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More of my writing for class as responses for children's lit I read....haha i love that i do creative writing for class, I feel like I'm the one in elementary school again....if only
Nightmare
I had a Dream.
I awoke last night in Canada, a country just like mine. You could hardly tell the difference between a Canadian and an American. Except, I am not Canadian, therefore I am not human. I am not worth prizing since the Maple Flag is not my own. What defines who I am? Is it the blood I carry? Is the land on which I first appeared? Does growing up a few miles south make me less of a person? Apparently it does. When I was a child I played hide and seek for fun. Last night, I did not play, I hid for my life. I lived for the lives I want to change; I hid for the lives I want to create. I hid for myself.
The seat below me- cold as winter- froze into my legs. I could not breathe for worry of steam escaping my throat or the sound of breath alerting others. Here my skin does not betray me, but still I feel a radiating fear escaping from me tempting them to check my passport or look into my guilty eyes. My passport glows from my pocket like a yellow star on my jacket giving me away. Finally I realize I can get out of this bus leading me to doom. They have not yet identified me, though I know time is short, guards circle this city like sharks eager for prey. I wait for the next stop and attempt normalcy. Walking towards the front I avoid eyes that are already avoiding me. The stench I have makes me unworthy of touching their precious air. Slowly and carefully I skid off of the bus pondering my next step.
The starry city glistens around me begging me to enjoy the joy that used to be. Buildings that were once famous city monuments basking in visitors now stand empty and depleted crying for travelers to marvel them again. For now only those born in this Mapled country are considered worthy enough to enter their glassy doors and grace their marble encrusted floors. I am just a spot of dust waiting to be wiped clean upon these streets. “YOU!” The sound frightens me back into reality. These buildings can no longer hide me and the soldiers pounce down the street looking hungry for prey. I almost faint hearing their call. I turn around feeling like an American flag has been tattooed onto my shirt revealing my true identity. Synchronized marchers emerge from the mist of sorrow filling the streets. They stop. Yet they do not to look at me. Instead their current victim is the person 3 feet in front of me. Two steps separate me from a fate unknown and unsolicited. After casually walking through the guards, I stumble remembering that air is essential for a continuous life. I luck into a building grimy with smog and hate. The empty halls echo the pitter-patter of hope. Sliding into washroom I hide in a stall, my feet resting upon the seat pleading for a few minutes of solitude. Silent tears stream from my face and questions intrude my mind. We are all humans. Why do the hate me when I have done nothing to them. Forgive me for my birth place. Embrace me for who I am.
Luckily, this was but a Dream.
This next one is a response to the book Walk Two Moons...I remember reading this in elementary school and not realizing how sad it was...its amazing what you miss when you read as a child....heck its amazing what i miss now hehe
Momma
My momma ran away from me
She knew that I'd been bad
What's gone is gone
and now that means everything I had
She cooked, she cleaned
Supporting all my wild dreams
Yet I ignored everything
Now shes gone it seems
Too late
I realize the joy I had
The sorrow in her eyes
Too late
I feel an emptiness
Of shelter I had inside
I walk around on bended knees
Begging for a change
Yet no matter how many prayers I say
Things always remain the same
Damage done scared her away
Leaving a sister full of tears
My momma ran away from me
Gone too many years
Nightmare
I had a Dream.
I awoke last night in Canada, a country just like mine. You could hardly tell the difference between a Canadian and an American. Except, I am not Canadian, therefore I am not human. I am not worth prizing since the Maple Flag is not my own. What defines who I am? Is it the blood I carry? Is the land on which I first appeared? Does growing up a few miles south make me less of a person? Apparently it does. When I was a child I played hide and seek for fun. Last night, I did not play, I hid for my life. I lived for the lives I want to change; I hid for the lives I want to create. I hid for myself.
The seat below me- cold as winter- froze into my legs. I could not breathe for worry of steam escaping my throat or the sound of breath alerting others. Here my skin does not betray me, but still I feel a radiating fear escaping from me tempting them to check my passport or look into my guilty eyes. My passport glows from my pocket like a yellow star on my jacket giving me away. Finally I realize I can get out of this bus leading me to doom. They have not yet identified me, though I know time is short, guards circle this city like sharks eager for prey. I wait for the next stop and attempt normalcy. Walking towards the front I avoid eyes that are already avoiding me. The stench I have makes me unworthy of touching their precious air. Slowly and carefully I skid off of the bus pondering my next step.
The starry city glistens around me begging me to enjoy the joy that used to be. Buildings that were once famous city monuments basking in visitors now stand empty and depleted crying for travelers to marvel them again. For now only those born in this Mapled country are considered worthy enough to enter their glassy doors and grace their marble encrusted floors. I am just a spot of dust waiting to be wiped clean upon these streets. “YOU!” The sound frightens me back into reality. These buildings can no longer hide me and the soldiers pounce down the street looking hungry for prey. I almost faint hearing their call. I turn around feeling like an American flag has been tattooed onto my shirt revealing my true identity. Synchronized marchers emerge from the mist of sorrow filling the streets. They stop. Yet they do not to look at me. Instead their current victim is the person 3 feet in front of me. Two steps separate me from a fate unknown and unsolicited. After casually walking through the guards, I stumble remembering that air is essential for a continuous life. I luck into a building grimy with smog and hate. The empty halls echo the pitter-patter of hope. Sliding into washroom I hide in a stall, my feet resting upon the seat pleading for a few minutes of solitude. Silent tears stream from my face and questions intrude my mind. We are all humans. Why do the hate me when I have done nothing to them. Forgive me for my birth place. Embrace me for who I am.
Luckily, this was but a Dream.
This next one is a response to the book Walk Two Moons...I remember reading this in elementary school and not realizing how sad it was...its amazing what you miss when you read as a child....heck its amazing what i miss now hehe
Momma
My momma ran away from me
She knew that I'd been bad
What's gone is gone
and now that means everything I had
She cooked, she cleaned
Supporting all my wild dreams
Yet I ignored everything
Now shes gone it seems
Too late
I realize the joy I had
The sorrow in her eyes
Too late
I feel an emptiness
Of shelter I had inside
I walk around on bended knees
Begging for a change
Yet no matter how many prayers I say
Things always remain the same
Damage done scared her away
Leaving a sister full of tears
My momma ran away from me
Gone too many years