Suspense.
Heart pounding
Anticipation.
Feet hit the floor
Seconds fly away.
The final moment approaches.
I know we have "lost"
But I keep going
Strong
And hard.
Because sometimes
You just have to fire up a prayer at the buzzer
And hope it goes in.


 

After the summer, I always get a rather large bout of writer's block. This isn't new to me, it's been happening ever since I became serious about writing. But this year was a little different. I wrote more this summer than I've written any other summer, and I came back to school feeling drained and exhausted, like the river of words that has always run through me ran dry. All my humanities assignments sucked every last bit of writing energy out of me, and my journal and notes app having been filling with dust and cobwebs since September. By November, I felt extremely guilty about not having written for a while. I tried to force whatever poetry I could out of me. I turned to old sources of inspiration, because nothing around me was inspiring anymore. Writing felt like a tedious chore, and I hated that. That's the thing; I can't write if I feel pressured. And I was pressuring myself.

My earliest memories undoubtedly developed during my two years at the small pre-school I attended, Caring Community. There are a number of experiences from that time in my life that I am occasionally reminded of by something quite small, like when I hear about the character Big Bird from Sesame Street, I immediately think of the Big Bird bouncy toy my cousin and I often fought over, or when I see Mott's apple juice, I remember when my teacher let me pour juice into Dixie cups for all of my classmates (all by myself!) While most of these recollections are vague, there is one very distinct memory I have from pre-school that occured around Christmas season. My class took a walk outside not far from our school building to choose a Christmas tree for our classroom.Once we arrived to the fir trees, my classmates and I noticed that they were decorated with candy canes, bead necklaces, small plastic lizards, other small goodies, and of course, snow.

i have sleeping anxiety i cant sleep at night its hard  im always tired and it makes me so sad when i think that im failing because my mom works so hard and i just want her to look at my grades and be so happy because there good grades but when i cant sleep at night i wake up in the morning so tired and im like brain dead it feels so complicated to do easy work that i could 
 

This is all true. It's happening in real time.
Today my school lost a student.
There is no easy way to put the death of a fellow peer, but I can only wonder why it happened.
There is no easy way out of pain.
There is no easy way to reach out and ask for help.
There is no easy way to become a happier person from a cracked shell.
But there are always easy ways to show you care.
A simple smile is all it takes.
A wave in the hallway.
A hand at the shoulder.
A "Hi, how are you today?"
There are millions of ways to help someone 
So, please
Speak up. 
Because if you don't think their hands were quivering, their teeth were chattering, their lips were trembling at the thought of who they were leaving behind than you need to 
t
 h
   i
    n
      k
harder. 
It doesn't matter who you are to a person or what connection you have to them. Anything can help.

“I hope they find a brain tumour or something because otherwise she is really messed up”.

When I heard those words I fell. A part of me died. I realised right then and there that I was on my own. No one else understood, because I couldn’t tell them. I didn’t know how to. What I was going through is not spoken about. My mental illness became my secret, I knew that no one really cared. I was on my own.

She had been angry at me, because I couldn’t keep up the charade anymore. Decorating the tree, that hour or two was too much on me. Constantly being shouted at, belittled. Of course I snapped. Who wouldn’t? They definitely didn’t hide what they felt why should I. Why should I smile and grit through it just so that they don’t get upset.

Synesthesia

    The color purple is the color purple. Isn’t it? Maybe to you and I, but to others, perhaps the color purple is the number three. And the number three is a woman with a funky personality. Some people associate colors to days of the week, or to months of the year, but not purposefully. Some people are able to listen to a song and see colors. Or they can taste the song. I could sit here and list all the different types of synesthesia that have been reported, but there are over 60!
Scientists predict that about 4% of the population has synesthesia. But are there even more?

I am consumed. Hairspray overwhelms me. I had never thought I would be in this situation. My own Mam sitting there minding my bag of beauty. Hairspray, perfume, powder; the list goes on and on. Sitting here hearing the shoes tap while hairspray heads roam around, I fall into a blur. My throat closes up and my shoes tighten around my feet. My own hairspray head bathing me, trapping me here. In this moment, when my number is called.

My shoes tapping as I walk up to the side of the stage. My game face on, smiling through the fear. The girls whisper and laugh. Not me. I am too aware of what is about to happen. Last minute touch ups. More bloody hairspray. I stand there taking part in what is happening around me. “Is my hair okay? My dress looks good right. Yeah”. Telling myself to relax makes it worse. The next group of girls walk on. Heads held high.

King Peebles was the king of a land called BlarghBlag. BlarghBlag was a land that had lots of cotton candy and marshmallows. It nothing dangerous, and everyone was free to do whatever they wanted to. King Peebles was a fair and just ruler, who never had to do anything because all of his subjects were so good. He would sit on his candy throne, his vast rainbow bulk spilling over the armrests and drooping on the floor, while his tiny advisor (Kibble) would float around, dusting the pillars with a cotton candy brush, and singing in such a high octave that only he could hear it.

One day, the throne room doors burst open and Oinky the marzipan pig can squealing in.

“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” he yelled. “THE SKY IS FALLING!”

A very tiny rubber chicken came racing in after Oinky. “THAT’S MY LINE!” Chik’n Li’l squawked.

King Peebles was very confused. “Settle down now,” he said.