I am sure that someone has asked you recently what you are thankful for. And if not, I do ask you consider this question. Sadly, when people asked me, I could not say, for the words were not lining on my tongue right. But I can now.
Words. I am thankful for words. The idea that I can sit here and express a feeling to you is amazing. I would argue that words are what make us human. And for this, I am entirely thankful. And forgive me for the cliche I will now write, but words make me who I am. They express my thoughts, or hide them. But either way, words, and the self expression that comes with them, is, perhaps, the most freeing thing I have yet to know. They can be ugly and hurtful, poetic and lovely, but they are, to me, pu
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It is about halfway through the day and I get that feeling. I am nervous; I am trapped. And there is no reason to be: I am simply following the same routine I always have. But the feeling settles in heavy, and there is no where I can run to. My emotions have once again betrayed me. And this feeling illustrates to me, with picture black and white, that this momentary bleeding is not what is causing the aching. No, the cause is a fear. What if they knew? What if they knew? I spend so much time and energy keeping my worlds from colliding, say one thing to her, a different to him. But what if once I showed them- showed them that I simply am human, not more, not less. I think about the lies I spin, perfectly contained and I think about the emotion I display, perfectly calculated and I think about the things, perfectly good, I think all these things, and I think it is not enough. Because what I want: I want the wind, I want the danger, I want the excitement, I want to be grown up, I want to act like a child, I want time to stop spinning, but at the same time, if it does not go faster I might just die, but most of all, I just want to live. The nervousness flows through me, but the fears and wants stay perfectly contained. Just one more week, I tell myself, then I will be truthful.
And a week later, when I get this felling, halfway through the day. I am nervous; I am trapped... It's the black gaping hole which no one has ever live to see, but know so well. That cold thing you fear like the dread of death, because like death it can't be seen, we just know it's there. It is the scream you cannot hear, the dark sound that twists the essence and purity of your spirit.
A scattering of natures litter, not vulgar like ours, but soft and colorful,meant to be, splashes of color in the black and white painting we created. The scents we can come to appreciate drift slowly, silently through the air, carried by careful gusts, pushing them, urging them, to make there full cycle, from saltwater, to leaves, to coldness, to blooming, a cycle of colors and shades and textures and feelings. We are ready for autumn.
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All work on this page was created by Middle School & High School students. We hope you enjoy reading their amazing poetry, essays, and stories.
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