shades of brown bark lead up to the great green
his arms reaching up for the sky
his face looking down to me
solemn expression in his eyes
surrounded by spades of lime sprinkled with daffodils
not wanting to disturb the peace
he is stuck in solitude
for no one attempts to climb the hill
from far he stands tall and grand
admirers come from a far
i come up close and see it grows
difficult for him to stand
one hundred years since he stuck his roots deep in the ground
the world grew up around him
disregarding his presence and beauty
not pondering the subject
the world assumes he stands safe and sound
alone, alone he will stay
forever and a day
what would become of him if I were to climb his trunk
perchance he may befriend me?
i will appreciate his beauty
he will appreciate mine
alone, but together
and when I die I’ll bury myself next to him
soon after, from my body I will grow him another friend
My creative writing class at Yale is a workshop that requires you to read and critique class member’s creative pieces. This class is truly exciting for me as I have never been in a classroom environment that encourages free, untamed, uncensored creative writing (with the exception of the occasional creative on-demand assignments in my AP English Language class). We have been reading dozens of short stories both student-produced and from renowned authors. Each day, my eyes open just a tiny bit more to the immense world of fiction writing. A common theme in the first cluster of our readings has been gloom, promiscuity, and shame. I love those things just as much as the next person (um.. not so much) but I attempted to turn seemingly depressing prompts into opportunities to make a joke. It really gets your mind going to imagine a conflicting ending to a given prompt.For example, a prompt is: “He has carried aches and pains throughout his days for years. A type of pain that squeezes out his energy and love. This pain is…”You are immediately forced to think of an equally gloomy ending to this story. Yet, you can turn it around and create something unexpected and unique. I suggest you guys to try it. Post your prompts and replies here and see how people respond!
When it rains,
they say the sky is crying.
When there’s sun,
they say the sky is shining.
When it’s cloudy,
they say the sky is sad.
But when it snows,
is the sky upset or glad?
Rain is the tears of the heavens,
Sun is the glimmer of god,
Clouds are uncertainty and gloom of the stars,
But what is snow, but odd?
What is snow?
If it be not tears, hope, or grief.
What is snow?
Pain, or relief?
You are, you’ll be
That can never change
I guess I don’t respect
What I can’t rearrange.
I can’t hammer into your skill
What I wish you’d see alone
Because if I have to see it for you
You learn nothing on your own
I can’t mend your every blunder
When you know what I expect
Because if I have to fix it for you
You don’t learn what to correct.
I can’t always take your side
If you can’t even prove you’re right
Because if you don’t have a reason
You don’t even have a fight.
You are, you’ll be
That can never change
I guess I don’t respect
What I can’t rearrange.
Most days I never feel my age.I usually feel oder or younger than I actually am.Sometimes I feel like a total infant and others I feel like a senior citizen.
I get the sense that I’m racked with years when people tell me I’m mature and then ask me what college I have in mind,and of course what I plan on doing for a living.I get the urge to pull out my security blanket when people think I’m younger than I actually am and then act quite surprised when I reveal my real age.When you take that into consideration,it’s not surprising when I leave the house in pajamas one day and the next I throw on the uniform of the teenager;jeans,bad posture,cynicism.
Some night’s I lie in bed waiting to see if my parents will ask if I want the door cracked or the closet light switched on.They don’t,not in a long time,my door’s always sealed as tight as a bank vault and the moon is my nightlight.
Some weekend or summer mornings I wake up early just so I can watch all of the Saturday morning toons,like I did in elementary school.An attempt to recapture the years of recess,one teacher for all subjects,and no homework on Fridays.
Some days I play the part of the stereotypical teenager just for the fun of it.I whine,I yell,I stamp my feet and spew classic lines the whole time.
“You don’t let me do anything!”
“I wouldn’t act like a baby if you didn’t treat me like one!”
And of course,the biggest,baddest adolescent cliche.
“I can’t wait until I move out!”
My parents also give a stunning performance.
“Act your age.”
“Grow up.”
“You’re just a kid.”
It’s when they say the latter that I inwardly smile and think,”Thanks,I am,I thought you forgot.”
