I love to write. You can share your emotions without actually speaking.
You can write your dreams and what you want to accomplish.
Take a pencil and a piece of paper and write, write 'till your wrist starts hurting and your arm starts aching.
You are free to say what you want in one piece of paper, write your problems and your experiences.
You can go on and on.
You could share about traveling to France and climbing the Eiffel Tower, eating at a cafe, and visit the most grand museums in the world. Read more »
I start to rise from my seat and walk out of my study hall, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular. Just as I get out the door, I see one of my friends exit the classroom door across from mine. I keep walking for a second, before stopping and waiting for her.
"Hey, sorry I would have waved but I have slow reflexes" I say.
"Hey no problem! So, I didn't know I was right across the halway from you!" Read more »
Me…?? That is a good question. Who am I? Well, if you were to ask me my name I’d say, “Keilani Pellerin.” See it’s funny, from the time we’re born we are told to be proud of our name, our name is us. But now that we are teenagers the question isn’t, “What’s your name?” it’s, “Who are you?” and, “What do you want to do with your life?” Well, how am I supposed to know?
Back then-when we were younger kids, everything was so easy. Why is it all so hard now? When we were kids, making friends was easy, all we had to do was walk up to someone and say "Hi" an ten seconds later they're your best friend. I know that having a best friend takes a lot of work, but everything is so much more complicated now than I though it would ever be before. One of my friends is getting bullied. Another is constantly getting sexually harassed. Another isn't even a friend anymore because of the terrible decisions she's been making. Now what do I do? Read more »
I learned from Mrs. McGuire how to do times, like 12 X 2 =24 or 10 x 2 =20. I love Mrs. McGuire because she gives us keys if we are good. If we get five keys then we get a prize. And she reads good books to us.
I can feel the excitement welling up inside me. I am walking to the one and only Fenway Park. This will be my first game I’ve ever been to. My sister blurts out, “Look there’s the Citgo sign.” It’s June tenth and the Boston Red Sox were playing the Texas Rangers. As we approach the gate my dad pulls out the tickets. I think to myself, “Is this really happening.” We get through the gates and are about to walk out if the tunnel. Read more »
I remember sitting there, talking to her, thinking God she won't get this, I won't get this. Now, looking back it felt dumb, almost ridiculous that I had said those words to her. I remember waiting, the anticipation killing me, just begging for this part. I needed this part, everything in my life had fallen apart, literally days before, and I needed this: I needed the escape. Read more »
I cannot wait for tomorrow.
Anyone else with me?
Anyone else know the feeling
you get, when
you can't wait to see someone,
you can't wait to be somewhere?
I wasn't even five years old on September 11th, 2001. Nearly, but not yet. I don't remember my mother frantically trying to reach my father, who was working in New York City at the time. Most of the adults in my life can place the exact moment when they heard that the towers had been hit. When they fell. Me? I was probably playing with some blocks at my preschool. Read more »
I've been writing too much angst lately. Time to count the blessings.
You know what I love?
I love that I can go to a meeting of complete strangers and leave with them shouting goodbye and waving until I'm out of sight.
I love that I can be called cool by amazing drama geeks--the people I have adored from a distance for years, but never thought I could speak to because, well, I'm not really anything special, simply due to being there and association with my sister. Read more »
I tuck away the havoc
and fear that is outside.
I am in my perfect place now,
where people I have come to love
and let themselves be free.
Where he encourages me,
he walks with me,
and pays me special attention
I don't notice him giving anyone else.
I'm glad to have him there.
Where the teacher makes hilarious comments,
and you never feel embarrassed. Read more »
After knowing them for about a total of one day,
they already make me feel like I'm welcome.
Like I belong.
They sing happy birthday,
and give compliments on my cake.
They start conversations with me out of nowhere,
wanting to know more.
They support and guide eachother (me included),
and just give me a fuzzy, warm feeling inside. Read more »
I wrote this on a plane to Chicago in hopes that I might relax a bit more. That failed, and instead it turned into self deprecation and then rapidly again into a hate speech. From there it entered a mess of masturbation/sexual references, reversed phrases, heroin usage (not by me), and Los Campesinos quotes. the reason I post this is because it is the reason I haven't posted in a long time. All of my writing lately ends up like this piece. Read more »
My bench was empty, sitting there all by its lonesome. So I took myself that morning and went for a visit. It's been nearly a year... Two strangers once sat here and shared a humble conversation with me, both revolving around pigeons. I had told those strangers of a theory I had about new people. How they were my friends, and that I loved them.
I keep looking over my shoulder for monsters. Today, for instance. I was walking down Kenwood Road and I thought someone was following me, so I looked. There was no one there, of course. No one ever is. This is only in my head. I explain this to many people who see me look over my shoulder an unfathomable amount of times, and then they try to explain to me the definition of "crazy" or "weird".
When I was six or seven years old, my mother bought a book called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I recognized the cover from a book in the elementary school library I had seen many of the older kids perusing. I had not read it yet, mainly because it was in the section of the library for older kids in grades 5 and 6, where the shelves were higher than my 4' 3" armspan could reach. Read more »