Missing Pieces

 Author's Note: This is a poem I wrote about my mom being gone for almost 2 months now. I started working on it yesterday, which was kind of a downer day, so I wanted to write something sad. The form of this poem is kind of new for me, but I hope you enjoy it! P.S, check out my piece below this one, I'm trying out a new format, so see if you like it!

Texts, Calls

Words on screens

No footsteps of yours

Ringtones.

No, We

Half empty bed

No shoes in the hall

Space.

Sad, Sighs

Gathering dust

No car in the front

Shadows.

Wait, Wait

Hundreds of clocks

No releif to be found

Help.

Here

 Author's Note: This is a piece I found while looking through my past journal entries. Of course, I have revised it quite a bit, by changing a lot of the lines, and switching it from a robert frost like layout to a kind of funnel layout. I wanted to use that because the theme of this piece is very mysterious, and kind of depressing, so I wanted the reader to get kind of excited and into it by reading less and less every line. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 

The heat captures me in it's sticky grasp

The back of my arms, legs, neck, burn from the black gravel

My eyes stare at the stretch of blue sky, and white clouds as it blurs together

The ground beneath me vibrates a small, pulsing  rhythm, over, and over

Thousands of ripples, growing larger until I can hear a distant engine

Its big, I can feel how the massive weight of it shakes the ground

Appearing in the distance, I do not need to look, for I know

Its speed maintains, a bull charging toward a rep cape

But I'm no red cape, I'm gray, barely noticable

The fumes fill my nose, numb my body

Its giant shadow sweeps over me

I do not flinch, I wait

And after it's over

I stay the same

Here

The Truman Show: Response 1 and 2

All His World's A Stage

Author's Note: This is the first response I did to The Truman Show. I wanted to write a poem, because I was only halfway through the movie and didn't know the outcome yet. I incorporated "All the world's a stage" by Shakespeare, because in the movie, all Truman's world is a stage. I hope you enjoy it!

All his world's a stage

And all the men and women merely watch;

Merely tune in-- with dead eyes and dead minds

Watching one live his life, pausing their own

All his world's a lie

And all the men and women go along;

Along with the plan-- to keep his cage locked

To keep what is fake, the thing that's most real

All his world is crumbling

And all the men and women await;

Await his next move-- and what happens next

Something will change, a pattern will break

**

At Sea

Author's Note: This is the second response I did for the movie, The Truman Show. I decided to write a fictional piece with the same theme. I used some of the main symbols in the movie, like the ocean, and the viewers of his television show. This piece is kind of a diary-style story, and I tried to the best of my ability to write a paralell piece. I hope you enjoy!

I've always been afraid of the ocean. It's massive, and unforgiving. Ironically, it's also where I've lived ever since I can remember. I don't know why I haven't left, maybe it's because this ship sails in circles, or because my soul is the thing that's lost, but for whatever reason, I sit here now, rocking back and forth on the black waves.

Every day is the same. I wake up, steer the boat, avoid staring at the abyss below, go to bed, and start all over again. The thing is, though the ocean is vast, and just waiting to be explored, my boat goes no where.I always see repeating landmarks in the space around me. Those little things that stand out as you pass them. I've even started to count how many times I see them, and the numbers are giant.

This morning, something was different. I woke up feeling quesy, which was something that rarely happened. I stumbled out of my bed and outside, into the salty sea air. I clenched my fists around the metal railing before dropping my head down towards the sea. I never got as far as to empty my stomach, because staring back at me from the water below was a face. A scream erupted from my chest, knocking the sick feeling right out of me. The more I stared into the ocean, the more faces I saw. They were all strangers, nobody I recognized. Their  faces were blank, and their eyes looked right through me. A shutter shook my body, and I dropped back into the boat.

Am I going crazy? My mind spins, and I realize that going insane could be a legitimate possibility. The thing that scares me the most is that I have no one to tell me it's okay. No one to look into the ocean and tell me that there's nothing there, nothing to ease my pain. I lay there, on the boat floor, and stare into the sky, watching it slowly fade into darkness.

Every day it gets worse. The faces become more and more clear, they close in on me, and my sanity slips slowly away. I fear for what will become of me, for I am stuck on this boat, with no hope of leaving. I've even given up driving it, because that means I'd have to stare into the open water, into the thousands of faces that fill it. So my boat sits in the middle of the ocean, and I sit in it, letting the minutes tick by, one by one.

I can't even sleep anymore. Every time I close my eyes I see those pale faces, and peircing eyes, and my eyes burst open again, terrified of what I see. I'm almost positive my mind isnt right, I'm starting to hear voices, and whether it is because of the lack of sleep, or something else, I have to leave.

For the first time since I saw the faces, I go outside to the front of the boat. It seems to be closing in on me, too small for even one person to stand on. The wind whips my hair, but sweat beads on my forehead, and the world starts spinning around me. I can't take it anymore, I'm tired of being afraid of everything around me, tired of being caged in, not being able to live my life.

I don't know why I did what I did after that, maybe it was because of the strong things I was thinking, or because I had gone insane, but whatever the reason, I jumped. I dived off the front of the ship, into the cold, dark ocean. I kept my eyes wide open the whole time, staring back at the faces that had ruled me for however long it was. The cold enveloped me, and I felt arms pulling me every which way. I smiled, and let them.

Emily Dickinson Poem

If you are looking for my poem that emulates "I heard a Fly buzz--when I died" by Emily Dickinson, please go to my Emily Dickinson sub-page and leave a comment. Thanks!

Trapped

Author's Note: This is a poem I wrote to get something new on my blog, since Mr. Johnson was nagging us about it for a couple days. I got the inspiration for this piece from writers block, and had been wanting to write something about it for a while now, so it felt good to get it out. I haven't done something of this format ever, so that is a little experimental, and I ended very abruptly, which felt weird at first, but it really works well with this poem. Enjoy!

A wall.

Your cage--

You try to lock me in.

My breath--

It fades.

Too close to my own skin.

I see no light--

My world is gone.

Your tricks have been well played.

You blur the lines--

Of right and wrong

The edges become frayed.

One more time--

I try to shout.

To get me out of here.

The walls--

They shake, crumble and fall

The outside world is clear.

Claustraphobic

Author's Note: This is a piece I did based on a painting I saw at the Milwaukee Art Museum. For some reason, this painting gave me a lot to write about, so I chose it. At first I wanted to make it a poem, but it didn't feel right, so it's just kind of a journal entry-ish free form piece. I hope you enjoy it! Also, there is a picture of the painting below the piece.

My fingers wrap around the cold steel bars, one by one.

I've lost all of the reasons to grab onto that metal monster--

It encases

traps

suffocates.

           I've lost all reason, but one.

I don’t hold on to beg for forgiveness, or to try to break out, I hold on to feel something. The smooth cold nature does not forgive, does not accept, it bites back; it shocks me enough to make me feel again, feel what I've done, what this place has done to me. It is my own kind of drug, the simple feeling of something like that is enough to get me by.

Too soon though, the bars become one with my hands, intertwined so much that it makes me sick. I damage everything around me, like a parasite growing stronger by the minute, but instead...

 I grow weaker.

I reach through, grabbing for the light I see in the distance, the light that started out so bright, but now fades every time I glance back. I don't usually dare too look, for fear that it might fade completely, and that is the only thing I have left, but I am too far gone to care, for nothing can get worse, so I give in, grab for it with all my might, preparing for what happens next.

I keep reaching, only to have it fade faster than I could have ever imagined, dark purple the color of the fading sunset, into green as dark as the blacks of my eyes. They are the most beautiful colors in the rainbow, turning foul as they match the color of the dirty space around me, turning into memory as the light disappears forever.

I was wrong, I was not too far gone, I was at a crossroads, and I took the wrong route.

I am worse than too far gone now, I am forever erased in the minds of all who knew me, all who cared. I stumble back, and slide down the wall in a dark corner of my cell, prepared to spend the rest of my days here--

No.

Prepared to leave my body now, and have the empty shell that was once me remain, to gather dust, to rot for eternity, for no one will fine me.

No one wants to.

The Lunch Table

 Author's Note: I decided this piece was going to be controversial, because I wanted the comments on this post to be meaningful for both me and the person commenting. This piece is about the cliques in our school, and my goal was not to be disrespectful to anyone, but to still have an opinion on the topic at hand. I hope you enjoy it, and PLEASE comment! Don't be afraid to dissagree, or agree. Thanks!

Every school is rich in one thing or another, whether it is the arts, education, or something entirely unique. I have lived in three places so far in my life, and Pewaukee wins the sport award. Most everyone at school plays at least one sport, but most participate in multiple. Basketball, football, soccer, track, they're all on the daily agenda. Ask a few people what they did over the weekend, and at least one answer will be playing in a tournament, or  having something funny happen at a soccer game. All of these activities bring people together, and form tons of amazing friendships.
 

Unfortunately, sports are also just as able to keep friendships from forming.  In middle school, cliques are all you can expect, and in a stereotypical school, there would be the jocks, the nerds, and the cheerleaders. Here, it is simply the ones who play sports, and the ones who don't. Everybody knows, whether they want to admit it or not, that all the people who play one of the many activities get a spot at the lunch table, and all the friends they could need. It isn't because the kids that don't do recreational activities are weird, or uncool, but the worlds of the two cliques are totally different. Only a few people, like me, manage to fit in between both worlds, and that gives us a whole different outlook on the school.

The Pewaukee school district has all of their schools on one street, which means everyone grows up together, from kindergarten to senior year. This is both a blessing and a curse, because there is no pressure to meet new people, but by now, nothing is ever going to change with the way the cliques are. Even if one sport just disappeared, the cliques would not change, or intertwine, the sports group would only become closer, sympathizing with the ones who lost their favorite hobby. It is my hope that in the high school years we have to come, that something will change, something will shift the balance of this school, but for now, everything stays the same, and that is all that can be expected in a middle school world.