The Rose

Full of life and then deflated

Needless water poured upon

the Rose planted in the grass.

 

Seasons passed now is winter

The Rose wilted, waiting for

summer

Cold is the Rose, sitting alone

The grass is brown, dry, and frozen

Surely, summer will come soon.

 

The Rose needs the sun

It pines and longs for warmth

so it can bloom

Show it’s pretty colors

but it must wait for June.

 

Thorny, dead, unwelcome

in the garden it sits

alone

Needless water poured upon

but it must wait for

the Sun

The Girl In The White Dress

The girl in the white dress walked in circles through the tall grass. Her expression serene, vacant, like the flowers that swayed in the breeze, beckoning her towords the tree that stood in the single bare spot in the vast space that was a field. Her circles continued as though she couldn’t decide which way to walk. A change in the air made her stop abruptly, her face contorting to an expression of fear. The breeze moved into a wind, snapping her dress against her legs. She flinched every time it hit. The crytal clear sky turned gray, then black, foreshadowing her future. The girl fell to her knees, whispering to the sky, her hands clawed the black robe that draped perfectly from the ominous beauty that stood before her. The woman’s face turned into a horrible sight of ugly. The girl screams, as the woman disappears as fast as she appeared. The girl continued to cry as she began to vanish from the field. The wind lessened, the sky turned back to blue, but the flowers ceased to beckon, but simply waved in the breeze, for the tree had vanished.

A School Assignment; The Color Of Hunger

The color of hunger is many colors. Dark colors mainly. Black, to blue, orange and yellow, but mostly red. It creeps into your mind, slowly burning its way to your stomach. Where it goes it scorches the path, leaving an empty hole behind. Feeding the color just keeps it at bay, but it is always there, changing colors. Black to green, orange and yellow, but always red.

Time

Pin Pricks, in my wall. Marking small, little memories, from then, who cares? but me. Standing, behind my back, my shadow is there. Waving goodbye to the past, going fast, away. Who Cares, about time, it’s only a number, what’s the difference from now, to sometime later.

Music.

The world is never silent.

The animals, the bugs, us.

We create noise.

We create Music.

Right. A writing…..

Do the right thing

As opposed to the wrong

You learn from mistakes

Then what? 

Do the wrong thing? To learn? For personal gain?

Right or wrong thing

Two choices, Two answers

Are there more than two?

Or are these classifications, right and wrong?

Two words

So much weight on each

Is the wrong choice sometimes the right one?

What if what is right for one person is wrong for another?

Then I’m doing someone wrong

But what if the right choice is the choice where everyone is in the right?

Could that be true? 

That there’s always another choice? 

So many complications

I choose left.

 

Another Quote

“Ow does NOT mean do it again!”

Quote of the day!

“Bread and cheese are like, the fruit of Life!”

Check this out.

This is all about my old loft bed. ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!

Mine

Wood, screws, teeth marks. Three things, thousands of memories. The first time I saw it was in the store, clean of any marks made. It smelled like wood. My sister and I each got one, one of the ones for children. I chose, I remember, and my sister agreed. A man brought them to our house in a big truck. It looked like a giant square box. It felt like we were moving. It said something about furniture on it.   

The first night was the best. Audrey and I climbed up our ladders that seemed like giant bean stocks. It smelled like wood. We shared a room. When we were mad we would stand on the very tips of our toes to reach the edge so that we could hang sheets to make forts. She wrote our names on the bottom. I don’t know why.      

American Girls lived underneath so we could make sure nothing happened. We said good night and tucked them in so that they would be warm. They were real to us. I used to think the climbed up and played next to me while I was asleep. We played with them so much I can’t really remember anything else I did at that age.

Mom or dad would come in and kiss us goodnight way up high, the American Girls way down low.  I used to bite it. It smelled like wood. Sometimes my parents would catch me and tell that if I wanted to get a different one without rails. I said no. I love this one.

My stuffies would get to sleep up there with me. All of them, until I got too big and they got too many. They each had names, Honey Bear, Moon Face, Spot, Chocolate, Choco for short, and Ana May. And many, many more. Ana May was my favorite. My grandma gave her to me because she said we look alike. I used to tell everything to her. She would listen to me. Sometimes, she was the only one.

She wasn’t my only friend. My friends would sit on it with me saying I wish I had one like this or This thing is as tall as a tree. It smelled like wood. We would talk for hours. We would gossip, plan, or just play with something.

            My bed was there for me when even Ana May wasn’t. It was there when my grandpa died and when my cousins were born. Through the good and the bad. The easy and the hard. Good, Bad, Easy, Hard. It was mine. I grew out of a lot of other things like American Girls, Forts, and sitting on my bed for hours. Whether it was just me or a couple friends, it was always my place to be me.

Ojai

I’m currently in ojai visiting family from my dads side. It’s been fun, but Ojai is kinda small. Today, my dad took my cousin and I to Santa Barbra, which is about a half hour away. The shopping opportunities are amazing though. They have Juicy couture, Banana Republic, lucky Brand, Macys, Pac Sun, Sunglasses hut, Angl, Bebe, and much, much, more. We went to a diner called rubys diner. Their milkshakes are A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!!!!!!!!! Yum YUM YUM!!!!

-ooog