18. RejectionEvery rose has its thorn, and I hate how I will always have one too many to ever be good enough for you.
You used to remind me how I had too many thorns and how that'll always be a problem. Yet you come back. Why do you come back if I'll never be good enough?
I wanted to prove that I wouldn't let anything stand between us, so one by one, I pruned the problems and shaped myself into a better person all for you. Just for you. You thought enough time had passed and my thorns weren't as intimidating anymore. I poured my heart and soul, my everything, into loving you. I really did. Everything seemed fine until you came back with your metaphors of delicate flowers, falling rose petals, and thorns that'd make you bleed. You just couldn't take it.
Cast aside like some forgotten pet, I no longer cleaned myself up for our sake, but for mine. I was tired of your excuses and your candy coated lies.
And you said you didn't want to hurt me anymore. It was a little late for that.
3. Father"Did you hear about my dad? He was arrested," she said as she laughed through her domestic violence tale. She told us about the argument her dad got into with his girlfriend, how she ended up under their frameless bed, and the scratches on her arm.
My friend continued to laugh because this was her father. She laughed off this story because for once, her father was around. They may not see each other often, but he was there. He wasn't off in Alaska catching crabs on ships so a father could earn money to live with his daughter, only to blow it off on alcohol. He wasn't driving a truck to help pay for their shared phone plan he soon neglected. He was half an hour away from her getting in trouble with the law.
Maybe this was the only way my friend could cope with her dad. She remembered all the times he wasn't there for her and was thankful for the times he was, even if it's a domestic violence charge. He was still there.
1. IntroductionYou may think I'm just a dreamer, but I'm not. I'm a writer. I see the world in a new perspective and record it on paper. I befriend words and make a playground in which they play and put them together to create new scenarios, adventures, people and places. I use description to help others see through my eyes, others feel what I feel. It's who I am.
I'm a girl with ambitions. I have a plan and I won't let anyone or anything stand in my way. Yes, I'll be put to the test, but when the day is done, I will prevail. I'll face up to my fears and conquer them. I'll help change the world, even if it's only in a small way. I have what it takes to keep my goals in sight.
I'm a daughter, a sister, and a friend. I was raised to respect others, say "please" and "thank you," and appreciate the smaller things in life. I help my brother get through the tougher situations and I'm always there when he needs me. I love my friends and there isn't anything i wouldn't do for them. They are the ones that mak
44. Hold My HandThe melodious music filled the air
as each and every head turned to the back.
Her white gown brushed over the aroma
of ruby red rose petals and whispers
on summer breezes.
I watched strands of hair rise playfully
from her shoulders as her gaze
My heart was
thumping, thumping, thumping
with the fall of every step.
The butterflies were
fluttering, flying, floating
as I took a deep breath.
The pastor stood before us,
Do you take her to have and to hold?
She glanced before I squeezed her hand,
the color rose to highlight her cheeks
and her eyes shone even brighter,
For better or for worse,
until death do you part?
The air around me burns my lungs [burns my lungs and it's eating me up little by little].
The walls are closing in all around me. I feel tight, compact and I can't move. Thud; the sound my flesh and bones make as I thrash against the wall. I blindly scratch at the dry wall while bits of dust gather under my bleeding nails, desperate to make my escape by any means possible. My chapped lips release muffled screams as the darkness inches closer. I scrape up the remnants of my consciousness in order to stay awake, to live. Alas, my fear consumes me as I collapse into silence.
L'ecureuilI remember in eighth grade you got a little too curious when five girls sat giggling on a park bench. You scurried around in the grass not sure what to do, when out of no where you were in a race for your life. At least that's what I would imagine you'd be feeling [I know that's what I'd be feeling if our positions were switched]. A girl was rushing at you with a spoonful of moose tracks ice cream. What only made us laugh harder I'm sure put you into a panic.
Him and I were laying underneath trees. It was on our lunch break, and we managed to escape everyone else. Everyone else but you. I spotted you above as you glared at me down below. We literally had a staring contest with twenty feet between us. You ruined that moment, Mr. Squirrel.
The other day, in fact, you threw an acorn top at my neck. Why? I really don't know. I can't even begin to fathom why in the world you'd choose me as your target. It took me by complete surprise, so if that was your intent, congratula
Me, Myself, and IJessica,
You never give yourself enough credit. Really. You always see yourself in a different light and wonder why some people actually put up with you.
Your hair isn't that bad. I know you look at it and think there isn't much to be done with that never-quite-straight hair, but it really is pretty when the sun hits it. So what if it isn't always perfectly in place? That makes you different, right? And that reddish hue in it makes someone jealous somewhere.
Your eyes? Darling, they're gorgeous. They really are, but you've learned to love them, haven't you? They are just different. No, they're not just brown. They're pools of liquid chocolate. Splashes of jade appear in them in the sun and when you're angry. I've seen it.
You always felt out of place, you know. You had friends, you had best friends, but when it came to society, you just don't fit in. Maybe it's the way you think; you always seem a bit old-fashioned, but you know what? I think