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.

Don't

I must admit, when I'm mean to my brother its not like I do it intentionally. He just bothers me often, and when I bother him back, he makes me laugh and that just keeps me doing it. I do mean things to him, because the way he reacts makes me laugh, its just so silly. Although sometimes I'm mean, I'm also nice to him, for example just today I gave him a push-pop for free. I'm nice to him and he's nice to me.

I walked into the house with both my bags slumping off my back. My brother trailed behind me after another exhausting day at school, and threw his heavy dark blue backpack onto the couch.

"Hi fatso..." he said as he was taking off his stinky socks near the door. I ignored his criticising remark, and just headed upstairs to change. Soon after he followed me and threw himself onto my bed, "Hello fatso...again. You're not doing homework you know."

"What do you want?" I asked him hoping he would leave. He lay still on the bed, and decided that he wanted to bother me. He always bothers me, especially with his loud booming voice like my father's. He wiped some kind of liquid on my arm, and I spun around wiping it back. I was wiping 4 swipes a second, it was probably his saliva. (Disgusting, I know.)

"What the hell?!" he screamed with his funny voice as he rolled over. He ran out of the room just as quickly as he had come in. I laughed with the palm of my hand on my forehead, and my other on my stomach falling to the floor. I can't stop laughing until 2 minutes have passed, at the least. So as you can see, if he complains even once, I burst into laughter. I'm someone who my brother can make laugh anytime. But I'm only nice to him, when he's nice to me. (Like that would ever happen.)

The Truth

The truth will always be revealed.

The people you trust will remain there forever.

"You wouldn't tell nobody?"

In the air floats the words "trust" or "lie"

"No, 'course you wouldn'."

The truth will always be revealed.

Whether you hide it, cover it, or bury it...

The truth will never disappear, but will float.

"He'll be back alright."

We forgive and forget.

We keep and hold.

Not break and throw.

Friends are forever

Family are forever

Lies are a never

Make Me Food!

I lay prostrate on the cushioned couch, and looked up at the bumpy ceiling covered in a thin layer of fine white paint. I felt the desire to do something on a whim, something that I could do to see someone filled with rapture. My brother started his way downstairs trying to show off his haughty personality, as I heard his slippers tap on the tiled stairs.

"Make me food." he demanded, as he said that it was a "privilege" to make him his grub. I knew that even if I could make chow that was delectable, it doesn't mean that I needed to to it. However I thought that he was going to beseech me to make him some, so I made a lavish amount of food for him. I had made all the food while I was in a good mood, but I realized that it was pretty hard to make a lot of feed, so at the end I ended up hating the impetuous choice that I made to actually listen to my brother.

I pondered why I decided to do what he demanded, but at the moment that he said that the food was "Okay." I felt good, that he was gratified by my food. Even though I'm not the best at cooking, I felt proud. I had accomplished something that I thought I could never do...make my brother say that my food was "Okay." which means that it was good. My parents could hear the the sounds of my revelry, though it was only a small accomplishment I still felt proud.