Category: Junior Literary

Wanted to start a trend of writing poetry for november so yeah, poetry p.ii now with personas

 fraudulent accord

if I told you I did it for you, you’d call me a liar. but somehow self-gain makes sense. every word out of my mouth you sincerely tried to block out but suddenly when you try to speak, you expect Christmas to come early. You got this idea,

“It’s all garbage out of your mouth,”

but when it’s yours I guess it doesn’t count. because I lie far too much to ever tell a fib, and when you fib, I just nod my head and glue my lips to keep the bread split between us.

But I think I’m getting tired of that?

I know there’s only much stale bread to keep me sustained, because maybe being fed like a dog isn’t worth my dignity. I used to love this game of back and forth, but hell knows if it means anything, all I know is I’ve been chasing to catch up with it, but the game is faster than my shoes can go.

My soles have run themselves ragged in their effort to keep up, and my knees are starting to give, so maybe I’ll let you leave behind this time and lead whatever race you’re trying to run.

kiln

I never thought someone could recreate themself straight from the kiln. Clearly I was wrong.

What happened, I don’t know. I don’t know why this hurts.

You were born fire ash and smoke and I got used to the scent. You clawed your way here yourself, and somehow, we shared the same callouses. That was our normal. Through this, I always thought I had someone who I recognized, we were made of rock and steel, we were made from hell together. We both climbed and we both made it ourselves. I thought it was something I knew well but now something’s different, and it’s turning my insides out. You made it. Without me.

You’re smiling, and you’re laughing, you’re unrecognizable, and I know I should be happy, but I don’t know what I’m feeling.

You remade yourself. Built yourself from the ground up, you wield something once scarred like its molten iron straight from the furnace. And yet here I am, and I’m not. I’m still shackled to my arms and body in chains that I don’t know how to shake.

So I have to ask.

How did you do it?

holding your Breath

No one knows the feeling of breathing like I do

something locked up in your chest
lets itself go and you feel reality reconnect
itself

you’d only been underwater for a few seconds,
you swear

It wasn’t that bad,
you didn’t even notice it.

You were only holding your breath a little bit
where your eyes started to spill themselves from your head
and reality turned to water and maybe you were drowning

but then you woke up.

so it’s not that bad, really. that’s just what breathing is.

Okay for some reason the blogs being due, totally slipped my mind, so for this post I’m just going to share something I made last month that I worked on for a while.

I know it’s sort of an easy ticket out of my dilemma, but I really don’t have any other choice.

The title is…  A Small Poet

“A Small Poet”

 

No, thank you.

I’d rather be, a… small poet.

Yes.

A small poet isn’t left on a shelf. 

A small poet Isn’t… passed out in class,
and needs to be read by Tuesday.

A small poet, isn’t laminated for protection.

No.
A small poet doesn’t cost much more than A buck fifty. 

A small poet has dogeared pages. 

A small poet sits in the house of a single mother. 

Or the apartment of a young artist. 

A small poet, has coffee stains, and highlight marks.
A Small poet is left in a mother’s purse. 

And likes to be read on Tuesdays.
Because he’s a Tuesday person.

A small poet has torn out pages, but they aren’t missing. 

They’re stuck on the walls with tacks and tape. 

 

I’d much rather be a small poet.

This piece was inspired by one of my goals in life, It might be different than the rest, and probably not as interesting. But my goal is clearly as the poem states, I do not want to be an Emily Dickenson, 

Or an Earnest Hemmingway. I don’t want to be an Edgar Allen Poe or a Robert Frost. I don’t want to be world-renowned. When I die, I don’t want a book of my work to be handed out in class and need to be read by Monday. I want my work to be analyzed for perfection or academic reasons. I simply want it to touch the hearts of those who find it. I would so much rather my work be found in an alley behind a few boxes. Found by a person who cherishes every word.

I would much rather that, than someone who buys my book in a bookshop and leaves it on their shelf to collect dust. I don’t want my book to be protected from dust actually, I would much rather it be worn, and dog-eared, and highlighted. I would much rather my book be owned by few and cherished by few. Then Owned by many and read by few.
I guess that’s my outlook on it, and I don’t even have a book of poetry (yet) to be published. But when I do, that’s how I want it to be read. 

Anyway, I hope that’s enough for a blog. Im just finishing this as were leaving, so theres not much time to edit, so please excuse any misspellings or errors. Thank you. 

So, for this week’s blog I thought that maybe I would just turn it into an establishment of my own psyche so I can try to learn a new concept better on my own. I really wanted to touch on the different strategies that are used to integrate abstract ideas into finite concepts and works. This is not because I feel like I am someone who is at the liberty to explain this in the slightest, but someone that needs to write it for himself. The idea that possibly having it written down might help me to do it better in the future is the only thing keeping me going.

 

So, I realized that there are numerous ways to achieve this concept the more that I took the time to look into it, however there are only a few ways that stood out to me when I attempted to align them with my own process. First off, I enjoy stating my ideas audibly to see if the idea itself is even a fathomable concept. There have been many instances in which I repeat ideas out to myself and find that I cannot even attempt to put the idea into words, let alone write. I say let alone even though a lot of ideas are easier for me to write than to say out loud. 

The second strategy that I use whenever I am trying to adapt these abstract ideas is to use finite concrete metaphors to compare them to. Like trying to compare these ideas to something that I might be able to better touch or interact with. For example, trying to use the idea of pelting hail to portray the feeling of being overwhelmed or emotionally barraged. However now that I find myself with only two other strategies in which I am no stranger to have emerged. That of course being, writing down concepts and ideas that I have the moment that I have them and hoping to god that they make sense later on, and if I am being honest, I’m lucky if it is a 50/50.Sometimes I wake up with ideas and have to try to climb down from the top bunk of my bed and sketch them down on whatever piece of paper that I can find in my dark dorm at 3 in the morning.  While it is not nearly as efficient or easy as the other two it has been what has worked for me, making sure that I can achieve thoughts that I have within myself is one of my main goals as a writer and I think that that is one of the main aspects of my improvement that I have achieved thus far. 

In honor of cold autumn weather we’ve had recently, I thought it appropriate to share an excerpt from a short story I wrote a while ago titled “The Peak of Autumn.” 

“The Peak of Autumn” tells the story of two young adults with a blossoming romance that began in a park one fall. Together, they explore their creativity, share some coffee, and embrace the little beautiful things in the world. 

It was the peak of autumn when I saw her for the first time. She was wearing a flowing dress in a soft orange, contrasting perfectly with her deep, glowing brown skin. A rose hue kissed her full cheeks and the sun’s embrace lit her with a gentle lambency as she glided down her route with the grace of a deity. We were in a park, in the middle of Houston, and it was exceptionally full that day. I remember picking her out of the crowd originally not only because of her distinct radiance, but also because of her scent. She must have been ten feet away, but the second I laid eyes on her, all I could smell was warmth- cinnamon and nutmeg, the crackle of a fireplace, the heat of the sun. I saw her, and I swear to God for a second, I could smell color. I could feel sound and hear sensations, and my whole world was flipped upside down the moment she made eye contact with me. It felt like that dewy blanket of air that cloaks your shoulders right before a good rain, when the world is tinted with a gentle yellow, and you realize that all this time you had been looking only at the world’s blue shades and missing all the greens. Like she somehow unveiled all of the beauty in the world that I had previously failed to notice. 

Barely conscious, I felt my feet move toward her. The closer I got, the stronger the pull. Before I knew it, the rest of the world disappeared, and it was just her, with her honey-gold eyes staring straight into mine.

“Hi,” I managed to blurt out. She smiled.

“Hi.”

My messy hair, forming a greasy mop over my forehead. My face, bright red and drenched in sweat. My old faded anime tee with bright green Nike shorts that clashed horribly with my yellow sneakers. You would think any of this would deter her- would make her suddenly have an appointment to go to, someone to meet. Instead, we went to a cafe. I got an americano. She got an iced caramel latte- extra ice, with oat milk. She got the same thing the next time, too. And the next, and the next.

We found ourselves part of each other’s Sunday morning routine. Week after week, we continued. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Americano.

Caramel latte.

Extra ice.

Oat milk. 

We talked about many things during our time together. The weather. Our favorite books. The best museums to go to. The status of the neighborhood cat. But mostly we talked about colors. 

“You seem yellow today,” she told me once. That morning I received a call that I had gotten the promotion I had been after for months: chief editor of the Houston Press. They finally fired the previous one whom everyone loathed. I told her this, and she repeated herself.

“You seem very yellow today. Very yellow.” 

She seemed orange, as she always did. Today, it was soft orange with a brown undertone. Throughout our friendship, I went through every color of the rainbow, but she was always constant. Always soft, always warm. Always orange, with the occasional and slight shift in hue. I did not tell her this- only that I was glad to see her. To this day, I do not know why I felt the need to be so reserved. Perhaps it was because I didn’t understand her glow. Perhaps I sensed that she would be alright if I never told her. Perhaps I was afraid that by exposing that I noticed this, I would reveal all else that I knew about her. How she always had little wisps of hair sticking out from behind her ears. How the polish on her thumbnail always chipped off first. How when she smiled, it always started with a tilt of her head, and then the left corner of her lip raised, and then the right. I was comfortable with her ignorance of the fact that I noticed the dimples above her eyebrows, and that I knew that she was left handed but ate with her right. All these little details that I held close to me, afraid that they would somehow float away. I drank my coffee and listened to her speak, and we were happy.

I used to have this rascal of a dog named Clarence. He was a tan Shar-Pei with lots of wrinkles. For this blog I’m going to tell a story involving Clarence. He was my favorite dog.

A little sidestory, Clarence loved going on walks and car drives. He loved going out as much as he possibly could, but it wasn’t enough so he started escaping. During this time period, we couldn’t figure out how Clarence was escaping all the time. He would escape about twice a week. Finally, I took him on a leash in the backyard and walked him across the fence and he weaseled his way through some broken boards. After Clarence had walked through the fence I tried getting him to come back through it but he wouldn’t budge. I ended up tying the leash to the fence, walking all the way around the house, untying the leash, and then walking back around the house with Clarence. He was such a rascal. After I put Clarence back inside, I took some spare wood we had, some nails, and a hammer, and fixed the hole in the fence. Then I took Clarence back around the fence to find any more holes and to my surprise, there were more behind our small vineyard. Even though now Clarence couldn’t escape through holes in the fence, he always tried dashing out of the front door whenever someone would open it. It was really annoying.

Now for the main story. One day I was 12 and my brother was 15. I think it was a Friday during the summer, my mom, my brother, and I were about to leave to go to the bank. As we were about to walk out the front door, my mom was on the phone with a client as she’s a realtor. I had my phone in my hand and my satchel on my body, and my brother was standing there with nothing in his hands. As Thomas, my brother, opened the door, I said to him, “Watch out for Clarence!” but I was too late. Clarence had already darted out the door and had turned right to go down the street. Thomas immediately started chasing after Clarence while I threw my phone to the ground and ripped off my bag leaving it with my phone as I ran after Thomas and Clarence. Thomas had gotten a good 15-20 feet in front of me by the time I had started running. About 5 yards later, I started to pass Thomas and I screamed back at him, “Ha! I’m faster than you!” For years Thomas would always make a big stink that he was faster than me. After I said that, Thomas yelled back at me, “That’s because I’m wearing flip flops!” and we continued running while I was getting further and further ahead of him. What he didn’t hear me respond to was, “I’m in flip flops too!” Finally about half a mile up the street, I caught Clarence because he stopped to sniff some flowers. I grabbed hold of him and waited for Thomas to walk up. When he finally caught up to me, all I heard him say was “oh” before I cut him off and told him to hold the dog. I then proceeded to go to a nearby plant which was very viney, pluck the longest vine, and use that as a leash to walk Clarence back to the house. A few seconds after I started walking Clarence back to the house with my makeshift leash, my mom pulled up in her car and we all piled in. Thomas then said to our mom, “So we were running and I got a head start, right? Well Georgia started to pass me up and he was like, “Ha! I’m faster than you” and I was like, “That’s because I’m in flip flops!” and as I finally catch up to Georgia, I see she’s” wearing flip flops too.”

Note to self (and everyone who’s reading this) even though your siblings may be older, stronger, and bigger than you, you may still be able to outrun them and shove it in their face.

This morning was an odd one for my usual routine. Not much deviated, but the atmosphere upon opening my eyes was different- I don’t know how exactly to explain it, but I felt suspiciously calm, not thinking about how much time I had to get ready. It was 5:55 AM when I woke up, but instead of begrudgingly pulling myself out of bed, I just laid and stared. Minutes ticked by, and when I got up after 6:11, I thought: “I’m going to have to rush like all HECK.”

But I didn’t, and I didn’t feel rushed either. Against the notions of my brain, I had time left while I waited for my family. I looked outside my windows, heard some noises, and decided to spend my free time standing in the driveway with my journal. I hadn’t ever decided to write so early in the morning, and though balancing my journal on my arm to keep my writing steady was troublesome, it was a fulfilling experience. The excerpt below is what I wrote during that time, this very morning. Some small edits have been made to make things more coherent.

11/8/23

Sounds of the Rising Sun

The metalworker is in their workshop this morning, the sounds of clinging metal and skittering chains reaching my ears. I hear them activate the saw again and again, three seconds of silence in between before the scraping resumes like clockwork. There’s a masculine, adult voice shouting at something to my left- my guess is that they’re two houses down, but their voice rides the wind with ease. I can’t make out their words, but they shout in the stern, gruff, warning way one would shout at a misbehaving child or dog. Their voice rings out like a bark: heavy at the beginning and swooping up at the end. When I visualize it, I see it as a sharp punch of sound breaking the air. A cluster of birds swim through the sky above, their bubbly chirps alerting me of their arrival. They sound like colorful dots popping against my tongue and ears, and I can almost see those dots bouncing around them as they fly. Their asymmetrical forms gracefully cut through the fog, their shadowy silhouettes melding with the dark treetops. They take their poppy tweets with them as they leave my line of sight, but another flock flies not far behind. They’re smaller, their voices just as bouncy, and they chitter a similar chorus. Their departure brings my attention to the mist-shrouded lake they flew by. In the fog, the wooden posts of my neighbor’s unfinished dock appear as abandoned, alien monoliths. For a moment there is no noise, and I think about the hoofprints in the lakeside, the dying porch ferns by my feet, and the swamp-tree saplings bordering the right side of the pond. The unexpected rustling of branches snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn around in search of the noise’s cause. It was so quick, so sudden, that I almost think I never heard it. I think, “It’ll be another memory that washes away with the day.” The crinkled brown leaves I see fall tell me otherwise, though- that noise wasn’t figment of imagination. I hear no squirrels amongst the trees and no birds perching overhead, but I do hear the twist and click of the front door lock. The weather strips squeal as they’re pushed apart from one another, the motion making the automatic light flick on. My mother is here, my sibling is in the car, and it’s time to go to school.

Ok today I’m going to be talking about one of my characters or Oc if you will. I plan to do this for the rest of the month so be warned. I love my Oc’s and giving them stories. I don’t know how other people do it but when I create characters, they are usually based on concepts I’ve seen on tv or ideas I get from Pinterest (Like I have a whole pin board that’s just character ideas.)

So, to get into it lets jump in.

Name- Summer Pearl Harris

Age- Seventeen-year-old

Looks- She has almond skin with small freckles around her face, she has brown eyes with curly black hair she is about 5’5  

Background:

She is a seventeen-year-old African American. Who lives in a small town in Ohio. She lives by herself since her parents are usually never around and haven’t been around since she was like five years old. She spends most of her time with her older half-brother, James who is more like a parent to her. She was a junior at the high school in her town, but she dropped out when her younger half-sister, Olivia was born. Summer has a long-time boyfriend that she sees only in the summer and on some holidays. His name is Leonardo, but everyone just calls him Leo.

Next on my list of characters is Summer’s half-brother James.  

 

Name- James Camelo Harris   

Age- twenty-five-year-old 

Looks- He is 6’1 with a honey skin tone. He has brown eyes with short black hair.

Background:

James was born to Summer’s dad and his birth mom, a Latina woman who he met at a club. James lived with his mom till he was taken from his mom when he was ten years old. James lived with his dad and stepmom till he was eighteen when he moved out to live with his girlfriend.  They live on the outskirts of the town. James works at the Ice Cream parlor where he also sells information to people. 

 

 

                                                            Hi Lovelies!  

 One of the main cable stations I watched when I was younger was Cartoon Net Work. My siblings and I used to sit in the living room analyzing all of the shows and discussing who our favorite characters were and why.  We also talked about which characters contributed more to the show and analyzed their final arc.   At the end of the day, a lot of these character arcs were so random and I’m going to rank some random characters favorite to least based on the show’s ending and how I personally felt about them.   

#1 Gumball 

Gumball Waterson is one of the funniest characters to me.   At the age 12 he was one of the most relatable children ever, especially with the topics that concerned school and school’s social life.  When discussing his development, it was interesting. I loved how in the beginning of the sitcom Gumball was just a simple awkward kid who hung out with his brother mostly at school, but his traits of being a troublemaker and a goofball with questionable morals is what made him standout to the audience.  There were many moments when we wondered if we would make the same choices he made in certain situations, especially when looking at how he treated his friends, like Tobias and Banana Joe for example.                                                                                                                               He didn’t have to prove things to them, but he did it anyway because of peer pressure and his choices took it to the extreme and made hard life so unnecessary.   Anyway, as I rate based off of the ending of the show, everything before “The Inquisition” episode was okay.  Now, I don’t want to spoil it, but if you know, you know; and we all know they did us dirty.  

 

                                                                                                                                      # 2 Mordecai and Rigby 

                                                                                               

The reason why I put these two together is because I’ve always seen them as the pair that just needed each other in order to make a good show.   I love them both, but would I watch an episode with just Mordecai?  No, not really even though there have been some. The same also goes for Rigby.  I have loved this show since I was 7, which probably wasn’t a good thing at my age, but I mean, who didn’t watch what they shouldn’t have?  Their dynamic was relatable to me because I could see my older sisters and their bond within them, that’s probably why they watched it with me.   Mordecai’s intelligence and maturity matched well with Rigby’s hyper activeness and childish ways.   I loved how they interacted with everyone else at The Park and it just made my day.  The best moments were the small ones when Rigby taught lessons to Mordecai by accident and Rigby also learned things from himself.   Mordecai’s character arc was mostly him going through girlfriends and figuring out what he wants and life, while Rigby learned more responsibility.  There might’ve been more, but I stopped watching the show once they got to outer space, which brings me to the ending rank.   Personally, to me, the ending was horrible.  They didn’t have to do Pops that way, also the future epilogue with their lives did not do them justice.  Especially with Mordecai, his was just, NO.   I couldn’t do it, second place it is. 

    

                                                                                                            # 3 Courage  

 

 I really don’t know what to say about him.  He was adorable and he was brave, that’s about it.   He could be my dog if he wanted to.  I just really liked the show, that’s why he’s up here. 

                                        

                                                                   

                       # 4 Fire Princess

  I’m kind of sticking random ones here now until I get to the least one, but what happened to her?  Y’all should tell me because I didn’t finish the Adventure Time series because I got older and school life got more complicated, then I had to choose which show would stay in my schedule and I chose Regular Show.   From the few shows I did watch with her in it, she became a favorite character of mine. I don’t remember why, but I remember my kid self really loved her powers.  Yep. That seems about right. 

                                                             

                               

                                         

          # 5 Anais 

                                                                                                                         

I actually really love her.  She reminds me of who I wanted to be as a child, but she was mean and cleverer than me.   She also reminds me of my niece, she used to be so sweet and innocent as a baby, and now she’s dangerous and a little gremlin (I still love her though). I don’t think she has any specific arc development, but there were times when she allowed herself to have fun and appreciate her hard work.   Also, Gumball and Darwin needed to listen to her more, she knew what she was talking about.  Especially when she hid that remote, they knew it was time to fear her.  Anais was petty but petty in a way that made you feel that she was in the right.  I don’t remember her ending of the show, but I think she stayed the same. 

                                           

                              Bonus: Favorite episodes they were in. 

Gumball – “Dodge or Dare” 

Mordecai and Rigby – “This is my Jam”, Quote:  You can’t touch music, but music can touch you. 

Courage- “The Shadow of Courage” 

Anais- “Responsible Babysitters”  

           

                

Yeah, part two, baby, I was running out of blogs again! (now with verses)

DAILY MIX 1: PERFUME (Lovejoy)

Yeah, this song is one of their best. No contest? Just the drum work, the guitar riffs, the story? my god. The amazing sound is just one of the best parts of the song, it makes me want to learn to those instruments. The story too, is honestly really interesting. (Diversity win: your ex’s new bf uses he/they.) This is a great song to introduce to someone if they haven’t listened to the band.

And I can still smell her perfume.
Did it rub off on you?

DAILY MIX 2: STRAWBERRY BLOND (Mitski)

She’s known for her mellow songs, but yknow what, Strawberry Blond is one of my favorite songs, I’ll say it. Reminiscent of summer and spring, it calls on something ethereal. But what most people misinterpret is the idea that the ethereal is attained in the song. It instead, calls on something entirely unattainable, as the singer watches and grapples with Eurocentric beauty standards in dating. All I need, darling, is a life in your shape. I picture it soft, and I ache.

I love everybody because I love you
When you stood up, walked away barefoot
And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape
I looked over it and I ached
(Look at you, Strawberry Blonde)

DAILY MIX 3: MONSTERS (feat. Blackbear, All Time Low)

This song just kinda goes. The guitar and drum work is really solid and All Time Low works with the punk of the song, but I don’t have much to say. It’s not a bad song. The story I actually quite like. The singer struggles with a toxic relationship and battles mental health, being unable to sleep at night and then going back to your ex who doesn’t treat you right either. Addiction, paranoia, toxic partners, all sorts of “monsters.”

Why am I a sucker for all your lies?
Strung out like laundry on every line
Why do I come back to you
Like I don’t mind if you ruin up my life?

DAILY MIX 4: skip. I really don’t like my daily mix 4.

 

DAILY MIX 5: BUTCH 4 BUTCH (Rio Romeo)

You know the feeling you get in dreams where you fall endlessly and endlessly until you wake up? That’s what this song feels like. Falling down, down, down endlessly. But aside from sound or song, the meaning’s pretty good. Butches being characteristically seen as strong or unable to be perceived as weak, but disregarding it for their partner, who they love very much.

I talk real slow and speak real low
Hoping she’ll lean into me
And we just laugh ’cause what was that?
We can’t take ourselves seriously

DAILY MIX 6: FIREFLIES (Owl City)

I don’t think I’ve ever listened to this song in full. Genuinely. I think I’ve heard the “YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE YOUR EYES, IF TEN MILLION FIREFLIES” like 80 times and that’s it, that’s all I know of the song. And I have to say, I agree, I would not believe my eyes if ten million fireflies. (lit up the world as I fell asleep)

A foxtrot above my head
A sock hop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread (thread, thread)

(what even are those lyrics)