Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you-
Then, it will be true.
Nothing in life is quite that simple.
I am sixteen, bordering upon twenty-two,
The age where freedom and captivity collide,
causing a plethora of confusion, even for the sanest of beings.
My personal insanity is rooted in Miami;
I strongly believe that the stork dropped me at the wrong address;
The resemblance is fine, but the heat has never quite agreed.
In fact, that may be why I’ve always felt a bit off-kilter.
My hair really says it best, red, loud, bright,
maintaining no semblance of order, (in fact, I tend to surprise myself regularly.)
Order I stood in Central Park Elementary,
Savitz, #23 for four straight years,
Always thinking they were saving the best for last…right.
Turn onto NW 5th St, Plantation, Fl, 33325,
The first 25-acres to throw out the horses, but thrive without a gate.
(I hate Weston)
The gates which have opened up to let me write, in my towel,
with a upside down rainbow flag above my head,
screaming “PACE” in Italian at my “My Twin Doll.”
Veracity.
I like to say I exhibit veracity in my life,
although, I tend to feel more real playing a southern-belle in character shoes.
At sixteen, and 5’2”, those shoes need a big heel to take me to the sky
As high as I feel.
The glory of the shoes that guide me through the rhythm of my life;
Look down at my feet, evidence of what fourteen years of metal heels does to a person.
Ironically, I’m allergic to metal- the same metal I’ve been working on with my hands.
I want to add a tune to my rhythm.
Tap-tap, strum.
Ta-tap, Ta-tap, strum.
See, musicality is the base of my soul.
A soul fed Broadway and the Beatles every Saturday morning
along with my scrambled cheese-eggs and grits.
The combination of granulated records and my grandmother’s Julliard trained voice,
singing to me to wake-up in mid-afternoon
has, in part, made me who I am.
But so have the games of hide-and-go-seek
I’ve played with the grapes in the laundry room cupboard.
I love playing games--
Games of the heart, mind, body, and the feminine mystique;
Games that make me work, and let me wonder why I’ve won or lost.
Losing makes me shudder, but the psychology of nothing is worse.
I hate to be bored.
I like to travel to where people see things in a new light.
The summertime nightlight of Europe put my life in perspective.
Whereas the world is my oyster,
I am just a little American girl
Searching, like you, like me,
For something unknown,
Maybe success,
Maybe contentment,
Maybe a place to feel accepted,
But nevertheless, a key
For the door I will open
In roughly 730 days,
When I’m somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you-
Then, it will be true.
Nothing in life is quite that simple.
I am sixteen, bordering upon twenty-two,
The age where freedom and captivity collide,
causing a plethora of confusion, even for the sanest of beings.
My personal insanity is rooted in Miami;
I strongly believe that the stork dropped me at the wrong address;
The resemblance is fine, but the heat has never quite agreed.
In fact, that may be why I’ve always felt a bit off-kilter.
My hair really says it best, red, loud, bright,
maintaining no semblance of order, (in fact, I tend to surprise myself regularly.)
Order I stood in Central Park Elementary,
Savitz, #23 for four straight years,
Always thinking they were saving the best for last…right.
Turn onto NW 5th St, Plantation, Fl, 33325,
The first 25-acres to throw out the horses, but thrive without a gate.
(I hate Weston)
The gates which have opened up to let me write, in my towel,
with a upside down rainbow flag above my head,
screaming “PACE” in Italian at my “My Twin Doll.”
Veracity.
I like to say I exhibit veracity in my life,
although, I tend to feel more real playing a southern-belle in character shoes.
At sixteen, and 5’2”, those shoes need a big heel to take me to the sky
As high as I feel.
The glory of the shoes that guide me through the rhythm of my life;
Look down at my feet, evidence of what fourteen years of metal heels does to a person.
Ironically, I’m allergic to metal- the same metal I’ve been working on with my hands.
I want to add a tune to my rhythm.
Tap-tap, strum.
Ta-tap, Ta-tap, strum.
See, musicality is the base of my soul.
A soul fed Broadway and the Beatles every Saturday morning
along with my scrambled cheese-eggs and grits.
The combination of granulated records and my grandmother’s Julliard trained voice,
singing to me to wake-up in mid-afternoon
has, in part, made me who I am.
But so have the games of hide-and-go-seek
I’ve played with the grapes in the laundry room cupboard.
I love playing games--
Games of the heart, mind, body, and the feminine mystique;
Games that make me work, and let me wonder why I’ve won or lost.
Losing makes me shudder, but the psychology of nothing is worse.
I hate to be bored.
I like to travel to where people see things in a new light.
The summertime nightlight of Europe put my life in perspective.
Whereas the world is my oyster,
I am just a little American girl
Searching, like you, like me,
For something unknown,
Maybe success,
Maybe contentment,
Maybe a place to feel accepted,
But nevertheless, a key
For the door I will open
In roughly 730 days,
When I’m somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.