What Kind of Guy?

He struts with his somewhat curly hair swinging in the hallway. I'm staring at him with my eyes twinkling. When did I start? Why did it start? Why did I fall for him? It was third grade and he had skipped a grade from Kindergarten to second grade. Now he was in the class as me and was even younger than me. He was the one that I stared at in class with awe, and luckily he sat in front of me. I knew I couldn't have him, but I could still look at him couldn't I?

His blue eyes intrigued me, his dirty blond hair looked like golden locks and extra curly. Why did he have to be dating my friend? Why did he have to be so lovey-dovey with her? Why did they kiss in front of my eyes?

It doesn't hurt me so much that I'd cry, but it still hurt. I walked into class, I put my head down on my arms and wonder "Why do I feel so ashamed?" Like always our classmates are watching and laughing at his jokes. Suddenly I see him doing something he shouldn't be doing. What was he doing? Try guessing. He was...picking his nose. What kind of guy does that? I mean really, I couldn't even stand the thought, and now he was doing it in front of me. That was so disgusting! From that moment I didn't like him, maybe as a friend, but nothing more. Now that just haunts me, in my dreams and in reality. I guess that I just have bad taste in guys huh?

See Ya

I can remember it all. I was in the sixth grade, and I was at my friend's house. What happened? Tears, clutching, and waving. She pulled tightly and firmly onto my shirt. I could already see a lake of tears on her lap, it was all happening so fast. My father was being transferred, and I was going along with him. She cried and cried, and couldn't stop. I tried my best to cheer her up, but it had already gotten her depressed. After a while she stopped, she wiped away the last of her tears and she became strong.

Her puffy red eyes told a story, what we had been through, what we had done together...all of it. I start to wonder "Is this REALLY the end? NO WAY! We'll keep in touch and we'll meet again...definitely." We get up, and my dad asks if I'm ready to go. I support my friend, and she nods slowly. It was time to say goodbye... I put on the helmet, and get on the scooter. As she bursts into tears I wave and say "See ya." She waves slowly, replies, and I'm on my way home. The last time I saw her, the last time I've been with her...for now. Now we're trying to organize a meeting during one of the school breaks, I think she's still living in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I haven't seen her for a year and some months, but we've been in contact. I'll definitely meet her someday, maybe not now or soon...but someday.

This Feeling

This hidden feeling,

what is it?

It's getting heavier,

it’s getting bigger,

what is this awful feeling?

Caltech, an institute

that will soon gain a

great student.

It hurts,

it’s crushing me when we discuss

my brother’s future.

Everyday I laugh,

talk,

and hurt.

I hope this year my brother can soar

with many memorable memories.

I sit on the cold chair,

as the silent words float out

of a senior and a middle-aged man.

I laugh and clench my stomach,

will I be able to laugh like?

He says he won’t miss us,

but I know he will.

The way we laugh

we play our childish games,

the piano playing,

and the game playing are all things

he can leave with,

but they should be enough.

I hope this year my brother can soar

with many memorable memories.

He will visit us,

we will welcome him

like coming home from school,

and he will mooch off of my parents.

This is the feeling of goodbye,

the words I don’t want to say.

Goodbye Simon.

Traumatized

I sat on the hard, brown stage right in the gym. I watched everyone play sports: volleyball, basketball, soccer, and football. I wondered how I got to this stage, how I had stopped participating in class, how I knew I would fail the class but kept sitting out. Why did I stop playing the sport I had thought was the best-volleyball.

I went back, back to the time when I was younger and no one could yell or shout at you when you play sports. When all people did was have fun, and didn't care if you won or if you lost the game. But now, you can see people shouting, and sometimes they even shout at you.

You can pretend nothing happened, but I know that it really hurts. It hurts you deep, its like being stabbed by a knife, and signed with a scar. I have been through that, I have been signed with a scar from a person I have already forgiven. She felt guilt, but so did I. I cost my team the volleyball game, and therefore don't want to cause more trouble. I don't want to play sports anymore, even if it means I'll get yelled at for my failing P.E. grade.

Rice

I stared into the clear liquid in the small tank, my little fish was swimming happily through the wavy kelp and the sand that drifted to the bottom. I walked away to meet my father on the floor below, where his computer room was. I took a little while as a break, and returned to my spot to observe my little creature. It lay on its back floating, the color had disappeared from the tiny floating body.

I poked it with a little stick that I had found earlier, but it still drifted away from me. My mother came into the room with a smile on her face, and held a tray to clean the dining table.

"Hey mom...do you know what happened to my fishy?" I asked feeling sad. She stopped cleaning with a frown, her tray was placed on the dining table as she came towards me.

"I fed it some rice...but after it started to float, I realized that I shouldn't have. Sorry honey...but I killed it." she said with relief of coming clean. I fell to my knees, weak to the bone and laid down facing the ceiling for the many minutes that followed. I decided that I needed to forgive her and forget the incident. I needed to know that I should forgive and forget that incident.

Of Mice and Men

Grey fur touches the strong hands

it lays still as the hand reaches

"I could pet it with my thumb"

the mouse is dead

The soft fur of brown and white

sways through the big fingers

it hides under a pile of hay

it waits for it's owner to throw

"I'll throw him away...

It's bad enough like it is"

The tart lays next to the puppy

the soft hair, now messy and tangled

killed for screaming but an accident

Lennie means no harm

An Ugly Angel

I slowly traced the floor as I walked into the room full of people. Some of my friends gathered around the tables, and I sat in my cold, hard seat.

"I am handing out these poems for you all to find the main idea, and sketch it please." said Mr. Bustos. He passed out the paper with poems printed on them, he passed them onto the table. (One for each person.) "Touched By An Angel" was the name of the poem I got, it punched me in the face.

"Read me...read me." it kept repeating, I red it as my face lit up from the impact. I sketched, I sketched an angel with spiky wings. (Not on purpose by the way.) Mr. Bustos came patroling, and stopped by to compliment my drawing, or that's all that he would do is what I thought.

"It's beautiful! However maybe you can make the wings like this...." he said as he gracefully made curves overlapping the devilish wings. Now the angel was complete (After I had erased the devilish wings I drew), I knew there was something wrong, but soon I realized the something missing was it's natural beauty.