Just Around the Bend October 29, 2008
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Just around the bend Whether it’s jumping out of bed in the middle of the night,Or running out of the house when my parents are in a fight,My feet have always brought me to the same destination in my flight. At the end of the block is a nice little house,I’m gulping in air from the running,Hand over my rapidly beating heart.My place of comfort I have run too. The person inside that place,Always makes me smile.They never know that their home is my place.Their sanity is my safety, Never to know I was even there,I turn and leave my safe house.Returning to my problems in life,Them not seeing my troubled face. If they ever saw they would find it odd,That their friend runs to their house in the cold,Only to stare and leave again
Returning to
Just around the bend
(I need help on this one. The first part seems out of place since it randomly rhymes and the rest doesn’t…)
The Violin August 31, 2007
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As I
walk by
and pay my respect,
my eyes
linger on that
now lifeless
thing that I
have come
to love and
long for. The
spirals of that
wooden scroll,
the polished
tigers eye grain
of the violin
gleaming in the
dim lights That
magnificent,
beautiful toned
piece of art.
His Violin.
The Violin.
For years as I lay
down to sleep I’d hear it playing
those sweet notes. Sadness. Excitement.
Surprise. Happiness. Anger. All emotions
Of the musical world played on this object.
Those annoying pieces, whether by Vivaldi
Mendelssohn Brahms Mozart Paganini or
Bartok. They would be played and I Would
hear. That instrument brought Me so much
joy in life. I long to hear It played just
once more. My fingers Itch as I walk by it;
the sole Object on that lonely table
That table near the one Who
used to play it so dear That
beautiful jewel that motivated
me To keep with my own jewel
But this jewel. His violin. will
always Be my light. Guiding me from
the Darkness of my mind. The loneliness I
felt in Life. no matter how many times I wish for it
It’ll never come alive again Its soul is gone forever
I will never forget The good times I had. Even if it is
to be silenced It will forever lay there dusty, cold and
alone No sound to be heard. No Mozart gliding on the
Strings. No music to put us all in a trance like the old
days. No violinist to play the trance-Like music. The
music I would hear in my mind has diminished. He
is gone. And with him The spirit of the violin.
They are one in The same. My violin (In a normal word document it’s aligned to the center of the page and it takes a violin shape but the website won’t save the alignment so just pretend.)
The Only Good Myspace has ever done August 31, 2007
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The only good myspace has done She posts: “I just got a call from my fiancé’s mother.he didn’t get home “on time”
he can’t see me anymore
going to commit suicide.
call me if you
truly don’t want me to leave”
Thoughts float through my mind
Frantically hands search blindly on the table,
fumbling for the phone. Shaking hands
type in area codes and digits
at the speed of light.One thought flashes through the mind.live.
Hysterics and depression answer the phone.
Calmness and caring respond. Fiancé’s and their mothers, Pregnancies and broken girls,Guns, rooftops, Friends, myspace She cries of people leaving -people being fake.“I hate you.”“ You’re my best friend!”Two different personalities from the people who break her.Two different sides of corruption. She’s alone in this world,No man to say “I love you”Because he’s off hiding, being a momma’s boy. She says it’s too late.She’s tired of it allDoesn’t want a baby born in a worldWhere fourteen year olds give birth. The only people who call,People from another place,Never met except on myspace. Calmness soothes the hysterics While caring coaxes her out of depressiontears turn to laughter and thoughts of leaving run away.The darkness gains a little light.The only good myspace has done is save a life.
I am August 31, 2007
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I Am I am that cool summer breeze,
I am that hot cup of cocoa after playing in the snow,
I am that box of chocolates you get after a breakup,
I am that bedtime story you loved to hear,
I am that gulp of fresh air when you thought you would drown,
I am comfort
I am the soothing lullaby from a mothers lips,
I am the serene lull of the ocean,
I am the I am calm I am the missed play date,
I am the untold truth about what really happened to your doll,
I am the missed birthday,
I am the failed grade after studying all night,
I am the invitation you never got,
I am disappointment
I am the all night project,
I am the picture that just won’t take,
I am the problem that just won’t solve,
I am the friend unwilling to try,
I am frustration
Comfort, disappointment, frustration, calm
Just some things that I am
But one thing I will always be…is here.
The beginning and ending of the short story January 14, 2007
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Peering out the tent flap, the sun was rising, a bloody red, across the cooling sands of the desert. Inside, the large tent was divided by hanging canvases. In the receiving area sat two men.
The young doctor continued to rub the paste in as the dark haired Egyptian gritted his teeth at the pain the black green paste was giving him.
In honesty the Egyptian thought that his burn looked worse than it was. Normally he would have pushed the young doctor away and performed the necessary bandaging himself, but since the burns were partially on his back he had caved in and let the doctor ‘help’.
He let out a hiss of pain as the doctor rubbed some of the paste into the deepest burn. “I’m sorry my friend but this has to be done.” The dark haired man let out a small stream of words in Egyptian that the doctor could not fully understand but knew that they were most likely not very pleasant.
The doctor paused while the man was cursing since he was moving as he did so. “Are you quite finished?” said the doctor holding he green covered cotton swab. The Egyptian sent him a glare for a moment before responding with a yes. “Good,” said the doctor as he applied the medicine again. The man twitched slightly and bit his tongue for the next few minutes until he was bandaged up. “There we go. All finished Sefu. See now that wasn’t so bad now was it?” The dark haired man, Sefu, sent him a look. “It was very painful.” The blonde rolled his eyes as he was packing his old leather case with his medicines. “I was referring to letting someone help you.” He shrugged and stood up; carefully walking to the tent flap and pulling it back to let the suns rays enter.
He looked around at the small village of tents; at his people. A figure was seen running towards the tent. “Sefu!” he said as he ran, coming closer till he stopped in front of him. “Some of the men that were injured in last nights attack are coming too. Robert told us to send for him when they woke. Is he around?” Sefu nodded. “Yes, yes he’s inside the tent packing up. I’ll send him right over.” The man nodded before running off again to tell the people in the medical tent that the doctor was coming.
Sefu walked back in the tent and watched as the blonde finished with his bag and stood up. “Duty calls.” He said and Robert nodded. “So they’ve finally woken up then?” Sefu nodded and headed out of the tent with Robert following.
Many people were gathered outside the medical tent with jars of water and food and blankets for the wounded men and few women of the tribe. Robert and Sefu walked right in, nodding too many as they went.
___________________
The dark haired man reached over, being careful of his shoulder, as he dug through the old leather bag filled with bottles, needles, and cotton swabs.
He had already cleaned the wounds on his back with a liquid and it was now time to apply the blasted paste. After a moment of fumbling he managed to open the jar without agitating his shoulder or back more than it already had been.
Pausing a moment he stared down at the open jar as if recalling a memory.
He finally shook his head and applied it to his burns before putting it back and latching the bag shut. He walked out of the tent and stood just outside the flap as a small procession walked by.
He silently watched as four pole bearers stopped in front of him. He moved his hand slowly so it was above the face of the person who appeared to be in a peaceful slumber. He knew better. He mumbled a small blessing and they continued on.
He continued to watch until the glare of the blonde hair disappeared in the rapidly disappearing red sun.
Just around the bend January 13, 2007
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Just around the bend Whether it’s jumping out of bed in the middle of the night,
Or running out of the house when my parents are in a fight,
My feet have always brought me to the same destination in my flight. At the end of the block is a nice little house,
I’m gulping in air from the running,
Hand over my rapidly beating heart.
My place of comfort I have run too. The person inside that place,
Always makes me smile.
They never know that their home is my place.
Their sanity is my safety, Never to know I was even there,
I turn and leave my safe house.
Returning to my problems in life,
Them not seeing my troubled face. If they ever saw they would find it odd,
That their friend runs to their house in the cold,
Only to stare and leave again
Roxy January 13, 2007
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lit. assignment- write an essay about what you would name your autobiography and why
Searching through the crevices of my mind I think of all the names I’ve ever been called or created over the 16 years of my life. It? No, I don’t want to be thought of as a psych-killer clown. I then turn to one of my own creations, Roxy. It’s perfect.
Although Roxy has nothing to do with my real name, it’s become a nickname of sorts. Many people laugh at it, not understanding the meaning or importance of the name.
“And Roxy you’re on….Andrew’s team” said my world history teacher. The entire classroom turned, looking around for the owner of hte name with murmers of ‘who’s Roxy?’ and ‘who?’ ‘Do you have the wrong class?’ “No” she replied, “It’s Miranda’s nickname.”
I still remember all the stares, burning into me, then the sudden laughter. “Roxy?!” So? What’s wrong with the name, I remember thinking. I felt myself getting mad and ready to snap at the next person who laughed. Definatly the Roxy in me coming out.”It’s my nickname. Get over it.” I said and everyone quickly stopped laughing.
Though they didn’t understand the meaning of Roxy, I did. I created her years ago. Roxy was my best friend. I had always wanted to be the rebellious teenager who liked dark colors and Metallica. The opposite of how I had been. Instead of a sister, I wanted a twin brother. instead of Cs, she made As and Bs. She had everything I didn’t. Roxy represents who I want to be if I had the chance and at the same time, who I am.
I think Roxy would be a good title for my autobiography. Over hte past few years my character had helped me. When I’m in a bad mood, people now call me Roxy. When I’m upset or depressed I find myself thinking what would she do. Yet I finally realized, it’s not me doing what she would. Roxy is me. She does what I do.
DFA Writes 