The pictures are falling in my room again the yellow tape is no longer strong enough every time it falls I replace all the pieces of tape with new ones I press hard against the wall hoping to ensure a lifelong relationship between the tape and the wall
The pictures are falling in my room again one fell the other night when I was sleeping I awoke to a missing space on my wall of something that should be there I couldn't fall back asleep that night
The pictures are falling in my room again my mom says I should use pins but I don't want to leave a hole in the wall for the next people who are going to tape their pictures on the wall
The pictures are falling in my room again and I don't know what to do
In January of 1963, eight clergymen published an open letter to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. This letter warned against King’s demonstrations of civil disobedience. The clergymen called on him to preserve the peace of Birmingham. King received this letter while in prison for leading a parade without a permit. It was no parade that King was marching in, but rather a display advocating for human rights. Thus, “A Letter from Birmingham City Jail” was born. Composed on April 16, 1963, in the margins of a newspaper, this “letter” addresses the racial injustice in Birmingham and in the United States. Now, over fifty years later, the words of King still ring true to the tragedies of today. Yet, through the many mirrors of society, we are often unable to see beneath the surface; we forget that injustice manifests in many forms. The lynching of a black man, the raping of a woman: they both provide vivid proof that our society still clings to power and privilege.
i realized at about the same time i was old enough to appreciate a horror story why they appeal to us so much. what it is that frightens us so much. obviously it's complicated-- the psychology of fearing ghosts, for instance, is a complicated interaction of our reservations about the time after death, the things we once failed to understand about the natural world and the human fear of the unknown. but why is that slowly creaking open door in a house no one is supposed to be in the notion that that statue might have blinked while you weren't looking so much more frightening than the ten foot tall fire breathing lizard monster? after all, one is a lot likelier than the other to actually kill you. what i think is that the creaking doorways and blinking statues cater to our fear of the unknown. we fear what we don't understand.
The yellow petals shine against the snow Like the sun against the night sky. The little flowers scatter the white field Out of place they grow. Sweet memories they bring Of summertime warmth and beauty, But the cold will not let you travel far, Winter time is still here. With dandelions in the ice, Growing despite the dead of winter.
Her hair is thrown out across the darkest regions of space And becomes speckled by starlight. Her eyes are bright with wonder As she looks down at our society that is so foreign to her So different from her life of solitude. Her fingertips reach out to touch us But the circle of fire around us will not let her through. The waves reach back for her hand but can never quite find it. Her brilliant eyes drop crystal tears of happiness that reaches us on earth And we rejoice at the water that soaks into our soil. Her belt holds the planets and she twirls silently through the skies as We watch her, Fascinated by the mystery that is this moon girl. Only a lucky few have touched her with their footprints and given her our flag To remember us by. She is quiet and alone Her face reflecting the sun And her hand forever outstretched.
I had a dream...I don't remember it. So don't expect an amazing retelling of the wonders of my dream. I bet it was a good dream. Because I almost always remember the bad ones.
Her mother grew honeysuckle in the backyard: pale, narrow flowers I watched grow lustful in Augusts heat, as if afraid that any moment their youth would wilt away
I knew that every flower held a secret the way the body holds thirst, that hummingbirds flock around its vines like an oracle, that to indulge this thirst would mean leaving with a hunger far greater
& still one evening, the petals grow a crisp brown In the afterglow, we snuck into the garden where She pinched apart the end of a honeysuckle Pressed the opening to my lips & said drink, as if the nectar would be enough to quell the sour of depression
Blood has stained your soil. Blood and dreams seep into your roots And rot them until they are tenous and small.
Nightmares darken your skies And clouds of unknowing are long and grey. The power force of your goverment has stolen the people's power And sucked it up in a huge whirlwind.
The light of your sun has turned harsh And chilled you to your very essence But it was just trying to stop us.
You were beautiful until we came.
I guess this is just an note to apologize For taking you for granted and not loving you properly.
I am Totally And horribly Allergic to purple. Just seeing it written out makes my skin crawl And my stomach turn somersaults. Its glossy shades flash in front of my eyes And leave me dizzy and confused. It taunts me and waves its satiny bows at me Until I just want to rip it from end to end. Purple is unoriginal and created from blue and red But it flaunts itself into a royal color And forces itself into the minds of children, Preening as their "favorite color". It laughs at me all the time And I wish that it didn't exist. Its shiny shades Of marroon Orchid Eggplant Mauve Grape Lavander Haunt me dreams until I can not sleep Without feeling disgusted. My doctor says I am allergic to nuts But I know I am Secretly Awfully Terribly allergic to purple.
We have gripped this Earth So hard and twisted it into a pale shadow of itself. We washed away its trees And put in its place Places of industry Places more important then some dumb tree. But soon These buildings are left to crumble And wither away into a dead heap of concrete and metal. We try to justify what we have done And say that humans are powerful beings And a few bugs do not really matter But the only power we have is given to us By other humans Not by nature or the universe. Earth is forced to stand by silent As it folds into itself and deflates like a tired balloon. Someday someone will look out of their window And look at the trash blowing in the wind And wish generations before them had noticed this. We are those generations. We have a job. Let's do it.
I only remember snippets of the day my uncle got married. I remember me getting dressed into my little suit, spiking up my hair with gel in a back room. Then my aunt talks to me about how brave I am for doing this. I don’t really know what I am about to do at this point that would make me “very brave”, but I just sat there and waited to be told what to do next. I was a little scared and worried since I wasn’t with my parents in the seats they were sitting in. But before I got the chance to ask anyone about the reason why I wasn’t sitting with my parents, a strange lady hands me a pillow. I look at the pillow and wondered why I was holding this, it looked like they wanted me to take a nap? But it seemed that the pillow would be a bit uncomfortable since the it had two rings tied to it.
