Just A Promise

“Remember.”
Just a word.
Just a promise.
“Worry.”
Just a word.
Just a dread.
“Forever.”
Just a word.
Just a pledge.
“Love.”
Just a word.
Just a wish.

Momma’s gone now,
where’d she go?
She was a star hung
far too loosely in the sky.
Momma promised
that she’d know
all that happened,
along with why.
Momma told me
not to worry.
That she’d see me again
someday.
But now I know,
my hopes I bury.
She’s gone
far away.

Too far for me to reach
with arms so weary.
Too far for me to see
with sight now bleary.
Those promises broken,
I won’t allow.
I’ll make that ‘someday’
now.

Groggy child,
go to sleep.
Hurry now,
your dreams, keep.
Groggy child,
sleep until the next day.
Don’t worry, dear.
I’m just going away,
But I promise:

“Remember.”
Just a word.
Just a promise.
“Worry.”
Just a word.
Just a dread.
“Forever.”
Just a word.
Just a pledge.
“Love.”
Just a word.
Just a wish.

I’m going to join Momma now,
she must be quite lonely.
I’ll always remember,
don’t you worry.
I’ll be with you forever,

I love you.


~A poem by Diya, for contest: Time is Running Out~

Essie Mae

a play by Laikapearl


We had this assignment in Drama to write a 10-minute play. I chose to write mine based on a family story. About Essie Mae Briggs. She died of Scarlet Fever in 1892 and hand carved on her headstone was the poem that I included in the play! Those are really the only facts that I included in the script. Except for the names. All the boys' names are my great-great-grandmother's siblings' names. I think that's all the back story you need... :)





Essie Mae

1892- CORRY, PENNSYLVANIA

SCENE 1: THE BRIGGS’ KITCHEN

[THE BRIGGS family sits at a table, about to eat breakfast]

MR BRIGGS: Thank you, Lord, for the meal we are about to receive. Amen.

MRS. BRIGGS AND THE BOYS: Amen.

[They silently begin to eat]

MRS. BRIGGS: [tentatively] The fields? Are they-

MR. BRIGGS: [rather roughly] Ready to harvest. I’ll talk to the Simmons’ boys after church on Sunday. I could use the help.

ARLAND: I’d like to help father.

MERTIN: Me too! Ask me as well, Father!

EDWIN: And me!

RUSSELL: I’ll help as well.

ARCHIE: And if you need me, I’m still here.

MRS. BRIGGS: Quiet, boys. Eat your breakfast.

EDWIN: Father? I’ll be fourteen in three weeks. That’s not too young to help in the fields is it?

ARLAND: It’s old enough to be in the kitchens. You and mother will can the fruits.

[Talking starts to overlap one another. Creating a buildup]

MRS. BRIGGS: That’s quite enough. Now-

EDWIN: It is not! Father! Tell him-

ARLAND: You’re too young to-

EDWIN: Father!

ARLAND: It’s true.

MRS. BRIGGS: Now really-

MR. BRIGGS: Boys. I’ll have you all in the kitchen if you don’t bite your tongues.

EDWIN: He started-

ARLAND: I did not!

MR. BRIGGS: [slams his fist down] If I meant to have a loud and unruly family, I would have raised animals. I chose to have boys and crops instead. Do not make me regret that choice! [Wrenches coat off hook and storms off stage]

[Lights fade out]

SCENE 2: THE BRIGGS’ BARN

[Later that day: MR. BRIGGS can be seen in a doorway, hunched over something. ARLAND, EDWIN, ARCHIE, and MERTIN are doing their chores in the barnyard]

MERTIN: Arland? Why doesn’t Father help us with our chores anymore?

ARLAND: He’s doing other things.

ARCHIE: Like what?

ARLAND: I… I don’t know.

MERTIN: Then who’s doing his chores?

ARLAND: I am.

MERTIN: How come you get to? Why can’t I?

ARLAND: Because. Father’s chores are meant for fully-grown men. You are not fully-grown.

MERTIN: But I can help!

ARLAND: No, Mertin. Go feed the horses now. You too, Archie.

ARCHIE: Since when do you get to boss us around?!

ARLAND: Don’t talk back! Go! Now!

ARCHIE: I don’t have to listen to you!

ARLAND: Yes! Yes, you do!

MERTIN: Why? Since when?

ARLAND: Since Father decided to ignore what he should be doing and spend all his time in his shop.

ARCHIE: That’s not true! Father’s taken good care of us!

ARLAND: If you don’t like the way things are, go tell Father!

ARCHIE: [horrified] Tell Father? He’d whip me! He’s not… He’s acting funny! I’d get yelled at!

ARLAND: You see?

MERTIN: How come? Arland, why is Father being different?

ARLAND: I don’t-

EDWIN: He hasn’t gotten over her.

MERTIN: Her? Who’s her?

EDWIN: Essie Mae.

ARCHIE: What’s she got to do with this?

ARLAND: Nothing. Go feed the horses.

MERTIN: What’s Essie Mae-?

ARLAND: Nothing!

EDWIN: He hasn’t been the same since-

ARCHIE: Since what, Edwin? Tell me!

ARLAND: Stop gossiping like old ladies and get your chores done!

ARCHIE: Fine.

[MERTIN & ARCHIE exit]

[ARLAND & EDWIN resume their chores, ignoring the other]

[MR. BRIGGS walks over]

MR. BRIGGS: What’s the time?

EDWIN: Close to noon, I s’pect.

ARLAND: I’ll go check.

[ARLAND exits]

MR. BRIGGS: Good kid, Arland.

EDWIN: He’s alright.

MR. BRIGGS: Alright? What’s so “alright” about him?

EDWIN: Well… I guess… He’s…

MR. BRIGGS: Yes?

EDWIN: He thinks he’s you. I don’t like that.

MR. BRIGGS: Oh? Well… I always knew he was a leader.

EDWIN: He’s not! He’s only-

[ARLAND enters]

ARLAND: It’s a quarter after eleven.

MR. BRIGGS: Right. Well, I’ve still got some time. I’ll be in the shop. [to EDWIN] I think… Maybe you don’t like being bossed?

EDWIN: No, sir.

MR. BRIGGS: [laughing] I guess you got that from me.

[MR. BRIGGS goes back to shop]

ARLAND: Why’s he laughing?

EDWIN: Guess I’m funny.

ARLAND: You? Haha.

EDWIN: There! See, you laughed. Guess I am.

ARLAND: I don’t think he was laughing cause you’re funny.

EDWIN: Then why?

ARLAND: I think… Maybe he’s finally let her go.

EDWIN: Who?

ARLAND: Like you said before, Essie Mae.

EDWIN: Well, then I’m funny and right. That’s a bonus.

[Lights fade out on ARLAND & EDWIN laughing]

SCENE 3: THE BRIGG’S KITCHEN

[Later that day: MR. & MRS. BRIGGS stand in the kitchen, arguing.]

MRS. BRIGGS: I won’t allow it!

MR. BRIGGS: You’re being unreasonable. If you just look at-

MRS. BRIGGS: Me? Unreasonable?! You’ve hardly socialized with any of us since-

MR. BRIGGS: But this will fix that!

MRS. BRIGGS: I won’t let you.

MR. BRIGGS: But it’s already done. I’ve carved it and everything.

MRS. BRIGGS: You… You have?

MR. BRIGGS: Yes. We’ll go there tonight, after supper. And the boys will come too.

MRS. BRIGGS: Fine. [storms out]

[Lights fade]

SCENE 4: CORRY CEMETERY

[The BRIGGS’ family stands around a tombstone. MR. BRIGGS holds a bouquet of flowers.]

ARLAND: I used to bike here… When I was younger.

EDWIN: You did?

ARLAND: It was… a place without too much meaning to me. Pretty and quiet.

EDWIN: Not any more, though.

MRS. BRIGGS: It’s even more beautiful, now that Essie Mae has come.

ARCHIE: Why did she have to die?

MRS. BRIGGS: She was sick. And God needed her…

MERTIN: I’m going to miss her.

MR. BRIGGS: We all will. But, she’ll always be here if we need her.

RUSSELL: She’ll always be here?

MR. BRIGGS: [crouching down to RUSSELL’s height] Always.

EDWIN: Father? Essie Mae… was your favorite, wasn’t she?

MR. BRIGGS: I love you all too much it’d be impossible to measure.

ARLAND: We were worried… that you didn’t care about the rest of us anymore.

MR. BRIGGS: No. I just needed to find the right way to say goodbye to her.

MERTIN: How did you make her headstone?

MR. BRIGGS: Well… It had to be perfect- that’s why it took me so long. I’m not a writer. I didn’t know
how to put such a beautiful person in words, that part took me weeks. And then I needed a stone, which took some time. But, I found it. And for the past three days I carved into it- with my pocketknife.

MRS. BRIGGS: I’m so proud of you.

MR. BRIGGS: [to RUSSELL] Will you read it?

RUSSELL: Me?

Essie Mae Briggs
1890 to 1892
She was the sunshine of our hearts
An angel to us given
And when we learned to love her most
God called her back to heaven


MR. BRIGGS: Good.

RUSSELL: She was only… two years old!

MERTIN: And the prettiest thing you ever saw.

ARCHIE: And she was so smart! She could say my name.

EDWIN: I think she loved us, too.

ARLAND: Of course she did! She was the kindest, most loving person ever.

MRS. BRIGGS: But God knew she was suffering. The fever was too high.

RUSSELL: So he killed her?

MRS. BRIGGS: He did the kindest thing he could. He ended the pain for her.

MERTIN: I think he saw how happy we were with her.

ARLAND: He needed some light in heaven.

MR. BRIGGS: We love you. May God treat you well. [sets down flowers] Goodbye, Essie Mae.

[Blackout]

THE END

Till Death Do Us Part

by Lexie

(For THIS poetry contest)

The sweet summer air like honey on our tongues,
As we lay on our backs and breathe it into our lungs
The grass shivers gently in the warm breeze
And noises come from the forest, animals and shaking leaves
The warmth of your body lying next to mine
As I wonder how I had found someone so truly divine
I watch as your blue eyes study the beautiful scene
And in that simple moment, my life felt so complete
The sun was just setting as ghostly shadows dance
Our eyes watched the perfect view and we froze, in a trance
Although I can’t put words to the emotions I feel
I lean close and whisper “I’ve fallen in love, head over heels.”
You smile that lovable, gorgeous, wide grin
Then you wrap your arms around me and pull me in
I lay my head on your chest and listen to your heart beat
And again, all I can say is that I felt perfectly complete
Your breath then mine, it was as if we were one
As we watch the colors in the sky casted by the sun
You held onto my hand and I held onto to yours
And together, we glanced into the future, all the open doors
The memory of that sunset; purple, orange, and red
I will forever keep locked inside of my head
Just one more to add to the collection of days I spent with you
Just one more reason I knew our love was really, fully true
On that day, that dreadful day, that you were stolen away from me
I was left alone with no one to hear my pleas.
When you had gone, a large piece of me died
Leaving a searing whole that is now aching inside
You occupied my other half I found,
And then it was again taken from me as they lowered you into the ground
No amount of tears could ever add up to
The pain it causes to live without you
You were my life, my love, my happiness, my friend,
How silly of me to think that we would last until the end
Now, I am remembering what we had said right at the start.
When we held hands and whispered “Until death do us part”

(Note:
this poem reminded the webmaster a lot of a poem by Lynne Alvarez:

She loved him all her life
And when she thought he might die,
She tied her wrist to his at night so that
his pulse would not flutter away from
her suddenly and leave her stranded)

Momma, when'd the road grow?

by ErinElainne

Type of Poem: Free Verse!
Prompt: Time's running out

Momma, when'd the road grow?
Baby, try to use your words.
...Talk the truth, see no lies.
Let the sun shine.

Momma, when'd the sky shrink low?
Love, i'm sure i just don't know.
...We've lost alot, these weeks soon pass,
I'll try to get it back.

Momma, when the grass gets cold,
...Will the stars forget to glow?
Forget to glow, forget to grow, forget about
everything
we
thought
we'd
know.

hangin' on by ropes, my child

sweet dreams, to all below.

momma's gone where tears don't fall,

where God makes all moons glow.

sing a song, a lullaby,
wipe sorrow from
the lost babe's eyes,
and don't let go

and don't look down

the sky is shrinking...

"momma, how fast will it go?

how far until i land?"

Momma, when'd the road grow?
Baby, try to use your words...

Love, i lied, the sun won't shine,
these paths, they're getting shorter.

the path to you,
the road to me,
afriad, they intersect.

they never swing.

they never sing.

they never bring

two
hearts
to
one.

Momma, when'd the sky shrink low?
Love, i'm sure i just don't know.

so, tell me, momma.
can you touch the moon?
if you climbe, so high, so high...

momma's reached that limit, child.
she's grasped the highest branch...
and she's so
afraid, afraid to fall...
momma's so afraid to fall.

Momma, when the grass gets cold,
...Will the stars forget to glow?

well, baby, seems i've told a myth
a game, perhaps, a folly.

for momma was a star, they say
who forgot, by chance, to glow.
no more brightness left to show.
nowhere safe now left to go.
just a song, that now one knows.

momma, i still love you,
wherever you may be.
when youth rode on behind us,
you told your tale to me.
you said the stars, they'd always sing
the sky would always stretch.
you said the ice would always melt,
a new chance now to catch.
grab on, momma, we're swingin' low
and i don't want you to fall.
for when i was small, you held me close
and it was the best of feelings.
and when the light squeezed,
out of you,
i felt so, free, so, lost.
a falling star,
put it in my pocket,
i'll send it on back home.
another holy land we roam.
your arms, the safest dome.

now, momma, where'd the time go?
Baby girl, its thrown away.
....we've lost alot.
these years soon pass,
another catch to throw...
to throw,
a star,
to glow.
fallen down,
no place
to go,
jsut a song.

that no one knows.

Congrats to all NaNoWriMo Winners!

To the winners of NaNoWriMo: Congratulations. I mean it. You guys all set the bar for writing quickly. Sure, it might all be horrible, but you did it. Your ideas are out there, and, knowing you, they're ingenious. You all defied the limits. You've just devoted 30 days of your life to pure writing, and more if you've done it before. Given, you'll most likely live about 30000 other days (give or take) in all of your life, and that's only 1/1000 of your life, but let's put it under a different light.
Writing could be seen as simply putting a pen to paper or typing a language onto a screen.
But it's so much more than that. It's a form of art, it's a way to express your opinions, your dreams, your thoughts, your WORLDS that you have created.
NaNo could be seen the same way. 1/1000th of your life, or a novel. You could change the world with that novel. You could be the next JK Rowling, who gets children to read all over the world.
Because of YOUR book.
Or, if your book is more of a thriller, mystery novel, or a suspenseful drama that is meant to scare more than make people happy, you could keep readers up at night, reading into the wee hours of the morning, just to read your awesome masterpiece.
Doesn't that inspire you?
Now it suddenly looks like a whole lot more than just something you wrote in a month. It's a draft, yes, but it's a draft that could turn into something extremely magnificent.

And you have the power to do that.
So go write. Continue to write. Don't procrastinate. Write, revise, and finish. And bask in the glory of your awesome-ness.

And if you didn't finish, who cares? Next year, it'll be yours. The prizing grandeur of the title, "Novelist."
That'll be you.

And if you won, that's you, write (haha) now. Congratulations, writers.



(By Cora, thanks!)




Links to Our Members' NaNo's:

Listen to the Words by Diya
Gone by SamAntha

(If I've missed any, please note me! :D)

All we are...

*A moment of silence*

This community of young writers has grown strong over the past year.
This community has become one.
We write together, we spend hours of our free-time together, we chat together, and we form bonds together.
A year ago from yesterday, I joined this group. It was a small, 2 to 3 page group, with very few members and a few posts a day.
I had no idea what this would become.
I had no idea how large this would end up being.
I had no idea. None of us did.
We had time to read everyone's discussions, everyone's stories.
It has become so large that there is no way that everything can be read, analyzed, and critiqued.
But that's the beauty of this community.
We have thrived as a community. We have prospered at our goals. We have supported each other through hard times.
And the glory of it all is:
We're still growing.
We're still expanding.
Therefore, I have hope that this community will continue to excel. We will continue to become better writers.

I'd like to thank you- you personally, whoever you may be- on behalf of the Young Writer's Group. You have inspired me to do great, wonderful things. You have helped make us our generation's authors. You have made us all the people who we are. We have a power unknown to most people in the world. We have a power to voice our opinions. We have a power to pursue anything. We have a power- the power- to make this world and ourselves a better place.
We have made a difference in empowering everyone here with the resources, the knowledge, and the strength to become amazing people.
We have made a difference, and we will continue to make a difference as long as we continue to practice what we bonded together for in the first place- the magnificent art of writing.

Look at how we began.
We started with two best friends from school.
These, mind you, were young. Not adults wanting to converse about their obsession of writing.
Though I can see us becoming that when we have grown.
They might have to come up with OWD, Obsessive Writing Disorder.
People so connected to the world of words that there will be no way out.
But no matter, that is the future.
Look at how far we've come.
This has become a central community to read writing, and take a glance at other's styles and see if we can add on to our own.
This has become a central community to share writing, and show others our skills and lets us improve.
This has become a central community, and that's who we are.
We stick together,
We defy limits,
and we show the world what we're made of.
We are not a band of adult authors.
We are, for the most part, not a group of people with manuscripts ready to be published.
Yet we thrive to be.
And we will be.
For we are the Young Writers of the 21st century.
We have showed immense dedication to what we know and love.
We are young writers, and that's what we do.
We are the Young Writers Group.


~This was written by Cora, to paint a picture of everything that our little world is, and will become. Thank you, Cora. ~






(Post by Erin Elaine)

Reflecting the Son

By Luker


As the sun sets when the day is done
Darkness takes the place of the sun
But when the Earth turns 'round again
The sun will shine -new times begin.

Let me be as the moon doth be
Lighting the world for all of thee
Reflecting the son -as I must
Until I turn from flesh to dust.

Into the darkened world I go
With just the light inside my soul
May I be a light unto you
Oh world that is soon to be new

I know that darkness can be won
For so shall my light overcome
May all those that do feel alone
Use my light to guide them home.

I understand the world is vast
Yet soon to there I will be cast
The evils of this place unknown
They -through my light- to him be shown.

Dear Matthew,

By Ivy

Dear Matthew,

I never thought I'd actually be writing to you. I never thought I'd ever be holding this paper in my hand, writing with this actual pen, with actual ink, and about to give it to you tomorrow with my actual hand, but for now, I am just wondering what to write. I've always wanted to be open with you, to be the kind of friends who could tell each other everything, so I guess that's why I'm telling you whats running through my head right now. I really don't know how to put this, but I guess there's only one way to put it. Always has been, and always will be, one way. I love you Matthew. Wow. Writing it on paper I feel so different, its out there now, you'll tell everybody, that I am in love with Matthew Girtz. I'm not holding something inside of me like a captive anymore! Its not a secret bouncing, swelling like a balloon, looking for some way, any way to escape! Its not just a pounding in my heart telling my to say something, a simple Hi, or a friendly smile anymore, its real, its not just sitting around in my head all day, everyday. its out, but it still lives within me. I love you. I've never said it out loud before, or even written it down in some secretive spot like most girls do, someone always finds those. Its never really hidden, and I'm guessing all of those girls have also written letters like these to you too, and that you laugh at them with your friends. I can't imagine, I try not to imagine you laughing at this. If only you could understand what those girls felt like, if you knew all of their hearts, and combined it with the way you feel for Libby, combine all those tears, and laughs, and years of waiting, and wondering, and just yearning to know if you felt the same way for them, or anyone, yearning just to know! If you knew that, and combined them all into one, you would understand one tenth of what I am feeling right now. what I feel in English, what I feel in Math, and at lunch, and at home, whenever I see your face, whether up close, at a distance, or in my mind. If only you could understand.

I know you don't know me, you probably wouldn't think of my face if you heard my name, or think of my name if you saw my face, but please whatever you do, don't think badly of me after all this. Many girls have done this, whether it be for some other boy, or for you, but I'm sure at least once, every girl you have ever smiled at, thought of, or saw randomly on the street has felt this way for someone, or something.I barley know you, how can I feel this way? is that what you are asking yourself as you (most likely) read this aloud to your friends at some lunch table, as they ridicule, and laugh at me, some stranger they have never known? Are you wondering if this is real? Are you even thinking of any of those things? Or are you just smiling, and getting ready to throw this away at the first chance? I know you aren't like that, I might be wrong, you could be reading this in privacy, with no jeering smile on you face, but in case you are wondering how I can feel this way with barley knowing you, here is my answer: I don't know. And I don't know why I don't know! I was always the one with all the answers, but for some reason, I don't have one this time. Why did people think I knew everything, why? They thought I was so smart, when it was really the opposite, you are much smarter then I'll ever be, I'm so stupid, Stupid to be writing this, to allow myself to feel this way for you, someone so far above me, although in my grade, stupid for being so stupid. I guess my stupidity increased when I first met you. Tats what happens when your in love with someone who will never love you back I guess, your mind wanders. You sneak a glance at them, and soon enough, a bell rings, the test is over, and your only half done. Or in the larger schemes, all that time I could be waiting for you, waiting to tell you, just for you to tell me you don't even know my name, but if I just waited, my whole life would race by, I would miss opportunities, and when I finally wake up, the bell would ring, and it would be too late. I have to get over you, I know that, but I can't stop thinking of the first time I saw you. I always wondered about you, and sorry if this was awkward, but Matthew, I will never forget you, I love you Matthew Girtz.

Sincereley,
One more Pathetic admirer,
Gabrielle F.

Breaths in the Sand

by Dee

She walks along the shore
each soft footfall
leaving behind a sigh
in the sand.

She stands alone,
one figure poised in elegance
framed against the sunset
dark hair flowing
in the salty breeze.

She hears a voice,
whispering in the crest of each wave
in the sea-foam swirling
around her feet
in the last golden ray
of sunlight
cast across the troubled water--

Sing
it cries to her,
in melodies of untold beauty
Dance
it croons to her,
in soft, soothing rhythms
Let me be heard
it whispers.

She runs back along the shore,
a song rising within
the stars a crown upon her hair
wet slender feet leaving
breaths in the sand.

If You Really Knew Me

by Nightlock Belle

If you really knew me you would see
I am free.
Though I tend to be a loner,
Some call it anti-social,
I'm never truly alone.
The God who created the Universe,
His Son/ My brother,
And the Spirit born of his Passion are with me.
You can't see them maybe, but they're here.
My name's not widely recognized but I was born of love within their eyes.
The eyes of the unseen ones above and below and the eyes of my parents.
Mine are still together though so many are apart.
I love knowing both my Father's hearts.
I love to write and read times three, sometimes music is my only company.
Whether I'm thrust towards the mic, or hiding backstage, I don't care.
I just came to play.
But you couldn't see that
If you didn't know me.

People who don't know me think that that girl doesn't have any problems,
She looks so fine, head held high, mettin eyes, and smiling that sweet little grin........
Little do they know it's all pretend.
Sometimes all I'm doing is hiding my tears.
'Cause I'll never fit in, never fully reside, nor does anyone really see my eyes.
Otherwise you'd know I'm not fine.
How can you know what you can't see?
You don't even know me.

65 roses, a pretty name for such a sucky disease.
I hate people saying "Oh my G**"
Don't they what they say? What it means at all?
...................... Do they even care?
I already know the answer would be No.
I care. I don't say it, I'd manage to offend someone somewhere and confrontation isn't my skill, but I care.
He made you, has your name tattooed on his hand.
He left his Son to die, forsaken on the tree for you and me.
He loves us with a love beyond measure.
How can you turn around and diss his treasure?
'Cause that's what everyone is, precious beyond measure.
A most sacred treasure.

Those around me can be super mean,
I isolate so I can hide.
Friends haven't been able to get what we had back,
it was little more than shattered glass.
My heart was shattered glass.
Glass then thrown in my face as they laughed.
No one helps me rise when I fall.
Ugly is something you don't need to hear, screamed loud for everyone to hear.
Fakness I despise, coming to take innocence. My own isn't there anymore.
Silence is the only noise I hear.
But eyes are windows to the soul, or so I'm told.
A single glance can do damage untold.

*Reject, Failure freak.*
Here I find hatred and envy,
here lies ignorance and prejudice.
Where sweet ends and cold indifference begin. Not a person, a THING with vocal cords.
Right in front of you I scream.
............................................................Did you hear it?
The bloody shriek of murder in your ear?
Resounding through every open space?
I have to hide behind your mask. Is that fair? Is it right?
No, but does anyone care enough to show me the light. This a dark night, and there are wolves prowling.
I've been thrown there often enough. Someone is going to again.

I've overshot my time. The round is up.
I'll leave you with one last question. Relax, it could've been several. Not that any of you have read to the end. If you have, congrats. Unless you skipped and then you're lame. Not ready to see the face in the mirror behind you. Yeah, I'm there. The tall, quiet girl with shoulder length brown hair and the hazel eyes.

This is a Q that demands an answer.
If you hate to, do it anyway. I don't like doing my treatments and being called a freak, and no one stops either of them.
Be honest. Not like I'll ever know. Not really.
Here's the question:
Do you really know me,
or am I stranger to you still?
If I'm a stranger, then I'll be on my way. Adios, Au revoir, all that jazz. I'll brush by you without another word.
So tell me if you dare, who can look me in eye and see the brokeness inside.
I'd like to know it too.
Now this is truly........................ Good bye.

(soundtrack: Rumors by Lindsey Lohan)

Bent Glass

by Cora

Bend the glass, my love
Twist it and mold its gravestone
Eerie grotesque light.

Footprints

by Becca

He's happy again
Now that she's with him
And they dance again
Once more hand-in-hand

She twirls again
Her white dress flowing
And they kiss again
Savor the moment

They laugh again
the sand warm and wet
And he loves again
Like waves love the shore

They feel again
Cool watery tide
Together again
On the sunlit beach

She fades again
She just can't hold on
He reaches again
He can't let her go

They dance again
Slowly, one last time
But she's gone again
And their last waltz ends

Tears fall again
His footprints still there
In the sand again
But his are alone

I Seem To Be.....

By Erin Elaine


I seem to be
kind of young, a little naive.
I really am
so much more than age admits.
I seem to be
so distracted, so blind.
i really am
just dreaming. let me sleep.
i seem to be
kind of careless. i feel fine.
i really am
so overthinking. im confused.
i seem to be
okay with everything, just going along.
i really am
so confident with another plan.
i seem to be
sure of where i am
i really am
still unsure. im pretty young.
i seem to be
just happy on my own.
i really am
hungry for you to find me.
i seem to be
so complete and so at peace.
i really am
a little bit half full.
i seem to be
living life on the seams of this.
i really am
so content with where i am, in bliss.
i seem to be
so
so
sure....
i really am
praying for the answers.
i seem to be
growing up, every day.
i really am
a little girl forever.
and i seem to be
moving on.
really am
staying put.
i seem to be
looking for new roads.
i really am
sitting down in the middle of the one i'm on.
i seem to be
running fast.
but really, i'm
moving
so
slow now...
and i seem to
look only where i'm standing.
but really i
reach for the higher heights.
i seem to be
walking but
really i'm
runnning.
... slow me down...
because i seem to be
speeding up
and i really am
not ready for this.
and i seem to be
moving at the same pace
but really i'm
so much farther ahead.
but i seem so
far behind.
...slow me down.
because i seem to be
kind of young. a little naive.
i really am
so much more than age admits.
and i seem to be trying to reach those dreams.
but really
i'm scared to get there.
i seem to be
strong above my own two feet
i really am
reachign for your hand...
to support me.
i really am.
i really am.
i really am....
just a kid.
and all i need
is time.

I Seem To Be.....

by Diya

I seem to be
Excited, happy, perfect.
But I'm not.
My best friends don't even know.
I don't have the guts to tell them
That I'm not stupid. That I have feelings.
And thoughts.

I seem to be
Shallow, stupid, thoughtless.
But I'm not.
I wasn't born a writer,
I was born
A thinker.

I seem to be
Childlike, annoying and stupid.
Careless and innocent.
I don't know, nor do I care.
Lost in a dreamland
Far away.
My life is simple.
And perfect.
Friends envy me for how simple
My life seems to be.
How I'm easy to understand.
But its not.
I'm not.
They are the ones lost in delusion.
They don't know a thing
About me.

I really am
That rope tied in knots.
A thinker.
A feeler.
One who yearns to understand.
Understand everything.
One who spends time thinking
About everything.
Thing that others throw off as pointless.
But still, I don't understand

I really am
One confused by her own words,
Imperfect,
Irritated.
One who analyzes
Every
Little
Word.
One who wants to learn
Wants to know
Wants to understand.

I sometimes think:
What if I'm just a character in a story
A sad story.
A confusing story.
That emotional wreck who hides what she feels.
My life is a rope tied in knots.

I really am
Unexpressive.
Always keeping my thoughts to myself
Despite what others think.
They think I share every detail of my life,
They think I'm talkative,
Shallow.
They think I tell them everything.
Through writing or words.
They think I don't care.
But I do.
I really do.
I care about everything.
I think about everything.

I really am
Caught in a net
Of truthful lies
And lying truths.
And guilt.
That girl being strangled, suffocated.
Squeezed.
By her unspoken words.
Unvoiced thoughts
And feelings.

Because I really wasn't born a talker or a writer.
I was born a feeler.
I was born a thinker.
And, in the end,
They don't know a thing about me.

I Seem To Be.....

by Luna the Vampire

My name is Luna,
And I just feel my
Heart breaking when
I see you look at me
Because I know to you
I seem to be
Just your good friend,
But baby, I could be so
Much more to you if you
Would just look inside......
I seem to be
A lonely gal who's cool with it
But I'm not.
I really am a romantic gal
Who's in love with someone
Who to I seem to be
His girly friend,
But why can't he see
That in reality
I really, really want to be
His girlfriend.

Song Converting

Song: Homecoming
Artist: Lisa Kelly
Song Converter: Dee

I am a wanderer.
Few may find me, for my path weaves through songs and stars, above the mountains and the trees, a brilliant streak of deep blue that only I can see.
Do you wish to find me, to wander forevermore at my side? Do you wish to know the joy of flying high through the skies, of riding on the autumn wind into the lost kingdoms of dreams? Do you wish to see the majesty of pure moonlight, full and strong, not weak and broken as you see it now, its dancing rays cast upon a rippling golden sea?
Then travel to the distant horizon, where the stars are rising, and when you stand upon the place where the solid ground ends, you must let go.
You must let yourself fall.
When the sky fades away, call my name, reach out for me. I will reach out to you, and as we fall together through the stars, our feet will find my path once more. Then we will wander, through songs and stars, above the mountains and the trees, upon the brilliant streak of deep blue that only we can see.

Won't you come with me?

Alexandria White

by Ivy

Prologue

I was always the imaginative one. I had always wondered, what if the butterflies I saw in the meadow were really tiny fairies, hiding in disguise? What if the trees that were shaped
into an arch, what if they were really a portal to another land? What if the snake holes I saw in
the ground were really full of talking mice, or chipmunks? And what if the dragonflies that swirled around the folds of my skirts were pixies playing their foolish games? My mother let me wonder these things.
I would walk up to her bedside in the morning, when I was a child, and I would tell her all the marvelous things I had dreamt of, and she would listen. Then she would make me breakfast, and she would ask me questions about them. My Father did not ask me questions. My Mother was in bed with a cold, and I would go to my Father and tell him what I have dreamed, but before I could finish, or even close to finish, he interrupted me. "silly!" He said in his strong voice. "that could never happen, come to reality girl!" his firm voice rang through the halls.
"but Daddy, Can't I-" I tried to speak, but was always interrupted.
"your Mother is ill Alexandria, it would be wise to leave everyone alone. And your foolish nonsense too."I looked at him with my eyes shining with tears. He was my father wasn't he? I knew he was busy, but Fathers weren't supposed to be like that! "yes Daddy." I said. I left the drawing I was so proud of on his desk. It was a fairy, and I had taken hours to finish it. Maybe when he saw what a good job I did he would understand.
"what is this?" he said. He crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash. "get your head out of the clouds girl, we have a life to live! And try calling me Father, it may be a step closer to what a proper young lady would do." I couldn't hold the tears any longer. I rushed up to my Mothers room, and saw her in the bed with her nightdress on.
"oh Mother!" I cried into her lap. "why doesn't Daddy think the way you do?" I remembered what he had said to me downstairs and I cried harder. My Mother gaining her strength, rubbed my back, and stroked my hair.
"oh Alexandria, what did he say this time?" She asked, her gentle voice already calming me down. I told her the story, and she listened. The best thing in the world she could have done, was listening.
"Alexie," she said sweetly. "why must you always believe what he says?" I almost felt more tears running down my cheeks, was she scolding me?
"it does not matter what anyone else says, when you believe it, you make it real." My face lit up.
"really Mamma?" I asked, "really?" She smiled, and stroked my face.
"yes dear. You are in charge of your own mind, and you will take orders from no one." I smiled brighter and climbed on the bed.
"I love you, my beautiful girl." she said smiling. "I'll always love you." I giggled,
"I love you too Mamma, you know that.
"yes I do, now scuttle off to bed." She held my hands and looked into my eyes. I gave her a big hug, and a kiss on the forehead. "I love you Mamma." I whispered.

It has been 10 years since the day my Mother died. I am 15 now, and it seems like I am the only one who hasn't gotten over it completely yet. All I hear is, comb your hair, lift your head, tighten your corset, pull up your sunbonnet, push your shoulders back, but they don't know how hard it is to be a proper young lady, when all you can think about is your Mother and how you will never see her again. It has been ten years, and I still did not forget her last words to me. I love you, my beautiful girl. I like to believe she knew it was coming, that she was ready for it, but I shall never know. I still sit on her favorite bench in the garden, and I still dream of magical things. Father still does not accept them, yet I do not tell them to him anymore. I still have the old fairy drawing I scavenged from my Fathers garbage can, and I am still Alexandria White.

Time Files

By Diya

Chapter 1

Anything was better than being locked up. Even living in an attic, surviving off of food from a soup kitchen, spending the majority of your time either doing odd jobs around said soup kitchen as your only source of money, or searching unsuccessfully for a real job. I’ve lived like this for nearly a year. Let me revise that. We’ve lived like this for nearly a year. I couldn’t forget Elaine, the bouncy six year old tugging at my sleeve.
“What is it, Lainey?” I asked, exasperated.
“I want to see Rosalina!” she informed me, her voice actually sounding whiny, “I don’t like shopping!”
“Nor do I, but we need to get you out of those rags.” I gestured to the gown we had been forced to wear by our kidnappers. She hadn’t been shopping since we escaped, and it was the only clothing she had.
Elaine sighed. “I know. But I still don’t have to like it.”
I laughed to myself “I know you don’t have to like it. I’m asking you to try and put up with it, or you’ll be stuck in that gown forever” after a second I added “And we’ll go see Rosalina right after this.”
Elaine was about to say something, but her mouth snapped shut. I couldn’t tell if it was the mention of Rosalina or the gown that finally shut her up. We continued through the department store in silence.
The moment the kids’ clothes section was in sight, Elaine ran and dived right into the aisle with the sickeningly pink dresses. Sure, of course she didn’t like shopping. I jogged to catch up to her. When I found her, she was inspecting a hideous pink, satin, floral dress, frills and everything. The moment I caught her eye, I scowled at her. She came running over with the dress. “But I like it” she told me, correctly interpreting look.
“You need something more…comfortable. Something you can run around in. Something that blends in” I waved towards my clothes, a light green fitted t-shirt and a pair of navy blue sweatpants. Closer inspection of the dress also revealed the price tag. Enough said. “And Lainey, even if I did manage to get a job I would never be able to afford this.
Sulking, Elaine returned the dress to the rack, and came back with a pair of purple skinny jeans, a hot pink t-shirt saying “Princess Gone Bad” with a picture of a skull, a plain light pink hoodie and a pair of short white denim shorts. I was amazed at her mad shopping skills. Too bad she didn’t like it. In a couple of years I could send her for all of our food.
Eying her load of clothes, I told her “It’s a start…” I pulled the jeans from her grasp. “…except for these. How do you expect to be able to run in these…these things? They might very well cut off the circulation in your legs…” I stopped at the look on Elaine’s face. In a slightly more gentle tone, I continued “If you get them in a bigger size, then maybe…”
Her eyes brightened. “Sure, Mary. I’ll be right back…” she rushed, then raced over to the rack where she had found the jeans and grabbed a new pair and was back by the time my brain had registered that she had called me Mary again. I hate being called Mary. Smiling, I decided not to correct her. I had already scolded her enough today. My hand firm on her wrist, we walked to the cash register.

We left the store quickly and headed directly to the soup kitchen, as I had promised Elaine, to go see Rosalina. Elaine marched down the street proudly, the shopping bag tucked under her arm. “We’re going to see Rosalina now, right Marissa?”
I smiled. “Yes, Lainey, we’re going right to Rosalina…and you can show her your new clothes.”
Her face broke out in a grin. “I’ll tell her I picked them all by myself” she looked at me “which I did…with some criticism from you.”
“Yes…yes you did” I told her, my mind elsewhere. Rosalina was a soup kitchen cook, and the only one who knew our story. She had been feeding us and housing us in a room in the back of the kitchen. I felt bad, so I had been looking for a job from the time we escaped. If I found one, that would take care of the food problem, but the housing problem? It would be months, years actually before I would be able to afford an apartment. I was snapped back to reality when I realized Lainey was still talking.
“Yes, I will go job hunting tomorrow, too” I answered quickly.
“Yay!”
I smiled. Elaine loved Rosalina, or as we both called her, Rosa. And a day that I spent job hunting was a day Lainey had Rosa to herself. Well, to herself and everyone else in the soup kitchen. Speaking of the soup kitchen…
I opened the door for Elaine who ran, right into Rosalina’s arms. I smiled at the older lady apologetically. “Elaine is excited. She just…”
I was interrupted by an overenthusiastic six-year-old. “No…no Marissa I want to tell her!” she whined.
Rosalina looked back at Lainey, smiling. “What is it, El, sweetie?” Poor Elaine. So many names. There was “Elaine,” of course, there was “El,” “Lainey…” I sighed. And there was what my mom and dad used to call her: “Ellie-girl.”
“I went shopping. Like a big girl. I picked out my own clothes.” Rosalina’s mouth dropped open in a well practiced look of mock admiration, surprise, and pride.
“By…by yourself?” Rosa stuttered.
Elaine smiled triumphantly, angled her head upwards, and closed her eyes just the slightest bit. “By myself” she confirmed.
“Show me what you bought.”
As Lainey started to pull the clothes out of the shopping bag, I headed to the back of the soup kitchen, silently, leaving them to their chat.
Once through the door separating the actual kitchen from the eating space, I looked around. The only people there were Lawrence and Anna, two of Rosa’s friends. Lawrence turned to say hi to me.
“Hey, Marissa. Where’s the little one?”
“Out front with Rosalina.”
A throaty chuckle escaped from Lawrence’s throat. Anna turned to face me. “That girl. She really admires Rosalina, doesn’t she?”
“Anna, that might just be the understatement of the century” I joked.
Lawrence looked into my face, his eyes glinting with mischief. “How can Rosalina poison the mind of our Ellie?”
Anna looked at him like he was insane, and then started to laugh. After a second she turned to me. “Well, Lawrence didn’t mean to keep you captive here. Go on with whatever you were doing.”
I smiled at both of them again, and opened the door to the supply closet. I crept in, then pulled the string which pulled down the trapdoor in the ceiling and let down the ladder. At the top of the ladder, I emerged into a dark musty attic. Home.
* * *
A bit later, while I was stretched out on the makeshift couch, reading, Elaine came up and spread out her clothes on the floor. “Marissa? Where should I put these?”
I got up without a word, and pulled a large shoebox out of the corner. Elaine took it from me and started carefully folded the clothes, all except for the jeans and t-shirt, smoothing out every wrinkle. Gingerly, she placed them in the box, picked up the clothes she had left outside, and then looked at me, back on the couch.
“Should I put my box next to yours?” she asked, uncertainly.
“Go ahead” I mumbled, my face buried in my book.
She pushed her box to the end of the couch and ducked into the corner surrounded by blankets hung from the low ceiling to change. Seconds later she emerged, the pink t-shirt saying “Princess Gone Bad” with the skull contrasted very interestingly with her tousled hair and her too big should-be-skinny-jeans. She definitely looked like a Princess Gone Bad. More accurately a preppy zombie.
She smiled proudly. “Looks good, right?” Oh, that’s right. I still haven’t bought a mirror for inside our ‘changing room’.
“Well. It looks okay” I told her, standing up. “Maybe I could…” I put down my book, picked up my hairbrush and started yanking it through her straight, red hair. She bit her lip, and waited until I was done. Poor girl. She hadn’t brushed her hair with an actual brush since her capture. One by one I worked the tangles out of her hair, then stood back to look at her. The zombie look was almost gone. Now she looked something like a deranged giant lollipop, the kind you get at theme parks. Between the bright pink t-shirt, the bright purple jeans, and her bright red hair, it almost hurt to look at her. After a second, I came up with an idea to reduce her flamboyant appearance. I picked a rubber band out of the pile I use to restrain my curly brownish hair, and tied her hair up in a ponytail. Much better. “There. That looks great.”
“Can I go show Rosa?”
I shrugged. “I’m not stopping you, am I?”
Elaine whooped, then flew down the ladder to the supply closet. I sighed, and hopped back onto the couch with my book, leaving the trapdoor open. I never closed it while I was up here and Lainey was down in the kitchen. She couldn’t reach the rope to open it, so she wouldn’t be able to come back up if the door was closed, unless she had the assistance of one of the kitchen staff.
A few minutes later, Rosa’s head appeared above the trapdoor. She climbed the stairs, and came to sit beside me. “She looks like a popsicle.”
Without lifting my eyes from my book, I answered “I was thinking a multicolored lollipop, but that works too.”
Rosa grinned. “Now she’s down posing for Anna’s camera.”
I laughed, caught off guard. “That’s Elaine for you.”
The door in the supply room below slammed and a voice rose from below. “Rosa?”
“Speak of the devil…” I muttered, already sucked back into my book.
“What is it, El?” Rosa called.
“Nothing. I just wanted to know where you were.”
Rosa rolled her eyes at me, laughing to herself, then turned just as the blinding Elaine appeared through the door. “El, the floor might just collapse, there are so many of us here. Why don’t we go downstairs?
I sent a silent thanks to Rosa for saving my reading-time, watching as Elaine then Rosa disappeared through the trapdoor.


(for more, visit this link: TIME FILES)

Wrath to My English Teacher

by Laika Pearl


Please understand.
Follow my directions.
Do what I say, but not what I do.

Shake hands with reality.
Tell stories with non-fiction.
Do everything, but don’t.

And all I want is to imagine.
Smile in a field of flowers.
Breathe untouched air.
And sigh.

Expository- not how I work.
Expository- not what I’m about.
Expository- not who I am.
Expository- yes.

Yes?

Yes. It means to inform.
So I’m informing you:
My life. Is. So. Much. Funner.

The Tree

By Beth

It was a tree.
Just a tree.
A simple thing, really.
There are millions out there in the world. So you would think it’s nothing special … I guess it wasn’t. Not to you. Not to your friends, your family. Even the people closest to me had no idea why I flung such adoration at it.
It was a willow, the base mostly wide and tall, with a couple of big sturdy branches, perfect to sit in, huddled with a book notepad or sketchbook. The branches which all willows have offered perfect privacy, and secrecy from anyone who might be searching for me - not that people normally looked for me. Most of the time, my lack of … existence barely mattered for anyone. I guess I was like a shadow: a silent presence, so easily overlooked. The long vines draped down, trailing into the river that backed my family’s property in North-East England.
I don’t remember when I first found the tree. All I remember is that it was always there to catch me when I fell, watching my journey through childhood, picking me up and planting me on my feet… wrapping me up for a hug in it’s long, tendril-like branches. Or, in summer, throw me laughingly into the river, sending me swimming back to the banks.
For some time, it was my only friend. Other times, my best friend A sibling … sometimes, just simply, a friend.
No matter how miserable or joyful I felt when I first crossed the field, my spirits were always lifted by the tree: it’s existence, simply.
I remember running across the field, all the way from the house, slipping down the river banks, throwing myself into the tree and scrambling up into it’s wooden embrace, offering relief from whatever situation was currently ailing me. I was only six then.
At the age of eight, I have a very strong memory of walking straight from school to the tree, fighting back tears. I hung my bag on one of the branches, half-hoping that it would fall into the river, and get carried away by the current, before settling into a nook, like a little curled up ball. That was the day my best friend moved away.
Winter.
Ten years old.
Snow covered the ground; my breath turned to mist in the air. I was rugged up in jackets, scarves (I think I was actually wearing three of them…), gloves and a beanie. I must’ve had at least four pairs of socks on, even over my heavy boots. And yet, I did not dare leave my tree. There was a book in my chubbily gloved hands. Nowhere else I’d rather be (my house was filled with siblings, cousins and various relatives visiting for Christmas). Even with my ears falling off from the cold.
On the last day of Primary, School, (twelve years old), I sat in the tree – relieved, cheerful, and yet the memories were still flashing by my eyes, for once more real than the river, the leaves tickling my face. For once, I was elsewhere … then I laughed, and reminded myself that I had a whole Primary School-less future ahead of me.
Years passed, more than half of my days spent in the tree – I read, I wrote, I sat and thought, I brought my iPod out and listened to music. The one thing I didn’t do in the tree is bring other people there. Nobody but me was allowed underneath the dangling bows of the tree. Come to think of it, I don’t even think anyone knew where I went when I left the house, running across the meadow. I didn’t try to keep it secret … I just did, I guess.
Eventually, I moved out … but I was careful not to buy a home too far away, so that I could visit the tree on weekends, which quickly turned into visiting the tree every day, almost leading me to move back in with my parents … but soon I got married, I had children, and my parents got old. Still I made it my goal to spend at least an hour in the tree every week.
Nobody knew.

Eventually, my parents got old … they passed away. After the funeral, I let my husband take my two children home, and then ran almost all the way to my old house, to the tree, where I sat in a huddle as the sun set, slipping away over the horizon, sneaking away and leaving me with darkness. The property would one day have to get bought – then what? Maybe I could buy it … but no, the town life was a million times easier, and the property would be far too expensive for just a tree.
And so I let it get bought, told me it was simply a tree, I was a mother, a grown woman, anything but a child. A tree, honestly.
I didn’t see the tree for sixty years. I haven’t seen it until now. Now, I am a grandmother, a widow, ancient, with almost a 50/50 chance of dying the next day. Crossing the field to visit this tree was as difficult as it would have been to climb Mount Everest at the age of 20. But I had to do this. The current land owners had just had a development plan passed to build a bridge crossing the river, cutting through the row of willows lining the banks, and, in the process, destroying mine. There are no means of protest, the plan has been passed and the machinery would be arriving next week. I patted the trunk gently, knowing that both me and my best friend would be dying very soon.

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