How much love can you Spoon into A tiny-lettered Ceramic mug (a mothers day gift) With a curly Bottomed spoon And Lake Champlain Chocolate's Original hot chocolate mix?
It depends. If you just want to put More powder in You can just add more milk. It doesn't really Make it any more chocolatey But there's more for drinking And sharing And it lasts quite a bit longer. It's meant To be quietly sipped Over the course of a peaceful novel. This is the plentiful And cozy love Of shouting out "Love you" As one walks out the door And is nice for enjoyment But lacks real Depth of flavor. Plus, there's only So much the mug Can be filled before The hot chocolate cascades Onto the floor and Makes a royal mess That Mom has to clean up. Who wants all that Stickiness between Their toes anyway?
I'm furious And that's saying a lot for me And I'm tired Of this fight of climate and corporations Oil and overheating Melting and methane Of people who care Scrapping at the outskirts Of climate power.
I'm 16 And like to cross country ski In the woods behind my house But when I'm 36 When I want to hike in the woods With my kids I'm afraid There won't be any trees When I want to teach them to ski I'm afraid There won't be any snow And when I want to teach them To protect this earth I'm afraid There will be nothing left to save.
I can't hurtle through time And guarantee those Human rights will exist 20 years from now I can't grab the world With an outstretched arm And paint it green again.
I'm 16 With ample years ahead of me With ample passion and ideas Burning in my chest
The sky grabbed a knife and spread dirt over the ground like brownie batter in a pan. The sun baked it. The wind shook on green sprinkles. And so this sweet world was born.
Nestled under a wise old trunk, amethyst flowers float over a grass picket fence. Their pliable pea stems jut into ancient brownie crumbs; they stake their claim to this earth. Water, sunlight, wind (life), has granted them the pass of growth that has brought them to this day. Victorious and proud they stand with arms open to the sky. Delicately set petals flutter amongst a timeless breeze, rolling onward like a finger run along a thousand piano keys. Hammering rain has dissolved the nostalgic oval leaf. In lieu lies a crinkled heart on the precipice of its first love. The tenderness of the flowers wafts into the sky. Perhaps, if one opens their nose, their lungs will be renewed with undying endearment.
Parkinson’s disease can be caused by a variety of genetic mutations. One damages PINK1, a protein that sticks to the tops of damaged mitochondria, tagging them to be broken down. Spring of my sophomore year bio class I had the opportunity to dig into the genetic and biochemical mechanisms behind Parkinson’s disease. Armed with a school-issued Chromebook, a world of scientific papers lay at my hands. With the gifted of hours of free class time, I had the space to dissect the text, taking full advantage of Google and control find. Pencil sketches and teacher-scrawled questions guided me along the mind-blowing path of biology and my questions popped up like branches on a tree. For the first time, I had the freedom to follow those questions, self-designing research to fit my interests. I had stuck my feet into the river of personalized learning and was prepared to let it sweep me onward.