Everything I had always done was for him. My grandfather. He was the man who always looked at me like he cared. I mean, he also looked at me like I was a complete idiot. But it was with love that the look bore into my skull. I could imagine it right now. His eyes would stare into your soul almost, his head turned at a 45 degree angle to look at you, naturally of course. But the best part was the laugh that would rise out of me when he looked at me like that. It was the look that let me know my grandfather was okay. That he was good.
Yeah I know we scream a lot. I know we battle daily. But in the end I couldn't deal if you weren't here with me. It sucks, The way we back and forth, Hurling verbal balls of fire at each other. But when the shadows suffocate me and I can't breathe, I know you'll be there to cuddle close to. I know sometimes since words of hate can sting, It's really hard to belive, But yeah, I do love you mom.
Brown eyes full of dreams She stares out upon the bleak world. Hair pulled into a messy bun Arms leaning against a glass window. Chipped blue nail polish speckles her fingertips. Everyone hears her She knows how to talk To be heard. She knows when to be funny And when to be silent. Her mouth is upturned at the corners In a small smile. In her hands she holds the notebook The notebook that has ink scrawled across the pages That creates worlds and oceans. The echo of laughter flits across her face. I reach out for her But my hand falls short against a wall of glass.
Dead, departed, deceased. So many words for you now, and they use them in their condolences as their hands find my shoulders. I don’t know what to call it, I don’t know where you are now, all I know is you’re gone. And as I get older, they do too. I know you are only the beginning, that people cannot last forever. As they age, they leave. And there will come a day that they are all gone, all dead, and then I’ll be alone. I’ve known you were close to going for a few days. A while, even. They told me today that you left on Tuesday. Four days ago. I have lived in a world without you for four days, and I didn’t even know. I don’t know how to react. I’m not good with emotions. I feel sad, though not for the reasons one might guess. I’m sad because now that you’re gone I will never be able to know you. I will never be able to really miss you.
The person over there in the corner with no friends Or the one hanging on the edge of popularity Sometimes we band together Other times we stay solo We have our own lives We live them without being popular We get our work done Be quiet enough to go unnoticed but loud enough for the teachers to see us We sit alone on the bus Sit at our own table
He was told not to wander off after the show. But did he listen? Of course not, he thinks he’s brave enough to finally go somewhere without a close friend with him. He was definitely wrong.
He pulled his trucker hat further down to hide his eyes from others and he stared at the ground as he walked. He didn’t bother anyone, so he didn’t expect to be bothered, but then a seemingly cliché bully type of guy, tall and muscular, approached him.
“Aren’t you the singer of that band that just performed? Why are you out here? Why aren’t you hiding behind your boyfriend?” “He’s not my boyfriend.” “Who is he, then? Who even are you, anyway?” “He’s the bassist of our band, and he’s my friend, not my boyfriend. It’s none of your business what his name is. And as you guessed before, I’m the lead singer of our band. My name is Patrick.” “Whatever,” The male said. “A tiny loser like you shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Our house is torn to shreds around us The blanket in my mother's hands is whipped away by the howling winds. The rain is bashing against us Slapping our backs. We whisper strength to each other And my parents attempted to shield us from the hurricane. Just hours ago we were listening to Trump Telling us that climate change is a hoax. Yeah sure. This is just a big magic trick. Suddenly David Copperfield is going to whisk away this horror in my heart? This lump in my throat? The terror rushing through my veins? Ha ha. So funny. Not. I tell my family I love them But my words are washed away in the flood of tears. A sharp corner hits my head. I struggle to keep my eyes open But the darkness envelopes me.
So you guys are off doing what you like to do when there's a school break. And I'm here, On the computer, Watching youtube videos and pretending I don't care that we're apart. But this really sucks! Because I won't you guys for almost three weeks. I want to go to each and every one of you guys's houses. Even if you make me loose my mind half of the week, I miss you right now. All I want for Christmas is you guys. And I can actually picture the nine of us here at my house on Christmas. I can picture the really awkward conversations we always have. I can picture us laughing at something someone said that's probably really stupid and inapropreate. And no matter what we say let's just admit it: We all love each other and it's really just the truth. And I already miss you guys even though it hasn't even been two hours since I saw you.
There's that girl again. She's about five foot three, pretty skinny, and very quiet. She has these beautiful brown eyes, which she thinks is her most beautiful feature, although she wishes they were blue, like her mother's. She barely ever speaks up in class. It's hard for her to speak to her classmates, thinking that in some way, they'll judge her. So she stays quiet. She loves her friends, but sometimes she doesn't like to hear them mocking her for what she believes in. She gets tired of listening to them saying those things to her face. She knows people like her, but still feels as if they judge her and talk about her behind her back. She's very insecure. She thinks very badly of herself, and even calls herself terrible things. She doesn't hate herself, she just has very low self-esteem. Wait a minute. I know this girl. It's me.
“I NEVER GOT THE CHANCE TO SAY GOODBYE,” THE GIRL WHISPERS. The ice shards in her voice shatter the pressing silence. She squeezes her eyes shut, light leaking from between the lids, cascading down her face. As her spirit slips away I frown. Her skin is peeling, falling; snowflakes or a broken soul on the wind. I watch her hands tremble. Tiny tremors that could destroy everything. The chariot is coming, sparkling in the sunlight. It’s a beautiful mask they hide behind. I want to tell her that it’ll be okay-- I want to tell her many things. Examine her life, memory by memory, until I learn this girl. But I can’t. Not for the others, not for her. No one speaks to the dead.
So many moments in my life have changed who I am. Made me who I am. Little things like my accent but also big things like my first feis. My first published article. My first 8 on an exam. Things I can’t remember, things that I could recall down to what colour socks I was wearing. All of these played a part in making me who I am and right now, I couldn’t be happier for every struggle and heartbreak I have gone through. Everything played a part.
Fate had it so the numbers were uneven. Fate had it so the numbers were just right. So now it's really awkward and we're looking at each other. We choose: Us. I grab your hand. And you grab mine. And it's different from usual. Because it feels real. Not something I forced. There is an electric current between us. Conecting us. I can barely move. I can barely breathe. I am shaking. But it's the best momment of my life.
My cello is singing again Bringing me back into the forest of clouds Where nothing exists except me and the black music notes Whipping across the white page at lightning speed. Somehow My fingers follow the notes in perfect harmony Playing the melodies of time. The wind brushes the hair out of my eyes And flips the page for me as I race along. My feet lose the beat But I don't falter because my heart never forgets it. Around me A dance is forming. Shadows dart about in their waltzes And the trees' leaves sway slightly. I reach the finale My head moving. Fingers flashing. Heart pounding. And then the last note Echoing through the forest of clouds. I am transported back to my room My cello warm in my hands I stand and bow to my invisible audience And then Almost inaudible
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.
Sitting in that dark corner, waiting for some light to shine in on me, as i beg and prey and hope for another start, another chance at the crack of light. There I sit, huddled and cold, trying to push it away, the black wave of darkness and nightmares the chill me to the bone... So all i do, is sleep...
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.
I see blue, green, and brown. These colors make a background. Bright splashes of vibrant oranges, reds, and purples peek out from behind the leaves, in the form of flowers, fauna, and fruits. As my friend Marina once described, “The rainforest is like a magnificent painting, with the light changing as the days go by”. It is a few months after Hurricane Maria. When I go outside, I see new plants growing back and hear birds that have come back after fleeing from the storm. Life is coming, slowly but surely, back to Saint Croix.
The hills rustle and echo with life. Bananaquits are whistling in the towering kapok trees, beady-eyed thrashers screech in the baobab. As the burning white sun started to descend from its perch in the highest reaches of the sky, it’s light reflects off the clouds, turning the sky into a multi-colored mirror of light. This colorful light casts its glow on the valley.
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.
If I were to write a letter to me in ten years I'd apologize "I'm sorry I stopped you from doing what you wanted to do most." Yeah, afraid to join those clubs at school because I was afraid I'd look dumb in them. Mhm, worried that those older kids would frown upon your new face in their classroom. So scared that your hands would tremble upon thinking of school sports and activities. I'd apologize "I'm sorry I put you down about who you are." Made you look down at yourself for being something no one else wanted to be. Put you in your room to cry alone because your grades weren't the perfection you wanted them to be. Let you see the parts of the world that you shouldn't have had to witness. I'd apologize "I'm sorry I didn't let you feel what being beautiful felt like."