What happened to the wonderment of childhood? When I was a kid, everything was wonderful to me. I could look at things with innocent eyes. I can no longer do that, because I know adult truths, and I know that nothing can ever again look mystical and amazing again
When I look up at the sky see clouds, I feel like all those clouds represent hope. Each one carries its own sense of the word. One cloud represents a woman's' longing for love, another a man's hope for relief. They all stand for something, things we all know that we won't get.
Having hope is kind of like having a dream that will never come true. One wants the dream to come true, but it won't out of fear of rejection. When children have dreams, adults think that they're cute. They smile down at them, knowing that they may have to conform to society, and not be free.
When you get to that certain age, and start to learn that the world is not as it seems, you wonder how anything could look beautiful. I wondered that once. I wonder now how little children cannot see the real things on Earth. All they see is a field full of friendly animals and flowers, while I look at the same field and see carnage, like a war has gone through.
When I first learned about these kinds of things, I wasn't really worried, because I didn't think that I would see things differently. But then, I was suddenly colder, more alert, and indifferent. I didn't want to be happy, because I knew that not everybody was. I didn't enjoy things, when other people are starving and hurt.
There are many shades of gray, but I guess that you have to know some things in order to see certain shades.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
ELA Showcase Assignment
My top three blog posts go as following:
Untitled Poem #3- I love this one, because I feel like I moved into something deeper, other than the stuff I'm usually told to write. I felt a kind of freedom, writing about what I wanted to write.
Untitled Poem #2- I felt changed after writing this one, because it was something different, and desperate.
Untitled Poem #1- I wrote this because I feel like the queen of unrequitted love. I also fell that love really is like this, a game of chance, all up to your own decisions.
The blog post that best reflects my creativity:
Sunday Mornings- I never go into much detail about my memories, because I'm very private about my past. This was difficult to write for me, because digging through old memories always bring up bad ones.
Evidence as my growth as a writer:
Untitled Poem #3- I never want to create new characters for a blog post, because then I feel compelled to writ a three hundred page story, so I had to cut down on a lot of stuff that I had wanted to write about.
The post that proves I am a writer/thinker:
Hunger Games Final Blog Out Project- I really had to convey feeling, and my own ideas, which is very hard, because not a lot of people understand what I write about, or what it even means.
Untitled Poem #3- I love this one, because I feel like I moved into something deeper, other than the stuff I'm usually told to write. I felt a kind of freedom, writing about what I wanted to write.
Untitled Poem #2- I felt changed after writing this one, because it was something different, and desperate.
Untitled Poem #1- I wrote this because I feel like the queen of unrequitted love. I also fell that love really is like this, a game of chance, all up to your own decisions.
The blog post that best reflects my creativity:
Sunday Mornings- I never go into much detail about my memories, because I'm very private about my past. This was difficult to write for me, because digging through old memories always bring up bad ones.
Evidence as my growth as a writer:
Untitled Poem #3- I never want to create new characters for a blog post, because then I feel compelled to writ a three hundred page story, so I had to cut down on a lot of stuff that I had wanted to write about.
The post that proves I am a writer/thinker:
Hunger Games Final Blog Out Project- I really had to convey feeling, and my own ideas, which is very hard, because not a lot of people understand what I write about, or what it even means.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Untitled Poem #3
This sweet, sad sound fills the air. I know where it comes from, but do not move.
The violin I hear is from a player who has gone through troubles, but lets it play in his music.
This man could be a star, but only plays for himself. Only he can feel the sorrow in his music.
This sound is sad, and only he knows where it comes from.
He knows the memories it took to compose this kind of work.
The hurt, the pain, the loneliness, he knows where it came from, and what kind of notes it takes to release.
The sound is of happiness, but then sadness, as though he has lost someone, and won’t let anyone else in.
He is a loner, and only lets one stray cat follow him.
He wants to be like this cat, and be free. To have no restrains, this man can only hope.
He has one love, but she barely notices.
She is torn between two loves. A king, and a stray cat. He feels that he could provide so much more, but she doesn’t see it.
She is confused and conflicted, and can’t divide loves.
He holds a key, only for her lock.
He keeps a promise, a promise that keeps him bound.
He wants to leave, to break free, but the consequences are just too great.
He would only gladly jump and leave, if only he could.
He plays this sad, sweet tune, because it’s the only thing that he can do to let go of his sorrows.
He plays and plays, in the moonlight, so no one can hear him, but I do. I know his story, and I follow along, because he is like me, and I like him.
Two stray cats, to never love, hope, or dream. Only to wish, never to succeed.
To watch the sunrise, and wish that that day will be the day, the day he breaks free.
The violin I hear is from a player who has gone through troubles, but lets it play in his music.
This man could be a star, but only plays for himself. Only he can feel the sorrow in his music.
This sound is sad, and only he knows where it comes from.
He knows the memories it took to compose this kind of work.
The hurt, the pain, the loneliness, he knows where it came from, and what kind of notes it takes to release.
The sound is of happiness, but then sadness, as though he has lost someone, and won’t let anyone else in.
He is a loner, and only lets one stray cat follow him.
He wants to be like this cat, and be free. To have no restrains, this man can only hope.
He has one love, but she barely notices.
She is torn between two loves. A king, and a stray cat. He feels that he could provide so much more, but she doesn’t see it.
She is confused and conflicted, and can’t divide loves.
He holds a key, only for her lock.
He keeps a promise, a promise that keeps him bound.
He wants to leave, to break free, but the consequences are just too great.
He would only gladly jump and leave, if only he could.
He plays this sad, sweet tune, because it’s the only thing that he can do to let go of his sorrows.
He plays and plays, in the moonlight, so no one can hear him, but I do. I know his story, and I follow along, because he is like me, and I like him.
Two stray cats, to never love, hope, or dream. Only to wish, never to succeed.
To watch the sunrise, and wish that that day will be the day, the day he breaks free.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Untitled Poem #2
I can see her there, standing in the grey.
I want to reach out to her, but I know that if I do, I won't see her anymore.
She beckons me, but I know that now is not my time.
They all get over her, but I can't. She was mine, I can't live without her.
Her family focuses on other things, trying to forget. I can't. I need her.
Without her, my life is an empty void. Every night I dream of her. She tells me to wait, that I will be with her soon enough, but this waiting is killing me. I want to feel her hair through my fingers, and touch her soft skin.
I have waited weeks months, almost a year know, yet she tells me the same thing, Wait. I avoid the places we used to go, so that I'm not reminded of her.
When friends come around, I shut down. Every time I look at them, they remind me of times with her. They joke and laugh, but I won't do the same. To feel happiness without her, is wrong.
Finally, she tells me to come. I don't know how, but she tells me.
This is the place we picked. It's abandonded, and high up. They say the jump is painless. I prepare myself to be with her, after all these months. I jump.
Finally seeing her is peaceful. She smiles and I can't help but do the same. We're finally together. Forever as one.
I want to reach out to her, but I know that if I do, I won't see her anymore.
She beckons me, but I know that now is not my time.
They all get over her, but I can't. She was mine, I can't live without her.
Her family focuses on other things, trying to forget. I can't. I need her.
Without her, my life is an empty void. Every night I dream of her. She tells me to wait, that I will be with her soon enough, but this waiting is killing me. I want to feel her hair through my fingers, and touch her soft skin.
I have waited weeks months, almost a year know, yet she tells me the same thing, Wait. I avoid the places we used to go, so that I'm not reminded of her.
When friends come around, I shut down. Every time I look at them, they remind me of times with her. They joke and laugh, but I won't do the same. To feel happiness without her, is wrong.
Finally, she tells me to come. I don't know how, but she tells me.
This is the place we picked. It's abandonded, and high up. They say the jump is painless. I prepare myself to be with her, after all these months. I jump.
Finally seeing her is peaceful. She smiles and I can't help but do the same. We're finally together. Forever as one.
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