This is just a quick excerpt from an english project that I was particularly proud of. Enjoy : )

The only one in there without a pout
Because he had himself all figured out.
His hair was soft and shined up with some product,
He was well-tended and his lips were turned up.
Widely sought for his romance advice,
The girls in school thought him without a vice.
With parents most traditional and wealthy,
He wound up in the councilor’s, though healthy.
They though his state a curable condition
And considered straightening him their mission.
With no heed to their pettiness, he soared,
Ambitious, witty, tasteful, and adored.
This new age might take him as he was,
No one would think to question who he loved,
Or so his daydreams rested as he sat.

Pathetic Attempt at Poetry

It's been a while.
Lately it's just been the excuse for some illegal excursion or another.
But today I actually went.
The soccer field was a milky yellow plain
Different form the last time I was there,
when it was bright green.

So today I was thinking
of the people in my life.
And all the different people that I am, condensed into one mind.
"I live a hundred lifetimes in a day"
I noticed that you are the only person that knows every angle of me.
And I know at least several of you.

To quote my favorite movie
"There's so much beauty that my heart swells up and I can't take it,
then, when I stop trying to hold onto it, it flows though me."
That is how I feel.
Today I was swinging there
looking idiotic with my eyes shut tight
and a big silly grin on my face.
But I was so happy.
So grateful to be alive
that the love was almost physical inside me.

Expectations

For Claire: I have quit. I love you so much and, for you and your dying grandfather (as well as my own health), I have quit. This time it isn't a momentary inspiration, it's a life decision. Besides, there is no going back now. I don't want to be gasping for air while we climb the peaks of the Andes and trump through the virgin wilderness. And, on that note, for the record, I still want to go. My desire for Latin America has never wavered, though we should perhaps catch up on our plans. It gets closer every day.

For Swank: I have dedicated myself to art. I will be the best that I can be and I will see you again. Someday, when I am famous and selling my art for thousands apiece, you'll hear about it and smile. In the present, I am photographing all my best art and building a show for you.

For Brandon: I am reaching for the dream. I haven't quite got it yet, but I am looking and I am going to find it, only this time, I am not looking for you. Come by sometime to define life with Ms. Stafford and I again.

For Ms. Stafford: I love to hear you speak. You have an uncanny ability to tell me matter-of-factly everything I have been reaching for. You seem to have it all figured. I am so lucky to have you.

For Bess: I am still trying to figure out how to word our friendship. It's difficult because we are both so many different things mashed together. We are different from each other and yet we are parallel. I can build my thoughts off of you. I love you so much and I am here.

For Maggie: Breakfast Club, sugar cookies, 10:00pm, and you. These are my favorite nights. You let me blab and blab about my life's meaning and, even though you know I make no sense, you listen. You get me. I wish we spent more time together, but hey, I'll be seeing you tomorrow, even if I can't see you straight. LOVE!

Losing Grip: Falling Into the Status Quo

I feel old today.

It is as if my skin were rippled and translucent and my vague eyes buried in layers. But, more defined than appearance, I feel old. I am tired, solemn, and vacant. Color, which is ordinarily life, bombards my senses. Tonight I desire a life of creamy, soft tones. This is most unusual.

One thing I lack in this age is wisdom. Rather, I am completely unable to think. I sat in the cold, brown yard sucking nicotine that made me breathe too fast, all the while thinking about how stupid I was being. And yet I went in for another. It was as though my mind and body were disconnected and I might as well have been sawing off my hand. I draw the line here. I have to stop before I lose the ability to.

It is not only that. When I am bestowed time for life, I do what? Squander it before a screen. Why is it that I only understand part of the time? I need to be clutching onto my individuality and pouring my every emotion and bit of energy into sculpting. It is through my art that I will not fall. Proof of this: I am on the computer instead of sculpting

and I am falling.