Even though I mention "sister", this can be about anyone you love: parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, cousins, partners, uncles, aunts, pets, teachers, whatever. And no, I wasn't having these overly-dramatic feelings about my little sister one day... I was just bored and this popped in my head (although I do love her to death) :) This is really just a general, cute little poem that's a bit on the cheesy side. :p There for me
Always. To cheer me up when I am down, To make me feel I'm wearing a crown. Special In Those Eyes; I mean something. Loved In Those Eyes; I AM something. To keep me Going, Going through Life. I can never Give Up. Thanks, my best friend. My Sister.
0 Comments
Personally I find this slightly cheesy, but that's ok. Also, this was supposed to be a song as well, but again I got lazy and just tweaked it to be a poem. :) Appreciate
The things That are Loved. For those things Can be taken Gone In an instant. In a snap of fingers, A puff of breath, A tick of a clock, A skip of a rock. Keep the seconds Of the life that we live Counted. Because everything we know, Everything we have, Everything we love, Can go. Take care of the things That can be gone. They can leave In a snap of fingers, A puff of breath, In a tick of a clock, The skip of a rock. If we appreciate Anything at all If we appreciate Things big and small If we count the seconds Of The Life We live All the time, We'll know That Everything we love Can Go. Here's the first short story of mine to be posted on this blog! I actually wrote it for a project for school, but thought I'd share it since it's definitely one of the best short stories I've written in awhile. Also... Shout-out to my bestie Sarah Todd for giving me the idea for this story!!:) My house took four long, hard months to build.
My daddy and my big brother Robert nailed pieces of wood together, hiking the five miles to town to buy more when they ran out of materials. Every day when I went to see it it was bigger and bigger, until finally it was as big as it would be. When they finished I helped my mom paint and furnish the inside. Finally, it was completely done, and that made me very, very happy. I had watched that house grow for four months, and now it was finished. My family moved in, and every time I looked at that house I couldn't help but feel that it was mine. Every night my mom made dinner in the little kitchen, and every night my family came together to eat it. That kitchen in that house, my house, was a place of togetherness for my family and I. Every night I cuddled up in my thick quilt on the bed in my small, cozy room. I could see my window from there, and every night I fell asleep looking at the stars. That room in that house, my house, was a place of wonder. One day I came home from a long, hard day of school with only hours of homework on my mind. As I came closer to the house, I saw smoke. Thick, gray clouds of smoke. I dropped my books and started running. As I approached my house, I saw huge red and orange flames. I didn't know what to do. My brother was still at school, my dad was working and my mom was shopping in town, so nobody was home. Nobody was there to help me. Nobody was there to save my house. I ran the well dry pouring water on it but it was no use. I sat down, tears running down my face as I watched my house shrink closer and closer to the ground. Finally, all that was left was a pile of black ashes. Devastated, I ran. I ran far, far away. I ran past the river, past the trees, deep into the woods. Finally, I collapsed at a rock and, exhausted both mentally and physically, fell asleep on it. When I awoke, my mom was shaking me. It was dark out. I got up, at first confused. But then I remembered. "The house..." I croaked, but my mom shushed me and assured me that we would find another place to live. And we did. But it just wasn't the same. Years later, lost in my thoughts, I made a wrong turn upon coming home from work. I knew I should have turned around, but something told me to keep going. So I drove. And drove. And drove. Finally, I stopped, seeing a row of identically built houses. One, though, stuck out to me. On the outside, it looked exactly the same as the others. However, I knew that it stood in the exact place that the house my father and brother spent four months building once did. The house of my childhood. My house. The flower
In the flower patch Is different. It lies Golden yellow In a sea of blue. It has no one, No one to compare to, And it feels Alone. The others, The sea of blue, Is one. Together, They decide. Together, They mock The poor golden flower. The young boy In the schoolhouse Is different. He is peaceful In a sea of chaos. The boy goes out, Out to the flower patch, Crying. One by one He pulls Every blue flower As golden one Watches in horror. Across the flower patch He sees a girl A girl who's peaceful. He takes the sea, The sea of blue flowers, To her, And together They walk into The sunset. The golden flower No longer looks At the peaceful Boy and girl, As the sea of blue Is now gone, Revealing What Was Hidden. Revealing Another golden flower. This was originally supposed to be a song, but I got lazy and decided to turn it into a poem :)
What happens when the moon shines bright, When the stars twinkle With that glowing light? What happens when the sun's up high, With no clouds Up in the sky? The flowers Are painted bright. The leaves, Have a glowing light. The grass is Dew drop-filled Nothing but an open field The sky So bright and blue. The fruit So juicy and new What happens when the moon shines bright? What happens there in the night? What happens, sun in the sky? What happens? The flowers Are painted bright. The leaves, Have a glowing light. The grass is Dew drop-filled Nothing but an open field The sky So bright and blue. The fruit So juicy and new The flowers The leaves The grass The sky The fruit What happens? The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Is Sad. Its leaves are dropping, Dripping With Rain, Filled with despair. The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Is Happy. Hugging me With Shade, Filled with joy. The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Is Scared. Shaking In the Wind, Filled with fear. I miss those days when The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Would tell me How it felt. But now I'm grown; Now I know That trees cannot do such. But wait. Is that the tree Saying he's crushed? I can feel the tree beaming with pride When I decide to stop And Say Goodbye. That Forrest Gump quote:
"Life is a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." I got the chocolate nobody wanted. The extra, the last one left, the one smushed and cracked. I had to take it; it wouldn't be polite not to. From the outside, I had no idea what I was in for. It seemed impossible to gain the courage to put it in my mouth. But when I did, I was glad. Inside of that dusty, cracked chocolate was nothing I had ever tasted before. Some people, the ones with perfectly-shaped chocolate, filled with gooey caramel or fluffy truffle that makes your mouth water at the sight, may view the differences as bad. But that's only because it was one of a kind; they didn't get to see the inside. They may go "poor thing, stuck with that crappy chocolate". And it's true that I had to get through the stale shell, but it was worth it because it came with a lifetime's worth of satisfactions. That is my life living with Transverse Myelitis. At first, I didn't know if anything was going to get better. But once I got past that hard shell, I realized that my life is unique. It's different, and although people probably do say: "Poor thing, stuck with that crappy T M," they don't actually know what's inside. They don't know that what's inside is rewarding because every time I'm able to do something (anything) again, like tie my shoes or run a few meters, I appreciate it much more than I did before. That is the tasty, hidden part that nobody but me craves, because they've never gotten the chance to see it. So I say: "poor them" to anyone who doesn't know what a real accomplishment is, because knowing that you've accomplished something, big or small, is that secret ingredient. The secret ingredient to the inside of any piece of chocolate, crappy on the outside or not. Why do I like to run? I mean, why would anyone? I scroll through social media and see all these memes about not running. I look at them and just have to shake my head, because those who don't run are greatly missing out. Sure, it's hard work, and definitely 'fun' at first glance. To me, though, it's perfect. I don't run to stay in shape; I run because running is ME. I feel my feet hit the ground and feel it align with the rhythm of my breathing. I feel hot and sweaty and disgusting, but that's just the best feeling. I feel aches and pains throughout my body, as all runners do, but I push through them with ease because I have learned to, like anything, and I'm strong. Runners are strong. I'm proud to call myself a runner, and I'm proud every time I finish a race, whether it be 800 meters or 6 miles. I'm proud of the technique I have developed in running different distances, a technique that works. Not every run leaves me feeling fulfilled, and every time that I leave without satisfaction just leaves me hungry for more; I know that I'll do better next time. And racing. Racing is stressful, and sometimes I wish that I hadn't signed up for it, but once I've started, I fly. I dodge and zigzag through and pass people, some races more than others. When it's track or cross country, my peers, I waste a little energy whispering "good job" as I pass, because every runner, even my competitors, is my team. I'm not different to them, and they're not different to me. We're simply all runners. We all love it, and we all spent a heck of a lot of ourselves getting to where we got. Running, in a way, reflects TM, and it definitely prepared me. For a year and a half I studied for an important test without knowing it, and I'm glad I did. |
AboutHi, I'm Jen Starzec, and I'm 19 years old. I write a lot about disability and chronic illness, especially related to my main disorder, Transverse Myelitis. I also have a lot of poetry and some short stories. Enjoy! Categories
All
Archives
June 2017
Other Sites
|