I'm a cryer. I'm just gonna get it out of the way. It's said that on average, women cry twice a month and men once a month, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that those numbers don't apply to me. I used to always think that in the seconds after something drastic happens, you have a choice; cry or hold it in. A few times, I surrendered to twin waterfalls on my face, and other times, I let a stone expression mask my inner feelings. It feels good to let loose sometimes, to just unleash pent-up emotions, some you may not even know you had. It's a way of deeply expressing yourself, putting clear visuals center stage and letting the waterworks take you down the river. Of course, it depends on the severity of the cause that will affect the level of reaction. Had a rough day? Shed a tear. Had a small fight? Hyperventilate. Was just at the wrong place at the wrong time? Suck it up! Had the worst day of your life and wish you could change what you did?
on a wire i'm perched in this parking lot, the air molecules so empty and the silence so sickening- potent with only lonliness. time falls ill the minutes un-moving me from the wire in the space where one waits for another.
Evan and his group of friends were walking over to the baseball field when he hears something coming from in the woods. He stops and walks towards the edge of the woods. He can hear whispering and feet crunching on the leaves.
“Evan, you comin’?” Asked one of his friends Charlie.
While choosing which photos to showcase at my photography camp, I decided to split them into four categories—Photos that included flowers, fences, windows, or photographers. Originally, these “themes” were slightly broader (nature, ‘barriers,’ buildings, and people), but I chose not to display four of the images I had printed out in order to keep the categories more contained. Many of my photos play with depth of field, blurring some areas of the scene while keeping others in focus. In the future, I’d like to play around with different shutter speeds, photographing things in motion. I enjoy photography because it allows me to capture unnoticed or unappreciated details in the world around me, from the unusual slant of a dock to a bee alighting on a flower.
The dusk comes for all of us, Do not bother running, Because it will take you regardless, And the best things do happen in the dark
Roam calmly through the shadow, Feel your way around the night sky, And surely you will find another one, Lost in the haze of their own heartache
Find their hand, and hold it in yours, Give them a squeeze, Run your thumb along the backside of their palm, Draw them into willing embrace and finally, Without fail, without hesitation, The two of you will emit a glow potent enough to pierce the black
Weep, fall to your knees Accept the darkness that eats away at your heart, For we are all one in our sorrow, And our grief is universal.
I sit beneath this willow tree, praying. Praying that one day, I will have the strength and courage, to live as long as this willow tree. The cracks in its bark resemble scars on my skin. We have been through so much, and I'm sure we both know that there is so much more to be done; to, and by us.
Seagulls cry for the ocean, wings flapping, bodies soaring, through the smokey, salty air. A rare bit of sunlight, bursting through the windows, spilling, like a stream, flooding its banks. My pen tapping on the coffee cup cutting through the distant voices of the cafe, and the silence of our table. I’ve never felt lonely like this before. in a room full of half-strangers I remember: I chose to be here. My stomach is a pit of nerves, my head pounding a single thought reverberating: maybe this was a mistake. But as I panic, the flowers in the window box drift lazily in the breeze. the sun shines. The world isn’t on fire. And I know it’s not a mistake.
To the tiresome eyes and worried faces, stuffed together in the smallest of places. To the flowers that grow around our feet, and the contemplating heads admitting defeat. To the beautiful people who live in this world, and the tapping of fingers and hair being twirled. To the ones who may worry about their complexion, and the ones who don’t care that much for affection. To the brave civilians and the ones who are fighting, and the ones who are bored that make things exciting. To the ones who show up when others won’t, this poem’s for you and the ones who don’t.
I'm supposed to write a poem for nature, but I don't know where to begin. How am I supposed to focus when there's a dogfight commencing over my head, insects bombarding my brain with bombs of blissless buzzing. I can't write a poem for nature. Not with these cars. These cars that create an artificial breeze that blows the grass, making it dance like kids in a middle school gymnasium. Swaying to the silent sound of a soft song. Thinking they're old, not living for long. I can’t write a poem for nature. Not with this wind. It moves my page in frustrating, ways sending me spiraling fast down a vast fissure of nostalgia. Remembrance of summer rocking chairs, and skipping stones. I can’t write a poem for nature.
A sound outside wakes me up. I roll onto my side to look at the clock, its 5:30 am. I look outside and All I see is one car slowly making its way but I can still hear the sound. I look up and then I see it. A plane? No, this is too big to be a plane. The flying ship is just sitting there in the air and looks like its straight out of star wars. I cant believe as im cranning my neck to admire the big ship through my window. Then the sound happens again; a ZOOOM then its gone. I lay back down on my bed full of unanswered questions. Will anybody believe me?