Two Years

I remember getting the green sheet of paper that explained what our task was in seventh grade. "District Writing Assesment" it read at the top. Below that were the directions to write a response on the given story. I stared long and hard at those words along with the rest of my classmates. Although we all summarized the story without even separating the paragraphs it was our first 'benchmark.'

We wrote essays every week in 7th grade and barley ever got a chance to write a creative piece or poem which I learned is my favorite. I have to say that I do thank Mr. Graf for drilling us on essays because I have the directions implanted in my brain now. Eighth grade was a little different though, we got the write creative pieces and poems whenever we liked. I learned how to use semi colones in the right place and how to make a solid conclusion on an essay. I still find writing essays a pain; probably because I have wrote so many in the past. In addition to that I would say that essays are my weakness! My strengths are word choice and fantasizing/elaborating on the feelings that I have at the moment through a creative/descriptive piece.

I have become such a strong writer throughout 8th grade and I'm excited to keep it up through highschool.

Raymond's Run

Authors note: This piece is based on what Raymond, being mentally disabled, would be think on the inside.

Slowly, I try to spit out the intelligent words racing through my brain but all it comes out as is a some baby gibberish. Although what appears on the outside and comes out of my mouth may seem weird, it does not fit what is on the inside. My sister Squeaky, she always has to defend me because I could never get my point across; it's such a shame that the world looks down on me without knowing how I really am. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep because I feel like I have no point in life, then my parents storm in and think that I'm sobbing because I'm 'special.' It hurts me that I Squeaky has to take all the rude comments from me, she doesn't deserve it; I know one day i'll some how make it up to her.

The Door

Authors note: This piece is dedicated to all of the silenced voices from the tragic tsunami in 2004, the world would have loved to hear your voices. 

Banging,

Thrashing,

Snapping; God reaches out his smooth hand

SWOOSH!

Tiny hands covering ears,

Thin salty lips;

Screaming “DADDY DON’T GO”

BANG!

God opens the smooth white door,

His hairy arms stretch forward;

Signaling the route up the worn squeaky stairs.

POW!

Shaking fingers slip,

Leaving clammy hands with no strength;

No strength to stay alive.

Fake

Deadly harsh comments slyly slip away from your twisted tounge. As my heart slowly beats to a stop the sinister words escape past your overly chap lips, 'You're fake.'

Beep, Beep! As my devilish alarm clock hisses at me I pry my own eyes open to stare directly at my drab ceiling. The only thing pulling me out of heavenly bed is the way my heart wrenches at me from knowing that I'm going to see you and your perfect face the second that I arrive into the school.

Although I've stared at myself many times in my elongated mirror I always find a major flaw lurking around my face so I proceed to pull out my weathered makeup bag with a sticker of a flawless Barbie on the side. As I slowly unzip the dull silver zipper I pull out my foundation primer and unscrew the black cap. The smooth gel slides along my skin creating a solid brick wall protecting my gentle skin from your harsh comments. Following that I conceal away my blemishes; or am I just concealing the ridged scars left behind by every fowl comment thrust upon me?  Each step of my makeup routine covers up something about me. I slather my foundation around my face rubbing vigorously, trying to erase all of scars. I have applied a mask over not only my skin but my soul as well! Who am I? Am I Lauren or am I just a pale face in the crowd? My whole life I have hid behind this appealing mask; trying to please people as I go. I have strived for the ultimate perfection yet no one can achieve it. Quivering in front of my elongated mirror I stare in disbelief; I am me!

I wore that mask too somehow believe that hiding myself would enhance me. Although I still reminisce on the days where 'me' meant somebody else I have gained the strength to burn the mask like a block of wood in warm bon-fire on a breezy autumn day. Why move along in life trying to be something that you are not? We were born as complex individuals and will stay that way until the day that our beating hearts cease.

Fists of Memories

Do you remember,
the chilled air in November?
The autumn breeze wrapped us in blankets
as we held our breath and closed our eyes.
Do you recall that,
we thought it would all last forever?
The days of our youth and the bitter weather
combined with the love that we wore on our naive chests.
But all good things must end.
And do you remember
watching the sun set together?
The rays of the sun lit up every last one of the memories we held in our fists.
Do you recall that
we always swore that we would never forget?
All those days and weather that led us to display our love on our chests.
But all good things must end.
And we both know
that we were just making the poorest excuses
like we all do
just to feel like we have something solid
to hold on to.

Fifteen Minutes to Write

I have to write something within the next fifteen minutes; now only 14. Wow, Mrs. Reagles keeps on talking and I have to write something. As the time ticks away my stomach viciously screams, "I NEED FOOD!" Although I am eating my delicious turkey sandwich a whole hour before my actual lunch period starts my stomach still pierces with an unbearable pain! Even though I'm still sitting here quietly my insides twist and turn with anger. The clock hurriedly ticks away; leaving me with absolutely no time to compose a dazzling piece to post on my blog.

Inside the Snow Storm

I can see the dim Yellow street lights fade as the vicious snow attacks the quiet world through the frosty window. The wind whistles as it whips each snowflake in every which way. Dark wicked creatures lurk down every alley, street and boulevard vandalizing everything in its path. Although the night sky isn’t any where to be found the misty clouds continue to force the snow upon our world. My courage forces me to step into the storm and take the risk. As I close the back door behind me the mysterious wind wrenches me out towards the center of this black monster. One foot at a time I step with confidence even though my vision is blurred by the massive amount of piercing snow that ambushes me. My long golden hair whips in terror as the forceful gusts of wind attack. As I unsteadily enter the eye of the storm my head jolts straight up. Hair still flipping uncontrollably, eyes glued shut and hand on my beating heart I shove my arm straightforward and fall to my knees; good-bye world.