Poetry Part 2

Because you aspire.
Because you interpret words into feelings.
Because you live across the world.
Because you chose your name.
Because you are trustworthy.
Because you were there through hard times.
Because you gave me a place to call home.
Because you became a friend.
Because you became family.
Because you helped me recover.
Because you know the real me.
Because you make me laugh.
Because you make me cry. 
Because you are perfect.
Thank you.

(Yes, this is about Blogland)

Poetry Part 1

My brain is a galaxy, 
My thoughts vast and unexplored. 
Every idea is a new star,
A bright spark in the night.
Each word is a planet,
A new life form created.
Every action is a language,
A new word on paper.
Every voice in my head is an alien,
Trying to invade.
My brain is a galaxy, too full for words.

Stains.

Look at those beams, just lying across the ceiling. It’s a nice break from the white of the rest of it. Though, granted, the white is interesting too. It’s got stains and marks and little holes. All of those marks, those stains, they have a story behind them. They have a little history of how they got there, completely unique to them. And we’re all like that, with our own unique story of how we got where we are, so maybe the stains and the holes are nicer than the beams, nicer than the things that stick out about the roof. Maybe it’s the little things that count, and not the big, obvious things. Maybe it’s not all about the surface, and if we look a little deeper, we can see the stains and holes in everyone and we might finally find an interesting story.

Write a one hundred word story in which no word is repeated.

Use the word Demure (shy and reserved)

Words. They hold immense power. Without them, where would we be? It’s a challenge in itself to write a story where no word can be repeated. But I know everything is possible, though some things seem hard. Just like now. So, let’s see how this goes. Already half way through. Running out of verba, mind. Guessing other languages are fine, yes? Good. Twenty more. Brain aching. Slowly stalling. Not sure what’s coming from my head anymore. Five. Four. Three. Two. Done.

use only 50 words

use word inured

Do you know what it’s like to become completely inured? To become utterly fatigued? Do you know what it’s like to be without sleep for days on end?

Because I do. It ‘s the worst feeling in the world.

Everything fades until, eventually, sleep takes you into its steel grip.

There hole in my ceiling. I don’t know how it got there. I don’t know how it got there, when it got there or who put there. And it drives me nuts. Because I just want to know. I want to know about that hole, I want to know the story behind it. Who knows, maybe the story will be the best one I’ve ever heard? Maybe, it’ll be about pirates and zombies and invasion from space. Or maybe it’ll be as simple as someone accidentally throwing a ball too hard at the roof one time. Who knows? But until I find out the story, it’s always going to bug be. Always going to get on my nerves. Because there is nothing I like more than a good story.

Perhaps it happened when a girlfriend and boyfriend where lying down in the room, talking, smiling. And then the boyfriend stopped smiling and sighed. He might have turned to his girlfriend and said the hardest words anyone ever has to hear, “I think we should break up”. And then, maybe, the girl – because that’s all she is now, a girl –got angry. Maybe she started throwing things and screaming and asking why. And then, maybe, the guy ran. But, before he could go, the girl through something at his head. He ducked, but it sawed over it and it the roof, creating the hole.

Or maybe it happened when the boy proposed to the girl, and she said yes, throwing her arms in the air. And maybe when she did that, something flew out of her hand and hit the roof and made a hole.

Or maybe I’m just a romantic.

DON’T USE THE WORD “IF”

So this is what happens when I don’t know what to write. I write out my thoughts. I’ll still be doing the challenge, but instead of writing a story, I’ll be writing about what’s going through my brain. I know, it’s weird, but it helps clear my head and it lets me think in a different way.

Look at the way they all write, sitting quietly, an occasional whisper to a friend. This class is definitely my favorite. We all just seem to get what it’s about and we use the time to our advantage. I’m glad I chose it. I’m glad I got in.

Sitting here next to Brianna, Kyla next to her and Willow on the end, I feel welcome, wanted. It is, to be honest, a welcome change. I wonder who else does this, just types aimlessly to themselves…

Sometimes I fear I’m the only one. But that can’t e the case. Can it? It’s too mind clearing, to thought easing. There must be someone else who does, someone else who realizes just how peaceful it makes you feel.

But then again, I don’t know anyone else that describes a roof when they’re bored. So maybe I could be.

Write about a war in which no one dies

I’ve fallen in love. I’ve fallen in love with someone who, in my eyes, is perfect. Her outlook on life is one of immense beauty. She tries to find the best in everyone. Her smile is heavenly and her eyes hold a spark of wisdom so old even the depths of the ocean would not know the things she knows, could not hold the information that must be swimming in that mind of hers.

There is a brilliance in everything she says, a kind of hopefulness that could never be removed. If I tried, I could not for the life of me describe her voice. There just aren’t enough words to convey what I would like, and even if there were, I would never know where to start.

But when she’s angry, when you say or do something that she just doesn’t like, you’ll see that spark in the eyes turn dark, that knowledge will dig into your soul and pull out your biggest secrets to use against you. That voice of hers, impossible to describe, will take up a sharp undertone and her smile will pull into a flat line. The look on her face will be one that makes you want to lock yourself away from light for a thousand years and hide.

And then the words will come. Because when she’s angry, she isn’t violent. She doesn’t attack you physically. She doesn’t need to. Her words are enough to make even the strongest of men cower in fear. She’ll say things, words as cold as ice, that will make you re-evaluate your life choices. Her sentences will come quickly, only pausing to think, like a soldier at war, re-loading.

Then, when you think it’s all over, she’ll say those last few words that will make your heart shatter: “I expected better from you”.

And just like that, the war will be over and that smiling, intelligent person will reappear. The sharpness will drop, her eyes will soften and positive outlook will return. She’ll look like a completely different person than the soldier a few moments before and you’ll soon find yourself smiling right along with her. But you’ll never forget what she said, and you’ll never disappoint her in the same way again.