The music playing softly in the background, the chirping of birds and frogs,the rush of cars on the highway. One day, they are all gone, the only thing I hear are the vioces inside of my head, the world around me has lost it's sound, o body makes any sense. I tell them they have no sound, the world has no music, they just look at me and open and close their mouths like fish. Everything is still, I can't hear the fire alarm when it rings anymore, can the other students still hear it? I can't wich one of us has lost our sound, me, or the world? I can hear the voices in my head, so this must mean the world has lost it's sound, not me, right? I could hear everything, even the drop of a pin if I tried hard enough. Then that day came, when the world's sound just disappeared, sucked into space, gone forever. How can I bring it back? No one else seems to notice that the sound is gone, so it's up to me I guess, to fix the world.
As a singer who's on YouTube, it would be cool to have a collaboration with many people. There are many singers out in the world and I can't wait to expand what I have. The type of collaboration I'm looking for is basically any singer/songwriter who would love to share their art with me or we could sing a duet of any kind. That is what I'm seeking in a collaboration in the future. #twosaparty#summerofstories16#livechallenge
Soccer has always been my sport. I mean, since I was teeny tiny I've been playing and enjoying soccer. My number: 13. Always. To others, it's bad luck. To me, it's a way of showing people I can defy the odds and do things my way, with the number 13 as my lucky number.
Since 8th grade, I've been playing on the varsity team at my high school. I've always been a mid-fielder, no arguments about it, but the past couple seasons my coach has decided to move me up, to become a forward.
If you're into soccer, you'd know what I mean. Middies are supposed to make the plays, carrying the ball from the defense all the way to the glorified forwards, so they can be the heroes and win the game.
When you are about to find your one source of hope, the one idea that you think might solve everything, there will always be a barrier to block that hope from ever coming into your heart. There is a pain, that flows through me, the loss of everything that I wanted to achieve, everything I strived for. And nothing is worse, than that pain being brought back by another source of hate, disencouragement, and fear of another being. Someone wishing to grab onto your pain, and use all of his power, to make your life hell. I am someone who is trying to stand up, trying to be brave and conquer that sense of hate. But with everything that i've been through this summer, friends that live hours away, people that I love who finds it hard to answer back, sometimes I want to accept the hate and have my life be filled with sorrow and despair and wear that chlicéd smile with no sense of happiness. Then I remember the hope. The hope that I search for.
As I'm moving houses, I really don't have any valuable objects in my room at the moment. Something that I used to have in my room that I absolutely adored was the piece of poetry that got submitted to the newspaper last year. If someone was to look at the piece on my door about 50 years from now and they didn't know that it was my room, they wouldn't see the importance to that one piece of poetry on the wall from a random kid. But for me as a student who has loved writing since his 5th grade year, have that piece of paper on the wall or on my door reminds me that I can make a piece, and one day, that piece my be a famous piece in the future.
Who Is Me? Me is Me, That’s why the items below define me. It’s not completely clear on the outside of the photograph, but it’s clear on the inside. So to show why those somewhat everyday items represent me, I decided to put it in my favorite form of text. A quote..
Tear down the tearers of trees and lives, lives and livelihoods within our own nation. Break what has broken and make new what has marred the face of our Earth, the Earth that faces such trials. Uproot disregard and reap understanding. Plaster all places with newspapers, spreading the news and who knews? of our world. Where one ship's shipment spills into a slick, a biological technology is being born to replace it.
Some big-time authors are just plain stupid. I mean, if they're making millions off best-sellers and movie deals one would expect they have quality work, yes? I know popularity isn't everything; I've found some gems while perusing the library aisles thirty years old and still on the same stamp card. Yet, when I pick up the newest hit, it can be absolute trash! What the heck makes these things so appealing? Are readers nowadays just dumb too? Maybe it's me... no, I'm sane (mostly). I can't be the only sane fantasy fan still out there. Okay, yeah, we're a special kind of sane-- but still. C'mon. My biggest pet peeve is when the story is riveting (or at least inspires grudging respect for the writing, if not the story) and then the ending is a steaming pile of "curveballs" seen from (insert page count here) pages away, loose ends, what-ifs and WTFs.