I can get lost in

Your eyes that seep ocean water

The cracks and valleys in your hands

The sunbeams in your laughter

I see you and

My head rests among the clouds

You walk in starlight, you shimmer and glow and everyone is

captivated

as you walk by

I touch you and I have held the world in my hands,

your universe swallows me whole

This story was an assignment in which were asked to write a short story omitting the letter “a”; a lipogrammatic challenge. I may or may not have purposefully misspelled the word “dissonant” to make the story work..

It is bright, close to blinding outside. Through the tiny clefts in the blinds, slivers of white light splinter upon the wooden floor; the room seems to glow, otherworldly. Eyelids force themselves to uncouple; the girl’s body pushes itself up, her eyes squint. She forces herself into an upright position; she needs to close the window. From outside, the dissnonent sound of a deep, persistent thump of a stereo seeps through the window screen. The girl sighs; the window shuts. She turns, looking down. The floor she’s slept on seems to be dented from her nightly rest. No money, no money for couches, beds, sheets, comforters .Fledgeling with no mother– not for months — no income– the money she spends on food is not hers. Her rent is long overdue. She closes her eyes; long sigh.

such vast confusion follows in his wake
regarding twitchy movements that he makes Continue reading →

The power of music is astounding and the way it constantly fits in my life is simply breathtaking. I’m sure you’ve all heard it before, music is my life and all that cliche shit. But there’s really no other way of saying it. To me music is indescribable. It’s one of those things that’s better to feel than to express in words. I’m a senior now and the more I look back, I wish I could have changed some of the actions I took. But then again, how would I have seen that all that transpired would actually happen? Even more what else would have taken its place? Life is beautifully frustrating in that regard. For some instances you know exactly what will happen, but for others you don’t until it actually happens. I’m listening to James Blake and as I listen to him humming, I’m transported to the depths of my mind, waking up feelings of regret, reminiscence, and overall sadness. But while his music tends to make me (my mother included), sad, I still can’t help but be mesmerized by his voice. In the electronic landscape he builds, his voice cuts so clearly like a light at the end of the tunnel. There’s no other way I can describe it but as eerie and haunting but so beautiful as to keep me wanting to listen to him. In his voice is everything I feel right now. I should be doing college apps right now, getting ready for the next big chapter in my life, my mom reminding me that I should be responsible like my fellow peers in completing them but I’m scared. As I look at the lyrics of the song I’m listening to, it’s only fitting that I’m entranced by it. I’ll leave you with some of the lyrics.

“I don’t want to be a star/But a stone on the shore/A lone doorframe in a war/When everything’s Overgrown

Gordon Ramsay is my Therapist (?????¿)

Dear diary, journal,

It’s been about three weeks since my old therapist, Oprah Winfrey, decided she didn’t want to work with me anymore. Personally, I find it outrageous, I really liked her. (I even had a cardboard cutout of her in my bedroom!)

I’m not bitter about Oprah not wanting to help me anymore. Perhaps one day we’ll meet again and I can carry her off into the sunset while singing bad music from the 80’s. She always said I was crazy, but the only thing I was crazy about was her. She also kept screaming that she “wasn’t my therapist” and that I should “get out of her house.” (Look, Oprah, just because your net worth is $2.9 billion doesn’t mean squat. Be a bit more humble!)

Since Oprah left me, I’ve switched to Dr. Gordon Ramsay. For some strange reason, I can’t place my finger on where I’ve heard that name before. It must merely be a coincidence, right? Right. You’re so smart, you always agree with me. I looked up reviews on him, and he seems to shout at his patients. That’s okay, I do like it when they take power [insert purr here].

Also, remind me to buy Vegemite at the store tomorrow and more spoons. Apparently you’re not supposed to eat the spoon.

Yours truly,

Yourself.

Dear journal,

That was the worst therapy session I’ve ever been to! I had it yesterday and let me just tell you: Gordon Ramsay is not who I thought he would be. I don’t know, I was really falling for his bright blue eyes, and the way they twinkled under the dim light. I started to fantasize about how they might look under the bright moonlight, but then what happened after made his seemingly beautiful soul turn into a black hole. The black hole engulfed me, man, I don’t think I can get over him. I really loved him in the hour I knew him, more than I loved anyone. Just not Oprah, never Oprah.

Here is basically what happened, minus the expletives because this is a PG journal:

Gordon: WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY KITCHEN? GET TO WORK.

Me: And by kitchen, you mean therapy-room-thing, right?

Gordon: NO, YOU _______ DUMB _____, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?

Me: Well, since you asked, when I was a just a wee schoolboy in France, I was diagnosed with many disorders. (Plot twist: I’m a girl.)

Gordon: I CAN SEE THAT, ESPECIALLY IN YOUR FACE, YOU _____ _____ ____, NOW IF YOU DON’T GET TO WORK, I’M GOING TO PUREE YOU IN WAYS YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THINGS COULD BE PUREED.

Me: Gordon, babe, save the dirty talk for later! All your workers will get mad!

Gordon: GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN, YOU _____ ______ ______ ______ _____, _____ _____ _____ _____ _____ _____!

Me: No man has ever called me anything more beautiful before.

It was then and there where the conversation ended, but I don’t think that’s where our love ended. Love doesn’t end, it continues to unfurl. True love is forever, and that’s what I’d like to think occurred between Gordon and I. Love continues to grow, and yes, I might be getting a restraining order from him, but it’s okay. I’ll find a way for him to need me. Just like I will with Oprah.  I really get attached to my therapists and I just don’t see why they don’t like me.

Maybe one day.

Yeah, maybe one day.

Also, you accidentally bought Marmite, not Vegemite. And you ate the spoon again.

Yours truly,

Yourself

Jose, Cho, and Onika want to find the mean of their ages. Cho is 2 years younger than Onika, and Jose is 3 years older than Cho. Jose is 10 years old. What is the mean of their ages?

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My Brother’s Keeper

“Where is Abel your brother?”
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My name is Nick O’Dea, and I’m performing JV Tennis, by Nick O’Dea. This slam poem is dedicated to the Las Lomas High School JV Tennis team and to the entire nation of France.
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Feeling sentimental and stuff. Poems used: “I love you” by Ella Wheeler Cox; “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe; “The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!” by John Keats; “Dear One Absent This Long While” by Lisa Olstein; “I loved you first: but afterwards your love” by Christina Rosseti; “[Lying in bed I think about you]” by Joshua Beckman; “You, Therefore” by Reginald Shepard; “Dangerous Love” by Maya Asregadoo

My darling dearest sweetheart

Lying in bed I think about you

here where there is no snow 

(I dreamed the snow was you, when there was snow)

Yours is the name the leaves chatter

at the edge of the unrabbited woods.

I loved you first— 

loved with a love that was more than love

Did you ever love me,

 my Annabel Lee?

You called me yours once and I smiled

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!

Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes

Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,

 Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise –

i – still – carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart)

i am never without it

My darling dearest sweetheart

Lying in bed I think about you

here where there is no snow