There are performances, laughter
There is your resting on the sofa
There is always your voice, ineffable, poking at
I am peeking - for lack of a better word -
From behind a crowd's shoulder
And I am only receiving morselled glimpses of the
You - in fits of beer-induced adrenaline
Pushing the standing body,
The upright sofa-sitter down the black-iced streets
Lots of things behind little eyes
The audience seldom meets.
Branches pleading for spring
Calling on us to speed up nature the way we
are always doing.
Circus Road is always final frolicking
For those escaped from domestic madness
Returning home to nighttime ignorance
To quiet and peace
With the songs always sticking in us
With bodies horizontal and flat still spinning
Knowing outside we were winning.
|About the author of '55'
I have written 71 poems about one guy, isn't that pathetic? This is one of the 71. I calculated that I have written a poem a day since the day I realized I had feelings for him.
I'm locked In This Room
I cannot explain the pain that I feel,
I'm locked in this room,
And I am full of fear.
Tears rush down my eyes,
Like a storm filled with rain,
My mind is spinning,
Like a tornado in spring.
People like to hurt me,
I can't figure out why,
I'm locked in this room,
Like I have committed a crime.
I'm sorry for what I did,
Whatever that may be,
I don't like being punished,
For being me.
God, please give me someone to love,
Who in return will love me back,
Please promise me a future smile,
Push the tears to the past.
I'm locked in this room,
Hungry as can be,
Thoughts rush to my head,
I cannot breath.
There's a world full of people,
So why am I all-alone ?
Am I asking too much?
I need someone to hold.
Life without love,
Is no life at all.
I need someone to help me,
I'm gonna fall.
I'm locked in this room,
To afraid to come out,
All this pain in my heart,
Makes me scream and shout.
Tomorrow I am leaving,
Hoping to leave the pain,
I don't know if I will be missed,
But I'm sure I won't be.
I'm locked in this room,
And I need to get out,
Tomorrow I am leaving,
Without a doubt.
West Bend Wi
|I'm locked in this room
About_the_author: my name is stephanie,I am 15 years old and this is my first
piece of writing I have tryed to get published here at teenlit.com
I hope you enjoy this poam as much as I have.
I need a partner.
I can't dance
unless I have a partner.
So all I can do is stand,
hands in my pockets,
mentally willing anything
stuck in my teeth to get out
Then we make contact.
And before I know it
he's towering next to me,
stretching my hand into the air
to show, like all the other couples,
that he has a partner
My hands are clammy.
I think he is too.
But then again
the room is really
The music starts.
I forget that he has crooked teeth
and concentrate on the steps
as he leads.
Follow the others,
I tell myself.
But then we all go
a bit wild
and neither of us
are leading anymore.
We're just dancing
in each other's arms.
in perfect harmony.
I feel like I'm flying
and it's all very
But the music stops.
So I don't mind
when he holds me
for a moment afterwards.
The night soon ends.
As I gather my coat
we wave goodbye.
All the way home
I can't help smiling.
Before I can stop myself,
every love song I know.
Maybe we were
meant for each other.
I think it's wonderful
if only he wasn't a
and I merely a
It's fun while it lasts
but when September comes
it's all over.
Whether we like it or
At least I have one night
of dancing to look back on.
Bristol, PA, USA
|About the author of Dancing: Lisa likes to say that she acts while attendning high school on the side. She also likes to write and when she is in the right mood can produce some great stuff. Thank you to the guy who was the inspiration for this poem. :)
On E.B., J.D., Female Ways, Friendship, and Overanalysis
Written in Starbucks on a sunny afternoon.
What makes someone want a friend? I think I have only ever stumbled on someone who became my friend and never sought a soul out for this purpose. I have then, after spending time with a person, come to realize (rather surprised) that I could now call this person my friend. But it is really never anything more or less than a pleasant discovery.
Now I have not made this discovery with E.B. and maybe I never will. But I am curious as to why I never seek out friends, why a friendship will never happen with him if I take my current course of action. I find, upon thinking and writing on this topic, th