yet outside, we cannot play.
There’s just too much stress,
and inevitable sleeplessness.
Will it ever cease,
for there is no justice, no peace.
Maybe it will drop,
I want to know why it just can’t STOP.
Today is a good day,
yet outside, we cannot play. There’s just too much stress, and inevitable sleeplessness. Will it ever cease, for there is no justice, no peace. Maybe it will drop, I want to know why it just can’t STOP.
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shh,
Winter rain, winter rain nothing matters; no one stays. We come and go and fall away like raindrops Carried off on our own winds- far, further... Forget me, forget me not.. Run along, now. From the rooftop
all you can see is pale blue The ground holds a lingering smell of tin cans and there is always a faint noise Soft feet tapping on the ways between homes and of quiet The apartment complex sits in the middle of many others not unlike it, but not exact Black and white Squares like a chessboard How long has it been? The world around is an ocean endless, deep Devoid of anything and everything Nothing but Black and white squares like a chessboard. A soft screen dimly glowing in a cool, half-lit room Separated by an ocean From all that matters We're Dancing,
On the moon. My dear, we'll be together soon Because I'm waltzing on The moon All the things, I would love to hear, The things we'll talk about, my dear time is swallowed up, out here when we're a million miles away. I'm Sleeping, on the moon Spending this wonderful afternoon out here, I'm a million miles from you. Fall is by far my favorite season, and one of my favorite activities during this time of year is getting cozy with a warm drink and watching an autumnal movie or show. Here are a few of my top picks from this year that will put you in that seasonal, nostalgic mood:
Movies:
TV:
There’s this feeling
Every year As the days grow shorter And the outside Gets colder. There’s this feeling Every year That happens When the snow starts falling And we get our coats ready. It's a special feeling That comes with the knowledge Special things are right Around the corner. As the holiday season approaches fast People may become anxious Just wanting to see their loved ones. It doesn’t matter what you celebrate Just who you are with After the holidays, Things seem dreary That special feeling Starts to change. The long, cold months May seem to drag Just waiting for Spring to come But don’t just wait Embrace the cold Go outside All bundled up. Take walks or Play in the snow. But if the cold isn’t for you Then stay inside Make a fire And a warm drink Grab a blanket And maybe a book Or a puzzle, or maybe A tv. Gather some family And just chill. There’s this feeling That comes and goes During the holiday season A feeling of joy that Seems to be gone once The celebration is over. But don’t let that happen Celebrate the cold. Find a way To make the Winter feeling last. "Find a penny, pick it up. All day long, you'll have good luck." I thought of the old melody as I spotted a rusty penny lying on the splintered New York City sidewalk. I decided to pick it up and take my chances. As my index finger brushed the penny, an old, haggard woman sitting to my right said, ”The penny is dead, the penny is dead. It will not work even if you try.” I grabbed it anyway, and quickly scooped it into my pocket. I hoped the luck part of the melody was true. I ignored the women’s warning although I had never been a lucky man. I saw a ladder a few feet ahead and was determined to prove her wrong. There was a man of about fifty resting on top of the ladder, painting the side of the building above. I held the penny firmly in my pocket. It was now or never. I slowly counted in my head taking a 2 second break in between each number. Three...two…, the last number slipped though my lips- one. I moved briskly towards the ladder, and looked up at the clouds. One step, two steps, three steps, four. Under the ladder I go, I thought. Will I survive another day, who knows? It was as if I stepped through a portal.
“I survived, I survived, I will live another day!”, I yelled into the crowded street. Onlookers began to stare my way. “BONGGGGGGG”! The paint can slipped from the man's hand. I dropped on the sidewalk, my shirt quickly becoming covered in blood. I looked up at the clear sky, one more time. And then, I was gone. Seriously, I didn't do anything wrong!
I mean, there I was, trying to walk to my next class—not doing a single thing wrong, let me tell you—when the principal called me to his office. If my mom finds out about this, I am so dead. Right now I'm waiting outside his office. The secretary with the bowl cut told me to work on my homework. As if. There is absolutely no way I can't journal this right now. How else will I vent my emotions before going in there? I mean, I'm not exactly known for keeping my thoughts to myself. I don't even know what I'm in trouble for. I haven't ever done anything wrong in school, except for that one time I wrote the quadratic formula on my hand before an Algebra quiz, but I didn't even use it! I felt too guilty, which was dumb, because then I practically failed that quiz. Well. Actually. Maybe that whole "nothing wrong ever" thing was an exaggeration—there was that one time last month when I lied to Mr. Olsen, my biology teacher, and told him that I didn't get to my homework because there was an unexpected distant family death, and I was too sad to work on it. I mean, there was a distant family death, but it was some fourth aunt I'd never met, and I didn't get to my homework because after the funeral I wanted to hang out with Mariana, my best friend. And last week I asked to go to the nurse's office in gym class due to cramps, but I actually just didn't feel like getting changed out of my super cute, limited edition faux-leather Nine West ankle boots only to get hit in the head with a volleyball. And now that I think about it, yesterday I told this snot-faced girl in my class, Emma Taylor, AKA my arch-nemesis since the beginning of time, that I hope she flunks out of school so I never have to see her ugly face again, but I only said it because she was being mean to Mariana. I was protecting a victim of her cruelty. Emma probably snitched on me like the baby she is, just happening to leave out the part where she knocked all of Mariana's books to the ground and told her that she was fat (a word that Mariana and I know isn't supposed to be negative, but it was the connotation that stung. I guess Emma never got the body-inclusivity memo). It's completely Emma's fault I'm sitting in this rock-solid chair. At least my new Maje tweed skirt won't wrinkle (best thing about tweed: wrinkle-proof). Some middle schooler just came into the office and blew their nose right in my face. God. Sometimes, I hate my life. I hate math tests, which are totally unnecessary, because, hello, calculators. I hate being called to the principal's office for no reason. Most of all, I hate that my one true love, this completely amazing junior with shiny, swooping hair named Beau Johnson, asked Emma Taylor to the winter formal and not me. I don't even know why she hates me so much. Sure, I'm a freak. I don't play sports or do well in school or have more than two friends, but I'm not hateable. I don't disrupt class or get extra homework for the whole grade. Mostly, I fail math class and feed my cat. What's so hateable about that? And, like, sure, I'm mean to her sometimes, but that's just because somebody has to tell her when she's being a complete snob. I never even initiate conversations (okay, fine, arguments) with her. Dr. Garcia just called me into her office. Ugh. I hope I don't get detention. More updates later. I knew he'd rip my heart out. I've held my breath all three years of our relationship, waiting for the other shoe to drop. God, how could I have let his shiny-hair, dumb-grin face sweep me up like that?
When I opened the door and saw Logan in his navy button-up, I could have thrown up. Already, I knew what was coming. Two months ago, when he bought the shirt in Portugal, he FaceTimed me, saying it was the perfect Bad News shirt because blue is the sad color. It seemed he wasn't joking. "I made your favorite," I said, gesturing to the spaghetti on the table. I wanted to add, Let that be enough. He smiled a little but didn't respond, just got right to the table and right to eating. He wanted this done. He seemed to like the food. At one point, he said he was "in love" with it, which was weird. Sure, he was talking about food, but that isn't what you say to the person you're about to break up with. What was he thinking, playing with my heart like that? I tried to cover my surprise with a grateful smile, crediting the recipe to my grandad even though I had found it on Allrecipes half an hour beforehand. That's just the kind of thing Logan liked to hear. He wasn't interested in conversation. I asked for more stories about his friends from Lisbon, a run-down of his day today, anything. I just liked hearing his voice. When he first left for Europe, I kept thinking I heard him. Walking on the street, I'd hear people talking and whip my head around fast, thinking my curly-haired boyfriend had realized he couldn't spend half a year without me. It was always a stranger. When our plates were empty, he got that creased-brow look on his face that he gets when he has something important to say. I knew what was coming, so I took the plates to the kitchen to collect myself. I stood there in my six-by-four feet miniature kitchen a little too long. These were the last moments I could ever call him my boyfriend, I knew. When I got back, he jumped right into it. No time wasted. "Thiago, can we talk for a sec?" I nodded, taking his hand. There was no pressure in return, so I let go and put my hands in my lap. He dove into a speech that I'm too heartbroken to repeat, but he basically said he didn't like me anymore and we that should break up. It was cruel, but it was also fast. A ripping-off-the-Band-Aid kind of breakup. I gave him one final chance, asking if he'd thought about it enough. Say no, I willed. Say nevermind. Say sorry I was stupid, let's go watch a movie. "What is there to think about?" he responded. The final strings holding me together snapped. I barely heard my own words, just bit my tongue to hold back tears. When he finally left, I closed the door quickly and collapsed right there in the doorway, crying so hard I couldn't breathe. Golden Fire
Blazing orange Burning Red Fills the trees Crackling As the wind blows Under the trees the flaming colors have fallen. There is a bench, On the bench there is a mug with a scarf snaked around it And harvest of fall, a crisp apple, weighs down a page of a book that sets open to be read surrounded by Ember Leaves |
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