|
Up
|
|
|
Poetry
|
Essay/Prose
|
Short Story
|
Excuse Me
Excuse me sir, but I have a little question,
Followed by a short suggestion.
I hope to not offend and anger you or,
All the people you've loved, shaped, and more.
See, the problem is, this just isn't right.
I was never supposed to have to hate or fight
The body I was given upon my birth,
To use for all my life here on this Earth.
I should have loved it from the very start,
Not used these addictions to tear it apart.
You see, God, I just don't understand
Why the body I have been given is so totally bland.
So imperfect and boring, so ugly and wrong.
Not beautiful, pure, or even close to being strong.
I don't know what I'm trying to ask you,
Besides maybe a refund or an exchange or two.
Just until I find the me that I can and want to be.
Until I look in the mirror and truly like what I see.
I'll trim and pick, and I'll tone and prick.
Until all this hard work finally does the trick.
I'll examine and stare, try new clothes to wear,
Until my figure is more then average or fair.
What's that sir? I must have not heard you,
When you said that's not what's making me blue.
You're wrong and I'm right. I just need a night,
Or two or three or maybe a year if I might.
No sir, I swear one day I'll be so satisfied,
I'll love my body and have nothing to hide.
You say love it now, but that's just way too hard.
When all I see is a body that's scarred.
By the memories, and pain, and the torment and strain.
By every single day that I get caught in the rain.
So tell me now can you do this for me?
Can you make my life all I ever wanted it to be?
You're looking at me now, you gently touch my face.
You're telling me that only I can get myself to that place.
It's not something you can help me to find.
Only I can decide that I am beautiful and kind.
Excuse me sir, but I have one more thing to say:
Thank you so much for showing me the way.
|
Colleen
11th grader
Eureka, MO |
About the author of Excuse Me:
Colleen is a seventeen year old from Eureka, Missouri. She loves riding horses, singing, playing guitar, and writing in her spare time. She has written multiple poems and stories, but this is her first submission to TeenLit. |
"the beauty of insignificance"
although i am a mere speck
in the
vast expanse
of the night,
my soul radiates a
silent melody,
harmonizing with
the sky, the stars, the moon-
creating chords of quiet euphoria
that resonate
within my heart.
this tranquil tune is but
the first note
in a magnificent symphony
composed of millions of moments
yet to come.
overwhelmed,
i listen with wonder to
this spiritual harmony,
and let the voices of the night
sing me to sleep.
|
Sally
Graduate
East Lansing, MI |
About the author of "the beauty of insignificance"
sally is a freshman at Michigan State University where she majors in theatre. |
Shriek
I.
I see the best minds of my generation sabotaged by insecurities, hate fear, shoving
themselves through the crowded superficial streets, looking for a way out, bald
headed punks searching for a way to reveal their identity, while unknowingly surrendering to a poverty stricken life,
Who throw their lives away for meaningless drugs, indulging their desires and fantasies in any and every way that can be conceived,
Who abandon their minds, and devoted their bodies to shallow idols who sing of true lies,
who pass through life with hearts full of potential, that are concealed by a fake, inarticulate grin,
who are labeled as outcasts because of their dense, eccentric ideas, which were delivered from the dark, dusty areas in the back of their minds,
who wonder the cold, dark streets at night, making their money the only way they know how,
who got busted while trying to sell to little kids what was hidden in the depth of their backpacks,
who overdosed in dark allies, or drank themselves to death at wild raves, or prostituted their bodies just to earn enough money for a good high,
with ambition, with dope, with paralyzing fear, demise and dissolution and perpetual temptations.
II.
What wild animal tore up their sanity and fed their self-respect to its young?
Hate! Seclusion! Stress! Jealousy! Cruel acts of discrimination! Spoiled children crying for a toy! Shallow teenagers throwing up their meals! Abandoned man and women, crying in nursing homes.
Hate! Hate! Terror of hate! Hate the heartless! Murdering Hate! Hate the deliverer of evil to men!
Hate the invisible darkness! Hate the guardian of the deprived and the wicked! Hate whose thoughts are nauseating! Hate the painful twang of hell! Hate the invincible devil!
Hate whose hands are filled with textbooks! Hate who's standardized tests pile on throughout school like loads of bricks! Hate whose exams encourage failure! Hate whose stress and worry follows all students!
Hate whose tenderness is boundless sand paper and knives! Hate whose depth is money and greed! Hate whose war is the specter of genius! Hate whose faith is a cold gusty wind! Hate, the center of all obsession!
Hate in whom I run scared! Hate in whom I see seclusion! Wild in hate! Savagery in hate! Judgment and unfairness in Hate!
Hate who fooled me too quickly! Hate who makes me an idiot! Hate who has made me uncomfortable! Hate from whom I resign from! See the world through the eyes of Hate! Fire burning in the hearts of men!
Hate! Hate! Colored television! Secluded neighborhoods! Untold secrets! Unseen crimes! Unavoidable lies! Disrespectful society! All Christian presidents! Fight for the country! Die in shame!
They spent their lives trying to do the right thing! Omens, Mitzvahs, Karma, Destiny! Always trying to get to heaven, constantly pushing it further away!
Hope! Dreams! Ambitions! Goals! All is lost in the past! Innocence is forgotten!
Manners! Morals! Prestige! Elegance! All neatly put away somewhere where they can be lost forever!
Happy innocent laughter in their minds! They thought of it all! The bright imaginations! The happy times! They cease to exist! They killed them! To death! Routine! Going through the motions! Boy meets girl! Love to hate! Hate to revenge! Love is lost!
Footnote To Shriek.
Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy!
Life is happy! Family is happy! The dog is happy! The cat is happy! The rats and mice and bugs are happy!
Every person is happy! Every friend is happy! Every family is happy! Every soul is magnificent, every feeling is bliss!
The vegetables are as happy as the chocolate is happy! The old geezers are happy as the infants are happy!
The brain is happy the thoughts are happy the emotions are happy the existence is happy!
Happy Bush happy Monica happy Clinton happy Jesus happy Moses happy Buddha happy Allah happy my mom that usually does not provoke that emotion in me!
Happy my cousin in rehab! Happy the people that discovered Spam!
Happy the Britney Spears Wanna-be's! Happy the rock music's groupies! Happy the talk radio stations with boring D.J's & bad interviews & ugly voices!
Happy the people that make us go to school! Happy the gas stations polluting the air!
Happy the load that my dog leaves behind every time we take him outside!
|
Alina
11th grade
Berkley, MI |
|
Untitled
A house upon a marshy land
In the midst of a wooded forest
The barren snow covered trees
And the footprints in the snow
This vacant house contains no movement
The footprints from frightened children
Preoccupied with thoughts of angels
In spite of devils wings around them.
In the night they sleep
In the present day they awaken
To a sheltered life within
The midst of a bloody hell.
|
Tanya
10th grade
Scranton, PA, USA |
Silence
A shallow, pristine river,
Drags itself into the west,
With a slow, lethargic rolling,
As it creeps from crest to crest.
Emptying its glistening waters,
Into a wide, passive lake,
While the waters waver calmly,
On the soft shore where they break.
The silver, waning moon,
Casts an effervescent glow,
As the soothing, gentle zephyr,
Moves the trees leaves with each blow.
The landscape bathed in shadows,
And the dark grows deeper still.
Black clouds gliding through the night sky,
As their bounty starts to spill.
Raindrops pierce the rivers surface,
While the lightening flashes bright,
Showering everything for miles,
In its brief and sudden light.
The thunder sounds so mighty,
That the fragile earth does quake,
As the clouds tears land on flowers,
And their silky petals shake.
A land with no disturbance,
Not corrupt by pain or violence.
A place uninterrupted,
Where bliss is enclosed in silence.
|
Katrina
12th grade
New Glasgow, Nova Scotia, Canada |
| About the author of Silence : I am 17 years old . I guess i started writing poetry on a regular basis around the age of 13. Most of my poems have much darker content. I'd like to have a book of my poems or short stories published someday. If you have any comments about my poetry please email me. |
Illiteracy
"Two years ago, an elderly New York woman almost died. Why? She
ingested too much medication because she could not read the prescription label on the bottle. One quarter of the world's population, 905 million
people, cannot read."
This quote from Representative Bernard Sanders, on behalf of Ms. Sarah Wachtel, makes clear the extent of illiteracy in the world. To begin with, literacy is a basic human right denied to almost one billion people. This social injustice involves many different aspects. First, almost every nation has its own separate definition of literacy; second, the debate about the level of reading needed to be considered literate is ongoing; third, it has many social effects on the illiterate person, while it also has many economical effects on the illiterate person; and fourth, that the local illiteracy rates are overwhelming.
Across the globe, most nations have their own individual understanding of what they believe illiteracy to be. The United States Congress defines literacy as "an individual's ability to read, write, and speak in English, and compute and solve problems at levels of proficiency necessary to function on the job, and in society, to achieve one's goals, and develop one's knowledge and potential." Other countries have defined literacy as any individual who has attended schooling above 5th grade. According to the International Literacy Group, illiteracy is the complete inability to read or write in any language, the lack of schooling, the lack of knowledge, and the lack of culture.
As the world has tried to decide exactly what literacy is, a system of levels of literacy has become a standard. Level one literacy is the ability to sign one's name; to identify the name of one country, but not more; and to locate the expiration date on a driver's license. These same people cannot locate an intersection on a map or enter background information on a social security application. Level two literacy is considered the ability to use key vocabulary and action words; to comprehend simple questions and instructions; and to alphabetize a list of words. Level three literacy is the capacity to comprehend some complex sentences, read graphic information of a limited complexity, and to use punctuation to express understanding. Level four literacy is the aptitude to understand vocabulary specific to topic, to recognize meaningful divisions in text, and to spell most words correctly. Lastly, Level five literacy is the ability to use a large vocabulary, to understand!
structurally complex sentences, and to speak effectively with correct pronunciation.
Internationally, the social disadvantages of illiteracy are a principal problem. In industrialized countries, illiteracy exists mainly in ethnic or minority groups and can cause higher incarceration in prisons and social disintegration. In developing countries, illiteracy is predominantly gender related because of women's secondary status in third world countries. It can cause higher fertility rates, higher infant mortality, and lower nutrition.
Globally, the economic disadvantages are slowly devastating many countries. Illiteracy can cause welfare dependency; 44% of illiterates live in poverty. In the United States, seven out of ten prisoners tested in the lowest two levels. An average person in level 1 made about 140 dollars a week, working 19 weeks a year; while an average level 5 person made about 681 dollars, working 44 weeks a year.
In our local area, the illiteracy rates are astounding. In Blue Springs, 27% of the people were in the lowest two levels. In Lee's Summit, 28% were in the lowest two levels. In the Kansas City area, 48% tested in the last two levels. In Missouri, 46% of all residents were in the lowest two levels.
In conclusion, illiteracy is a global problem, which is rapidly becoming a major threat to progress in developing and industrial countries. Many different factors contribute to illiteracy today; almost every country around the world defines literacy in a different way; it strongly affects the social factors, as well as the economical factors depended upon for growth in many countries; and the local statistical information is phenomenal. Illiteracy could easily be the ruin of well-developed countries such as Canada, China and even our own United States. I urge you to ask these questions of your government and of yourself: How does my national statistical bureau define illiteracy? What limitations do I see in the way literacy is defined or measured? What can I do to change the fact that a quarter of the world's entire population is illiterate?
|
Rachel
9th grader
Kansas City, MO, USA |
| About the Author of "Illiteracy". I am fourteen, and going into high school this fall. I live with both of my parents, and my little brother. I have one dog. This piece was inspired by a field trip to an inner city shelter, where I met many people who could not speak correctly, and who had not had a proper education. |
Remembrance Is Wonderful
It has been said that an elephant never forgets; nor do I.
It is a curse, a flaw, purely and simply. Only a fool believes that a complete and everlasting memory is a positive trait. It is human to forget, therefore it would be inhuman to remember. Wise words from a man who is anything but.
Yes, I was relieved of my own foolishness the difficult way, as I found firsthand just what total "remembrance" really is. I remember so clearly, so perfectly, the day that I subjected myself to this torturous experience. I may as well run the story over again in my mind again.. for the 1359th time. I just wish there was someone that I could tell.
I briskly walked through the parking lot that morning, April 26, 2006. The sunlight refracted off of the glass doors, the glare going straight to my heart. I felt a twinge there, and I hesitated momentarily. But I gathered my thoughts and courage: jobs were scarce, and therefore, so was money. Being a guinea pig seemed like an easy solution to a financial crisis. Putting ignorance over morals, I pushed my way through to my destiny.
The price of lab rats had apparently risen over the years, as humans were wanted to test a brand new drug. Ignorance now overruled judgment now as well, as I decided to sign a contract without even knowing what the drug is, or what it does. Too late now. The money would have kept me financially comfortable for quite some time. However, sitting naked in a doctor's office for three hours made me wonder just how comfortable I would actually be.
The door to the dark room opened abruptly, and I shielded my widened pupils from the light. Dr. Janero introduced himself in a monotone voice, and expertly cut me off whenever I inquired about this drug and its nature. In the meantime, he prepared a needle and syringe, which he promptly stuck in my arm. And just as abruptly as he came, he had left, with his final words of advice trailing him out the door: "Go home and relax, and come back when the drug kicks in. You'll know when it happens - It should occur within two days."
I had to ask. "About my payment.." I began.
He cut me off. "We'll talk about that later."
I let the matter drop, and solemnly nodded as he left the room. I pondered the mood of the large, dark haired man as I replaced my clothes, and after a brief exchange with the receptionist I learned that the was in charge of the team working on this drug. Since she had no information on my money, I retreated to my small downtown apartment.
It was 6:28, 5 hours and 14 minutes after my appointment, when the drug's effects began. A baloney sandwich and a pickle was the gourmet dinner I was preparing, when I remembered something: the remote controller for my TV, missing for a week, was in the top drawer of my dresser - just where I had left it. Upon this discovery, I decided then that I would return to the doctor's office the following morning.
Throughout the night I continued remembering the location of lost items - the can opener, the paper plates, the cat - and each was recovered relatively easily. I was in quite a good mood when I laid down to sleep, and rightly so - I had found $50 in my pillowcase.
However, the attack began in my dreams. Weariness overtook me at 11:53, and I peacefully drifted into slumber. The moment I entered sub consciousness, the drug's true nature was discovered, as I was bombarded by unfavorable images, each depicting a moment of stupidity from my life: I hurt my friends, cheated on tests, and punched a dog. I lost. I lied. I hated. I loved. Perhaps the worst part as that every detail, every mistake, every stupid, ignorant moment was kept fresh in my mind as I re-entered consciousness. I was overwhelmed with incredible guilt, depressed to the point where I felt ashamed even to move. For hours I had lain in bed, but I eventually dragged myself out for my appointment. I was chilled as the covers fell away from my body. My shirt was soaked with tears, and it clung to my body as I stripped it off. My hour long shower wasn't nearly enough to wash the guilt away. It was horrible. Purely horrible.
I would have drown myself right there, not only in the water but in my own guilt, had I not been interrupted by a vision. I shook with fear, no pure terror as my mind involuntarily entered a dreamlike state. With the previous night's terrors still fresh in my mind, I expected the worst. I fell to a sitting position on the floor, my body against the shower wall, shuddering as the cool water pounded on my head.
My mother's easily recognizable laughter startled me, and I slowly turned around to face that face which I remembered so well, yet almost had forgotten. Her wonderful smile was a much greater soap than that in my shower; my guilt was immediately washed away and was replaced with love, hope and determination. I embraced the woman, and the vision faded away, leaving me renewed contentment and confidence. I was determined to find honest work once I was finished with this wretched drug.
I strode into the doctor's office with only slight hesitation, and was ushered into a small, dark room where I was to wait. No clock was to be found along any of the black walls of the room, though I estimate I waited close to an hour. The delay gave me a chance to study my surroundings, which I embraced; however, there was little to be found. A black vinyl chair, a counter with a sink, and the padded table on which I was sitting were the only decorations found in this room. At one point I got up to use the bathroom, but I found the door locked. I felt like a lab rat stuck in the confines of its cage - there was no chance of escape.
Someone did enter the room eventually, looking almost angelic to my unadjusted eyes as the light surrounded him and smudged the outline of his black frame. The door swung shut moments later and I removed my hand from my eyes. The man's figure was rather short and thin, and he was dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt. As he got closer, and his face came into view, I noticed a long, bent nose jutting out from his otherwise unusually flat face. Certainly no angel. He stared at me for several minutes, studying me. I began to speak, but he cut me short.
The man's gruff voice did not match is stature. However, his message was clear: "Do not speak out of turn. You will speak only when asked. Any outbursts will result in a cut of your pay. Understand?"
I wisely held my tongue at the mention of money: baloney sandwiches are good for only so long. He continued to study me with piercing eyes, cold and frightening.
"The drug didn't work."
What? He never asked me a single question, and now he decides it didn't work? Idiocy runs rampant in this world, an I knew that, but I would never expect to find it from one of the greatest scientists in the world. Before I could protest, the man was gone.
Dr. Janero met me outside the room, and pointed out Section IV, Statement 234 of my contract: "Neither Dr. Janero, his team, or Drugex, the company behind the research, can be held accountable for any damages done by the drug." He then handed me an envelope containing $200,000 - enough to promote my station on the food chain to tuna fish. Yet I was not satisfied - I needed answers, and I believe he saw the look of concern that resided upon my face, because he hesitated before continuing.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it, as it appears the drug had no effect on you at all."
That wasn't good enough. I needed to know the motive behind this thing. "If the drug had any effect, what would it have done?" I asked, gaining confidence with every word.
He paused, gathering his thoughts. "You would be in a much worse state." he finally replied. "Let's just leave it at that." From his facial expression, I could tell he was unwilling to elaborate further, therefore I let the matter rest.
Believing that these trained professionals were right in their analysis was an easy task for my weak-willed mind. After sufficiently tricking my mind into believing the effects of the drug were all in my head, I made my way toward the door of the office, in an effort to put this experience in the past and start anew.
But then I remembered.
My life flashed before me. It was as if the drug was searching for something, a moment that I hid away in the deepest recesses of my mind.
The drug found it.
Then there was a flash, and nothing could be seen but white. Soon a blurred picture emerged from the blankness, and the drug sharpened it for my viewing. I shuddered fiercely, in awful anticipation of what was to come.
Years of therapy had locked away the immensely painful image before me, but it took only a few moments to reopen the vault of tears and pain that I had so carefully locked away. I closed my eyelids, forcing tears to roll down my trembling face, but still the image persisted. Then, it began to play - and the horror truly began. This is what I saw:
I walked away from the open casket, my face buried a pool of tears in my cupped hands. Her face - my mother's face - the image was fresh in my mind at the time - but this was not the image that tormented me so at the present; no, that was just the beginning.
Again, there was a flash, and the image faded to blankness. A blurred picture of myself came into focus, standing over a table, flask in hand. I remembered then, the most horrible moment of my life.
Suddenly I had embodied myself in the image, and I relived that horrid moment in fullest detail. Three items were lying on the oak table before me, and I ran my eyes and fingers across each of them. The first item - a brownish, skinny bottle, complete with white top bearing the ever important "Keep out of reach of children" message. Sleeping pills - a quick escape from my pain.
Or a quicker escape. A tall bottle of rat poison was item number 2. Straight from the pirate's flag, a skull and a pair of crossbones resided on the bottle's label. However, if I happened to drink this concoction, I wouldn't be calling the poison control center as the warning label instructs.
Or the third item, and the quickest and easies escape yet. A classic - the loaded gun. It's cool steel was a sharp contrast to my sweaty palms, and it felt strangely good against my skin. It made a "clang" as I laid the weapon back down on the table, and I contemplated the best method of my demise - of course, it was merely stalling. But I had made up my mind. I was to die by the end of this day.
I took a bottle of whiskey out of a cabinet, and downed it all in about 15 minutes. With a splitting headache, I sat down. Dizziness, followed by blackness, overcame me - and I felt myself slip away into the darkness.
The rest was a flash - six months in a hospital and years of therapy. I supposed that was what drained my savings so considerably in the first place; had I not nearly killed myself so many years ago, I would not feel the urge to do so now. Another flash of white, and I was back. Back to reality, but not away from the pain. Janero helped me up in the doorway, and pushed me out that glass door as he denied my insane stammering.
I was flabbergasted. I didn't understand, and I started to get angry - why didn't they care about me? I asked myself. Then my anger turned belly side up, and was replaced by depression. I rephrased my question : why should they care? It was then that I took a look at my life. My parents are dead. I have no siblings. I'm jobless, very poor, and to top it all off, haunted by a drug that makes me remember the most horrific memories of my past. There was, as I saw it, no reason to live - and only one escape.
My depression followed me doggedly as I drove. The faster I went, the sharper the turns - no matter - my depression was always one step ahead of me. But I would lost it for sure, I thought. Breathing hard, I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, and swung the steering wheel, around, swerving myself and the car off a bridge and into the swift river. My underwater view of the river was the last thing I saw, before my physical life ended.
Yet this story does not end with my physical death. Though I know nothing of my physical body and its whereabouts, my mind is somehow kept alive by this wretched drug. And wherever I may be, at the bottom of a river or six feet underground in a coffin, it doesn't matter - because I am forced to remember, to understand and to relive this awful story...
...for eternity.
The drug has won, and I am its slave. This I shall remember, forever.
|
Adam
9th grade
Binghampton, NY |
About the author of "Remembrance Is Wonderful"
I'm a wanna-be author for the moment, fighting obsessions with video games, computers and caffeine. I play hockey as well, and watch a real lot of Comedy Central. Look for more stories from me in the future. |
I am not one
I am not one,
to be misjudged,
or underestimated.
I am not one,
to be made fun of,
or humiliated.
I am not one,
to be slandered,
or called names
I am not one,
to be messed with,
or play games.
I am not one,
to plead,
or beg on my knees,
I am not one,
to laugh at,
or tease.
I am not one,
to hate,
or be hurt.
I am not one,
to be toyed with,
or be treated like dirt.
i am not one,
to torment,
or to doubt.
I am not one,
to be mislead,
or left out.
I am not one,
to shrug off,
or be pushed around.
I am not one,
to be disregarded,
or dragged on the ground.
I am not one,
to be mistreated,
or abused.
I am not one,
to be lied to,
or used.
I am not one,
to argue with,
or put to shame.
I am not one,
because we are,
all the same.
|
Jennifer
graduate
Springville, Ny 14141 |
| My name is Jenn and I am 19 years old I live in New York and writing has been an inspiration to me all my life. Writing has given me away to express myself freely. All my writing is based on real life situations. |
Entropy Carapace Coincedence (Illuminati).
Eight balding men standing in line with themselves
their backs against coarse demolition sky
poking the numerous dry spots between their legs
and sighing in trickling hoarse voices
their fingers tattooed with the words TWENTY THREE SKIDOO
illuminati for 'we are probably better than you
with our twenty-three numbers'
and everyday when they lick eachothers secret society triggers
they shudder and move closer to one another
without shaking an atrophied muscle and
without grinding a crumbling stone foot or dripping hard hips into the cracked dirt and
without shaking dangling hands with any other hot wet palms and
without crowding around a freight train electrical socket but
with their eight copper cervixes in hand and
without being glued to the sparkling inner walls of a huge metal uterus.
|
Rob
11th grade
Saginaw, MI |
I am Rob and I am probably much bigger than Jesus.
I have two books published. Look for me on Amazon.com.
Search for 'Plant Air.' |
AGE
When drops of life pour from the sky in an everlasting maze of conviction
and the only direction to turn is away from everything yet undeciphered
look not through those eyes lacking age, so downtrodden with grace
but stand face to face with and indulge in the bitter aftertaste of all blind conclusions -
hesitation is mine for its own sake -
to be taken at will -
leaving no stain on the bare back of altruism
So open mind with dagger and torch - burn through what deceptive fruits adolescence may offer
never to regain the beauty of scars nor such perfections as those familiar qualms of insignificance
fear not remembrance, for all youth is sin, and in eyes almost weary - truth finds itself in need
your life not mine is reminiscing in thunderous gale, clinging to the last comfort of age -
I dare not deprive you of yours, leave mine to me -
my hindrance - my pride
my innocence - sin
Sin itself jades not my earth - it remains forever sacred -
tending humanity with its open wound -
nourishing aged men with maternal milk -
hardening that which has grown dense beneath our scarred feet -and never looking back at the layers of impenetrable being amassed on the foreign side of the iris of our minds
|
Vladimir
12th grade
New York |
| I find that many of my best writings come from some of the worst experiences of my life; this piece of writing however, came to me at a time when i was neither upset nor excited and therefore is one that i hold very dear. Take it for whatever it means to you, I don't believe that it's my place to instill meaning. |
NO LONGER
Cobwebs in the corner of her soul
She let her heart go cold
Emotions supposed to run free
She locked them up so no one would see
Her thoughts no longer her own
Influenced by others doing what she's been told
Not being herself wanting to look old
Being what others want her to be
Through her own eyes she can no longer see
No longer she thinks no longer she sees no longer is she whom she wants to be.
|
Sandra
8th grade
Ireland |
| i personaly love all writing and poetry i have written 18 poems but some people dont understand them because they dont know what i was thinking,feeling,seeing and hearing at the time i wrote the poems most of them are dark and they show how i feel about life and people in general ! |
Transcendence
Amidst the daily storms and trials, encountered by one so deeply troubled;
There are many storms that brew, storms of vast intensity.
Hurricanes of hurt, Typhoons of tears, Monsoons of emotion, Cyclones of confusion, storms that we all come across or storms that come across all of us. Is there an end, is there an answer to all of these storms of life.
An answer there is, one so true and clear; One that draws strength from Blue skies of passion, Sunrays of hope, Rainbows of understanding and cloudless skies of open understanding.
Eyes who have been clouded like windows on a cold day, has now been opened and unveiled, so that the end of this life of storms and the answer to the end may enter.
In return, joy, love, hope, faith and happiness has conquered, and one so deeply troubled, has now become deeply content.
|
Jodie
graduate
Western cape, South Africa |
| I am a first year student and I am studying to obtain my BA Degree in English & Cultural Studies. I have a passion for writing poetry and it has always been a lifelong dream of mine to one day publish my own book. I enjoy reading and I believe that the more one reads and inquires the more you learn obtain valuable knowledge. |
"Platforms"
The platform was low
And I was flying.
So close to the ground,
No hold on anything.
Waiting, Watching, Feeling,
What was it I was thinking?
How long have I been falling,
Dreaming I was flying?
Wispers, Wispers
The kitchen's singing.
And metal's cold between my fingers.
Does he understand
The truth he's saying?
Many miles I've been crawling,
Drifting to his sight.
What feels wrong tonight?
Scratches, Scratches,
So calmly watching.
Mommy, why do you hate me?
Will your cruel words erase me?
What problems have arisen,
In time I was asleep?
Not chained up inside the prison,
But lost in my escape.
My I feel unreal tonight,
Not thinking I will ever heal.
The street so close beside me.
With darkness I am singing.
In darkness I am crying.
Kneeling for the light,
Fissures, Fissures,
In the windows.
How long have you been lying?
Knowing I was dying,
Did I see you reaching into air?
Mother, Moher, will you ever care?
And will the wheels stop spinning,
If I fall asleep?
|
Catie
12th grade
Ma |
| I thought this up one night when I was sitting in the backseat of a friends friends car, and looking up through the window as the car moved fast through the streets, reminding me of me. |
Broken Promises, Shattered Dreams
There were promises made
Promises for the future
But then those promises were broken
There were dreams made based on those promises,
Those dreams were shattered
You promised to be at my side always
You promised you'd never make me cry
But when the distance got too far
And you panicked and worried
You turned my life upside down
Now those promises are forever broken
The trust can never again be regained
The love will always remain
But those promises can never be unbroken
The past can never be changed
And the future always infected
You claim to still love me
Yet you can't prove it
When pressured to choose you falter
When you falter you push me further
You break more promises
You shatter more dreams,
More plans we'd made for the future
I ask you this now,
Can you tell the truth?
Please for once, be honest with me
Tell me now
How will the future go?
Will you continue on this path?
How many more promises will you break?
How many more dreams will you shatter?
|
Meg
12th grader
Baltimore, MD, USA |
WHY
When will this fighting stop
because the crying and screaming are not
and they won't until this vicious war is through
Because of the star on my shirt
the people treat me like dirt
their leader is scum
obnoxious and dumb
thousands have died
yet his killers still come
So here i sit
just my father and I
in this attic we still hide
until the day we to have to die
father can you tell me why?
|
Katie
11th grade
Port Huron, MI |
Hey my name is Katie and I'm 15 years old. I love writing poetry and it's a graet way to get out the stress.
|
Speak
There are so many unspoken words I want to yell
So many untold stories I want to tell
I go back in my mind and think of what good it might have done
I go back.....
I yell
I tell
I scream the angry words I held for so long
If only I could go back
I would
But I can't
It's too late I've passed my turn
If I only knew how
I ask myself "What would it change now"?
I'll never know,
My words are long since gone
I should have spoke
If I only knew how
Move on, to the next, Forget me now
Would anyone here me now?
Does anyone care anyhow?
I want to tell
I want to yell
I want to share my feelings
I had my chance but not now
No one can hear me
No one wants to hear
If only I had spoken
Would things be as they are now?
|
Candyce
10th grade
Englewood, Tn |
| I'm 15 years old and I am a sophomore in high school. |
"No Longer"
Off in the distance
I see people crying
Watching so motionless
I can see myself dying
A bloody pool
Surrounds my body so cold
I no longer have
My true love to hold
I remember
A bright light
As I was thrown from the car
I no longer had clear sight
my head was Pounding
Tears were falling
I just kept screaming
Your name I was calling
An ambulance pulled up
I could hear people talking
All huddled in a circle
They just kept on walking
Around my broken body
So brittle and cold
I no longer have
My true love to hold
As I lay so still
I wanted to die
Less they told me of you
More I cried
You promised to love me
Till death do us part
But that all changed
You've taken my heart
They take my body
But leave my soul
Some things you Cherish
You have to let go
|
Ashley
10th grade
Allen, Mi |
| Im 15 years old and I love writing poetry. |
Summer Sunset
I walked along the beach,
kicking at the sand,
with my loving father holding my hand.
He reached down,
picked up a shell,
and tossed it into the sea,
then he turned around slowly and sweetly smiled at me.
As I walk along the beach today,
holding my son's hand,
I remember that special day,
that memorable walk in the sand.
As the sun begins to fade,
just as it did long ago,
I remember my father's last words:
"Dear son, I, love you so."
|
Loel
8th grade
Blakely, GA, USA |
| About the author of "Summer Sunset." Hey ya'll!! I am Joel, a 13 year old from ECMS. I enjoy romantic evenings, long walks on the sand....NO, just kidding!! I love to read and write stories. I LOVE to talk. I could talk all day. I was inspired to write this poem after my cousin's dad died. I wrote it for her. |
A life Without You
His kind, soft, ebony eyes sparkling with sweet salty tears, a slight compassionate smile playing at the corner of his perfect lips, so common an expression upon his face in times past, was the last thing I'd seen of him. How I had longed to tenderly wipe those sorrowful tears away and end all the pain I'd seen behind his eyes, yet something had held me back. I had memorized what he had looked like, each light blue strand of hair flowing just over the tips of his perfect ears, his clear smooth skin, the curve of each bone in his face, nothing went unnoticed. Aberu, my sweet loving Aberu, I missed him so much now. But he is gone, where? Hopefully to heaven to take his place among the angels where he so rightfully belongs.
Lying, my knees drawn up into a ball, on the frigid stone cold floor, I cried out inwardly with despair. It had not been but an hour past since the guard told me of my Aberu's ill-fated demise. Nothing mattered anymore, without him what was there left for me to live for? That man, that flawless irreplaceable man had been what I had dedicated my entire life to, and he was now gone, snatched up by the cruel gods above.
There was a click and the earsplitting sound of grating hinges of the cell door; this I hardly heard, nor cared to have heard as I stared at the ground hating every crack and every pebble knowing my beloved had touched them recently.
"Tarisei?" A man's placid voice beckoned with a silent hesitant pleading.
The voice was familiar, and yet I couldn't conjure up a face nor a name to accompany it in my mind; at the moment I truly cared very little for whom the intruder of my misery was. All I could do was bury my tear stained face deeper into my arms and wish that that he'd leave me to wallow in unhappiness and pain. He did not; instead he spoke my name again in a nearly inaudible whisper carefully placed as not to shatter the silence that was so easily ruined.
"Tarisei, please." the man continually pleaded.
I ignored him as I felt him kneel down and slip his arms comfortingly around me. "Leave me be damn you!" I snapped, shrugging away from his embrace.
"I must get you away from this place. You're going to make yourself sick if you stay here." In response to my callused remarks he gave me nothing but utter understanding and friendly love, though these were not enough to sway me.
I have to admit though, I felt somewhat better, though not much, knowing he cared about me. A certain warm feeling was barely present within me. I pushed it all aside and replied coldly, "I would rather die here than go on. Leave me to die." I began yet again to sob uncontrollably. If Aberu saw me now he'd be so ashamed, but what did it matter now? He was dead and never to return.
Throwing off his hand as I forced myself to sit up, I inhaled sharply and glared up into the man's hazy green eyes; I realized suddenly that I was thrusting my grief and distress upon my dearest friend, Nasai. Drawing another deep breath I covered my mouth in disgrace looking away as to avoid any further eye contact. "I didn't realize." I started, stuttering as I proceeded to shed tears. "I didn't realize it was you." I gasped. I fought desperately against a fresh wave of grief that swam over me making me weaker,
"It's all right Tarisei. Come, I must get you away. I managed to bribe a small lot of guards but we haven't much time." He informed me with sudden urgency. As unwilling as I was, I allowed him to take my hand and lead me from the prison.
I hadn't wanted to leave. I wanted to die right were Aberu had died. My body ached with longing, so bad that once we escaped from the small structure that served for bondage of prisoners I collapsed with exhaustion and fatigue onto the grassy hill. Nasai stopped as well, and fell down next to me. Doing what all he could do for me, he held me close to him and stroked my head. "Cry all you want, I know you need to. Your loss is something greater than I could ever imagine."
I didn't want to cry. No I wouldn't. I had cried enough and I would not have him see me this way. My dearest friend was all I had now. No one was left for me. My family was long gone as well as some of my closest friends, all dead. They had died in the late war recently ended. Pushing away I stared off into the horizon, the breeze causing my hair to stray away and blur my vision.
"Why do you shun my affection Tari!?" Nasai inquired forcibly.
"Why do you offer it? I have no one now. I want to be left alone to die! Don't you get it? Aberu is dead and I am alone!" With no self-control I lashed out at him, weeping.
Seeing my anger and inner anguish he shushed me and held me close, not letting me wriggle free as I so wished. "Listen to me. You are not alone. I am here. I will always be here. I know it hurts. It's going to, but you must accept that he is dead and move on."
"But I don't want to move on." My heart hurt more than anything else did. I wouldn't believe he was gone. I just wouldn't.
"Do you think he wants you to give up?" he smiled warmly and inquisitively down at me.
"No." A short curt answer drifted in the wind. I most certainly had not answered because I feared its answer. Neither had Nasai replied to his own question. Someone else was there. Nasai was unexpectedly tense as he drew away from me.
"Tarisei." I heard yet another male voice tenderly speak my name.
This voice I knew well and would never forget. Turning my eyes sharply in the direction of the speaker I caught my breath. "Aberu?" I breathed.
"Yes, it is me Tarisei." Holding his hand out to me, I dared not touch it. This was a dream. He was alive! An indescribable joy raced over me giving me newfound hope and strength.
I rose to my feet, weakly at first and approached him slowly. Apparently I was too slow for him, so he came toward me and wrapped his arms around me just as he used to do. To my surprise he was real. The touch of his cheek on mine, his breath tepid upon my neck as he spoke my name, the softness of his hair as I ran my fingers eagerly through it, and the solid feel of his back and body up against mine all proved this fact to me. It was a dream come true.
"I thought you were dead." I gently murmured with relief.
"I am dead Tari." He told me, the tone of his voice filled with unending suffering.
Pulling away I shook my head in disbelief. He couldn't truly be dead! There he was standing, flesh and bone in front of me. "No, no, no, I mean you're right here!" My voice quivered as I denied what he so obviously meant to be true.
"Tarisei. I can stay for only another 24 hours. Please, let me explain." Aberu pushed his hair behind his ear, looking up at Nasai, who stood just as unbelieving as I was to his left.
Understanding the words Aberu could not bring himself to say, the other man nodded in honorable approval and walked away. "Don't go!" I cried inside, and yet the words would not come. There was a terrible knot in my throat in which I could not get rid of in time as to stop him.
"Tarisei, I'm so sorry!" Aberu exclaimed passionately.
Startled, I gazed into his deep boundless ebony eyes. "Whatever for Aberu?"
"That I must leave and that I didn't tell you earlier what I was doing. I'm sorry I didn't say good bye. But at least I get to hold you one more time." His voice trailed off and his words carried away in the silent breeze.
I was so confused. What did he mean by this? Staring at him, my confusion obvious, tears welled up in the corner of his eyes. "Don't cry! Oh sweetheart." Pulling him close I nestled my face into his neck.
"I did it for you. I. You had no idea what they were going to do to you. I had to." He continued, putting his arms around my waist, running his fingers through my hair that flowed in a tangled mess down my back.
"What do you mean? Tell me."
"They were going to do terrible things to you. One of us had to die. I wanted it to be me in return for your safety. Tarisei they were going to rape then kill you. That is usually what those horrible people do to prisoners of war!" Tears now poured freely from Aberu's eyes.
Fear consumed me as well as hate. How dare they! How dare they do such a thing? Now my fiancé was to die because of their sick perverted minds. One question came to my mind through all these feelings. Why was he still here? "What are you doing here then?"
"The gods in heaven said because of my good deed that they would allow me twenty four hours to say good bye." As he finished he kissed my neck affectionately. The touch of his lips on my cold flushed skin sent shivers down my spine.
I loved it so when he touched me like that. When he did, it was as though I could feel all the love he ever felt toward me in that single touch. Now overcome with grief, I couldn't bare the thought of loosing him. Not again, I don't think my heart could handle it. We drew away from each other gazing into each other's souls with longing. Out of the corner of my eye I watched his hand rise to play with a piece of my hair.
"It's just as soft as I remember it." Aberu mentioned in barely a whisper.
I blushed. I couldn't help it. Every time he gave me a compliment I couldn't help but blush and find myself unworthy of such praise. Deep within, I prayed that he hadn't noticed. Wrong again, he had. Laughing quietly his eyes glowed joyously as he inspected me.
"Everything is the same. I remember it perfectly. But I wonder." Stopping, his fingers delicately traced my lips.
Yet again I could not help but to blush and shy away. I had always been that way, and never understood why. So many times he had done this and yet it seemed different this time. Despite the tragic situation I felt joy return to my body. All the tears I had cried were gone and dried away. "What do you wonder?" I smiled inquisitively, placing my hand on top of his.
Closer and closer he came to me, and he still hadn't answered my question. I didn't impress it upon him though, not wanting to ruin the moment. Finally our lips met. It was as though it was our first kiss all over again. I had forgotten simply how sweet he tasted. Never before had I tasted anything so sweet. Why he was this way may have been simply because I loved him in such a way as to make him this way.
Breaking away he beamed, "Yup, just as I thought. Better than before."
The rest of our time together was spent this way. I dreaded the time when he had to go. Finally we fell asleep in each other's arms. I had been so tired but I tried ever so desperately to hang on. I wanted to be able to cherish ever last moment, touch, embrace, and words. When I awoke, he was gone. Though as much as it pained me, I knew I would never see him again. Next to me there was a note, my name etched in his unmistakable handwriting. Trembling, I took it into my hands and opened it. It read:
My dearest sweetest Tarisei,
I regret that I had to leave you. I hope that you will one day be able to forgive me for leaving you like this. This is my final good bye written in my own hand as to give you a little something to remember me by. As usual I have no idea what to say. Our relationship has always seemed this way huh? I apologize for that. There were so many things that I wanted to say but never did. There again I owe you an apology for that. I hope you can forgive me for leaving you. All the things we had wanted to accomplish were left undone. I pray you will be safe. It will of course be me looking out for you, your guardian angel if you will. Also, give me my dying wish and move on with your life. Find love in another and love them as I loved you, with all your heart. I think that it will not be long until you find someone who feels as strongly for you as I did.
I love you. Ai shiteru.
Love Always,
Aberu.
I would hold that letter dear for the rest of my long life. I will never forget him. And I did find love again, just as he said I would. It came most unexpectedly in a dear dear friend. It was not until a year after Aberu's death that I realized it, but I loved Nasai. He reciprocated my feelings and we were married. This was done partially in honor of Aberu, his dying wish.
At our wedding I could have sworn I saw his face in the crowd smiling that infamous smile. I will never forget him. He was my first love and true love. I live my life for him now. forever together.
|
Lyu
10th grade
acworth, GA, USA |
About the author of A life Without You
I am 15 soon to be 16! I am obvious, if you read my story a hopeless romantic. I am sophmore in highschool...or will be in two weeks when school starts! ^_^ I love writing, i also draw and sing and play volleyball! i am a very happy perky person with a bubbly personality according to those i hang around with! |
Goodbye
If you go I won't stay
You and I must go our separate ways
It may not seem logical to you
But you're all I have
It will be hard
I'm used to loving you
But I can get over it
I can't see you every now and then
I'm not just a part time job or just a
Weekend girlfriend
Everytime I think of you leaving
I cry
You're slowly breaking my heart
By saying goodbye
I can't stop the pain
I just want you here
And for things to stay the same
You say if I love you enough
I would try
Yeah, I could do that but every night I would cry
You're not just leaving
Your kisses are too
Not to mention all the other reasons why
I love you
It's your dream so go get it
I had just always thought that I'd be part of it
|
Meagan
Massena Ny |
| This is Meagan who is the also the author of Mr. Cool i am growing up and you can definately tell. This is about my friend who is leaving to go to college pretty far away |
Disarray
- My Confusion -
July 30, 2001
I can feel all I want to feel
And say nothing
And be all right
I can smile til my cheeks hurt
And cry inside
And be all right
I can laugh until the world goes deaf
And hurt so deep within
And be all right
I guess I should start by telling the whole truth
And nothing but the truth
To those who deserve to hear it:
That I don't like starting up something
That will end before it can actually blossom in to something real
That I don't like being treated like I don't matter
Just because they get to leave me in 3 weeks
That even though I say that it can end
It doesn't mean that right now I don't want to care
I just feel like I'm someone's persian carpet
Nice to look at
To feel
To admire it's slim and chic physique
But of course
I am just a stupid rug
So dirty feet do tread across my back
And make marks that burn inside my fragile threads
And turn those insecure thoughts over and over again in my head
And cause me to doubt the kind of person I really am
I spent a month planning this elaborate relationship
Only to screw it up days after it began
Thought I cared about the person that I've now hurt
Only to get involved with someone who doesn't even give a damn
Only to MEET a person who seems to maybe care a little...
But never show it
And whom I don't know that well
Leaving me to feel the same way I did when I got home:
Confused
I want to see a reflection in someone's eyes
Like I did that one time
I want to look at a guy and not be afraid
If he will hurt me
I want to see into someone's heart
And hear them say
That they're not in love
But in like
And that spot is the only place they need to be
Taking care of me
And I want to WANT to be there
With them
Laying in their arms and stroking their hair
And feeling like
"Hey...
Maybe I can care?
And not run away...
Into another pair of arms,
To feel loved?"
|
Caitlin
12th grade
Seattle, Washington |
Senior Year
It is bound to happen. You will enter the classroom and sit down. The teacher will call all your names and you will raise your hand when she calls yours. She will smile in your direction and you will have no choice but to smile back. Then, you will hear her say, "Welcome to First Grade all you little ones." She will be a nice lady that will take you all the way through first grade. On most days, you will come in, just like the first day, and sit down in the same seat. The teacher will, as always, call your name and smile. You'll smile back.
Over the first few weeks you will be taught your left and right. Your multiplication tables and your alphabet. You won't memorize either one until much later in third grade when you have to write your times table over and over again when you misbehave in class. You will learn your alphabet just so that you can stop singing that horrible alphabet song. Left and right will be the same to you until many many years later when you join the ROTC and get tired of running into people during turns.
On rainy days, you will look out the window during class and think about the trees. In second grade, girl-coodies will frighten you.
You will have your first teacher who will inspire you in fourth grade. She will be a short, chubby, Jewish woman who will, you will later see, hide her corpulence with baggy clothing. You will stay a few minutes after class every day and call it extracurricular activity. She will praise you for it and you will make it a way of life. You will move the day of your fifth grade graduation and promise never to be inspired again.
Pretty soon, you will be in six grade. Algebra and Geography will fill your time and your mind. You will love Algebra and hate Geography. Iraq will be the same thing as Iran or Turkey until many years into your teens. Poland will be the capital of Germany and, on most days, you will be sure, for some unknown reason, that Russia invaded Spain in 1436. You will start to look at your life. You'll look at your authority figures and start to scold them. You will find inconsistencies in them. You will call them stupid and arrogant. You will lie to them and excuse those lies. And then, you will tire of scolding them and scold yourself.
The routine will bore you. Coming into class every day will start to be a nuisance, and you will think of ditching. But you will not be able to. Instead, you will face the monotonous "Good morning, class" that everyone endures. You will see this greeting become colder and sterner.
People will intrigue you. Your sixth grade teacher will be your English teacher and your Art teacher. You will love him for everything that he does and respect his every move. For a few months, he will become the only adult you respect. But then you will realize that to him, you are just another student.
Every morning, you will wake up begging for rain. Rain will make you feel better about yourself. The sun will just remind you of how much you hate everything. A clear sky will cast shadows of doubt on your mind. Maybe Hungary isn't a city in Madagascar. Maybe mathematics doesn't answer everything. You will cry at night at how alone you are in your confusion.
On the bus ride to school, you will watch the raindrops fall onto the window, making your warm breath turn into cool mist on the window frozen in the rain outside. You will ask a non-existing god for more rain condensed into bigger and harder droplets. The classrooms will be portables open to the elements. In class, you will wait impatiently for the teacher to come back and tell you if you have to go to Algebra class across the slippery hallway. It will rain too hard on some days, and you will stay in homeroom, not go to Geography or Algebra class, and do art projects. A week of art projects will pass. You will make a mosaic of a knife. Unlike everyone else, you will use foil! Your father will say that it looks like a fish. You will be defiant and call it a weapon. You will be strong in your position. You will be rude and end up in your room for a week.
Back at school, the teachers will start to think. You will be angry with them too! They will figure that they themselves can go from class to class. So, homeroom will become Math class and Geography class and Science class. And you will realize that knowing where Chile is is just as important as knowing the sum of two and two.
During your culmination ceremony from sixth grade into junior high, they will play the same three-minute song over and over again as everyone gathers into the crowded cafeteria which you helped to clean up the other day after the school dance where everyone but you danced dirty. You will love and learn every note of that song but forget it once the last people come in and the song abruptly stops. Your school counselor, the man you laughed at for telling you to get in touch with your feelings, will tell you that "you have come very far." He will lecture you about being grown up and ready to face "junior high school!" You will know that you are ready to face nothing. Turning away, you will smirk, then laugh, then rub your left eye.
Junior high will change you in subtle ways. You'll still feel and be the same. You will still love math and hate geography. You will still love rain and hate sunny weather. Towards the end of seventh grade, just before you move, you will make a lot of friends. You will move and hate the world. You will shut yourself away and doubt everything external and nothing internal. A fortress.
Junior high school will flash by, and you will not notice how much you have changed. You will grow a small mustache and look at it every morning, proud and strong. But you will hide this pride from the world. Your voice will drop only to rise at the most embarrassing times. You will try to sag to fit in, try to wear cool shoes and stylish clothes. But your parents will not understand your foolish needs. So you will wear the same worn out pants every day. And you will want to be proud. So you will ignore everything and just think about your manly mustache. But you won't ignore every-everything. Inside, you will mock girls who pay more to wear less and guys who chase girls: the popular crowd. But you will envy their attention and the status. You will want to belong to a group but see that there is no group for you, only rain.
On rainy days, you will stand under crowded overhangs and watch the water fly past your nose, just missing it.
During the summer before your freshman year in high school, you will fall in love with someone twice your age. You will follow her around and chat with her online. Soon, you will learn that talking online is deceptive because you can sound twice your age. And you can be as nice or as nasty as you want, and no one will remember that you are just a child. You will believe that you are more than just a child. You will have your heart broken.
Thereafter, you will start to wear black, drink many cups of coffee and intentionally hang out with outcasts. You will never look anyone directly in the eyes; you will remain mysterious to all around. To further the mystery, you will wear long sleeves and tall black boots all year round. You will have dreams where you get hurt or killed and you will enjoy those dreams. You will imagine someone lifting your black clothes and understanding you. Never will you wear shorts or anything with words on it. You will have no female friends, only the ones you imagine in your head. You will write love poetry to your computer, your keyboard, your notepad, telephone poles outside, trees, stars, hotdogs, high speed modems, characters in books.. And you will read imaginary responses. Until someone real writes a real response.
The world will become your enemy. Everything in it will be the force that makes you hate. You will loathe all things and all people. And by the end of sophomore year, they will start to hate you back.
That summer, you will travel. You will see Europe and fall in love with at least seven women, eight of whom will not know your name. Coming back, you will be hunger for attention. Junior year, you will grow slightly chubby and fall in love, for real this time.
You will learn how to mix chemicals, determine acidity, create a buffer solution, draw crystalline structure of the sodium-chloride ion, reproduce the photoelectric effect, understand the laws of relativity, prove the wave nature of matter, analyze character in The Great Gatsby, understand the chronology of World War II, memorize the names of famous authors, learn three hundred useful vocabulary words, properly define a noun, verb and adverb, correctly punctuate dialogue, stand with proper posture, isolate correct speaking techniques, play the stock market, pray, use Power Point, philosophize, debate, ejaculate, meditate, substantiate, litigate, wait, enunciate, derivate, integrate, approximate, speak French, and discover the meaning of life. You will learn all this, forget most of it, and learn it again.
There will be no rain that year, and you will learn to love its absence. You will open to the world. You will embrace knowledge and the one you love. You will understand yourself and see your inconsistencies. You will hate these for a few days but stop later. You will understand a lot and question a lot and, most importantly, learn how much you don't know. You will learn how much to trust the establishment and how much to give or take. You will trade and gather knowledge, tools and assets. You will see who you are and who you might become. Junior summer, you will sell your soul to the devil and then lease it back. You won't look back just to look back; you will look back to learn and laugh. You will fear the future but embrace the fear. You will be you.
Senior year. I don't know what your senior year will be like. Go to school, you idiot; you've got a long road ahead of you.
|
Dmitry
12th grade
CA |
| I am. |
Illusion
So angry now because of my illusion,
Things you thought you loved you now despise.
Filled with anger so powerful you almost fear it,
Trust, contaminated with filth: decipt and lies.
Bitterness overpowers me like a storm in the sky,
In the dead of the night i ask myself why.
Why is disguise ever so cunning and evil,
It can shatter a persons hopes to bits.
As i reflect on the damage its done to me,
I quiver at the thought of it.
Now i'm afraid to open up to anyone,
doesn't matter where or when.
For i fear if i do, ill think that they're true
And find an illusion again.
|
Eki
10th grade
Wolverhampton, England, UK |
Paradise
The world is such a hectic place
Often we need our space
We look for a retreat
Hoping to escape the calls of life
We are looking for our paradise
We envision a perfect world
A world with sandy beaches
And an endless surf
Made just for one person
You
We may never find this place
But does it really matter
Every time the world becomes a hectic place
We look for our space
We look for our retreat
To escape the calls of life
We look for our paradise
We travel to a perfect world
With sandy beaches
And an endless surf
You are at paradise
The paradise that you have created
Your perfect world
Welcome to paradise
|
Jeremy
10th grade
Bethel, AK, United States |
I just like the idea of this poem.
|
|
