One day, I was walking to school and stepped on a piece of gum. It wouldn't come off, so I was up in a hum. A fly few by, buzzing by my ear, and kids were laughing here and there. I failed my math test. It wasn't the best. Once I got home, I had to rest. Boy, What a bad, bad day.
All around me there was orange. I thought I was going for an ordinary walk, but then, all of a sudden, I found myself in this place. The walls were orange, the light was orange, and the ceiling was orange. I cautiously took a few steps forward then walked slowly through the tunnel. The walkway was not orange, it was an ordinary sidewalk. I breathed in and smelled a familiar scent. Citrus perhaps? I brushed the wall of the tunnel with my hand, and at my touch, there was a sound. Not exactly what I would have expected, not the sound of a hand brushing up against a sheetrock or cement wall, and not what might have been thought of as a pretty sound, like a harp or perhaps a harmonica, either. The sound I heard was of a series of PVC pipes - hanging vertically - being bumped into each other and making a hollow plastic-y sound. At first, I was confused. What kind of a tunnel was this? Why did it make this sound? I brushed the wall again.
the brilliant blue color of the sky stretches out above me, flecked with clouds. The wind whips the bright green leaves around behind me and the sturdy branches that hold me up wobble only the slightest as I crouch above them. The golden sunlight fills the air around me with bright colors. I have lived in the trees all my life, and I have never known anything else but forest. I have known nothing but the sweet bird songs and bitter winters. I have known nothing but the frozen lakes of winter and warm breezes of spring. I have known nothing but the multicolored leaves gracefully fluttering down to greet me. I have known nothing but this forest. I have known nothing but these trees. I have known nothing but these animals. I have known nothing but the wind. I have known nothing but the wild.
We are all split into categories Whether we like it or not Afraid to enter each other's territories Afraid we will soon be caught Defying ourselfs In different ways Makes it easy to judge And believing that we are categorized Makes us unable to budge Boys or girls Black or white Some of these categories Cause a fight Nice or mean Cool or outcast What you see in the present Isn't telling the past Smart or dumb Young or old Looks aren't telling The stories untold So be yourself Without categories And let nothing stop you From getting your glories
Everything about it is a blur. Sound and smells did not exist. Just a flash. A second when I see it. The happy scene as I call it. A long time ago. Back before we had to leave. Before a lot of things...
We were in a pool this girl and I. We did not know how to swim so those little arm floaties were there, to keep us well above the water. Safe. We are all smiles and chubby cheeks. This girl and I must have been friends. Or it was just childhood magic. Everyone is accepted. No matter what. Well what every it was now it only seems like a dream. Like a fragment of another person's life that I was squashed into. Now it's different you always feel the need to be accepted. And you have to fight for that acceptance. You have to be a person you are not.
This day is another world. A better world, for sure. But not what is now reality.
I stand playing basketball the ball bimp bimp bimping down the court shes there, right there, guarding me. Shes not supposed to, but she does anyway. I say, "Hey, arn't you supposed to be there? guarding the basket?" She glares and hisses "No! Mind your own business!" With a wish of her pulled-up blonde hair, she shoves me to the ground. I feel my heart fall too, cracking and spintering as it hits the floor. I stand up, pretend nothing happened. I can't do anything about it.
Later, I stand with my friend, Sarah. Then, I look behind her, and the bully is there, standing behind me, blue eyes mocking. I hear her whisper, just loud enough for me to hear, "I mean, that's SO imature!" I know shes talking about me.
At the top of the hill, are the blackberry bushes. Momma and I use to go up there and pick them until there were none left in sight. We'd go there every other day of the very short season, and get scratches all over our legs. We'd freeze the blackberries so we could make pies all year long. When the time came to actually make pies, we both had the recipe memorized. Now, I couldn't remember it if I tried. Making pies with her were the best days of my life. When I smell a blackberry pie, I am transported. Back to when we'd make pie crust from scratch, and make it perfectly every time. To when she'd let me make the classic knife holes on the top, and always told me it looked good. To putting on the aprons my Grandma made for us, even though we never made a mess.
the flames flicker among the scattered embers. the heat burns when it touches my skin from inside the fire pit the shadows dance their firey figures cascading off of the hearth the Embers crumble slowly dispersing into burnt ashes the fire burns
I am running running away from my home from my family from my country because my country was unfair to woman like me and I only just became the woman I am today I turned 18 last week My country favored men over woman like a dog eager to please its master and this dogs master is my leader the leader I am running from
Winter time Oh dear the winter time The cold, dry air of the winter time Yes there's nothing like the winter time The time when you step out the door and feel the cold hit you like a bulldozer When you stand outside for four minutes and your toes tingle and go numb The only time of year you actually want to go to bed at 5:30 when outside your window fades into darkness Winter is the time you curl up with 5 blankets on your bed so the coldness doesn't sting your nose that peeps up over the blanket When you don't want to go outside just to get in your car and go somewhere because you shiver the whole time your car warms up Shivering and shaking the whole time you are outside no matter how long or how many layers of warm clothes you have on Winter is pretty when the snow covers the ground and you look out your window while the warmth of your fireplace hits your skin
I put on my blue dress. blue like my mothers eyes. it's me. not just that it look good or it fits. But it's me it's a part of me. a part of me that I never want to loose. A part that I hold close to my heart. But insted I insit on wearing my red dress Because 'it's more me". But it's not The light blue The dazzling one That will always be here with me Is a part of me Not the new red one That I got from TJMaxx But the one that I got From my mother That she got from her mother That she had got when she was a little girl The one that has fit us generation after generation The one that's me.