Burlington High School
I walk down the hallway
And see all these faces
None of which read the same thing
Some seem complicated
Even full of anxiety
Others tired of this ridden society
Each face masks an unheard originality
Love and lust
Hate and tiredness
Compromise the world of a teenager
All feel disconnected
None the same
She’s better than her Read more »
I'm so nervous. I'm in the car, and Mom and Dad are driving me to the hospital. Last week We got a phone call from my endocrinologist (my diabetes doctor) and he told me that there he had great news, I was next on the "cure list". Basically, it was my turn to get the cure for type 1 diabetes. My parents couldn't believe it. Heck, I couldn't believe it. I went to school the next day in complete shock, but I was also so happy. I decided not to tell anyone about it, because I didn't want anyone worrying about me, or asking me questions, or getting their hopes up. The cure involves a harpoon-like shot, and then I would have to be hospitalized for two weeks, just to make sure that the cure was working and that my body wouldn't react to the medicine in a weird way. I just can't believe that I am on my way to the hospital, and that in a few hours, I will be diabetes free. Oh God, I am so nervous. I am so-so-so nervous! One of my friends has already gotten the cure and he said it hurt so much, he thought his arm would fall off. But I don't care. I don't care if my arm DOES fall off. I will be diabetes free. I will be diabetes free. Ok, we're pulling into the hospital parking garage now, I have to go. Wish me luck!
The Odyssey: Polyphemus Chapter
In an island cove secluded and dry,
I live alone, a giant with one eye,
In untouched land with roaming goats;
There was no need to sail away by boat.
I have dusky wild forests and a sandy beach
A secluded mountain cave surrounded by speckled beech,
Where I could toil by dawn’s rosy fingers.
I tend to my sheep under the light bringers (Dawn, Apollo, Helios).
Lovingly, I care for my wooly flock;
I collect warm milk from my ewes’ hocks,
Receiving my due in creamy milk.
I put the sucklings to their mothers, heads in full tilt.
I stretch and crack my back with a groan
I grab a snack of cheese I make and own.
Rounding up the flock for higher ground
I roll back my boulder door with a tortured sound.
I saunter lightly with my many sheep;
Their purple fleece shimmering and mine to keep.
And strike conversation with passing Cyclopes,
Comfy and cheerful in the sheep’s dry copse.
My sheep grazing afield, I gather.
Preparing wood for soon cold days, rather
Long icy nights, black as pitch,
Would kill my wee sheep in a hitch.
Dry heavy boughs in hand,
I lead sheep back in a loose strand,
Like ‘follow the leader’ as a little Cyclops
And daring each other to touch the firebox.
Imagine my surprise to return Read more »
Loki, Friend to Lolita, Assassin, 25 Read more »
The four-year-old girl felt scared as she watched her friends being
carried away by the flooding river. Tears rolled down her cheeks while she
watched all those close to her die. She hoped she wouldn’t be one of them.
She witnessed children cry for their mothers; screams everywhere, each
person moving further and further away. Surprisingly her uncle carried her
across the river. She shut her eyes tight hoping he won't let go. Finally
they reached the other side. As soon as he set her down thoughts of her
parents immediately rushed through her head. More tears came down her
cheeks. As the day goes by she found herself back home, terrified and then
fell asleep hoping tomorrow would be better. The next afternoon she was
reunited with her family, happy to see that they had also survived.
Usually the riverbed between her home and school was dry making it
easier to go across every morning. The dried riverbed sand forced her to
sprint across the river so her feet wouldn’t burn. She arrived at the
schoolhouse in a Kenyan refugee camp. The outside was made of bricks. It
looked bleak with its metal roof. Similar to the outside, the inside only
had four rows of desks and a chalkboard. The other kids didn't seem to like
her much. They would steal her shoes while she was busy playing on the
swings and try to jump her before a teacher appeared. Still dealing with
her depression from the flooded river, she watched as her friend screamed Read more »
“Mom! Hurry up, I’m going to be late for dance class again!”
“Okay Lonnie, I’m just putting on my sweater.” Since my dad died she has been taking a little bit longer to get ready, making me late for everything. My dad’s death came as a shock to everyone but then again, car accidents are never predictable. I don’t think a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about him and reminisced on the crazy things he and I did. Read more »
The invisible hands of the old man clock ticked away,
As she twisted a thick gold band around white knobby fingers,
Her radioactive green eyes trying to pry into the abyss,
Of my mind,
She purses her lips,
Trying to interpret the vacancy of my face,
Still and patient,
I wait for her calculated observation,
Thick white paper crinkles beneath her yellow stained finger nails,
The lamp set off an eerie glow in the room,
Her ratty brown hair hung loosely above her shoulders,
My legs impatiently twitch beneath me, Read more »
I feel so alone... I am not sure why though...
I have my friends and a wonderful family...
But I am in love... with a cheater, a jerk, an ass.
How can I be so wrapped up in a guy that hurt me so badly?
How can I be in love with someone who doesn't even care if I am in their life?
I just want things to be okay and I want to be happy again.
Why can't I be happy agian?
“Be my sponsor” he begged Temptation,
His opal indigo eyes challenging her,
It was a transparent facade,
An impulsive illusion,
So completely predictable,
In his unpredictability,
He fell into the satin of her lap,
The Chanel perfume of her wrist soaked into his hair, Read more »
I put your promises through the paper shredder yesterday,
I knew you wouldn't mind since you'd end up doing it yourself eventually,
I mean, who keeps promises anymore?
I wanted to never forget you,
So I tattooed your name on the inside of my left ankle in 10 pt font,
Because I knew that was the last place anybody would see it,
Beauty is scratched on the walls Of bathroom stalls Plastered on the faces Of people going places. Beauty in the dark Is different from beauty in the light As it lends itself to the night Let your body fall, Into the dance of the world. Minds rolling and wandering, And to calculate the pondering, You have to look at beauty, Etched on the old, The unfortunate, the bold. The faces staring back, In mirrors that say forever. You, are ugly. Destroy your mind. In the faces of the people unkind. Who stare at you, And rid you of your beauty.
Beauty is scratched on the walls
Of bathroom stalls
Plastered on the faces
Of people going places.
Beauty in the dark
Is different from beauty in the light
As it lends itself to the night
Let your body fall,
Into the dance of the world.
Minds rolling and wandering,
And to calculate the pondering,
You have to look at beauty,
Etched on the old,
The unfortunate, the bold.
The faces staring back,
In mirrors that say forever.
You, are ugly.
Destroy your mind.
In the faces of the people unkind.
Who stare at you,
And rid you of your beauty.
You are laying on your bed with a beautiful boy. He puts his hands on the back of your neck and his breath caresses the tips of your ears. Moth wings are fluttering in chaos against the walls of your stomach. There is a stone wall of silence that has fallen over you and you can’t decide whether to watch the way the sun dances across his face or the bulge that’s growing between the swell of his thighs. You downcast your eyes as the heat of lust rises to your cheeks turning them into rose petals. Your chest feels as if their is an inferno set off inside it. You tremble under the weight of his gaze. He pulls you close the heat of his skin against the cool sweat of your forehead. You choke on the words you dare not say as his hands follow the lines made by your ribcage, down the plains of your hip bones. The dust swirls amongst plastic curtains as you burn from the inside out with feelings you thought you left behind years ago.
So you are standing in this room, searching for him and you are surrounded. On one side of the room is a tribe of people, they are brown and beautiful, puffs of smoke crawl out from between their heads, they all have big goofy smiles , their red streaked eyes shine . Then there is the actors and actresses with extravagantly styled hair, reciting lines from shakespeare's that they memorized to impress each other and running their fingers over pages of manuscripts. The mob of college students with heavy backpacks straining on their shoulders and friends with thicks masses of unruly hair, leather jackets and thick eyeliner. You are running around in the middle of all this, with only a giant flashing neon sign that says ‘Pick me, Pick me’ but he never seems to notice because he’s lost somewhere in the room. And you find that it’s getting quite tiring.
[i really wanted to write something about love, and this is the product of that want.]
retrouvaille (n.) the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation; rediscovery.
it's a rainy sort of day at the airport. her hands are shaking from impatience and her legs are bouncing up and down, unable to consider stillness. she is surrounded by tired, half-asleep passengers.
it's 3 am and she's just gotten off the jumbo jet, with her suitcase and camera in hand. she feels rather sick, and there's this terrible lump inside of her throat, this stone in her stomach - that god awful sensation when you feel like your hope is about to be crushed.
despite that, though, she's smiling.
' cinnamon, ' she thinks to herself. cinnamon soft hair, two cinnamon eyes, a cinnamon scent - belonging to a person so incredibly wonderful he renders words insufficient.
so she's lost in her dreaming,
and she doesn't notice her other half waiting at the gate, so when she does, she is suddenly made of glass and paper and everything breakable in the world.
' oh my god, ' she hears somebody say. ' oh my god. ' Read more »
A girl. Her hair was long and straight. She was pretty, but she wore too much makeup. She walks over to me. She sits down. I can hear her sigh quietly to herself. I look past the girl and turn my attention elsewhere. From where I sit, nailed to the ground, I can look out over the ocean. It is a beautiful view. The ocean glittering in the dying sunlight, and the waves crashing soothingly against the rocks lining the beach. I loose myself in the scenery for awhile.
Now a man walks over to me. He sits down next to the girl. He leans forward, elbows resting on his bony knees. This man is old, with white hair and wrinkles. The girl glares at him. He ignores her. She flips her hair and huffs, wanting him to leave. When he doesn't move, she crosses her legs tightly and begins inspecting her nails, ignoring the old man. The old man leans back. "So," he says, "Why are you so angry?"
"Angry. I said why are you so angry?"
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"If you don't want to talk about it, fine. But it will just hurt more to keep it to yourself."
The old man begins to get up to go.
"It's my parents." The girl then began explaining how her parents always pressure her to be who she isn't. She said that she loves art. She wants to be an artist. But when her parents found out, they laughed at her, telling her it was a stupid goal and that nothing good would ever come of being an artist. When the girl continued to chase her goal, her dream, the parents pulled her out of all her art classes. Read more »
We never meant for the trip
To the lake
To mean so much
But a trip turned to pictures
Of tans and smiles
And the frozen smiles
Turned to memories,
And the memories stuck
Like gum to hair.
And memories have meaning,
Thats why we remember
The young sunny smiles,
And the unblemished tans
Frozen in pictures,
Stuck in time,
From a trip
That was never
Meant to mean much,
But now matters all the more.
I have to know them,
Like the lines on your face,
So dark at night,
I have to know them,
As well as I know the sun,
When she rises is the west,
The stars, as they tango
God, I know not of.
Learn God Like I Learn
They aren't as safe
As the lines of your face,
The predictable furrow
As if contemplating your dreams,
When we started,
Your face wasn't safe,
It was unlearned,
Rigid and confusing,
Lines were learned over time.
But despite your predictable comfort,
When I don't know myself,
I look at your face,
And I am alone,
I need to learn my lines,
Like I know yours
Make them as predictable,
As her ascent,
As their waltz,
So when I think of them,
In years to pass,
They are predictable,
And I will find comfort,
In the poem they make in my mind.
this is oldish but i found it on my computer so
It was love
And when they touched,
It was like electricity.
Smooth and soft kisses
Lost in each other's eyes
Hiding in disguise.
Pretending to be someone
They were not
They were not.
Look at them now
Not even speaking.
That not everyone gets to cherish.
They took it for granted
And lost face.
Keeping the lies
In a not so pretty place
Where no one could see it.
Where no one could believe it.
Love turned into hate.
Long way till the game is over,
Should we give up now?
We're down by many.
No, we shouldn't give up now.
Is not worth it, why should we?
We need to give it all we got,
Time flys, there's no turning back.
We can catch up,
Focus, be aggresive.
We're catching up, we got this.
1 mintues down,
Just a few points.
10 second left.
Won the game.
I was told me I had a delivery,
Waiting at the living room.
I see a big box, wrapped.
I looked at the tag to see who's it from,
It didn't say.
So I ripped the papers down,
I opened it,
An other box.
A smaller box,
I opened it,
Theres a card, a big teddy bear, and roses. Read more »
Everyones heart has different instractions. They're written through their eyes, in their smile, through their actions and in their tears. Their just has to find someone who cares enough to read them.
Eyes describe many.
I've recently applied to a program in which they ask you to write about someone who has influenced you. Although my interaction with Frank was short-lived, he had an incredible influence on me, and seeing as he is GG's uncle (or something like that) I thought I'd share it.
Maybe I should go poetically,
I always loved water,
and holding my
Head under for
A little bit too long,
Bursting and gasping,
Maybe If I just stayed under,
The calm would overtake
I always loved Wolfe.