Oct 05
Jen L.'s picture

Weekly Writing Challenge 4- The Scene

The scene in front of her was almost perfect. Almost. Except there was something missing. Her best friend. She never would have thought that her friend would be missing out on this great reunion. The battle had finally finished, everybody was happy and celebrating. The only people who weren’t were the people who lost their loved ones and friends. She was part of them. Her friend died saving the entire world from total destruction. Yes her parents and siblings were alive and she was happy they were, but the person who stuck with her through elementary and almost all of high school was now dead. Nothing could change that. Though there is a slight possibility he survived. No matter what it was sad. She couldn’t celebrate with the others because she was on the verge of crying.
Sep 30
poem 2 comments challenge: Grades
Kittykatruff's picture

How I Feel About Grades

Grades.
Those letters, percents, and comments
I check constantly, hoping
For the perfect A+'s, 100%'s, and
Words of praise from
All my teachers.
Every assignment, every
Quiz and test
Counts.
What will colleges think?
What will my parents say?
What of the embarrassment
And guilt
If I get a 
Bad grade?
Report cards mostly convey
How students perform on tests,
With some thought of 
Homework, behavior, and
Class participation, of course.
The stress begins to build
As the testing time comes near,
As this one document
Could realize my greatest fear;
As if I forget just one thing
My grade will fall, and then my tears.
Students should learn and truly know
What teachers teach in class,
However I'm not sure that tests
Best represent everyone's abilities;
Some people may do best under stress,
But others do much worse.
Sep 28
Emma.P's picture

Me


      She stood looking back at me. She looked about 5’5”. Her brown hair ending in the middle of her back. Her hair looked like brown frizzy waves going down her back. She smiled at me. Her dimple on her right cheek and the ones that go around her mouth show. She has never liked her dimples. But she puts up with them because there is nothing she can do about it. Her somewhat big nose widens as she shows her silver brackets on her braces. She used to have a gap in between her two front teeth about eight months ago, and her bottom teeth were turned in all different directions. Now her teeth are as straight as can be, and the gaps are filled. Her bony shoulders poke out of her white tank top that she put on when she got out of the shower. Her long arms stop just after her hip bone. She has her Christmas pajama pants on. Man does she loved Christmas. She has long legs and a very short torso. Her skin was very dark in the dim light from her Christmas lights in her room.
Sep 28
Nora.F's picture

There she is

There she goes in the back of the pack. She has blonde hair that falls to just below her shoulders and has a face full of freckles. Her hair is blonde not bleach blonde but blonde with little curls that form around her ears when it gets humid out. Her hair is thick and frizzy. The freckles are all over her face and look like a dot to dot game. She has blue eyes with eyebrows that you can barely see because they are blonde. And her eyelashes are long and thin. Her shoulders are an average size. She walks with a smile and when there isn’t a smile on her face then something is wrong which is rarely.
Sep 28
jessie.p's picture

Aiden



He looks up at the ceiling fan and is now in a trance, his big blue eyes watching the blades turn. His arms and legs flail with happiness, soft legs kick my arms, while his chubby little hand is holding my thumb. His small head resting against me, just the slightest dusting of hair on the back of it. He finally looks at me, and the biggest smile appears on his face. 10 seconds later he is pouty, his eyebrows furrowed, and begins to cry.

He likes to grab onto hair, and be held by anyone that is willing to hold him. He likes a cat named Mittens, and he doesn't seem to be too in love with dogs. He has a big brother that makes him laugh daily, and a father and mother who love him more than words.  He's four months old and drools all the time. He hates going in the car, but he like his car seat. He likes being at my house though, so he can stare at the ceiling fan and start the whole story over again...
 
Sep 28
laurenwwright's picture

Wildflower

She stands 5 feet 8 inches high, on her soft pink feet, in front of the large window, watching the sun rise into the crisp air. Her hair falls just a few inches past her wide, broad shoulders. The sun peaks over the trees, a sliver of lights peers through the window, enhancing a strand of caramel blonde, making it appear almost glowing, reflecting her feeling in this moment of simplicity and peace. She enjoys the little things that make life beautiful, like sunrises and sounds of morning. As the sun becomes completly visable over the trees, a smile spreads wide across her soft face. Dimples set deep into her lower cheeks. Her warm freckled cheeks raise, making her eyes small. Where all you can see is the glow of her blue eyes peaking out the small breach, like the waves of the clearest ocean rolling over the sand. In this moment she stands taller then usual. Filled with simplicity, beauty, and peace. Like she hasn't been touched by the world. Like she doesn't know the word stress.
Sep 25

I've Always Wondered What Makes a Good Poem

It's not the ryhme or the reason,
The beats or the feet,
But the message it sends to all the people it meets
 
Sep 24
poem 4 comments challenge: Portrait

The Only World I Want Is My Own

Me.
14 years old and still lost in time.
Dark brown hair almost always in a high ponytail.
Blue eyes desperately avoiding the gaze of others.
Long, strong legs that belong in an ice rink.
Feet that curl in, even they look shy.

Me. 
High-functioning autism, social anxiety, and a little bit of OCD to top it all off.
My world is numbers
And spinning
And ice
And music
And chaos 
Or order.

Me.
I probably won’t talk unless you talk to me first.
When I do talk, it might not make sense to you.
But it will to me.

Me.
The perfect moment
Is when I understand.
If I don’t,
I’ll quietly go up in flames.

Don’t worry though.
Just pretend I’m not here
And I’ll do the same to the rest of the world.

The only world I want is my own.

 
Sep 24
poem 0 comments challenge: Portrait

A Discreet Description

The face that is in my dreams and
thoughts, squared and set,
eyes seeing things real and yet not,
is the one that I love without
claiming it, my mouth yet to
utter the words I so much long
to say, to watch those beautiful blue
eyes and sly, smirking mouth, move
in surprise and delight as the
three tiny words would slip past my lips
and reach your big, framing ears.
Everything that you are comprised of
is the definition of my love, from the
bouncing, blond curls around your
boyish yet manly features, to the long
stride of your legs, so much farther than
mine, to the strong, callused hands that
steady and create wonders for the
world.  If the Sun could take on an Earthly
form, it would be made into your smile,
as when you feel joy, the whole world lights
up, the whole world that is mine,
just because you are in it.
Sep 20

The Other World

There once was a girl named Alassa
who died protecting her love
this story would be tragic
if not for the magic
that was left for her from above

Soon after her death she realized
the world she knew had disappeared
but she was greeted by faces
and many embraces
from people who just suddenly appeared

She was told that this was the afterlife
a place where time stood still
everyone came here
no matter the year
and did whatever they wanted at will

Alassa realized that her hands were glowing
and asked what that was about
“Once the one you adore
comes here through the door
the glow will lead you to him and fade out”  

So she waited for the love of her life
and spent her time traveling
it was very captivating
and quite fascinating
As this world secrets were unraveling
 
Sep 19
joseph.deffner's picture

After Life

The Afterlife

By Mary.A.Veracka


I believe the Afterlife is bigger than Heaven and Hell. It’s a Beyond. Hell is a myth made up to scare people into being  good. In the Afterlife you restart, you get a second chance to be a different person. You shouldn’t have to be defined by your past life. If there were a Heaven and Hell, who gets to decide that anyway? Who gets to decide whether you’ll suffer in an unbearable Afterlife, or a perfect one. The Afterlife should be good for all. I hope, that when I die, my life isn’t over-that there’s  more to come. Why would we be born to just live and die.
Sep 19
joseph.deffner's picture

The After Life




I look around and see many ghosts-so many lost souls, like me. I died at birth, never getting a glimpse of what people call “mom.” I never got to giggle with my “dad” holding me above his head in pride. I never got to feel the wrinkly skin of a grandmother or grandfather against my face.
I grew up with the cold touch of a ghost, with the howling of lost souls. Never once did I feel the mother’s love for her daughter, just the sorrow of a mother who died and missed her child.
The new souls glide around me-their cold touch foreign, for they are newly dead.

A little  baby is crying, and I feel a ping in my heart. The girl looks so much like me- brown eyes, with soft golden tufts of hair, and a wide pink mouth with little teeth.
Sep 19
joseph.deffner's picture

The After Life

The after life is like a whole other world,-a world that you can do stuff that you wouldn't normally do. You could stay up all night and party and not feel tired in the morning. Or say you were doing something that would normally make you feel sore the next day. But here, that does not happen. That's why I’m here to tell you about it.
Sep 17
Alaina.J_27's picture

I Have Lost My Way


I have lost my way.
I don't know how.
I don't know why.
I can't escape into the safety of light.
I run.
I hide.

I run, and run, and run,
Moving my legs as fast as they'll go.
Heart racing,
Lungs desperate for air,
Muscles burning,
Arms moving,
Eyes searching,
Hair blowing out behind me,
My feet flying across the ground.
Not fast enough.

My heart pumping blood through my veins.
Not fast enough.

My lungs pulling in air.
Not fast enough.

My brain trying to think of a place to hide,
My eye searching as I run,
Not fast enough.

It’s never fast enough.

I’m not fast enough.
 
Sep 17
poem 0 comments challenge: Almost
Emma Colby's picture

Moving Forward

The scene in front of her was perfect.  

Almost.

Early morning fog lingered

above the courtyard,

caressing the soccer field,

and tickling the glass windows

that belonged to the brick building.

A few small sets of feet

scrambled up the ramp to the gym,

and a pair of hands

waved to each other

while the other pair

clutched steaming cups of coffee.

The scene in front of her was perfect.  

Almost.

But the car kept moving forward,

past the little school,

and onto the next.



 
Sep 09

A Thirteenth Clock


My sun is lost, the moon will rise,
The wheels of time have rolled away.
The clock has found its tick again
Yet still the leaves and mountains play.

The tap tap tapping of my foot-
It still won’t cease to sound,
The pendulum, the pendulum
Will never fail, rebound, rebound.

Surrounding shells have multiplied 
But these, they seem to be alive.
Still they don’t hear the melody,
So really how can they survive?

The clock has thirteen numbers now.
The wheels of time must face defeat.
Though leaves and mountains hug the wind,
The sun and moon may never meet.
Sep 04

First Day Of School...At Home

It's a first for me. 
Yet it is not really a first.

I start my first day of eleventh grade...at home.
After spending every school year in the same small school, it is extremely odd for me to not go back there. Homeschooling is a lot different. Yet it feels like I am still in the middle of summer. 

I miss my school. I miss my friends and teachers. I miss all of it. But everything has to change at some point. 

I feel nervous despite being in my own home. My mom set up all of my assignments for this week. She has to work so I am basically teaching myself. I have to be responsible and manage my time wisely. I guess this is good practice for the future but it is still overwhelming. 
Sep 03

Deadlife

I am a molecule in the black abyss. There is an invisible glass wall in the distance.
No matter how much I try to swim to the wall, it never get's closer. No matter how much I try to swim away from the wall, it never get's farther.
There is no moving forward or backwards.

I am alone here, sort of.
Through the wall on my right, there are voices of those I love, muffled. Through the wall on my left, there are voices of my deceased family. 
But I can't see anything. I am completely blinded.

I never thought that death could be like this. Or the afterlife in that matter.
So peaceful and quiet. But weirdly enough,
I'm not sad. 

I was told I would be happy. I could watch over my family. And I could see my grandchildren grow.
But I just see the endless black.
It grows thicker and thicker.

But I am not sad, or mad and happy.
I am nothing, just molecules in the black.
Aug 27
Kittykatruff's picture

A Sweet Betrayal

When cuckoos laugh and somersault 
Perhaps I'll love again.
However it takes more than birds
To get a heart to mend.

Retreating footsteps have, since then,
Still echoed in my mind;
The irony of what you did
Still hides, haunts, and reminds.

When flowers grow after they die
And bloom in winter snow,
Perhaps my ears will cease to block
The words which later hurt me so.

Propelling anger as a tool, you
Drove me against myself;
I was too scared to trust what I knew,
While ne'er guessing you were something else.

The day you said goodbye, you left
That terrible a note, a shattered heart
Cut into pieces by your words which
First took my trust as the hors d'oeuvre.

Next, you stole my mind, my thoughts,
And stirred them in your cauldron 'till
They bubbled, and muddled, and became clear,
Then you had no arguments to fear.
Jun 24

Together Evermore

If you walk onto the hill by the house near the ocean,
you will see two figures standing, looking at the ground.
They are holding hands, a boy and a girl,
as the wind whips around them.
Her hair flies into his face, although he doesn’t try to move it.
They would have laughed,
but this is not a time of joy,
only mourning and sadness.
Tears drip down their faces,
the gales picking them up before they hit the grass.
At their feet are two unmarked gravestones,
but they both know who lay dead beneath,
just as they know that no one has bothered to take down those ropes from the ceiling yet.
The pair shouldn’t be here, not together;
their parents didn't want them to be.
That’s why they did what they did.
So they stand there, on top of the hill, looking at the graves.
“Are you ready?” The boy asks.
The girl waits a moment before responding,
“Yes.”
And the boy and girl walk away,