Dec 01
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Quote chain

Each year, I make a chain of quotes to hang in my room for inspiration. Here are excerpts from this year! I found inspiration and quotes from all over the place.
Nov 19
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How To Make Hot Chocolate

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?
Oct 19
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We The People

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
Oct 11
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On A Deserted Road

In a muddy gray car
On a thirsty dirt road
She drives with no destination in mind. 

The last drops of
Balmy air whip her hair
Into a thorny halo
And guitar-rich music
Trails behind the car.

Sweetness diffuses into
Her nose
Along with hints
Of ripening leaves
Distant cow manure
And a future pumpkin patch
(She smells her mom in the kitchen).

The sun is hovering
Somewhere over a golden lake
But she can't keep her eyes
Off the pink-streaked sky
Set over the orange speckled hills-
A crown atop a queen.

She's afraid she won't
stay on the road
As beauty hijacks her senses
But she doesn't care
Because she has nowhere to go but
Where the sky leads her.

The leaves skip from their branches
The sun melts into the lake
The last popsicle of the season.

She turns off the engine
Sep 24
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She Swallows the Sun

With waves crumbling on her back
She stands
With neck growing to the sky
And clouds dotting her eyes
She swallows the sun
And smiles. 

Her throat blisters like 
Swallowed ghost peppers
Tears squeeze from
Eyelids clamped shut
Her burning body
Screams for a shortcut
To dissipate the tempestuous fire.  

With raindrops flying from her back
Her heart smokes 
With wind prying her hair
From her head
She feels her blood warm
It whooshes through her veins
Amid a rising storm. 

Her body tenses and 
Strains under pressure
Light fills every nook
Of bodily space
Every cranny of personality
And light 
Streams down her face.

With feet in an angry sea
She stands
With head in hungry clouds
Fire erupts
From her fingertips
And sews sun into 
A world left barren.

The sky becomes her blanket
Sep 16
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The Sky's Utensils

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.
Aug 27
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Golden Hills

An olive laced wind dances
Across red shingled roofs
The sun aloof
In this tepid sort of evening.

Salt dots the air
Nearby evening prayer
Slips down golden hills
And settles in the vineyards.

Blue and white and ancient shimmer
Flutter from flag poles
Foggy in the glittery haze
The end of the day glaze.

The birds raise their voices
In honor of the falling sun
And so forth a friendship spun
A song of life and nature. 

Peace lies and the land sighs
In the infancy of a tranquil evening
Nestled by the sea. 
Aug 17
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The Importance of Personalized Learning and How Our Schools Fall Short

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.
Aug 02
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She burrowed nimble fingers
into the soil's depths.

Brown lines traced themselves 
upon her short cut nails
And cool brownie crumbs
danced in her palms.

She lifted her hands
as one would lift the world:
carefully, powerfully,
backed by the sky's love.

Soil lay in the cocoon 
of her hands.

She rolled her eyes back
as if trying to look inside herself
for something of interest...

And so the tongue wiggling began. 

With a vehement spit
A black watermelon seed
plunked down onto the soil.

She wiggled her hands a bit
to blanket the seed
And then stood still

waiting for the rain.