Oct 19
serenamae2020's picture

Hello, It's Me

it's me 
i'm new here
can you show me around?

it's m-
don't walk away!

it's me
can i sit with you at-
no? oh that's cool too...

it's me
will you be my lab partner?
oh you're already with zack? 
no biggie

it's me
would you be able to give me the homework?
i wasn't here yesterday...
...or not, that's okay, that works too

it's me
hi!! i'm josephine!

Oct 18
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Bucket List

I want to 
visit the Eiffel Tower
bask in it's glory
see the world from the top
and watch the city light up as the sun goes down
feel the breeze blow by
and smell the sugary scents carried on the air

I want to 
swim with the dolphins
live in their world of simplicity and grace
where there is no violence
just the serene ocean
lazing around

I want to
visit the Amazon
hear the roar of the waterfall
and feel the mist on my face
capture the rays of light
the hues of gold
streaming through the emerald leaves

I want to 
find true love
be with someone who will 
love me eternally
who will respect me
who will grow old with me
so we can laugh about all of the things we did 
when we were young

I want to 
without regrets
I want to experience
so that when I can't experience any more
Oct 17
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Oct 17
poem 1 comment challenge: Color
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It is the sky, so pure, dotted with bloches of white, carrying birds on the wind
It's the ocean, churning, caps of white, relentlessly changing
The color of the recycling bins in the classrooms
It's in the icy breath of a child puffing their way up the hill, so close, yet so far
The dewy spheres that sit atop of the leaves in May, sparkling with sunlight
When your heart breaks and fills with ice, it is the shards of your soul
It is the blood within you veins, keeping you alive despite your oblivious ignorance
Perhaps it is the vase you broke when you were five, gorgeous pieces spread across the carpet
Or maybe it's the crispness of the fall breeze that carries the dead leaves
The petals of the flowers in the spring, delicate
The screams of an person so exasperated they couldn't bear to be alone with their thoughts
Oct 17
poem 1 comment challenge: Wonder
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Wondering About Wonder

a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, unfamiliar, or inexplicable. 

so, wonder. 
kinda like hope. 
also like dreaming, thinking

but what does "wonder" mean? 
does it mean to dream big? 
does it mean to think outside the box?
to hope with such hopefulness that you think you're going to burst? 

is wonder good?
is it good to not know something? 
is it okay to think you're right, 
learn about it,
and realize you're wrong?
is that what it means to wonder?
to make mistakes?

i'm not sure i know...
but i can wonder about it. 

Oct 16
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The Boy Who Cried

Day one: I watch as your friends congratulate you on your goal during the soccer game in gym class. I smell your shampoo when your long blonde hair swishes as you walk by. You don’t notice me.
    Day three: I trip over my own feet and drop my books as I stare at your back as you walk down the hall. You turn around. I go red in the face. You smile, and walk away.
    Day seven: I sit by myself in the cafeteria. You walk over. Why are you sitting alone? you ask. Your voice coats me like honey. I shrug. You sit down next to me.
    Day nine: Your voice fades in and out of my ears, but all I can focus on are your icy blue eyes.
    Day twelve: You ask me why I don’t have any friends. Because he’s weird, anyone else would say. Because I’m insecure, I say. Do you want to talk about it? You ask. Maybe. I shrug.
    Day sixteen: I tell you of my family. How my father left when I was six. A tear slips down my face. I walk out of the cafeteria.
Oct 16
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He Deserved It

I have done a terrible thing. An awful, unforgivably cruel thing. The kind of thing that makes people want to forget who I am. The worst part? It felt good.
Last Monday started out like any other day. I got up, went to school. Hung out with friends after. Went home. Everything was fine. Everything was normal… until I killed my father.
Let me back up a little. Two years ago specifically, to when I was fourteen. The first day he hit my mother. It had been a crisp fall day. The leaves were falling outside in the breeze. Dusk had settled, shrouding the neighborhood in a hazy darkness.
My father came home hours later, said he was late because everyone was being laid off. My mother nodded like she understood. He pulled out the whiskey. Shouldn’t you get some sleep? She asked. That might be what you need after a long day.
Oct 16
essay 1 comment challenge: I Am
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This Is Me

I'm the girl who breathes words. Who survives off of plot twists and the uprises and downfalls of her characters. I'm the girl who would fall like leaves if I couldn't write. 

I'm the girl who is broken. He's gone. He's not coming back. Will I? 

I'm the girl who lives in her bedroom, who lives in four walls of warm grays and soft whites and fuzzy blankets, so warm and smooth and comforting and they envelop me in heaviness and it's just so perfect. 

I'm the girl who dreams big and reaches for the stars. The girl who wants to be everywhere, living, experiencing, learning about everything, soaking life up like it's a sponge that cannot be wrung out.  

I'm the girl who loves the crack of the bat and the ball whooshing a million miles an hour through the cool spring air. 
Oct 16
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The New Girl

At the start of any school year in any school, there’s a new kid. This year is no different. She walks the halls, her blue hair flowing behind her, her dark clothes and black lipstick giving her the aura of a shadow. The piercing in her nose looks like that in the nose of a bull.  I laugh with my friends. She’s so weird.

She sits by herself at lunch. Whispers flood the cafeteria; her name is Christina. She’s a freshman. Everyone stares. She shrinks in her seat. When the bell rings, she’s the first one out of the room. My classmates snicker.

Time flows on. Classes mush together. I have geometry with her. No one wants to sit next to the new girl. Rumors float around; she stinks, she does crack, she’s poor. I don’t know what I think of her. The teacher, Mr. Pier, drones on.

Days turn into weeks. She goes by Chris now, not that anyone cares. I want to reach out to her, but I don’t know how. I already have a reputation here. How could I ruin that?