Rooftops

– When I was a little girl, I dreamt of being on rooftops and skyscrapers. 

Where I could look at the world and see it for what it was and not what it was supposed to be. 

To search for the beauty we were supposed to see. 

And when I closed my eyes, I opened my eyes to a world of dark blue hues and stars falling upon cities. 

And soon I learned that my fingers could never stretch far enough to catch every piece of light and save it for a rainy day.

And I would learn the meaning of a bad day, just to appreciate a good one. 

That life would come and kick me in the stomach to make me love the feeling of air escaping my lungs. 

And I would learn the feeling of heartbreak just to be reminded that it was still beating. 

That blood runs through me and that no one should ever run over me. 

Because life will hand you blessings disguised as hand-wrapped curses with pink bows on top. 

Begging you to peel bad poisonous paper, to reveal life liberating lessons. 

But.

Unfortunately, we do not learn this at an early age.

And eventually their words hurt because cat calls come with claws

And I just wanted to stay in the loop but instead they hung me by it.

And eventually those city lights grew dim and my wisdom burned bright.

This was a blessing in disguise, hidden for most of my youth.

Life fabricated on lies, lying right on top of the truth.

And I learned that life will not wait if you don’t commit.

And you can’t stop people from saying dumb shit.

That only life will determine how hard you will be hit.

Because when I was little I thought time would wait.

That I could sit upon imaginary New York rooftops till half past 8.

Because when I was a little girl I dreamt of rooftops and skyscrapers.

But I learned that I don’t need height to gain to perspectives.

And that you should make your own goals and objectives.

Know that you can never hit a limit

So just take time to think for a minute.

And take time to appreciate lifes disguised boxes  wrapped with pink bows.

To learn lifes high and learn lifes lows.

Because everyone is a dreamer. 

And when I was a little girl I dreamt of rooftops and skyscrapers. 

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Womans Guidelines from Society.

Listen up woman of the world, use both ears.

Because these are the guide lines that you will not to step out of, that you will never step foot out of.

That you will not break because you are a woman and you will not break bounds, you will be broken at every bound.

So listen up.

1. Never say no

Never let that simple two letter word slip your pretty little, red stained lips because this will give you power.

And god forbid for you to ever have power.

So say just yes, with a please, you know why?  because its easier.

Easier on everyone and who cares if it cripples you, and bends your spine in directions it shouldn’t.

Because consent is sexy right? And who gives a shit about your basic rights and freedoms.

So never say no, because being weak is whats in. And taking control of your actions was so last season.

2. Always apologize

And no, we don’t care what you did but you should probably apologize

Apologize for making more money while making making even more men feel intimidated with your fake boobs and bubble butt.

Because confidence in your own skin and holding your head high is definitely not trendy.

Apologize for being a whore because you were taught to not turn on boys with your shoulder.

And its not like we should raise boys differently, to learn otherwise. Because what did boys do? Exactly.

Also, you should all probably apologize for challenging the norm, disagreeing with men and falling out of love.

3. Accept it

Accept that you will probably experience sexual violence or rape in some form, at some point and your dirty little secret will never leave your red stained lips, instead it will be scribbled down in some journal stuffed underneath your bed. Never to breathe the light of day.

Accept that at some point far in the future we may see equality for both genders, but you’ll probably be dead. But for now we will laugh and spit in your face and treat you differently based on your epidermal layer colour and that one  damn X chromosome.

That your education doesn’t means nothing, and that we will send you home over bra straps and exposed knees and don’t think that we won’t. That we will send you home before the guy with the shirt that reads “Cool story babe, now make me a sandwich.”

Accept that — wait.

Does this make any damn sense to anyone?

No, because this is society spoken out loud. Whispers in women’s ears to stay down and never speak up.

No, because this is society written on paper. Tells women to wear shorter dresses but now you deserved it so forgive your raper.

No, because this is society and Im putting this blunt.

This is for the women who choose to say no.

For the women who have experienced rape and violence because they said so.

This is for the mothers who have to teach their daughters

For those little girls whose fairytales and prince charmings have been crushed

For those women who have brilliance but choose to be shushed.

For the high schoolers who are sent home over exposed limbs and bra straps

These are enough reasons we should stand together, face the inequality, we are in this all together.

And before all men rise up and take charge, not all men harass women but all women have experienced harassment by men at large.

So take my words in as food for thought, chew slowly and try not to choke.

Because no.

Because Im not sorry.

Because I am powerful.

Because we are woman.  

*drop the mic*

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Annabel Lee Emulation

Emulation from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe

Click for Link to Original 

My version:

In a ship on the sea

There once was a pirate whom you may know,

I go by the name of Jack Sparrow Cree

And I live with no other thought

Than to be love and be loved by that creature under the sea.

I am a crook and my crew crooks too

In this ship on the sea

And we stole with a anger that the gods understood-

My crew and I, Jack Sparrow Cree

With a anger that broke the winged seraphs of Heaven

Hell now coveted I and we

And this was all for the reason that, long ago, in this ship on the sea

A wave burst of that sea, chilling

A mermaid shows, Annabel Lee;

So that her scaled kinsmen came

And bore my old crew away from me,

To shut my heart in a sepulcher

On the bottom of the sea.

The gods, not very happy in Heaven,

Still with envy eyes of me

Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know and knew, in this ship on the sea)

That a storm burst out of the cloud by night,

  Chilling and killing my soul and setting me free

But my new found anger was stronger by far than their power

Of those men who were older than we-

Of many far stronger than we-

And neither the gods in Heaven

Nor the mermaids down under the sea

Can ever take down my soul from my body

Not from Jack Sparrow Cree;

And now the moon never beams, with out bringing me dreams

Of the forsaken Annabel Lee

But the stars always rise, and I feel the lying eyes

Many knew this Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down on this ocean ride

And dream of my mermaid-my mermaid- my death you tried

Holding my heart sepulcher under the sea

To her tomb my heart will go

Under that treacherous sea.

 

My Future

School spoken word poem (first attempt)

From the start of our education careers we are taught the principles of one, two, and three

 We are taught to secretly eat from the fruit of the poisonous tree.

In school we are never taught to accept “me”, only forced to accept “we”

And to take our education to the highest possible degree.

But where are you now 10 years later?

Constantly determining our future on a piece of paper.

Parents never have the clear answers we seek, just to understand that school is our only creator.

Stuck between the walls of the same white classroom, hidden behind our own personal academic costume.

Blinded by frequent quizzes and tests. Teachers always turning away at the all the students protests.

And now we wonder why the school system limits your individuality?

 Because they tell us, ” You better memorize these notes and please change your mentality.”

Now you know that the teachers aren’t all sugar, in fact some are spice.

“There are no wrong answers” is their only advice.

But now we are judged on units and grades, judged on our loud voices and our constant charades.

Sent home with those notorious white letters, on it an official school stamp.

Fearing the time when we get home and our parents sad faces, fearing under the lights of the next street lamp.

 And now we hear teachers and parents telling you they expected you to be in a higher place.

But really do you even know where you are in this academic race? 

Everyone looking at us with that same blank face.

And they always ask the questions we already know are to be put in place.

Asking and asking.

” So… what university do you want to attend?”

“And how much money do you think you want to spend?”

 “And where do you think you want to be in the end?” 

Please we are all begging you now, stop asking all these questions, because do you know what we all really think about the end?

 that this isn’t our future, or your future this is my future to defend.

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The Red Wine to the White Paper

Emulation of Sarah Kay’s poem: “The Toothbrush to the Bicycle Tire”

They told me I should keep my plain purity,

 and that I should remain untouched.

They said that you would stain my soul

 and that you would slowly take control.

That you were full to the brim of bad choices

and I would always be left craving more.

Always loving that sensation I feel in my stomach when I am with you,

and I knew inevitably you would soon be held by someone new.

But to be honest I really don’t care what they think,

and I know in my heart your my missing link.

I will always love that intoxicating feeling

and my heart is something you’ve been stealing.

The way you move so fluidly,

and I could be with you 24/7, truthfully.

 So I will leave this notebook home behind,

  I am used to blank relationships, but I know for you I would be drunk all the time.

And I know we live in different worlds and were always really busy,

but in my dreams you spin me around so fast, I always wake up still feeling tipsy.

So maybe one day you will grow tired of the crazy, impulsive life

and make your way back to me.

So look a little closer and read between the lines baby,

Because when I open my heavy eyes into morning light,

I smile in comfort knowing I will see you again in the night.

Always, Paper.

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The Wine Cellar (short story)

My limp body pressed solidly against his as he gripped my sweater harder, so tight that his fleeting heartbeat woke me from my drowsy, comatose state. My eyelids were heavy but I managed to catch a glimpse at the tall, blackish figure holding me, but I saw only vivid blue eyes shining brightly in the ill-lit room and a mocking, triumphant smile. My range of view rolled into the back of my head and I sought temporary comfort as I fell back into unconsciousness.

I woke to the melody of Bagatelle, the composition stirring around in my head made me omit the dream I had the night before. Grinning, my eyes fluttered open only to be violently ripped into the existence in which I was really in. It was not a dream. And at that second fear rushed through my whole body like an open dam and reached out into the far corners of my body. I struggled in the calloused wooden chair until my bones ached and my screams were silenced by the small white cloth in my mouth, dampened from the sweat of my now panicky state. I tuned my ears to the music above me, I heard each piano key pressing down and the sound of sheet music flipping. I embraced the small slice of heaven, trying to block out the reality and soaking in every note as it reached me. I thought of my musically inclined past where my dad used to sit me down in front of our Concert Grand piano and told me to fill the house with joy, playing for hours till my fingertips blistered. He would have never let this happen to me. My brain rushed with memories as my eyes adjusted and sat quietly and I analyzed the room. Shelves lined the walls and dusty cans of food sat quietly. My eyes darted around and my eyes landed upon dark bottles of wine in the corner of the room. I was in a wine cellar. Who ever took me had an impressive collection, wines ranging from the years 1700’s to the 1900’s. Recognizing the year and brand was second nature to me; my father was an advocate for finding the rarest of the wines. Pushing the thought aside, I glanced at the remaining dusty shelves and cleaning tools scattered on the concrete floor.

I was then abruptly disrupted and my head shot to the left as the door slowly broke open and the stream of unnatural light burned my eyes. My heart rapidly picked up pace as  I strained my eyes to see Him coming down the stairs, steps creaking with the slightest movement. Eventually I came to see him standing over me, that mocking smile revealing it self again.

“Hey Leah.” he whispered, ever so casually.

“H-how do you know my name?” I spoke with an urgent curiosity.

His absent answer and calm aura made me nervous and sweat form on my forehead. He pulled out a plate of home cooked dinner from behind his back and the smell of gravy teased my nose. But he could not be trusted and when he fed me a spoonful I spit it out aggressively on the floor. Anger quickly flooded his system and the rage flooded his eyes as he lifted his arm and slapped my cheek like thunder on a rainy day.

“You’ll learn to behave.”

He threw the food on the floor and it splattered in all directions. He stepped to the side and pulled out a bottle of Dom Perignon from the wine rack. Then winked at my and skipped up the wooden steps, slamming the door behind him. The darkness swallowed me again as the adrenalin pulsed through the veins, the previous actions leaving a red, stinging imprint on my cheek. I sat quietly, zoning out into the calming blackness of the cellar and the piano melody still chiming above me. The laughter of a small family rung out to me, making me want to join in fun upstairs. There was a family upstairs. I imagined his children’s smiles and innocent thoughts that could be crushed so easily if they knew the true nature of their father. The irony rung out like church bells on a Sunday morning. This was my fate I decided.

A few hours later a woke quickly to the sound of the door creaking and the sound of feet hitting the steps. I struggled to adjust my eyes to the sudden light but my eyes hurt. Bewildered at what I was now staring at, a small black figure now stood diagonal to me, his back facing me reaching to grab a can of the shelf.

I burst out into tears, feelings of relieve and freedom knocking at the door.

“Please.” I breathed.

Eventually, the figure slowly turned to face me, a can of Cream of Corn tucked under his arm. He took two small steps towards me and his eyes met evenly with mine. Seeing the resemblance in the sky blue of their eyes, but his seemed more caring and loving.

“Please, free me.” I gasped under my breathe, any more talking and I would pass out.

I manged to get a grin on my face and he smiled widely back at me showing a few gaps of imperfection in his grin. He stared deeply into my eyes for a moment and I flinched as the small boy whipped around and stepped up the stairs. My tears of relief quickly turned to pain and they stung my eyes. Bewildered, I watched as he seamlessly spun his head, gave me his dads same mocking smile that I was so used to and shut the door.

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Paralyzed Dancer [Poem]

That fear sinks in deep, like dropped metal in the ocean deep.

Looking at white walls and monitors from this hospital bed.

Wondering if I will ever know the warmth of the sun on my legs again.

To be able to wiggle my toes, to be able to stretch my legs in the morning.

And now without any warning, my legs have been frozen, taken forever from me.

Will forever change the way I see.

Tears drop like slow water from a creek.

As my dreams fade away, no longer in my grasp.

Knowing my dance can no longer last, the only thing I seek.

I close my eyes and stare at the black knowing what I can’t have back.

No one will ever know how it seems.

How life came along and took my dreams.

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Othello Review

Shakespeare’s,Othello, and the Vertigo’s theaters version of this military drama have been one I won’t forget. Many factors brought in the relationship between suspense and balance throughout the whole play.

Firstly, the effortless transitions from each scene helped to gain a new perspective while easily keeping along with the story line. Making one setting turn into several of them not only takes time to create but also a lot of consideration with factors such as time and practicality. I really appreciate the efforts the crew makes to allow us to see as many different settings as possible with in the time frame given, it really helped me understand the time era better, as well as the many layouts the characters lived in during that time. My favorite scene was the bar scene in which Cassio quickly became drunk and started a fight. The acting of the soldiers, Iago and Cassio were impeccable and their “drunk” behavior was very  convincing. After this incredible scene, Iago began to describe fight of the night before and all of the actors transitioned into a slow-mo flashback of the scene. The actors moves became very deliberate and thoughtful while they made it look so fluent and effortless.The whole scene’s composition between the acting and the violent nature tied in the scene perfectly.

In general the whole ambiance and the unique characters of the actors is what really made the play spectacular. I loved how they still manage to preserve Shakespeare’s language while managing to keep the audience engaged the whole time. As well as the way they hold the suspense and drama through the actors characteristics and play write. For example, the portrayal of Iago’s deceiving ways and the contrast between the sly, devilish Iago to the sympathetic, trustworthy Iago he puts on as a front. The way he portrays this through his acting is very admirable along with all the other characters and their display of depth and dynamic personalities as well as experiencing change. Lastly I really admired the whole plays use of thoughtful foreshadowing and symbolism throughout the play, from the handkerchief to the dagger it all fit in perfectly. This Othello play is one I will never forget.

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Character Journal Entry (Rough Draft)

Dear Journal,

I’m still trapped. No longer am I sitting in a confined, ill-lighted room. But I am captured within myself. The memory of fixed, white rope scratching against my skin till it stained with my bittersweet blood and the torturing chair in which I was bound for days. But they begin to melt together and I memorize every crack and imperfection on the stone wall canvas in front of me otherwise hypnotized by the incandescent light bulb swinging in all directions. The stench of rotting food and smoldering wood surrounds me making me wonder if I will ever know fresh air again. The intense creaking of the wooden stairs and the pressure of his shoes on each step haunts me. Everything still clear as glass, forever punctured into my memory, leaving all of its scars behind. I hear footsteps above, walking back and forth over me clicking on the solid hardwood floor, teasing me with their laughter and the smell of dinner on the stove. I scream but they cannot hear, while they live above me, I die just below.

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