MeganBoss98

Do you ever get the feeling like you're going to be replaced? Like a mark left on a dryboard- just wiped off and erased? I know it may be hard for you- I have those feelings too. The feeling your 'friends' don't like you- perhaps it's all just true. Maybe we're all supposed to have feelings just wiped without a trace. Alone, lost in anonymity- hesitating to sprint in life's great race. Maybe one day I can find someone who'll always treat me like I'm new. Until then- a long time, I suppose- I'll just write away my blues.

His eyes were thunderous clouds waiting to spark a conversation. The murky gray depths of his irises captivated me as he grabbed my hands and before I knew it, we were twirling around the room waltzing hand-in-hand like professionals laughing like long-lost friends whispering into each other's ears as we realized that perhaps we've found our soulmate. We urged others to join us and created a baile for other seekers and hopeless romantics like us who hoped that one day, they could find the closeness that we found dancing in the building that created a future for two young people and a lifetime of happiness as well.

Las piñatas están balanceando Los niños están contando yo estoy feliz, pero el cielo está gris. Me haces muy feliz; no quiero ir aquello. Pero tus ojos son gris con los nubes y el cielo. Y cuando yo sé que no me quieres, yo quiero llorar con la lluvia de los nubes. Las piñatas están balanceando Los niños están contando y no estoy feliz y el cielo está gris.

My hands stretched out unto the sky. You won't believe what I saw: beyond the bugs and wild fowl I saw an angel, lean and tall. He had six wings as white as clouds and he had a Holy Bible. He called unto me; I yelled aloud "What do you need, archangel?" He smiled upon me gladly and gave me the book he held. "Take this," he said, "and preach it to the angry, the poor, the rich, the swell." "Help me spread the word," he commanded "Help others see the light. For you won't be reprimanded If you're like a beacon: bright." And suddenly he disappeared without a single trace. I just smiled ear to ear and spread a memory I wouldn't erase.

'Life' is such a subjective term depending on who you are; it can be short-it can be long much like a year or weather. Why do we rely on time to help decide our actions? Love, trust, and hopefulness can be shared, and are not sins. May your life be filled with glee instead of fear and sadness. I hope you'll be the best that you can be and give others a sense of gladness.

People say poetry is just words that rhyme. The feelings that appear will go away with time. But what if I told you it's way more than that? It's an art form a life form that can't be shoved under a mat. For poetry is more diverse; far beyond the eye can see. It's a hiking trail for some but for others it's like the open sea: somewhere you can scream and shout and show your expressions clearly. But maybe for some others it's like Poe: a midnight bleak and dreary. So instead of just calling it 'words' you can try it out some time. And maybe it will come naturally with or without a rhyme.

I opened a book and what did I see? The letters meant nothing at all to me. They whispered their phrases as I sat still and soon I felt something; perhaps a small chill. I watched as they stopped and stared at me and soon I realized: books were to feel things- not just to see.

I took a walk in nature, I watched the flowers bloom. I stopped to smell the roses; I got away from the usual gloom. I hiked along the muddy paths drying under the sunny sky. I managed to walk nearly all the paths and I never noticed the time fly by. I got to clear my mind that day I was honored to see the wildlife walk. The deer were leaping, the birds singing; I listened to them and never talked. It's rare to have some time to spend it on days like these. I'm just glad I got in touch with all the natural things I need.

I remember watching the clouds roll like the emotions deep within me, stumbling to find a dry path in rain like a clear thought in my mind. I remember hearing the thunder just outside my window like the screaming in my head only getting louder        and louder                        and louder until it all died down like the beautiful, deceiving weather that comes before a tornado touches down and creates a larger disaster than before.

The hero of this story is not who you think he is. It may come as a surprise that he is actually a kid. This child was wrung with illness. It was fast-growing and made him weak. The illness- which was no surprise- was cancer, so to speak. The thing about this hero was that he never gave up. He always held on tightly he never once was shaken up. The hero of this story grew into a teenager- a young adult. He helped others with the same illness and they too had bright results. Yes, he still had cancer. That never made him obsolete. He could still match anyone else step by step and he could remember all the people he'd meet. He never took g