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Poetry
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Essay/Prose
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Short Story
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Life
I look at myself in the mirror,
And I'm really not so sure,
Not sure I'm able to get through another day,
Living my life this way
First it was my boyfriend who said "good-bye",
Just because i wouldn't get high,
Then all my friends ditched me,
Because I wouldn't steal any money.
Then I thought,
What's the point of doing as you should,
If it doesn't do you any good,
Think of all the friends you could've had,
If you'd done only a few things bad.
There's so many things I don't understand,
And nobody there to lend a hand,
So what's the point in living,
After all life isn't everything.
I'm not afraid to die,
Since all I have to say is good-bye.
It's not like anybody would remember me,
And I could finally be free,
Free of this pain and loneliness,
Free of this terrible sadness.
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Gen
8th grader
Canada |
About the author of "Life" This poem represents me in a way.
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Untitled Poem
A guy walks into a bar
(No, he doesn’t say ouch)
Removes his cap
Finds a stool
His hand waves to the barkeep
A code for the usual
And when the bottle arrives
He stares
Slowly lifts
And when the liquid crosses his lips
He is one of us
Free from the outside world
Safe from the suffering
Protected by the religious sanctuary
Of the bar
A guy walks into a bar
He spots his buds
Orders a bud
Lights a bud
They gather in a booth
Talk of sports, cars, and chicks
Seven pitches later
He finds tonight’s one-night stand
They leave hand-in-hand
Back into the dark unknown
A gal walks into a bar
Slowly, she scans the haze
Hoping to find a man
A man she once knew
A man that used to come home
A man
Who is no man at all
The barkeep shakes his head
She nodes
Wipes the tear she thought
She was holding back
And she’s gone
Back into her world
Where he is not
A guy walks into a bar
Sits alone
And slowly drinks
One
Two
Five
And with every drop
She disappears a little more
And with every drop
He forgets her more and more
And with every drop
I feel a little bit better
Nummer
You see, this is no joke
A guy walks into a bar
For release
For liquid strength
For false peace
A world where nobody
Cares, remembers, or feels
A guy gets up from the bar
Pays his tab
Stubbles to the door
And as I step out into the cold night
He swears he will never return
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Dylan
Graduate
MN |
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Disappointment
I try so hard to please my family
but in all that I do it makes you angry.
I like different things, to date in different
race, but in this you look down on me in disgrace.
I try so hard for my grades for you to please, but you just yell at me more, I'm on my knees!
I tell you of my dreams, but you, my family, disagree and frown on my hopes to walk freely.
I tried to please you of something God sent, but to you, the family I am known as the disappointment.
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Jessica
10th grader
Rauenberg, Germany |
Frankenstien's Monster
I have life,
But don’t know how to live it.
I have beauty,
But people refuse to see it.
I have friendship,
But no people to share it.
I have a body,
But a body not of my own.
I have dreams,
But no one to share them with.
I have the appearance of a monster,
But I have a soul.
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Laura
8th grader
England |
About the author of frankenstien's monster:
Hi i am Laura. I am 13 years old.I attend Hillside High School, and am i'm year eight. I wrote this poem as part of a project and i hope you enjoy it.
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Untitled Poem 2
Blow gently wind, across the desert of my heart
Lest sands of other times bury the path on which I trod
So much lies there, hidden in the dust of memories
And I fear to have it stirred by wind and careless feet
Tempt not to stir the hate of by-gone years
Nor the sorrow of yesterday’s thoughts
Such things are only a distraction
Meant to turn me from my cause
Fall softly rain, upon the flowers of my youth
For fear the petals would be broken or frayed
Much rests upon this fragile stem of mine
And it can only be so long before it overwhelms me
Hailstones and downpours cause no threats
To larger, stronger trees
But to a frail, naïve child
The damage could be fatal
Tread lightly Lover, through the web of this mind
Stay not in one place too long
Or you risk being caught there, in memories
Like so many others before
Avoid the lethal spiders there,
They are small but many abroad
They come out, only if you dig deep enough
Walk the surface and you’re less likely to be captured
Shine brightly sun, through the window of my soul
Light the darkened corners and fill the room with warmth
I chance at being burned, I know
If I stand here for too long
But it welcomes and the breeze enfolds me
Like the arms of a love, but remember
Blow gently wind, across the desert of my heart
Let silent sands lie still
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Kelly
11th grader
Lapeer, MI |
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Untitled poem 3
If the mountains could talk,
Or the whistling in winds turned to words,
Would they unveil the secrets
Time has hidden under the unrelenting fog?
For centuries mankind has sought for answers
To the questions these secrets brought,
But still, they remain, in all these years,
A mystery no one has figured out.
Even as time chips away
At the remnants of the ancient times,
The mystery remains, unfazed till this day,
In the silent melody of the crashing waves’ rhyme.
If only the oldest walls of stone and the deepest oceans,
Could speak of what they’d seen,
Then the curtains would be lifted, the fog cleared,
And the secrets would be revealed.
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Man of No One
An old man on a fence,
Who is he?
What does he want?
What does he need?
His eyes are of blue flame,
Seeing nothing,
Seeing everything.
He is skinny, meek, hunched over,
Yet, he seems to tower with unimaginable strength.
He has no need for words.
His stare is more than enough.
His stare…
A cold, alien stare,
A warm, welcome stare,
A stare that a dishonest man cannot take,
And an honest man cannot stray from.
When he speaks with a laugh,
His voice is low, rumbling and soothing,
Harsh, and wise.
His words, jumbled puzzles
Though they are meaningful,
For the answer is hidden in these.
What is he really?
Nothing more than a man,
A man alone,
With no purpose
Who wants nothing,
Needs nothing.
A man,
Sitting on a fence
Staring at you,
With a smile on his face.
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Josh
10th grader
Wanaque, NJ |
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Between Seasons
Blizzards containing the lonely orbit;
hums of snow flutter through the rehearsing waves.
Quiet shows the desperate reflection.
until the silence bounces within a revolving chat.
Papers distributed back and forth,
only to return to the unchanged first page.
My heart hangs between beats,
I arch up into space's hopeless core.
Unfamiliar faces are floating in circling cycles.
The flowers are growing, to die next year.
Her heart is balanced behind her perfume,
wearing it for someone who wobbles in his cyclone.
Unleashing desires to get knocked down again,
Seasons are frozen like the spring moon.
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Tim
12th grader
Mpls., MN USA |
About the author of "Between Seasons." He currently is enrolled in his last year of highschool in Minnesota. This is his first submission for publication however he looks to submit for in the near future. His favorite things to write are brief memoirs and metaphorical meditations. Poetry is not his strongest skill but occasionally he writes it for a break from the other stuff.
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Untitled Essay
At age seven, I entered the foster care system. My family was dysfunctional because my mother was an alcoholic and her husband abused me. My mother, who loved my sister and I with all of her heart, was unable to take care of us. After almost two years of going in and out of Hillcrest receiving home, foster homes, and my mothers home, the County took away my mother's parental rights. From there, I entered long term foster care. I was scared, but at the same time I was relieved. I loved my mother, but she didn't believe me about the abuse. My sister loved me but she blamed the abuse on me. She believed that it was my fault that I was abused. I felt unloved and uncared for. I didn't feel like I fitted in anywhere. At school, I was always teased and called names, so when I went into foster care and everyone was pretty much like me I felt better.
I found people who cared, but I still felt like something was missing. I was moved around and around. Although there were adults and parental figures that cared about me, something was still missing. At then end of the day, when their job was finished for the day, they went home to a stable like. My life was still very unstable. At one point, I went to go live with my grandmother. She cared for me and we went shopping and cooked. We never talked about my past and I do not think she fully understood what life had been like for me. As I began to get older, I had built up anger inside of my confused body that I never released. Thus, I began to get really angry. I would yell, scream, fight, and threaten others. At one point, I was arrested and taken to juvenile hall for a threat I made.
I often felt empty and lonely like an outcast. I felt like one of those people sitting outside of the glass all alone and looking inside the glass at everyone else who is not alone. I wanted someone to love and someone who would love me back unconditionally. The kind of love parents give their children on the first day they are home from the hospital. When I was sixteen years old, I had a child. The child that would give me the unconditional love that I yearned for day and night.
In the hospital, I was exited. The first time I held him in my arms, I cried. He was the person I always dreamed of. Then I went back to my group home.
As days, weeks and months passed by, I realized that this wasn't the love I had been looking for. Along with the love came a ton of responsibilities that I wasn't ready for. Babies have to be cleaned, feed, and clothed. They are selfish human beings that don't take your needs into consideration. Babies are wonderful, but only when you are ready. I kept my baby. I did all that was required of me plus more. I gained the love I desperately need and in return took on a ton of extra responsibility. When my son was 3 months old, I moved back in with my grandmother. Since I was still attending a normal public high school, I could not take my baby to school. My grandmother watched him for me and I finished high school on time. I even attended the prom. I have been at my current job for a year and four months and I am in my second year of college. As for my son, he is now three years old.
Life has many obstacles that one has to overcome. I made mistakes and I learned from them. Before you make a decision like I did, think it over.
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JaNelle
Graduate
San Diego, CA, USA |
Why are you hiding little one?
Why are you hiding little one?
This world may be Frightening
and scary but face up to it
Open the door to your cage
and you will find someone
out there that will love you
Someone that will care for you
So don't be scared and come out of your
cage.
That's a good one feller
another step and your free
Oh see it's not that bad
but now i need your help
can you help me find the key to my door
i seemed to have locked myself in.
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Becky|
8th grader
Australia,W.A |
I am a 13 yr old female and finding school very difficult, i always get told i am dumb everyday from the teachers.
I hardly ever go to school as i can't get along with teachers, as they say i am stupid and never will make it through school.
These are my poems of how i feel about life.
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Who am I?
Who am I? I mean I know who I am, but who am I really? Am I to be one day called into an office with big bright windows and be asked who I am? Could I answer? Do I even know the answer? Do I want to know the answer? And if I knew the answer would I like it, or would I have preferred to not know at all? And if so would my life be better if I not know the answer that my whole being craves to know? Do I maybe already know the answer, and if so am I just refusing to share it with the rest of me? When and how would I know if I knew the answer that I now do not know? And when and if I find the answer that I am looking for, would it change me, or would it change the way I see people? Will there be others that see the change or would I see a change in the others? And if there were some kind of change would it be me changing them or some form of higher power? And if this higher power makes these changes would I like them, for that matter would they like me? If they do or don’t,!
would I have a say? Who are they? Are they some kind of beings send to earth to change the course of my life or am I send to earth to change their lives, am I the alien?
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Anneke
10th grader
upington |
I'm 15 years of age.
I love writing
I'm a girl
that's about it! |
Untitled Short Story
"Selchma, get off the frickin' computer!" Dad was ranting again. I was ranting too, because he called me by my real name, Selchma. What idiots, other than my parents, would name a cute little baby girl SELCHMA? I mean, it sounds like a friggin' disease or something. Selchma Ingrid Nolan. Can't wait till I'm old enough to get rid of that horrid thing trying to pass off as my name. My parents must have had a premonition I wouldn't be a perfect child, seeing as my initials are SIN. Which is what everyone called me, unfortunately. Imagine roll call in first grade: "Sarah, Jessica, Bobby, James, Stephen, Alex, Sin,..." It must be something to do with names or something, 'cuz I never have been very cookie-cutter.
No, it's not like I'm some kind of freak or nerd; in fact, it's quite the opposite. I just don't think popularity is
all it's cracked up to be. But whatever. I'm not your typical blonde, model-looking bimbo. I've got light brown hair that rubs against the back of my neck, supposedly "mysterious" brown eyes, and a body that just doesn't match the rest of me. I mean, you look at my face and you'd assume I'd be a flat, skinny little nerd. But I'm not. My friends and I once had a minor obsession with tape measures and at last check, I was 38", 22", 32". In other words, my boobs are the size of Texas, but my butt's only the size of, like, an Irish pub. It drives me nuts, but I guess no one else seems to really care. Whatever.
Anyway, it was your typical Saturday afternoon, with me pounding away at the computer keys, planning the movie plans for that night. About an hour and a million years later, everything was all planned out. Time to get ready. Fun. I hate those showers that go cold after like five minutes. I have one of those. I stripped off my pajamas and climbed into the sweaty, steamy, hot shower. In movies and stuff, people have sex in those kinds of things. But, I mean, in real life, wouldn't people, like, trip and fall in there? And that would suck, because falling down and hurting yourself just doesn't seem too sexy to me. But whatever.
I exfoliated, moisturized, lathered, rinsed, coated, shaved, lotioned, and about forty other words without
basically any real meaning. I felt like that guy in Titanic that becomes a human popsicle because of the frigid water.
That guy never took a shower in my shower. It's definitely much colder than that water he was in. It's a wonder I don't get frostbite from that stupid shower. I reached my hand through the liquid ice that five minutes ago had been nice and steamy, and I managed to turn it off without freezing off any important body parts.
Two types of gel, three types of spray, a blow-dryer, a straightener, and two curling irons later, my hair was good to go. Concealer, foundation, liquid base, powder base, bronzing cream, bronzing powder, two different eyeshadows, three different layers of lipstick, blush, and my face was just as ready. Time for clothes. Yeesh. Let me say in my own defense that I thought a red halter and mini-shorts were perfectly acceptable movie attire. Dad didn't really agree. "But, DAADDDDYYYYY, I don't want to look like C-R-A-P!" I protested.
"Well, no one likes a T-R-A-M-P. Go change. Now." Looks like he won. Again. Two choices later, I finally got by in a deep V-neck shirt that tied at the bottom and slightly bigger shorts. Hey, it wasn't my fault Mom was having a midlife crisis when she took me shopping. Anyway, he couldn't debate my outfit any more because the doorbell was ringing. Thank God. There outside my door stood Sage.
Sage Alyre-Chermin-Knight. He had the bad-initails problem too: SACK. So if married him, I'd be SNACK. Great.
Maybe freaky-named people stick together or something. He was a total babe and a half, though. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a six-pack stomach, and just these eyes you could get lost in for days. And he was two years older than me. Age gaps were always a plus. So was his being rich. Not every 16-year-old guy can brag about having his own private Jaguar. And he had two. Life is good.
"Hey babe, you ready? You look like a sin," he giggled. "Let's go." Fine with me. I got in the car, which
happened to be the red one. I was promptly greeted with a real greeting: a four-second make-out session before heading out to the movies. Always a good thing. Of course, we were late as usual, but who gives? Arriving late is okay, as long as it's in a Jag. And we did it every Saturday, so it's all good.
Raini promptly pounced on me the moment we entered the lobby. We certainly looked like an odd group there. For starters, Raini turned hard-core goth at about age six, which is when most kids still aren't choosing their own clothes. It was almost cute to look back at old pictures and see this little pale girl in black clothes at a Girl scout meeting. Jenn hugged me next. She was in her typical Pink 'N Preppy clothes (I'd say she owns the entire store), giggling like a
freak as always. She's probably the only bimbo blonde out there with dark brown hair and a tan that made her look almost black. It was like Britney Spears with a female Ozzy Osbourne and the Sugar Plum Fairy.
Yeah, we were the "populars," though we really were not much alike. But whatever. You'd think we hadn't seen each other in years the way we greeted each other. But we had all been partying together last night, so it had really been less than 24 hours. We each had a lovely piece of arm candy. As usual. Raini's guy was, of course, some stone-faced goth guy that looked both terrifying and appealing. She'd had him for about a month. Only Raini would go for a dude named Jerni, you-pronounce-it-like-journey. Jenn had a different guy from last week and even different from last night. This one was some total prepster in tight Abercrombie pants, and an American Eagle collared shirt. Learning his name was pointless; he'd be gone by tomorrow. Sage and I had been together for 3 months, almost record-breaking for me. Anyway, after we said our hellos and bummed around for a while, we went into the movie.
It was just custom and tradition that I got the corner seat, next to Sage, who was next to Raini, who was next to
Jerni, who was next to Jenn, who was next to the preppy guy. We always made Jenn's newest find sit on the outside, in case people we didn't know sat next to us. It would make him wimp out faster. Which was the custom and tradition. Anyway, the movie started, and Raini didn't last through the previews, but Jenn didn't last through the lights dimming, before they
violently attacked their guys. Well, okay, maybe not "violently," but whatever. Sage and I were much more relaxed and at least waited till the movie started. Hehe.
An hour later, we left. Jenn pulled out the movie summary so we could see what it had been about. Eventually, we
all left and this time, Raini and Jenn were in the red Jag too, in order to come home with me. Jerni had offered to bring
what's-his-name back home, which he did. As we sat there, singing along to some random, idiotic song and giggling like there was no tomorrow, I started thinking. "Lord help us if this is us at age fourteen...God knows what we'll be like 10 years from now."
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We're 24 now. Somehow, I'm still with Sage, and yes, I'm now officially SNACK. Oh well, better than SIN, I guess. I've given up on the whole name thing. If I lived most of my life thus far as SIN, I can deal with SNACK. It still freaks people out when they find out my initials really are SNACK. But whatever. When you have Sage and your own two Jags, names don't matter. I've decided it's actually cool. I mean, how many people can actually say, "Hey, I'm SNACK."? But whatever.
I still look about the same. Butt's too small, but no one cares. Of course, I'm 10 years older, but whatever. Somehow, he kept the gorgeousness. Lucky boy. Anyway, it was your typical Saturday afternoon, with me plunking away at the phone numbers, getting everyone together. An hour and a million years later, everything was good to go. Time to get ready. Great. I still have one of those showers that goes cold after five minutes. And I figured out the sex thing. He,he, don't take that in a bad way.
I exfoliated, moisturized, lathered, rinsed, coated, shaved, lotioned, and about forty other words without basically any real meaning. Then two types of gel, three types of spray, a blow-dryer, a straightener, two curling irons, concealer, foundation, liquid base, powder base, bronzing cream, bronzing powder, two different eyeshadows, three different layers of lipstick, blush, and I was ready to go. Time to get dressed. Yeesh. Let me say in my own defense that I'm 24-years-old, so a red halter and mini-shorts ARE acceptable movie attire. Who cares if Dad thinks so?
This time we didn't have to ride in the Jag and show up late. They were coming over. Jenn and her latest find and
Raini and her guy. Jenn has been successfully divorced four times. And lucky Raini ended up with Jake, the lead singer of a rock band, Disaster. Jenn was now Vice-President of Pink 'N Preppy. And she was still the tannest brunette that ever was a
bimbo blonde. And Raini, well, she was still all gothed-out and freaky. Anyway, we chatted around for a while, and then went in to watch the movie.
It was still just custom and tradition that I got the corner seat on the couch, next to Sage, who was next to Raini, who was next to Jake, who was next to Jenn, who was next to the preppy guy. We still always made Jenn's newest find sit on the outside, just because it was custom and tradition. And yes, we all lasted through the previews.
Sure, we've had our ups and downs. There had been the time Jenn got drunk at a party and had to be snuck home with one of us so her parents wouldn't see her. Or the time we had to come save Raini from an alley where her date was trying to attack her. Or the time I accidentally set part of the Jag on fire and Sage had to get the entire inside re-done. But there was the time Jenn had been Prom Queen, Raini had opened up her own chain of stores, and Sage and I finally tied the knot. And for old times sake, we rented that movie we "watched" when we were fourteen. And this time, only because of excessive talking and giggling, we still don't have a clue what it was about.
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Shelley
9th grader
Destrehan, LA, USA |
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Lost
Lost inside this maze,
Don't know if I'll ever find my way.
Trying to search for you,
Lovin someone else would never do.
Searchin for the love,
The love that we once shared.
I guess it's already gone,
Lookin for you but your never there.
Cryin for you every night,
Pieces from my heart keep breakin.
Wishin you were here to hold me tight,
for all these feelings that you were fakin.
Lyin here,
The same place where you left me.
Sittin here with my tears,
With a heart that was too blind to see.
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Teresa
8th grader
Portland, Oregon |
| About the author of Teresa aka Porqidia. Hey watsup peepz? well, thanx foe checkin mah file. hope ya liked mah poem. |
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Untitled Short Story 2
The heat is on. Blazing coals of furnace fire surge forth, choking the plains. The desolation of farmlands causes shudders of violent reactions. From the green revolves an almighty crisp, a crisp so red it smoldered. The immense intricacies of absolutely incoherent cries echo throughout the realm. The fire will not die.
Intensity Increases. The horrific shrieks of momentary scars pierce and twist the day. The deep solemn rumble of electrifying desire cries for more, more of what is to come. There is a roar. Sinews of pillowing strength strive to begin their onslaught. The roving canines strain further outward. They itch to begin.
The fiery beasts of multiple conflagrations burst into inferno. Their choking bellows repeatedly in cerulean heat. The granules of greatness wither under that command, for it is unbearable. The tornado of twirling tails flash close by, ruthlessly ripping the cowardly covering. Tendrils of thorny tacks veer about violently, and hover air particles away. They are poised to strike.
Time ceases. The living drum of earthly pace recedes itself, forcing movement to a crawl. The tongs of terrifying tonsils tick by, slowly. Then, with shrieks of utter expectancy and the upward passage of two ruby encampments, the bread flies out of the toaster.
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Jared
9th grader
Singapore |
I am a 15 year old from Singapore who somehow loves reading yet can't write very well as of yet. Hope you like this!
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Ashley’s “World” Tour
Music has always had a big influence on my life. I can remember being three or four and singing my little heart out into a mustard bottle. Michael Bolton was big in my house back then and even though I was fairly young, thanks in great part to the endless repetition I remembered the chorus of most of his songs. A dentist appointment is where I expanded my taste in music. With extra time to spare before me dreaded appointment, my grandmother dragged me into a wine store in the same building. I was looking at a picture of woman on a tape cassette cover that was draped around the neck of a red wine. The man who worked at the cash noticed my fascination with it and offered the tape to me for being such a good client. I could not wait for my appointment to be over with just so I could hop into the car and listen to my first real tape. It was the song “Power of Love” by Celine Dion. My grandmother gave me a whole lecture on how great Celine was, and she was one of the few from a!
round here that actually made it in the business. I ran to my room popped my new tape into my play-school tape recorder and listened to it over and over and over again. I drove my family crazy. it got to the point when my brother threatened to beat me! With that, Michael Bolton went into retirement and Celine Dion was all that mattered. I didn’t understand a word of what I was singing; all I knew was that I loved to sing and no one could stop me.
As I grew older my taste grew more eclectic. I loved everything from Frank Sinatra to The Spice Girls although Celine tapes were still my favorite. After several warnings by my brother about singing and disturbing his concentration for his video games I limited my singing to the shower. I decided that the shampoo bottles were my fans. My voice was squeaky, and I’d occasionally get a bit of shampoo in my mouth and have to stop mid-song to spit it out, but still my audience loved me. I made my own little dream world out of that shower. When times were rough, and I needed to go nuts and let go of all of my frustrations the shower was my sanctuary. As I grew older and a bit wiser (as wise as a teenager can get) I realized that my imaginary fame couldn’t be spoken about outside the shower. I learned this lesson when I tired to describe to my friend what a freedom it was to sing my heart out. She laughed at me and said, “I pity anyone that has to hear that”. Those thoughtless words were a blow to my fragile ego. That’s when I decided that my make-believe world had to take a little break. A sabbatical. Within two weeks I missed my fans and I know they missed my talent. With age my voice grew as well. It transformed from squeaky to deep and unique. Singing made me happy, it made my fans happy. Why I let someone try to ruin that feeling is beyond me. I forgot about my “sabbatical” and started to sing again. By now I was in the middle of “Hero” by Mariah Carey and told myself to ignore everyone else, this was MY world.
Now at the age of fifteen, my voice has become somewhat nice. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I sing all the time now, not just in the shower. Sure I get on people’s nerves every once in a while. Everyday, sometimes twice a day, I put in a CD and blast it as loudly as possible and I sing. My neighbours often compliment me for the show I put on from my bedroom window. I still get on my brother’s nerves while he tries to concentrate on his video games, I guess some people never grow up! I’m not the one to be throwing any stones though. I live in my own little glasshouse.
My fans from the shower think it’s great that I’m on tour. My fan base has grown drastically over the years, from the shower, to my room and beyond and I have an obligation to keep them all entertained, don’t I? Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some very loyal shampoo bottles waiting for me in the “Shower auditorium”. It is never wise to keep good fans waiting.
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Ashley
11th grader
kirkland,quebec,canada |
| About the author of Ashley's World Tour, 16 years old and loves to read and write Short storied and Novels. Spends most of her time playing basketball and keeping in shape. |
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I'm Saying Goodbye
Hello?
Can you hear me?
Is there something you can do?
To save me?
Hello?
Can you help me?
Is there anything you can do?
To heal me?
Hello?
Can you see me?
Is there nothing you can do?
To help me?
Hello, hello, hello?
Hello out there!
Can no-one hear me?
Is nobody there?
There has got to be someone
To save me, help me, heal me
Can you not hear me, help me, see me?
Hello?
My life is slowly fading
My sight slowly failing
My everything is trailing
Trailing away from me
Life fading
Sight failing
Everything trailing
Trailing away from me
Sweet nothings that I’ll never hear
Dangers that I’ll never fear
I’ve forgotten how to live since I’ve been away
Heartache I’ll never heal
Feelings I’ll never feel
I’ve forgotten how to love since you’ve been away
Breathing is hard
Heart beating en retard
Never mind I’ll soon be gone
This ends my sad love song
Never mind the oxygen
I’m breathing the air
Never mind me
I’ll be fine
Never mind
Me baby
Never mind hello
I’m … saying … goodbye
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Hannah
9th grader
Switzerland |
About the author of I'm saying goodbye.
I've been writing poems/songs for a long time but this is the first tiem I've done something on the net even though one of my songs I recorded with my friends and it was played on the radio and we even did a concert! this was originally a song but I thought it was a better poem.
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Keeper of the Secrets
I hide in shadows, allow myself to merge with them
Do I do this deliberately? Of course I do,
How can someone like me not socialize with out effort?
Why do I feel the need to be isolated?
There is a simple answer; it makes it easier to keep the secrets,
Pollution of the mind, killing me slowly from with in
Alas they also keep me alive, a source of strength
For with these secrets I know who I am – the keeper of the secrets.
Death is a source of fear for many people, but not me,
How can it be, after all I have been dying many-a-year.
My valuable secrets, which keep me alive, do so at a dreadful cost,
They challenge my sanity at every turn, changing my optimism to pessimism,
My happiness and laughter to frustration, anger and tears,
I am life’s punching bag, same everyone else, but I have one up on life –
I know this will end, sooner or later, and until then I get to observe other lives,
And I continually become more truly the keeper of the secrets
Pollution kills life, and so it is in my mind – a struggle for survival
There are times when I feel like giving up, to let the secrets take over,
But if I were to fade away, what would become of my secrets?
Before I die, I must impart my knowledge, or at least some of it to another.
There is a catch to this, for if I was to share my knowledge I would need to talk,
Socialize, and stop observing for just a minute. I know others do, but not me
My secrets are my life, but I wish someone would ask, just once,
Care enough to make a conversation, with this keeper of the secrets
I may not ever impart my thoughts, or knowledge, and for this I am truly sorry,
For if I don’t tell people my secrets they will never know me
But someday I will be able to speak freely, articulately and openly
Show the world the real me and not be scared to give up my secrets
And maybe I will be able to stand tall and shout out “This is who I am,
This is what I know and this is how I know it” then maybe I’ll smile a real smile
And maybe I’ll have the skills of socializing with out this made up persona
But until the day when I have these skills I will forever be ‘The keeper of the secrets’
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Sean
11th grader
Melbourne
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About the author of Keeper of the Secrets, I live in Melbourne, and wrote this poem after a friend mentioned that i look like a person who keeps a lot of secrets.
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Losses
I’m measuring my losses. I’m sitting at scales, measuring them like grains of rice. I have my remote control in hand and with the press of a button, life rewinds itself to shots of the past, clips of what-ifs and maybes, if-onlys. This is insurance day. This is where I demand reimbursement. They tell me I’m entitled. I measure my losses.
I move the scale down half a millimeter for the butterfly sticker I lost in the second grade. One millimeter for the day it rained on the beach. Four for the piece of my mother that disappeared the night my uncle died. Everything must be claimed. Everything has a price.
I’m spilling wine glasses, I’m breaking bottles, I’m burning furniture. I’m tearing wallpaper with my teeth. Sitting here, mesmerized by scales, my hands running over cool brass. I’m ripping into shards of my own flesh, inspecting for damage. I tear down “Caution” signs and jump into the marsh, fully clothed. I take notes.
The seventh grade dance I never danced at: one millimeter. One year of lunchtimes spent silent, alone in the library: two millimeters.
The sound of your voice: three millimeters.
I weigh everything, take the numbers down exactly as they are. I make no mistakes. I miss nothing. Everything is recorded in ink, black on white paper, plain as day. I press fast-forward on my remote control and it takes me to what I want to see. I pause when I need to, press play and see it again in my head. Every inch of pain is jotted down on paper, every mile of tears gets recorded. I leave out nothing. My lungs filled with gas, my eyes overflowing with smoke, holes left gaping in my body like craters, and I’m measuring my losses.
This breeze floating across my shoulders will leave in 4.52 seconds. This thought will disappear in 0.63 seconds. I measure those in and take out my calculator to see how much I’m owed. When it’s all figured in, I print out the receipt:
Lost: 41 conversations with strangers
Lost: 2 grandfathers, 1 uncle
Lost: 78.33 hours spent waiting in traffic
Lost: childhood illusion
Lost: 1,295 sunsets
Lost: 298 minutes of dignity
Lost: the feeling of skin upon skin
Lost: your hands
Lost: your footsteps
Lost: your breath
Lost: the shape of your eyes
Lost: you
Please reimburse me as soon as possible, I scrawl on the bottom of the paper, and seal everything in an envelope.
After the postman comes to pick up the mail, I sit in the kitchen and start to sew myself back up, one piece of flesh at a time. I strap on Band-Aids, I paint over scars, I blow out smoke. I rebuild everything from the inside out.
Then I sit in the living room beside the window, and wait, reminding myself that compensation will arrive shortly. It’s just a matter of time. I keep the blinds open so I can see when the postman returns. I keep my breath lingering on the glass. I keep my fingers still and silent, blood running slowly underneath.
I keep waiting.
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Brianna
12th grader
San Francisco, USA |
About the author: I'm sixteen (soon to be seventeen) and I've been writing for a pretty long time, I guess. I'm currently recovering from a year-long writers' block - hoping it just gets better from here :)
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Untitled Poem 4
He stood there, eyeing her,
then looking her in the face.
He mumbled something about how he never wanted her,
that she was and embarrassment and disgrace.
He proceeded to crush this young girls heart,
all the while unknowing of how much she loved this boy.
As she stands there, feeling as though her heart will tear in two,
she comes to the realization that he played with her like a toy.
As the truth hits her in the face,
a solitary tear slides down her baby soft cheek.
The same cheek that he kissed and caressed no less than a month ago
when their relationship is at full peak.
He continues to whip her with his sever tongue lashing,
and with every word, her heart felt as though it was being stripped away.
She never realized how much she loved him until this moment,
which took her too long to figure out, because his ship has left the bay.
She says her final words to her would've been love,
all the while her eyes still dripping with tears.
She tilts her head up and looks upon the face of the man she'll never see him become
and how she'll keep her little love secret tucked away in the folds of her soul, never told, for years and years.
How much she loved him, and how great she could've been,
chances are, he'll never know.
All because this boy who couldn't look love in the face
decided to hurt this poor, love-stricken girl so.
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Missy
9th grader
San Jose, CA, USA |
Um...lets see. My name's Missy (or at least its a name I go by) and I'm 14. I recently discovered my love for poetry and my so-called talent as a poet. Since I can't write anything personal (like website, email, etc.) I suppose I have nothing else to say.
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A Cunning Canine
Pierre Carlon, a self-made millionaire and entrepreneur owned a dog, named (of course), Spot. The dog was a collie; it had already the brains of a human child. It knew how to open doors, eat from plates, and walk on its hind legs. Spot knew a little bit more or two than the average educated dog. He became accustomed to the average human lifestyle; before Pierre knew it his dog was soon solving mathematical equations and problems. Spot’s knowledge had boomed.
Pierre’s dog had soon been known around the city, both for his adorableness and his abilities. Spot was the first dog in history to learn the HTML computer language, which he typed with extra large keys, of course. The things Spot could do were very extensive, and it seemed as if there was not anything he could not do. (Well, let’s see if we can prove that later on in the story.)
On a habitual Tuesday, Spot ran out to get the mail for Pierre. When Pierre received the letter, he immediately noticed that it was from his mother, who lived quite a distance - New York City. He found out that his mother was throwing a surprise birthday party for his brother, and he was invited to it. In thirty minutes Pierre had taken a shower, packed up three sweaters and a pair of pants, and headed off in a Saab south to New York. Spot, on the other hand, stayed behind and did the usual chores.
I forgot to mention that Pierre’s hobby was making home-made rockets; he spent his days building out of his shop in a large “shack” beside his back yard. The day after Pierre left, Spot had found nothing to do. All the chores were taken care of, and there seemed to be no more books left to read in the house. So, knowing a considerable amount about fuel dispersion and airborne apparatuses, Spot had begun a rocket project of his own in the shop behind the house.
Spot had been watching Pierre do this for several years now, and it seemed like working with Play-Doh to him. It had been only two days, when Spot finally finished his masterpiece - a dangerously explosive, but tantalizingly electrifying, home-made rocket. He carried it in his paws into the back yard, where a launch-pad had been previously set the day before. Standing on his hind legs, he placed the rocket carefully onto the launch-pad. The rocket seemed to look as if it had been a smaller replica of a real NASA rocket. It had twin turbo-boosters with four standard Houston turbines, and it had enough fuel to blow any house into bits. With this in mind, Spot carefully laid back behind a trench built to divert the debris from the lift-off. Spot had laid out all the mandatory take-off equipment, and he was ready for it. He flipped open the glass-cover of the red lift-off button.
WHOOSH! The missile rocketed into the air, leaving behind massive trails of white smoke. If was off. After 10 seconds and one-thousand feet, Spot noticed the rocket had started going haywire. He panicked and thought what could have happened, and then he remembered, HE FORGOT THE NAVIGATION CHIP! Then, the rocket suddenly spiraled into different directions. It twisted, and flipped as if it were contained in an invisible sphere in the sky. It suddenly jetted to his right, skipping in and out of sight and earshot.
Spot had heard a huge BOOM! and was startled to find out what the terrible news was. He ran inside the house and turned on the television in the living room, and sat back as he watched every local channel was fixed on this one event.
“SPECIAL REPORT, BY YOUR ANCHOR, BILL WILLACKER.” Spot had wondered what this news was about, and he furthermore pondered if it had anything to do with the rocket he had built and apparently flew out of control. The broadcast continued, “There has just been a huge explosion that has caused Hartford City Hall to catch on fire! It appears that a rocket of some sort has just plummeted down straight into the heart of City Hall, where Connecticut congressional attorneys had been having an awaited conference!” The report went on for hours and moreover on all the channels in the television. Spot, indeed, was in deep “doo-doo” this time.
Several days later, when Spot’s ego had seemed to rise up again, he heard a knock on the front door. To his relief he found not the FBI or CIA, but his one and only master, Pierre. He had just come back from the surprise birthday party. He evidently heard on the television about the rocket crashing into City Hall, and he came roaring back. Pierre, afraid that if might be his own dog and his own gear at fault, blazed to the shop behind the house. He found that most of his rocket-building resources had been depleted, so he turned to Spot, who was skimming his paw along the ground innocently. Pierre already knew it was Spot who crashed the rocket, but nothing could come out of him that would make him want to hit his dog. So, he just walked slowly back into the house, and sat in front of the television, eager for more news. He gazed at the T.V. set; apparently, the FBI had found the “criminal who was responsible for this monstrous slaughter.” Pierre’s blood level rose rapidly, and he almost knew that it was him they were after.
It was not long after he saw this in the television that his front door was being banged on aggressively with people shouting “Police! FBI! Open up!” Frantically without hesitation he ran to the door; five men with sun glasses in tight suits stood in front of him, positioned with Beretta guns pointing towards him. He looked further back behind them, and if seemed that a whole city street had been filled with different departments such as SWAT and the Hartford Police, all aiming their rifles at his body. The five men shoved Pierre back into his house and onto his living room. They threw on heavy handcuffs and planted him inside a police van; he was hauled to the FBI Federal building, where he was to be interrogated. They took Spot with them.
They questioned him for hours, and all he could say was, “eet was my dog, S-Spot!” Although they did not believe him at first, this constant answer made them quite skeptical. It seemed that they found fingerprints of Pierre’s on the rocket, and the only evidence was pointing straight at him.
Pierre finally showed the FBI agents some pictures in his wallet of Spot doing the unbelievable and the mind-boggling. Surely they had known about Spot and his tricks. After all, the dog was known about town, but they could not have predicted his skills were so broad.
When they finally believed that the dog was to blame for this disaster, the FBI and the city of Hartford agreed to a law that prohibited the education of dogs. Apparently, the dog’s uncanny abilities to build rockets intimidated them, but knowing that there were to be no more of that, it was no problem.
Pierre was sentenced to 6 months probation with road-side cleanup. He still lives in his contemporary house, still a millionaire. But one thing has changed, he no longer builds rockets for a hobby (I mean, who would.). He has turned to something less “unstable,” which was constructing miniature trains. As for Spot, the FBI had made sure that he tried no more stunts like that (How else would you punish a dog?). Now, one year and fifty-two meters of train-tracks later, Pierre Carlon and Spot live prosperously in their home in the hills. Content and worry-free, they live in peace, no more shop, no more hassle, and of course, no more rockets.
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Richard
9th grader
San Francisco, Ca |
Richard is a fourteen year old San Franciscan who, when not with his friends, enjoys spending time reading and writing. Of course, Richard does not want to bore you with his dull summary of himself, so he will just get to the point:
He hopes you enjoy his short story, "A Cunning Canine"! Expect more from Richard as he continues his legacy of writing short stories in epic proportions -- Hey, maybe even a novel!
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Senses
I heard your song from afar,
like a distant inspiration.
It cried out to me.
I saw your face coming through the shadows,
like a friend reaching out.
It smiled at me.
I smelled your sweet aura,
like a fresh summer's rain.
It calmed me.
I feel your arms around me,
like a comforting promise.
They hold me.
I taste your lips against mine,
like soft, warm certainty.
You love me.
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Madeline
8th grader
USA |
| About the author of Senses: I wrote this poem after the first time that I heard Josh Groban sing. He was so amazing, that he spoke to me through his music. I decided to write a poem about it, because I loved it so much. |
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Untitled Poem 5
I sit here in a quiet stillness
Not knowing what exactly to do
Many vivid memories of you wash over me
So scared of drowning in the flood
Some make me smile and some hurt
But tonight both make me cry
I sit here wrapped up in memories of you
As my tears fall, I feel torn in two
I know now there’s nothing I can do
I held you up on my pedestal
Believing I could only love you
Swearing it’d be forever true
But now in the dead of night
I know it’s through
You now rest on solid ground
You no longer bind my heart
Even though, my love for you will never die
That is no lie
I can say goodbye
But my heart belongs to another
It has been so hard to stand by the memories of you
You are not mine
In a way you never were
We were just something untouchable
So untouchable that we couldn’t even touch it
You and I lived the unrequited love
But you still made my heart sore like a dove
When ever you came near
I hear the voices
I see your face
Your smiles so bright
And the thoughts of you
Brush up against my skin
And I tremble
I hear your voice
And I start to remember
Your touch
And those times you never left my side
I wonder how all those feeling just die
At times I cried
Feeling so empty inside
I felt like everything in my life had died
I needed you wishing you knew my deep love
And you were now where to be found
I thought you could never let me down
But you let me drown, time after time
The nights are still long
But I don’t need your touch
I never meant for it to end this way
And there’s still more to say,
I can say goodbye
I'm not alone anymore
I don’t need to make you mine
You rest on solid ground
As I in another’s arms
I now know safety as I feel someone near
I know for sure someone that loves me
And I feel shelter in their embrace
Then I see your face, hearing your words
Won’t make the tears fall
Because I don’t need any of it now
Nothing at all
I breathe in the night’s cold air
With no need to remember or reminisce
Cuz I got all I need right here
Lying next to me
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Tasha
12th grader
Toronto, Ontario, Canada |
i'm in my grade 12 yr and I plan to go in journalism in college next fall.
i love to write, paint, draw, hang out with my friends
i would like to know what u think of my writing you can conact me at |
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New Year
With a new year comes new life
new ways to strife
in the struggle to stay alive
new days
bringing new ways
to love and pray
new people all around
new sights and new sounds
lifting you up and down
don't allow time to pass you by
keep in mind
this may be your last time
to cherish the earth
that brings new birth
live your new life for all its worth
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Channel
12th grader
Montclair, California, United States |
In the past few weeks I have learned many new and exciting things about myself. I am looking forward to putting those discoveries into use in the NEW YEAR.
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Untitled Poem 6
I'm In the midst of a million tears,
But no one is hear to cry them.
In the presence of a thousand screams,
But no one is here to hear them.
I can hear a hundred pleas,
Yet i can sense a hundred more denials.
I can dream a thousand dreams,
But i don't have the courage to accomplish them.
Even if i make a thousand promises,
It doesn't mean i can't abandon them.
And even if i conquer all of the challenges,
It doesn't mean i will survive.
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Brianna
9th grader
New Jersey |
Hurting
I'm hurting.
Inside and out.
I feel the never ending pain.
I'm crying.
Day and night.
I soak my pillow with warm salty tears.
I'm screaming.
Loudly and nonstop.
I can not quit.
I'm breaking.
Down and apart.
I almost don't even recognize myself.
I'm yearning.
For love and honesty.
My heart bleeds.
I'm drained.
Emotionally and physically.
I want to sleep forever.
I'm discouraged.
About you and life.
Things never seem to work right.
I'm giving up.
On friends and on life.
I feel like quitting.
I'm sorry.
For things I do and that I don't do.
All the sorrys are drowning me.
I'm hoping.
For love and understanding.
I need someone to survive.
I'm angry.
At myself and the world.
I'm angry for no reason.
I'm smiling.
Fakely and visible.
I try to fool those near me.
I'm laughing.
Uncontrollably and loudly.
Right now it's all I have left.
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Mandy
luana, IA, USA |
A year to forget!
Here I am just finishing my freshman year in high school and wishing I could just take it all back, and do it all over again. I knew starting high school would be hard, and that I would experience a lot of new things. But I couldn't have possibly imagined how this year would turn out.
All my life I'd always been pretty happy with myself. I'd always hung out with the so called "cool kids" and I'd always had money, and I still had all that but something was different. I'm not sure if it was hormones or some other new development, but now I would wake up, look in the mirror, and see the things I had made fun of other girls for my entire life. Everything about me seemed wrong: I'm not pretty enough, I'm fat, or my hair looks terrible, that's what I saw. I'd lost every bit of self confidence I'd ever had. Now my one goal in life was to please everyone. I wanted them to like me for something I knew I wasn't. In jr. high allot of my friends started getting into some stuff I just didn't want to deal with. They started drinking, smoking, and even some of them started having sex. They knew I wasn't like that and they were fine with that, but when my self confidence left so did all my will power to say no. I started experimenting with cigarettes, alcohol, and a!
lot of other things I wasn't ready for, and for the first time in a while I actually felt like I was beginning to fit in again.
I'd never had problems with guys before. I usually always had a boyfriend but it never meant anything to me. I'd date a guy for a month or so then go find someone else. I'd watch my friends get heart broken over countless worthless guys, and I promised myself I'd never let a guy do that to me. But along with all my other first time experiences that year, I got my heart broken for the first time. I thought this guy was perfect. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t find anything wrong with him. I could tell him anything, and I felt like he understood because he'd been there too. He was one of those people that if I was having a bad day all he had to do was hold me and it just seemed like everything was all right. But as some people say, if it looks to good to be true it probably is and in this case they were right.
So there I was doing everything I told myself I wouldn't. I went on like this for probably 2 or 3 months. Then one day I just asked myself what's the point. I thought about what I had turned into and I was ashamed of myself. Finally I realized how pointless all this was, and how the people I was trying to please were worthless. I wanted to be better than that. I wanted to go to college and grad. school, I wanted to make something of myself. So I stopped everything I'd been doing, and that's where it ended or at least that's what I thought.
I thought I'd had a bad year so far but now I was the good kid again. Little did I know my problems were just about to blow up on my face. My parents thought I was one of those children who didn’t drink, smoke, or party. They used to brag about me to their friends and say how they didn't have to worry about me, but one night that all changed. I lost every bit of trust or respect I'd ever had in my parents.
I'm a pack rat. Any note anyone has ever given me is probably still stashed somewhere in my room. And one night my mom found one. It talked about me drinking at a friends house. After hours of lectures my parents searched the rest of my room, and they found allot more stuff. I tried to explain everything, but they wouldn't listen. So now for the next three years my house and life is like a prison. I'm not aloud to talk to anyone or go anywhere. From now on every single step I take or word I say my parents are watching and listening.
I'm not mad at them for punishing me, because I know I deserved it. The only thing that I wish would've been different is that, I just wish they would have listened to me. I tried to tell them it wasn't their fault, but there are still nights when my mom doesn’t sleep, because she thinks that somehow she did something wrong, which isn't true. I grew up in church and I knew right from wrong, I just decided to take a trip to the wrong side for awhile, only now I have to pay the consequences.
I would give up anything if I could just go back to the beginning of freshman year. I'd take back my first drink and the first cigarette I smoked and just say no to all the pressures. If only it were that easy which it's not. I've got to live with the choices I made and just try to move on and leave this year behind.
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Ashley
10th grader
WV |
My name is ashley and that past year of my life has been a rollar coaster ride. And I thought I'd just write it down on paper.
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Love
Everyone falls in love at least once. Whether it be a high school “I love you, I love you back” or a puppy love phase, and sometimes people don’t really know they’re in love at all.
Getting along with people was never Jessica’s best “subject”. She was always good in school but you wouldn’t necessarily call her a nerd. When you picture a nerd, you picture a short person with thick black frame glasses and tons and tons of books. This is not Jessica. She may not be popular or in any other social groups, but that’s what makes her, her. She has beautiful long dark hair, great soft tan skin, and is about 5’ 2”. She never bothered trying to get along with people around her and she never really “liked” anyone, although there were a lot of hot guys at her school. She mainly kept to herself and stayed out of everyone’s way.
Weeks before Halloween, Jessica got asked by her science teacher if she would tutor the greatest football player the school ever had. His grades had dropped drastically since the beginning of the year. She agreed but was very nervous because she never really spoke to any one that high in the school social class when you think about it she never really talked to anyone. That day after school she was going to meet Mike at his house.
When the final bell rang for the day Jessica packed her bag and walked to Mike’s house that was only a block away from the school. As she got closer she started shaking but it wasn’t rapid she tried repeatedly to calm down. Finally she stopped. She got to the front door and rang the doorbell. No one came so she rang it again. Then she heard a voice calling her name from the backyard. She walked through the white gate into a beautiful, giant yard.
There was a statue of a gargoyle at each side of the garden. Then she looked to her left and saw a glider (it looks like a bench but it’s really a swing). She walked over and looked in and saw Mike. He had dark hair like Jessica’s but had blonde tips. He had broad shoulders, and if you looked at his shirt, you could see that he had a six-pack.
Jessica walked closer and finally came into Mike’s view. She sat next to him and introduced herself. She notice he kept on watching her with his adorable brilliant blue eyes. She finally broke the silence and started opening the books. As Jessica started tutoring Mike was still watching her with his cute blue eyes. She had this weird feeling inside of her, nothing that she’s ever felt before. She just ignored it. Soon it became 6 o’clock. She quickly packed her bag and started walking out the white gate when she heard Mike’s masculine voice call out to her.
“Hey Jessica, do you mind if I call you Jesse?”
Jessica never really thought about shortening her name but after a few seconds she nodded yes. She walked out the gate as if she was floating on air but she did not know why she was so happy.
Soon Jesse and Mike were spending a lot of time together and they didn’t care what people said. As the days went by Jesse started feeling more affectionate towards Mike and really liked him. Now Halloween had arrived. Mike calmly asked Jesse if she wanted to come and hang out with him, by themselves. She agreed. When the last bell rang Jesse went and called her house saying that she was going to hang out with a bunch of friends and probably be home late, which was a lie. But for some reason her parents said okay. Her parents were always okay with her going out because they felt she never had fun. Jesse and Mike walked out the doors of the school hand in hand and walked to his house. They walked to the back gate and sat on the glider. Jesse never felt happier in her life.
For hours they sat on the swing talking and laughing. Finally Mike got closer to her. At first she didn’t know what to do. He looked at her again when they first met with his beautiful blue eyes and said,
“Ummmmm. I'm not real good with these things but do you want to be my girlfriend?”
Jesse didn’t know what to say. With a pause she nodded her head because that was the only thing she could do, she was speechless. Finally she was able to speak.
“Well hasn’t it seemed like we’ve been going out for the past couple for weeks?”
“I guess so.”
And with that Mike leaned over and kissed her. She was so happy. Finally it was dark enough where they could see the stars. They got off the glider and laid out a blanket on the ground and gaze up at the stars. As they lay there Jesse pointed out the constellations. When she turned to Mike she saw that he wasn’t watching the stars in the sky but he was watching the brightest star in his view, Jesse.
For years Jesse and Mike were together. They shared their life stories with each other and went and talked to each other when they were in need. But later on in life, just before college they broke up because they thought it would be pretty hard to maintain a relationship while she was in Harvard trying to become a lawyer and Mike being in a different college across the country. Although they were miles and miles away they stayed in touch with each other. They tried different relationships but none of them seemed to work for either of them. Finally they couldn’t take it any more. They agreed that once they were both finished with college they would meet at his old house where his parents still lived.
They didn’t seem to change over such a long period of time. The only change was their love for each other it grew stronger. They sat on the glider and talked and caught up with each other. Mike pretended to bend down to pick something up, but instead he knelt on one knee and proposed.
"I've learned now that since we’ve been so far apart I cannot be with anyone else but you. I know that you and me were meant to be together. Will you marry me?”
Of course Jesse said yes.
Their life went on and they had kids together, had grandkids together and soon grew old and died together.
This was a story of undying love for your other half. They kept the flame burning.
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Alicia
8th grader
Brewster, NY, USA
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Goodbye
Goodbye, forever I now bid you farewell,
I leave this depth of wallowing for post-mortal paradise,
or so I am led to believe.
Think not of the tears, think not of years, spent not knowing what to do,
But think of the smile, and smile at the thought
Think of the eccentricities that bound us all, the little things
that we all argued about. Think now of the good times,
the strings of memory plucked and strummed until all that is left is a
smile.
Smile softly as I leave, and look back in emotion,
feel free to look back in anger, in jubilation, in happiness
in boredom, in joy even look back, if needs be, in indifference.
But look not back in sadness, remember not how I leave, but how
I got to the departure gate, all the smooth stretches of road as well as
the potholes.
Smile softly as I leave, Shed not a tear in my name.
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Paul
12th grader
Ireland |
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