Category: Junior Literary

sing me a song that come from the soles of your feet and reminds you of your boss’s favorite tie- the same one that hung him from the rafters

wear the jacket that makes you feel like a fallen angel, hidden in the hell of mortality right beside my brother’s broken heart

“Where did he go?”

watch the sunset and wish on the moon as it calls to all of the lost children staring up at the stars from their caverns of misunderstood rationalizations

hold your breath on sunny days and blow out the nectar of your mother’s sweet lies as you choke on the smoke of your grandma’s last cigarette

hear her voice and tell the man sitting next to you on the train that his father would be proud- complement his shoes

“I’m homeless.”

tell me about the summer you fell from a tree and couldn’t remember the color blue, but you knew the color of my eyes

stare at the car sitting in the parking lot-  remember when your mom had the exact same one, and you lost her favorite amethyst ring inside its heart for a year

“Just don’t drop it.”

you dropped it and her heart, losing both to your inability to hold tight to what means the most to you- was it on purpose?

ask your father why he doesn’t love you like he loves the amber in his cup, stop crying when after all these years his answer never changes:

“It doesn’t disappoint me.”

did your mother realize what she was saying when she told you to leave?  you came back- she never asked you to.

throw up the words you didn’t say when you had the chance, it’s too late, they don’t care anymore

“Neither should you.”

I wrote this while listening to a song titled “Rope” by DED, and it includes the line, “I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid of what I might do.” This made me realize that I feel the exact same way for people in my life.

It’s always been difficult for me to make new friends or converse with people I have not known for a number of years, and I used to tell myself that was because I was terrified of other people. But I realize now that the real truth is that I was scared to get closer to people and open up to them and do something stupid like – I don’t know – trusting them? Letting them in and telling them everything about me and getting attached as I have found that I always seem to do? I’m afraid of what I may or may not do to those people I have grown close to because I have realized from past experiences that things are bound to go wrong at some point, and the end is usually not too far from the downfall. I’m scared of getting too close and being absolutely devastated when they decide to move on – of attaching my rope to them, only to have them tear it to shreds before the knot is completely tied. I always thought that I was afraid of them, but as it turns out, I’m afraid of the possibility of being deeply affected by their leaving my side – of over-reacting to a simple turn of their backs and wave of the hands.

I am terrified of people leaving me. Terrified of eating meals alone and being deprived of human interaction, which takes about a day to occur in my mind. If someone does not want to speak to me or spend just a millisecond of their time with me, then I immediately feel as though I have done something wrong to upset them and that I should try and figure out what it was that I did to try and make it better because I absolutely hate having people I care for not care for me in return. I always feel over-attached and as though my emotions are simply far too much that any other person would be willing to withstand.

Over the last couple of months, I have been on a roller-coaster of believing things are getting better and deciding they are only getting worse. I thought coming here would give me new friends, new opportunities to branch outside of the shell I have been hiding in for the last five years of my life. And it did exactly that for a bit. I was becoming part of a small group of people I was content with. But then, something happened – as usual, right? – and being the new addition, I began to feel as though I was being cast out. And honestly, it’s getting to the point where I’m not too sure what I can do anymore and so I just decide that staying away is best. So that’s what I’m doing.

Assuming that god is real, I think his biggest mistake was creating Satan.

We see god as  the light side and the devil as the dark,

therefore they are truly opposite which makes them truly equal.

Paradise is not always enough for people to give up their ways.

If you want someone to do what you want, you have to put consequences to their actions.

Majority of the Christians I have asked about why they practice Christianity they reply with something like “just incase He’s real”

and I know that He is not God.

Their faith is nothing more than a safety net.

But then again how can the devil even exist?

My parent’s church teaches that god is not a man in the sky.

God is what connects everyone and everything,

God is love.

God is what makes up everything,

which makes sense if god has been there even when there was nothing,

for what else would we be made of if not god?

If god is love then love is everything.

how could we get anything else but love?

how can there be hate when everything else is love?

where would it come from?

how could the devil exist in such a place?

how can you get vanilla from chocolate?

You can’t.

then how?

illusion.

where?

our ego mind.

what?

we are individualized expressions of god.we have to learn how to get back to him.

why would we be separated in the first place?

why?

why?

why?

what is it we are supposed to learn?

what is the point?

what is the point in being someone I’m not for someone who might not exist?

what is the point in making life choices for another life I may not even get?

deep blue // arcade fire

i’ve always loved looking at the sky. whether it was bright and full of clouds or dark and starry-eyed, i loved staring at it. my skies never needed clouds or stars to catch my attention.

i’ve never really figured out what i love so much about staring at the sky, even when there’s nothing in it to stare at. maybe i just love the expansiveness of it, how unending the blue sheets that encase us in our earthy bed really are.

maybe i love looking up and seeing nothing and everything at the same time. one little pinpoint in the sky could be a straight shot to the center of the universe–if there even is one. i can never imagine just how much is out there that we’ve yet to explore, but sometimes i like to try.

most nights when my family would be driving home from a play or a rehearsal or something else, all i could see when i looked up was deep blue. too many headlights on interstates or streetlights in neighborhoods for a star to be seen. but when we got home, when our car crept up into our driveway and i opened my door to go inside, i could see stars.

one good thing about small towns: the lights are never on when you want to look at stars.

i’ve always been able to look above my house and see orion. a stereotypical constellation, but one i love all the same. the first thing i do when getting out of the car after a long drive is look up. i can look up and see those three little stars that make his belt and know that i’m home.

there’s just something about the sky and the stars that inspires something paradoxical in me. they make me feel so alone and small on this little rock, but they also make me feel like we can’t possibly be alone.

when you look up and see stars that burned out eons ago, watching ghosts as they poke little white holes in blue sheets, everything you do almost feels insignificant. the universe is bigger than you or i could ever even fathom, even though all i can see of it from where i stand in my driveway is deep blue.

maybe in all of my isolation, in the suburbia that never found purchase in my veins, i found solace in the sky. i found solace in looking up at those little white holes, at orion’s belt that greeted me above my house every night without fail for seven years. maybe i felt alone at home, but i look at those stars that could be suns for planets we haven’t seen yet and don’t feel quite so lonely anymore.

i can look up and wonder what aliens see our sun and wonder if some faraway planets orbit it as they do their own sun. i can even wonder if my friends are staring at the same stars i am, and the loneliness i feel in daylight subsides.

i guess i find comfort in knowing that we share the same sky.

I don’t know why my mom is the way she is and to be quite honest I can’t find it in me to care. All I know is that it has nothing to do with me. She’s  been miserable her whole life, I don’t think she would know what to do with herself if she wasn’t. I can’t do anything about that. However, I suppose most people in my situation would assume that it was their fault. People tend to always blame themselves for not being loved by others. That it has to be them that is lacking something. I don’t think like that. My mom never took the time to get to know me so how would she know what I’m lacking? I think if people listened more they would understand that not everything is a result of their doing. Sometimes things in life just happen and it’s out of your control. Some people are just bad. Some people are just good.  Some people just don’t mix, and “who had a baby with who” doesn’t matter or change that. No matter how you’re connected, it doesn’t change how they live their life. They’re not obligated to care or cater to you. Sometimes what they choose will benefit you and sometimes it will hurt you. You’ll do the same to them. You can’t always influence the people around you. Sometimes the chemistry just isn’t there. Sometimes all you can do is leave. So I did.

This is an inner monologue of my character Pino; he’s from a comic project I’m working on.

in a field of dandelions,

you are a beautiful black rose.

and dandelions are

gorgeous, of course,

but they cannot even begin to

compare to your beauty.

you are the type of stunning

that makes people drop

their mouths in amazement

and stop whatever they

are doing to watch you move.

your petals are a bit torn,

but some find that adoring.

you have been replanted more times

than you or I can count –

dug up, shredded to pieces,

stomped on repeatedly

and eaten by wild animals.

but you always seem to

re-bloom in the same place.

people admire you,

and you do not even know it.

you are unaware of how many

lose their breath when they see you –

a dark face of black

inside a sea of bright,

nauseating yellow and white –

and come to a halt,

just to look at you for a moment or two.

you have no clue how many

have walked up to you

and tried to pluck you from the ground

and have pricked their

fingers on your thorns

because the amount of

beauty you possess

causes them to forget

that roses have thorns.

they see how gorgeous you are,

and they choose to erase

the fact of the flower itself

and its thorns’ –

your thorns’ –

existence.

you captivate them.

you poke them without

realizing what you are doing –

it’s not like you have a choice

to be the way you are

and to have those thorns.

it’s not like you enjoy

bringing pain to those

who adore you.

but it happens anyways.

it happens because you are a rose,

and roses have thorns.

it’s almost like a defense mechanism.

like the rest of you knew

the hurt that was to come,

so it grew thorns to protect itself.

or either it was exhausted

from being plucked from its home,

and so, it is preventing

any others from doing it again.

your thorns are your

only form of staying safe –

of keeping your beautiful

petals barricaded.

they have been your wall,

and they will continue to be

until someone gentle

enough comes along

and asks you if you are okay

with them cutting your thorns off –

until someone is soft with you

and has your permission

to tear those walls down.

because without your thorns,

you are vulnerable.

and the last time you allowed yourself

to be vulnerable,

someone tore you apart

and took every ounce

of your beauty for themselves.

Mirage.

I’ve always had an odd relationship with my father.  He was in my life at the start of my  childhood, yet never truly there.  Whenever I would visit him in Chicago, he would leave me with drunkard Uncle Ben.  I guess this wasn’t all that bad.  It’s just that Uncle Ben always carried a terrible smell with him.  It didn’t matter how many showers he took.  As soon as he came out, he was already smelly.

Besides his constant stink, he passed gas in his sleep.  Whenever I heard him go off, I had to run hide in my father’s room.  Believe me, if we would have had gas heating, he would’ve kept the place fueled to the max.

Besides my uncle’s repelling habits,  he let me play with knives.  No, I never hurt myself, but I don’t think I would’ve allowed that if I had been in his position.  Then again I don’t think I would ever get drunk on the weekday I’m babysitting.

My dad was also pretty careless.  I remember there was an ice-cream truck that would come around the block each week.  I would run out the door and butt not-yet-calloused feet against spiky, brown, gumballs.  He wouldn’t even watch out the window to make sure I would come back alright.

When it was time to go back home, the exchange went like this:

We would load up into his shiny black Lexus, and I would sometimes burn my knee on the muffler while I was loading my stuff.  We occasionally brought my brother or picked up my dad’s friend.  I usually sat in the back because of this.  He wouldn’t usually strike a conversation with me.  Except once, he told me he didn’t like country.  So, decided to make gold my favorite color and Rihanna my favorite singer.

Instead he would talk to someone else, or he would talk on the phone.  If all else failed, he turned up the old-school rap already playing from his radio.

Somehow, we would either run late or he forgot to feed me before we left.  I threw up in his car.  He was so mad at me.  His car was his baby, and I had just violated her.  Whoops, guess he should’ve fed me.

We made it to the airport eventually.  I always struggled with getting my suitcase out.  So, he would jerk it out, slamming it on to the ground before me.   There would be a “Common,” and I would obey.

Imagine it.  A small girl tugging her luggage a few feet behind her oblivious father.  He never really did look back.  He did manage to ask to lead me to the gate.  That was only because I wasn’t old enough to find my way.

Then we would reach the gate, he would say goodbye, and I would board.  Mid-flight the air-flight attendant would always notice my young age.  She would ask me where my parent(s) was.  I would say that I’m flying by myself.  She would say that he’s not supposed to do that.   I would shrug.  She would respond with, “he must not have wanted to pay the fee.”  Then for a moment I sat and thought about how much I wish he would have just payed the extra money so I wouldn’t have to go through this exact conversation every time.

Then there was the four years that he disappeared.  I found out he had a girlfriend named Yolanda that he had replaced me with.   My first thought was, “So, this is what being left for another woman is like.”  I hate the name Yolanda now.

He was even colder than I remembered for a couple years after that.  I was growing up.  I began dreaming, planning my future.  He shot that down.

Then I got accepted into an art school.  He hurled insults at me until his birthday came, and I refused to talk to him.  Three days later, my mom forced me to call him.

Now he tries more, but the relationship is still odd.  He seems to try.  Although, it’s the little things that I catch onto.

He’s still so distant.  I’m still a few steps behind.  I’m still tugging my luggage.  This time though, I’m the one telling myself that he shouldn’t do that.

wasted hours // arcade fire

maybe part of my hang-ups with the suburbs come from all the time i wasted doing nothing. maybe i never felt suburbia because i never tried to. i never knew what there was to do, never knew enough people to get me out of the house, never had enough motivation to actually try to do things.

all i ever did was stare. i stared out the bus window on the way home from school and watched kids in their cars with their after-school plans. i stared from my bedroom window at the dirty asphalt as new houses were being built across the street. i started at my phone as i scrolled through instagram, seeing everyone i know with their friends having fun and wondering why i couldn’t have that.

i wasted more time than i can count looking at people i know and wondering why they got to be happy and i didn’t.

all i wanted was to be somewhere that could let me feel like they did, to be someone who was actually capable of feeling like they did.

i say the suburbs isolated me, but maybe i isolated myself. maybe the nights i spent sitting on my bed staring at popcorn ceilings instead of chasing sunsets with giggly friends are why suburbia never seeped into my bones. i never allowed myself to actually live in the suburbs.

i always blame myself for these kinds of things. the isolation is my fault, the lack of friends is my fault, the desire to be anywhere but where i am is my fault. i could have at least tried to go out. i could have at least tried to feel suburbia.

but i didn’t. and now it’s too late to go try to chase sunsets with friends after school. if i’d known that the absence of suburbia was my fault, maybe i would’ve done something about it. maybe i’d be a different person than i am now. maybe i wouldn’t even be sitting here writing this. maybe i’d be sitting in a hernando high school classroom, laughing with friends behind the teacher’s back as she spoke. maybe i’d actually be participating in homecoming this week; i think today was disney day.

i’d love to be someone who actually fit in, someone who could actually grow in the soil she was planted in.

maybe i just wasn’t made to grow.

1. I suppose this is an update on my mental state as of now. Well, i’m sane as far as anyone knows. I have ten fingers ten toes. My hair is still unimaginably curly, my eyes are still that dark color of brown that seems ordinary enough to change to light gray. I still blink on command and still breathe without thinking too much about it. But older in that weird way that makes people question if you’re actually you, or a clone masking as you as some giant government ploy to take over the world. Even though they already own the world. We just don’t know it. Or we do, but choose to ignore it because ignoring seems better than acknowledging a powerless existence.

Ok, enough of that, let’s get back to me. I seem to split down the middle, not literally of course. But mentally I suppose like my two main personalities are battling each other trying to take control of me at the same time but end up giving up and sizzles down to neutral agreements about clothing or the typical school conversations. But then we got instances that are similar to those that require huge amounts of agreements, a situation that is more important to the path that I need to take and at that moment is when all guns are loaded and my head rages for the option to take control. At this point, I end up malfunctioning almost like a robot, freezing up on myself. My face would scrunch up in weird angles and my eyes may stop blinking and I may stop breathing and it may be that way for an extremely uncomfortable minute. But I always listen to the one that seems to be better in that situation. Which is always varying of course.  But its still fairly pesky I would whether have a nice equal but at this point in time, it doesn’t seem possible. And yeah I know it could be the case of the teenage mind and hormonal episodes that keeps me this way and when I get older my brain will obey one day almost all at once and decide that I am worthy of a clear focused path in life and BAM! Normal thinking patterns, or at least that’s what I hope will happen, but until then it’ll just sit back and wait.

Now I’m making this blog so i can share the most outrageous splits and to make it easier to distinguish between the two i named them. One will be Eli and the other will be Jane. So you all can see what i have to deal with on a almost daiy basis.