Snowflakes

So the snowflake spent the rest of time searching the storms for another just like her because being unique was suddenly synonymous with feeling alone.

Reassurance

I could see my breath as we made the trek up the hill. The promise of warmth quickened our pace. "I'm just afraid of what they think," I continued, "that's probably my biggest insecurity: that people just find me annoying."

"Well that's pretty stupid," he started, "The people that you want to be with wouldn't find you annoying. You have better taste than that. They'd just be glad to spend some time with you."

"Well, damn. You know, that will probably end up on my blog within the next week," I replied.

And so it did.

Until Next Time

There is a dark beauty to goodbyes.
In the easy departures, there is a scent of what-ifs and could-have-beens.
When separating threatens to defeat, it serves as a reminder that there was a connection of substance.
Beauty, after all, requires some element of pain.

The Climb

The redeeming aspect of never reaching the top of the mountain is never being force to see that the peak is not all that you expected it to be.

The Friend I have in You

The people that matter most are not necessarily the ones that are by your side,
But the people who are praying before you can shed a tear,
Encouraging you before you have time to feel down,
And loving you even when you don't deserve it.

Just Because

Just because you got distracted, does not mean that you are ADD.
Just because you are organized, does not mean that you are OCD.
Just because you feel upset, does not mean that you are depressed.

Just because you are ignorant to the significance behind your words, does not mean you are not responsible.

Walking the Talk

This is a bit different from what I have previously posted on this blog. It is a snippet taken from an essay I had to write for one of my classes. Like is already said, it is not like my other "published" work, but I felt moved to share it somehow. This is a blog of writing after all, who knows what form it will take next?

Christians today are forced to deal with the fear that accompanies witnessing to nonbelievers. While it can be intimidating to talk to strangers about one’s faith, it is terrifying to speak to friends and family about what one believes. This seems illogical; as a Christian, they should be overcome with the joy of God and delighted at the opportunity to share that joy with others. Yet in a world that pegs Christians as close minded Republicans with more concern for themselves than the hurting, many know not the first step to take in sharing their faith, especially without offending someone.

In coming to college, I left behind many friends from high school that do not know Christ. In this time away from them, I worry that the paths they find themselves heading down will lead them to pain and confusion, all the while distancing themselves even farther from God. Four people specifically come to mind. I feel, to some extent, that it was my fault that they do not have a relationship with God. While at a public high school there are limitless opportunities to reach out to the lost and hurting. These individuals hit me harder because they were not people I had to reach out to. They were by my side all the time. I claimed to believe in God. I even led a ministry on campus. Yet I never had a serious conversation with them about what they believed. While my faith was not a secret to them, I feel like it should have been a larger part of how I identified myself. I restrained God’s presence in my life to a compartment that could be released when convenient. This blighted my ability to truly care for these friends because true love comes from God. I regret not being a better example to them.  

At the summer camp I work at, we talk often about planting seeds. The fruition of people’s faith is not always for us to behold, even if we are the ones praying for them and doing our best to lead them to Christ. It is easy to twist evangelism to serve a purpose of self-gratification, even more so when it is your job. To keep each other’s hearts in the right place, we use this representation as a source of comfort and foundation for our efforts. Basically, it means that God has a timing that is different from ours; He has a way of working things out at exceptionally brilliant times. To extend the metaphor, we are sometimes planting seeds, fertilizing the ground, watering the soil, even scouting land for a seed to one day be planted. We do not always get to see the seed grow into fruit. It is incredibly difficult to pour into someone’s life and see no change. As challenging as it is, we are forced to give it up to God to take care of. His plan and His timing are beyond our level of understanding.

I am forced to wonder if these friends were seeds that I was watering or if I was standing by the field expecting something to happen while doing nothing to contribute to the culmination of their growth. On the subject of witnessing to peers, Christian teen culture often says that people will know that we are Christians by our actions. We have devised a safe little comfort net that says non-Christians will be so impressed by how we respond to the world that they will have no choice but to ask what is different about us. The idea is that the secret Christians can then share the gospel in a safe, controlled environment on their turf. The system as a whole is flawed due simply to the fact that none of us will ever be perfect. We will mess up. We will fail. People will see that, and write us off as no different than themselves. It relies solely on our ability to show the world a polished exterior. It has become, to a point, a huge issue of pride. The sentiment that our actions are important does hold truth. I have no claims against the importance of following the Bible’s instructions for outward living. Kindness, understanding, and humility should be poured out to everyone we meet and interact with. This can prove to be a challenge in and of itself. The issue I have is when the idea that our actions are important is replaced with the thought that our actions alone have the power to save lives.

Buying into the thought that our faith will be represented solely by our actions has incredible repercussions that are often unnoticed until serious harm has occurred. The most obvious is that the very people that we are hoping to nonchalantly witness to without offending never truly get ministered to. Because we as a collection are too afraid to step on someone’s toes, it is as if we are not even there. Christianity is bold. It is offensive. It hurts many. But the healing that it brings is quite literally the best news that exists. People do not deserve the good news. For that matter, neither do we as Christians. But we have it. Why do we stop ourselves from sharing it? This by no means equivocates that we can be crude in our actions and words. It is a responsibility of ours to respect others, particularly those that are different because it is harder. This, nevertheless, means that we should be spreading the life everywhere we go.

The longer we hide this life, the weaker it becomes. If our fear of these conversations blights the discussions from happening, then we lose a bit of the spark we had. Refusing to stand up for what we believe, for what it is true, deteriorates that very cause in our minds. Soon, apathy runs rampantly through our hearts because we have trained ourselves that way. Our fear governs our being.

In my life, I see the source of this fear coming from two specific places: insecurity in the certainty of what I believe, and anxiety regarding rejection. My doubt in the inevitability of God’s presence often impairs my ability to witness to others because I fear spreading a message I cannot fully stand behind. When I feel God’s presence in my life, it is easy to point to Him and encourage others. Often, however, I feel as though my actions are a result of what is expected rather than as an act of worship. This causes me to freeze. It would be hypocritical to inspire others to pursue something I half-heartedly agree with. Even more so, I dread the chance that in announcing my belief, others will box me into a definition of Christian that they already have. Christians are not as highly regarded as one might expect if everyone perfectly lived out the standards they held themselves to. This, however, is partially ludicrous. After all, our standard is the perfection manifested in Christ Jesus. None of us will ever obtain this level of servant hood, but that should never stop us from pursuing it.

My challenge is to actively live out what I claim to believe. I will deepen this task by speaking out what I claim to believe as well. No longer will I depend on action alone. Through prayer and authenticity, hearts can change. Apathy and fear can attack so viciously. I will surely fail, as I have countless times. I will have to depend on God to provide an untouchable joy.

The Battle of Three

There is the person I show.
There is the person I hide.
There is the person I am.

And finally, there is the person I am called to be.

I’m still figuring that last one out.

Aware

To be still is to be aware.
From this sense of awareness, clarity is achieved as meaning is contemplated.
In this heightened glimpse of focus, attachment is born and sentimentality is brewed.

You

I'm not in love.
I hardly even know you.
You aren't the first.
You'll hardly be the last.
These feelings, they die
These ideas, they pass.

Yet if you asked,
I can't say I wouldn't be yours.

the price of life

Looking forward,
Eyes afraid.
Hoping Silently
the price was paid.
Nodding gently
It is done.
Somehow feeling.
Nobody won.
Gently, slowly,
Leave behind.
All the goodness
All those kind.
Realizing finally
It is true.
It matters less
When it isn't you.

Pieces

In that moment, she knew than picking up the fallen pieces would only add to their number. She left them behind, knowing full well she'd never see them again.

He searched for years, finding every one, all the while losing his own.

He gave them to her with the highest of expectations, not realizing that she had moved on.
She found someone else.
The scraps he devoted his life to were broken and forgotten.

So there he was, clinging to her life, realizing that they were the only shreds he had left.

warm nights and drunk strangers

and the damned thing is, I wouldn't change a thing.

Poor Child

Do you not see the very hypocrite you publicize is simply more vulnerable than the one in your eyes?
He crawled through your ear, consumed your mind, and vocalized his thoughts through your tender lips.
His presence, however, has left.

Those thoughts, poor child, are yours to keep.

Worth

Simply because something does not bring you joy or satisfaction does not mean that it does not serve a purpose for others. Who am I to claim absolute knowledge of value?

The Great Arrival

It's funny how much more painful it is to return to a place you cherish when you know you will be leaving behind those you love.

Fading

The moment I knew I loved you was the night you confessed to me you loved another. Ever since I have 

been waiting for the right
making sure that I was
convincing myself that
looking at how you
trying to find the

been slowly loosing you, without ever truly having you.

No Less

This one is to all the little boys who wanted to play with dolls.
You aren't different.
You aren't weak.
It doesn't make you feminine.
It doesn't steal your masculinity.
It just makes you a little boy who wanted to play with dolls.

This one is to all the little girls who wanted to play with trucks.
You aren't lesser.
You aren't contradicting.
It doesn't make you masculine.
It doesn't steal your femininity.
It just makes you a little girl who wanted to play with trucks.

So to all those little boys and little girls, you have nothing to hide.
You are just a person. No more, no less.

And being a person, after all, isn't anything to be ashamed of.

Change

Fear of change should never blight one's willingness to share truth and express love. 
Change is natural. 
Change, bad or good, is essential.
After all, unshared feelings aren't really sincere until they are vulnerable. 

Dignity

A loss of dignity occurs when one chooses to beat themselves before giving others an opportunity to do so.

the lady in red

our recognition  of stereotypes perpetuates their very existence.

now go make me a sammich.

Curtain Call

An old poem written before my first High School Play, Arsenic and Old Lace. Though my style has changed and the structure is poor, the words still hold true today as I approach my last High School Musical, Legally Blonde. 

The shadows dance across the page as I write. The limited light falls from six circular globes; the room is deformed as one of the bulbs appears to have blown out. The occasional squeak or voice is muffled beyond the walls.

Nothing can separate the peace that is caused from sitting here. The floor is cracked and stained from old students and staff creating. Large black waves fall all around, their arms guarding me, protecting me, calming me. The smell of broken dreams mixes with the dust above. 

Nowhere else is beauty created from nothing. 

Nowhere else are individuals simultaneously inspired and convicted. 

One corner splashes the monotone walls with the nostalgia of the broken shoulders we stand on today. My voice is lost in the darkness, but remembered somewhere in the crevices above. 

Locked away are my paintbrushes. My tools that manifest the beauty within. The medium that spreads my joy to others and transfers my passion to empathy.

My memory may be forgotten, but my work impacts all those who have yet to come. The ground is stiff. Worn. Yet comfortable from familiarity.

The life we breath is under-appreciated. The foundation we have, we built for ourselves.

Here I create.

Here I exist.

Here I live on.

Denial

No, I'm not in love with you.

I'm not even in love with being in love with you.

I just wanted to feel something.

And you were around.

Promise

Love is more than a feeling.
For to a feeling you cannot commit.
Love is more of a promise
To a person, to not let them quit.

The Mind-Wanderers

They criticize the quiet.
The ones exploring space.
The bashful few that let their minds wander.

They claim they are lazy.
Or stupid.
Or they waste time.

They think one must be acting
Or saying.
Or doing.

The wanderers are crushed.
Transformed.
And fixed.

Their memories are forgotten.
Trampled.
Deformed.

Their thoughts were unappreciated.
Lonely.
But content.

Now they cease to exist.
Blank, dark.
And cold.

So here is to the quiet.
The ones exploring space.
The bashful few that let their minds wander.

Let their dreams forever be nurtured.
Let their minds forever fun free.

Above all, let them know that different is not the same as bad.

Blake's Blade

A foreign force began pounding my head. Louder, stronger, faster. I grew tense as my eyes were stunned by the blinding light of morning. I thwarted my Batman alarm clock from when I was eight and fell out of bed. After throwing on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, I headed to the bathroom. One look in the mirror revealed that not much had changed.  My hair was still untamable and tangley; my nose too pointed and my chin was still covered in a patchy excuse for a beard. Clumsy from growth spurts and lanky by design, I supposed it would have been foolish to expect an improvement overnight.

            A neat stack of pancakes accompanied by a side of sausage awaited me at the table. I found a note from Liza wishing me luck on my first day back. She apologized that she had to be to work so early on such a big, big day! I dumped the grub in the trashcan and cleaned the dishes. I still didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t really have an appetite anymore. I downed some coffee and slung my pack over my shoulder. “Guess I better get going,” I thought.

            As I walked the halls of good old Talma High, I found it hard to disappear. Everywhere I went, silence followed. I felt the slimy fingers of people’s stares scratch my back. Some underclassmen tried to smile at me. Some guy with weird glasses told me that he was “praying really hard for me” even though we had never met. Most people just gaped and dropped what they were doing. Their whispers crept into my ears like silent bombs, crashing and booming along the way. They didn’t like that I was back. They wanted me to leave. I was tainting their image. It was bad enough that I- uh, left. But now I was back. What nerve I had for actually thinking I deserved to return. How could I let Liza talk me into this being a good idea?

Teachers hid their shock with half-hearted smiles and weak handshakes. I knew what they were thinking. I knew they weren’t expecting me to ever go back to school, especially not this school. Their fragile words and feeble attempts to make conversation weren’t fooling anybody. I knew they felt uncomfortable around me. As if they didn’t have issues with me before- before I left. I got through my first few classes without any major issues even though Mr. Clarkson wouldn’t stop looking at me and Mrs. Mack gave way more homework than I remember. All of them still seemed kind of blank. They didn’t know how to react to me. At least nobody had the stones to call on me to answer any questions.

The bell sent the animals flocking toward the cafeteria. I stepped out for a quick smoke before following myself. After obtaining a sloppy scoop of mashed potatoes resembling a washcloth and a hunk of green meat, neither of which I planned to eat, I scanned the room. Finally, one place where I wasn’t the sore thumb. I was lost in the chaos. The jocks were at their table, the druggies in theirs. Braniacs, musical-geeks, nerds:  they all had their spot. I turned to return to my old corner by myself, but even that was taken up by the apparently expanding Asian population.

Out of options, I started for the bathroom to eat in a stall when that dude with the funny glasses stopped me. “Hey! Blake!” he grinned.

“Uh, hi?” I responded.

“How’s it going?”

“Um. Fine?”

A silence.

“Yourself?”

“Oh! I am great!”

“Wonderful,” I mumbled.

“How are your classes going?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good.”

I waited for him to ask me another pointless question or move out of my way. He did neither. “Is there something you wanted?” I asked.

“Not specifically. Just wanted to see how your day was.”

Another one of those fantastic silences.

“Well, it was fine.”

            “Glad to hear it! So who are you sitting with?”

            “Yes,” I replied dryly.

He caught the drift.  As I began to walk away, he called out, “Blake, if you ever, you know, need a place to eat, we have an open spot.”

“Like Hell,” I spat as I dumped my lunch and went out for another smoke.

I pushed through the rest of my day, ignoring the gawks and murmuring voices of noisy classmates. I found twenty bucks on the kitchen counter with another note. Liza was working late again. She flooded me with apologies that I would have to wait to tell her about the big, big day! At least I could grab some pineapple pizza and play my music loud enough to blast out my eardrums! I headed up to my room and flopped on my bed.

I couldn’t get the snot-nosed faces from school out of my mind. Their fake smiles and empty words clouded my body. Nobody wanted me back there. It was idiotic to expect anything to return to normal, even if normality sucked in the first place. I sacrificed what chance I had at acceptance when l left.

The cool touch of the familiar metal teased my fingertips.  I found myself grasping it without remembering digging through my drawer to find it. A stain from countless indulgences looked up at me. Questioning me. Patronizing me.  Old temptations clouded my perception. The floodgates were open. My demons used to fight me. I used to care; I fought them. I ran. I hid. I cowered. Alone.

But now they called out to me sweetly, like an old friend. Begging I return. They missed me. They needed me. The wanted me.  Finally somebody wanted me. They lifted their delicate fingers, beckoning me to return home.  Reality desperately clang to me as I pushed her away.  I knew she wouldn’t have the strength to fight me much longer. Not with the aid of my forgotten friends. Motion began to slur until things were still. Sound faded from a desperate whisper to a hopeless murmur. My senses blurred until I was all that remained. I was invited once more to forget. To release. To feel. I griped my blade more tightly. My confidence was growing. My assurance was swelling. I deserve. I deserve. I deserve.

Ding-dong.

I’m torn from ecstasy by the doorbell. Disgruntled, I stash the blade and make my way downstairs. I find none other than my lunch buddy standing at my door. I stare, not sure what to think, waiting for him to explain why he showed up at my door in the middle of December.

He finally piped up with a measly, “Hey.”

Hey? He, a stranger, showed up at my house, unannounced, in the snow. And all he had to say was hey?

“Uh, Hi?” I replied.

“Hey.”

The conversation was riveting.

“Can I help you?”

“No… Wait! Yes! I mean, umm. Wait. Let me start over.”

Riveting.

“Are you busy tonight?” he asked.

My mind shot back to the blade in my room, waiting for me, calling to me. “Sorta,” I told him.

“Oh,” he sounded disappointed, “ok.”

I started to close the door, but something stopped me, “Why?”

“I just wanted to invite you to grab some coffee or something. No big. Have a good night!” He began walking away, so I closed the door and began up the stars. I turned to see him through the window. This guy, this random guy, wanted to grab coffee or something? I didn’t even know his name. Before I processed what I was doing, I was running after him.

“I… I thought you were busy?” he asked.

“Eh,” I smiled, “it can wait.” Our footprints in the snow left a trail of where we had been. The funny part was, no matter where we made them, nobody but us could decide where the next ones would be. “Oh!” I choked, “I wanted to ask you something!”

“Shoot!”

“This might sound really ignorant of me, but I never caught your name.”

He laughed, “I guess I never threw it! My name’s Micheal.”

We walked to The Java-Nut, where we had the worst coffee I have ever tasted. Somehow, I didn’t mind. 

The Colors of Camp

The wood is worn

From laughter and years.

The paint is faded

From conversations and tears.

The squeals and shouts

Seep out from the door

Accompanied by

a little one’s snore.

A tornado of color

Overtook the room.

Bunks, bags, and beds.

Carelessly strewn.

The bathroom’s a graveyard

From battles lost.

The victors fought hard

For they knew of the cost.

The mud on their faces

Was caked on with sweat.

Their eyes began drooping

While slumber, she threat.

Mr. Bill

There was a young fellow named Bill

Who hated to swallow his pills.

He one day was sick

And swallowed them quick.

He no longer wished to be ill.

Meg the Pirate

There was a mean pirate named Meg.

A big sea monster ate her leg.

She refused to die

Or even just cry.

But now we just know her as Peg. 

To Heal or Not to Heal

The only way to dream is to let go.

Allow yourself to fade and to forget.

To sacrifice your mind and what you know.

And sleep away your troubles and regret.

The only way to grow is to move on.

To shed the old, embrace the raw and new.

To sacrifice the darkness for the dawn.

And leave behind familiar things you do.

The only way to heal is to admit

To face your pain and choose to claim your life.

To realize that not all things befit.

And choose to walk away from useless strife.

Although this all sounds marvelous and quaint.

I much prefer Thanatos’s constraint. 

Her House on the Shore

My

Ma made me

Promise that I’d

Try my best in school.

And always give it my all,

Even when I thought it was too

Hard or I couldn’t do it. I promised I

Would go to college and make a name for

Myself. She made me promise to get a good job.

One where I could not only make a lot of money. But

I could make a difference. I could help people. I promised her

That I would buy her a big house out on the shore. A place she could

Relax. Take a break. Reflect on all the good that she had done. So I did. I gave

My best and worked really hard. I got a good job helping people. I even bought a big

                         House out on the shore. It had a wide wrap around porch with two white

                         Rocking chairs out front. There were three bedrooms so she could invite

                         Her friends and family over for visits whenever she wanted. The view was

                         My favorite part because the sun rose right over the water. The beams of

                         Light licked the water gently;  they jumped  from                     place to place.

                         There was a big yard full of  oak samplings and a                    giant sycamore

                         Tree.  It even had a sweet  little garden tucked  in                    one side  that

                         she could  grow her famous tomatoes in and plant                   her pumpkins.

                         I knew right  when I bought it that mama would love the little flowerbeds.

                         She was known for planting beautiful yellow marigolds come each spring.

                         But I bet  that Mama’s  favorite                                  would be the kitchen.

                         She loved  to make cakes,  pies                                  and pastries. She also

                         made the  absolute best  roast                                     beef anyone ever had.

                         It made my mouth  water with                                    every bite. Now she

                         Could entertain and have all of                                   the parties with all the

                         Neighbors  like she  wanted to.                                  Only, my Mama never

                         Saw the house I bought for her.                                  She passed away last

                         Winter. She fought her hardest                                   and gave it her all, but

                         Not even my college degree or                                  ‘good job’ could stop

                         The cancer from spreading. At                                   first I was upset. Angry.

                         Unforgiving. But now I see that                                  this house is more than

                         Brick or stone. It is a chance to                                  thank her for what she

                         Taught me. It is a chance to help                               others. It is her memory.                                   

Compassion Swells

Names, gossip, frustration.

Swirl, consume, and destroy.

Recognition, repentance, forgiveness

Bring satisfaction, hope and joy.

Anger Swells

Defective, fake, pathetic.
Idiotic, vain, obtuse.
Your presence sickens my body.
You truly have no use.

Jackie and the Zaps

Jackie heard the yelps of the other sprites outside his cherry tree. He sighed as he thought about the fun they were having out at the Pekinbo’s pond. Jake and Jasper, his brothers, had already gone down to play with the other boys. They were going to play another game of Zigilo.

The point of Zigilo was to hold your breath and swim all the way down to the bottom of the pond. Once you we there, you had to grab hold of one of three objects and swim it all the way up to the shore. The objects were a great big purple ball, a tiny little stick with a circle at the end, and a glass jar full of brown and yellow gunk. Once all three objects were found, the blower had to swim out from the middle of the pond. They dunked the stick in the jar of gunk and blew a bubble all the way around the purple ball. Once the blower blew the bubble around the ball, the team won!  

Zigilo was Jackie’s favorite. Jackie was a little clumsy, so he couldn’t swim as fast as the bigger boys. He also couldn’t blow very hard without getting dizzy, but that never stopped him from laughing with joy every time he played. He had more fun playing Zigilo that anyone else in Gonkzville.

  He wanted to go out and play with his pals, but , he knew it was more important to study for his flight test. Every year, the elder sprites came all the way from the Cove in Lilly’s Valley to test the young sprites. Once you were seven and three quarters, you could take the test to win your wings. The scariest thought was of not getting your wings. You only had one chance, and not everyone was guaranteed to pass.

The very best wings were called zaps, because they lit up every time they flapped. They were given to the one young sprite that worked the hardest and showed the elders that they were ready to accept the responsibility that comes with having wings. There were other wings for everybody else that proved that they were ready, but secretly everyone wanted the zaps. Nobody wanted those zaps more than Jackie.

His daddy told him that if he worked hard, he could do anything. Jackie didn’t always believe that since he was clumsy and got dizzy so easily. Still, he decided to work hard and study as much as he could for his test. His brothers teased him sometimes for studying so much. They told him to have more fun and to forget about boring things like books and learning. It hurt Jackie to hear those mean things from his brothers, who he really loved, but all he wanted was to prove them wrong.

The day of the test finally came. Jackie was so nervous that couldn’t stop his hands from shaking! At first he refused to get out of bed because his tummy hurt. Jasper spent the morning jumping from branch to branch showing his family how he would zoom through the air once he got his wings. Jake kept talking about how beautiful his new zaps were going to be. That just made Jackie feel even sicker. After another pep talk from their daddy, the boys left for the field.

 What awaited them was a shocking sight. There were big bright signs everywhere. Adult sprites were flying and flipping in the sky to the applause of baby sprites on the ground. Beautiful jewels were jetting through the air as a band bigger than the town of Gonkzville played a victory march. The sights and sounds of the arena made Jackie’s eyes grow wide and his head grow dizzy.

The first part of the test was on concepts. The young sprites had to answer all kinds of questions about the proper signals to make to other flying sprites, how to land correctly, and where Fleezles, who had been known in the past to snack on little sprites, were commonly found. Many of the sprites looked worried. Jake never stopped sweating. Jasper just stared at the leaf he was supposed to write his answers on. Meanwhile, Jackie happily jotted down his answers. Most of the questions he had seen before, thanks to his constant preparation.

The young sprites had to wait for the entries to be graded. It took all morning. The list with everyone’s name that had passed was eventually posted on the big oak tree just after lunchtime. If your name wasn’t on the list, you couldn’t take the actions part of the test, were the elders gave you a set of wings, and you had to fly through an obstacle course.

Jackie couldn’t remember breathing as he looked for his name. He couldn’t find it anywhere! Right as he started to give up hope, his daddy picked him up and showed Jackie his name near the top of the list. Jackie’s heart started to beat again.  Only, the sad part was that Jasper’s name wasn’t on the list. He didn’t pass, which meant he was never going to get his wings. Jackie wanted to say something to make him feel better, but right at that time, the elders gathered all the young sprites for the next part of the test.

The obstacle course that year was the hardest course ever. Besides it being the first time any of them had ever had wings, they had to fly through small gaps, avoid swinging vines, and navigate through a black tunnel. Time after time, the young sprites failed. Some got lost in the tunnel, others couldn’t aim to get through the tiny gaps. Some, like Jake, couldn’t even get off the ground.

Finally it came to be Jackie’s turn. The new wings felt cold against his back. He started getting dizzy. Then, he remembered his daddy’s wise words. He had worked hard! Why couldn’t he do it! The only thing standing in his way was himself. With that, he leapt through the air, and then the wings took over. He twisted and tumbled, he glided and glew. He made it the entire way through the obstacle course without making one single mistake. His ears tingled from the roaring crowd’s mark of approval.

            Jackie couldn’t remember much after that. All he remembers is standing on the stage with the elders as the presented him with his very own zaps! Butterflies tickled the inside of his tummy. He couldn’t believe that he, clumsy Jackie that gets dizzy, was awarded the zaps! He looked out at his daddy, who was beaming with pride. Then he saw Jake and Jasper standing next to him. They looked happy, but Jackie could see the dried up tears on their faces. Neither of them had received their wings. Without thinking, Jackie zoomed over to his brothers and grabbed their hands. Together they laughed as they flew to the moon. 

Forgotten Letters

Dear Mom,

                The most peculiar thing happened to me today. It started out wonderful, and then got confusing but ended up kind of sweet. It all started when I woke up this morning. The stars in their courses must have been aligned especially for me. I knew right away that it was going to be a day like no other.

You remember the little notes I have been finding in the tree that you used to hang the swing from? The one you used to push me on? In the front yard? Well today, I found another. Oh the things that blessed soul wrote to me. I knew for certain that the boy that has been writing was an angel in disguise. You remember how much I hate my freckles? Of course you do. Well my secret admirer told me just the other day that they were beauty marks. That is when I realized what love feels like.

                Anyways, he wrote me again. But this time was different. He told me that he wanted to meet me after school in the auditorium. Today! Oh mom, I don’t remember breathing all morning. I think I only caught my breath a few minutes ago. I ran right back inside and put on your white dress and my favorite blue cardigan. I fit into it now. Dad said I look like you when I wear it. I don’t believe him. But I like to image that I do. Do you remember how beautiful you used to look in that dress? I do.

                When I was walking to school, I had a scary thought. I had no idea who this boy was, but he knew me! Sure, he sounded dreamy when he wrote me, but what if he only ever wrote as a joke. And if his ears were too big? Or his laugh sounded like a monkey? Remember when we visited the zoo, just me and you? I do. The monkeys were your favorite. But I still don’t think I would want one as a boyfriend. My mind drifted as I began imagining who he might be. Maybe it was the quarter back, Elijah, or the senior class president, Matthew. It became my goal to figure out who this boy was so that I could be ready when I met him after school.

                Do you miss me, Mom? I want to talk to you. I miss the smell of your perfume before you went out. You sure went out an awful lot. Not that I minded! I’m thirteen now. Remember how you said you’d come to my party? I do. Not that I minded or anything. Dad promised to buy me a real cake this year, but he came in real late the night before. He slept right through my birthday. It’s ok though! I just spent the whole day pretending that I had presents to open. Dad does that a lot now. Come in late, I mean. He hasn’t been the same since you, well, you know.

                Like I was saying, I was just sitting in English class when Christopher Clarkback came and sat down right next to me. He has the eyes bluer than the sky. They twinkle sometimes when he smiles. And you know what?! He smiled at me today! I just knew that it had to be him that has been writing me those notes.  Right when I tried to ask him about the notes, Mr. Stover began class, so Christopher had to move back to his seat.

                Later, in the lunch line, I swear I saw Elijah McDonald wink at me. This made me kind of confused since he had a girlfriend. He was dating that brat-homecoming queen, Quinn McMary. But I suppose when true love, like what he must have had for me, blooms, no mortal man can repress it. I just simply had to wait for him to express it.

That wasn’t even the strangest part of my day. Keshon, my lab partner in biology, was acting rather suspicious today. He wouldn’t look at me directly, and spoke in very short sentences. His cheeks puffed up as red as I’ve ever seen cheeks puff when my hand bumped his arm while I was reaching for a beaker. I don’t understand boys, why wouldn’t Keshon just spit out whatever was bothering him?

                After the final bell rang, I made my way to the auditorium. My stomach began to gurgle as I tried to stay poised. Poised is a new word I learned today. Now it is one of my favorites! Well I walked into the auditorium, poised as could be, and who do you suppose was there? It wasn’t Keshon, Elijah, or Christopher. It was Charlie! That’s right, short, nerdy, Charlie! My best friend from grade school? The one I used to take baths with? We are going out this Saturday. And the weird thing? I am actually kind of looking forward to it.

Mom, did you get my last letter? I haven’t heard anything from you. In case you forgot, my address is 2911 Brookeview Lane, Gonkzville, OH, 32781. I’ll be here if you ever want to visit me or anything. Not that you have to. I know you are busy. I miss you, mom. Where are you? Anyways, I love you.

Kristy

Decisions, Decisions

Someday decisions will be easy and choices will be clear.
Mistakes will hardly matter and futures won't hold fear.

But today my heart is heavy. My mind is a swirling mess.
I need some air and space now to breathe and decompress.

I suppose this constant fretting shows that I truly care.
Otherwise I'd just give up. At least I am aware?

'Analization'

Some may say there is beauty in taking arbitrary letters and breathing significance into them.
They might claim that to take seemingly unrelated objects and weave them into symbolic meaning is enchanting.
They may even go as far as to propose that taking letters and making words, and words making sentences, and sentences making significance is somehow worthy of praise.
They could argue that making poetry is beautiful.


Beauty is having somebody to write about.