Life

Life

I was happy.

I was free of worries.

I loved life.

Then it happened.

That day, the truth came out.

People were hurt and crying.

I was crying too.

But then I got over it.

I moved on.

Life went on.

The pain still stung every once in a while.

Like a wound from a Mordor blade,

the wound would never truly heal.

I believed I was okay.

I went about my life again,

acting like nothing happened.

A new light came into our world,

so soon after one had gone.

We rejoiced.

We were happy.

Life didn’t like that.

Then the sickness came,

and with it more sorrow.

I lost my grandma that day.

My mommy lost her mommy.

Our family changed.

I moved on,

following my path to adulthood.

I tried so hard to hold onto what I once pushed away.

I had to let go.

I did.

I was okay.

I spent my time toiling away,

hoping I wouldn’t regret it.

I do,

and I don’t.

Life was happening.

I was okay with that.

Then that day came.

Then more tears came.

Then our lives changed again.

I feel as though I lost something.

Something I didn’t even know I had.

I lost a friend.

I lost some hope.

The pain from that wound so long ago,

reopened with a new vengeance.

I felt empty.

Then life changed again.

I moved into my new life,

feeling unprepared and worried.

I managed.

I scraped through that time,

all the while looking toward the end.

I made it.

I was so happy.

Then I toiled and worked some more.

I gave up my relaxation.

I gave up my rest.

Then, I came back.

But something was different.

I felt more empty.

I feel more empty.

I look back at what once used to be.

I look back at what I hated.

I know I’m a fool.

I miss those times.

I miss my life before that first stab.

The first cut from that long gone friend,

Tearing my heart,

breaking my soul.

It was so needless.

It was so painful.

Life was more simple.

Life goes on.

Cold

Cold

Snowflakes swirling in the sky.

Snowflakes striking me in The eye.

The winter winds,

 Chilly embrace,

Tearing the skin,

 From my face.

Students bent,

 to avoid the cold,

Hurrying to class,

Before it takes a hold.
Single file,

Our footsteps fall.

Slowing our pace to a crawl.

Welcome, my friends

To the cold.

Welcome, my friends,

Don’t let it take hold.

What is a Poem?

What is a Poem?

What is a poem?

What makes it good?

What makes one decide?

Is it written like it should?

Does it tell a story?

Does it break your heart?

Does it give its meaning at the start?

Does it go like this

From line to line

Forced to have meaning,

Forced to rhyme?

Or does it flow more

Have more feeling,

Have no meaning.

Must you pour out your soul?

Must you keep it inside?

What is a poem?

That is for the author to decide.

Becoming Literate: How I became who I am

Today, in my Advanced Writing class, my professor had us do and in class essay. She asked us to think and to remember. We were to look back at when we first learned to read and write about who and what influenced us as we learned. It brought back a lot of old memories and I really enjoyed the assignment. This is a bit different than most of my other posts but I hope you still enjoy my little trip down memory lane.

Becoming Literate

My earliest memory of writing comes from my kindergarten class. My teacher, Mrs. Wilson taught me how to read and write while she was my teacher for the first two years of my education. I can still picture the classroom that I loved so much then. Short tables, perfect for small children, two green chalkboards along the wall, bulletin boards decorated with students work. What I loved the most about that class was the teacher. Mrs. Wilson was an older woman who had a great love for children and a passion for God. She was a major influence on my young life.

Twice a year, Mrs. Wilson would hold her “reading contests.” In these contests there would be prizes based on the number of books we read and rules concerning the number of pages required per book. I always looked forward to these contests because I had a love for reading, even as young as I was. To make the contests even more exciting and to keep track of the number of books each student had read, Mrs. Wilson always devised some new theme for the contest. The one I remember the most was a racetrack theme. On one of the bulletin boards she had made a huge pictograph in the shape of a racetrack. Each student had their own paper racecar with their name on it, and every day the cars would move forward according to the number of books we had read. It was a great way to keep our attention and to make us believe that reading really could be fun.

To be sure that we didn’t cheat during the contest Mrs. Wilson had certain rules. We couldn’t just read the books by ourselves; otherwise she would have no way of knowing if we were telling her the truth. In order to gain credit for the books that we read, we had to read them out loud to a parent. I can remember many long nights of me reading book after book to my mom while she worked in the kitchen or did the laundry. All the while I sat there, in my straight backed, wooden chair, reading. I never wanted to stop. Eventually, my mom would have had enough and I would have to go to bed. I would go to sleep with the words I had read swimming along in my mind. They were never big books and they were definitely not hard to read. Most were just Doctor Seuss or other children’s books; but I still had an immense sense of accomplishment after completing each one. I would come in to class the next day with my head held high as I handed the list of books I had read to Mrs. Wilson. I would watch eagerly as my racecar or spaceship would move closer to its destination. Then, the prizes would come; and wouldn’t you know it, she gave out books as her prizes! I loved that teacher and credit her in part for my love of reading now.

Another fond memory I have of reading was when I was slightly older, maybe eight or nine. One of my sisters (the one that is my youngest older sister) had borrowed a book from a friend and wasn’t reading it. I was bored and I thought that it looked interesting so I took it from her and began to read Black Beauty. My oldest sister came in and was shocked when she saw me reading it. The book was meant for children far older than I and it surprised her that I would do that. For my next birthday she gave me Treasure Island and I loved it.

I also remember the many summer reading contests that our library would have where the prizes would be more books or some candy. I was so eager to join those contests and I read so many books over the summer because of it. I would go to the library almost everyday and get a new book (or three), read them and go back for more. I read the Hardy Boys for a long time and loved it. During fifth and sixth grade I read the entire Left Behind: The Kids series which included fifty books! Then I found the realm of fantasy and I fell in love.

The first time I was introduced to Harry Potter was through the Sorcerer’s Stone movie. Then my dad would play the audiobooks for us while we were on vacation. We would listen to the many adventures of Harry Potter as we traveled across the country to visit relatives. I would read them on my own as well and then I would read them again. My father played many different books while we traveled and I have reread many of them since. I credit him in part for my love of reading as well.

Through the years I have gone from small books meant for children to extremely large books for adults. I have finished many different series, all of them leaving a sadness when it is finally over. The books I have read have become a part of my being and I would never give them up. Also, if it weren’t for Mrs. Wilson, My oldest sister, Summer Reading programs, and my father, I most likely would have fallen into the same trap of hating reading that many of my generation reside in. I love to read and I hope to eventually write something that others will deem worth reading.