Reading the Writing of my Amazing Classmates.

Today, I read Zachary's, Ben's, and Emma's work. I loved it all! 


On Emma's short story, I said - 

"Hi Emma!
You are so amazingly talented! I've read this piece once before, just on my own time, and I was blown away. I got so emotionally invested! I actually got chocked up towards the middle. You have a talent for making your characters real. This is a talent many people don't have. 
Don't ever stop being awesome, 
Taylor"

Her story was so amazing, it was deep and engaging. I loved how much creativity she had. Her story was about a young man and his struggles. It focuses mainly on his father's cancer, and how he has to deal with everything happening around him. The way she painted the mother was so believable.  It found it fantastic. 

On Emma's I Am poem, I said - 

"Hello Emma! 
This has been one of the best I Am poems I've read so far. I loved the line, "A lover of the light", that's just so beautiful to me. I really feel like I got to know you better from reading this. You have such a gentle writing style, it's isn't too overdone. 
You have a snazzy face, 
Taylor"

I could relate to her in many different ways. She was very open. It was as if she was talking to her best friend and I felt like she was sharing something with me. It was really awesome. 

One Ben's short story, I said - 

"Hi Ben! 
That was magical. I loved it so much! You're so funny. It seems like almost anyone can write something dark and depressing, it takes talent to be funny. It was so awesome! I also felt like you tied it all together by being serious about how drugs can destroy. It has been my favorite thing I've read thus far. 
You're a boss, 
Taylor"

His story was about a giraffe and his involvement in drugs. It was one animal's story and his life, even leading up to a prison sentence. It was most certainly not was I was expecting. It had it all, romance, guilt, regret. How can I describe something so fantastic? I was by far the most creative post I've seen. 

On Ben's I Am poem, I said - 

"Hi Ben! This is a very open poem. I love the line, "a pair of headphones blasting music into my ears", I can really relate to this. You have a very approachable way of writing, it was honest. I hope you continue to write in the future, it would be a shame to stop when you have such genuine talent!
Have a fantastic day, 
Taylor"

I wasn't overpowering at all. I was really truthful. I have to say I enjoyed it and I could understand where he was coming from. 

On Zachary's short story, I said - 

"Hello Zachary! I loved this story! Your writing style is really amazing. You have a way of making a short story like this fantastic, I found myself wanting to read more. I loved your opening line, you have a great pace to the story. You are incredibly creative and I admire your strong writing skills.

Keep writing, 
Taylor"

I found this story of adventure and time travel to be remarkably creative! The characters were real, and Michael was a smartly written character. There is no way I could just think up something like this. I really hope he continues writing, it is difficult to find a mind as creative as his. 

On his I Am poem, I said, 

Hello, Zachary! All I can say to that poem is wow. It was really moving, the way you open it is so fantastic. I could try for an hour to come up with an opening line like that and never get anywhere close. I can relate to the line, "I am perpetual hunger for the next scrap of literature to absorb, eternally observing for the next hint of spontaneous inspiration..." more than anything. It was really brilliant.
Don't stop being awesome, 
Taylor

It is true, all I can say is wow, I wish I had his obvious talent and skill. I loved every word, I really did. I think that his poem has something everyone can relate to and understand. I believe that some people are just born with the ability to write easily, I think he is one of those people. I really hope I can see more of his work in the future!

The True Story of a Magical Coffee Stick

            I walked to class that day in a haze, I couldn’t even remember breathing, or climbing the stairs, or going through the door. I could feel my world crumbling around me and I was powerless to stop the destruction. I started breathing rapidly, violent thrusts of air jamming in and out. A boy came over to me, he was calling my name. I knew that much. I didn’t know how to respond. I was going to faint, I was going to die. The teacher forced eye contact with me. His eyes were a bluish grey, they were riddled with deep concern. I couldn’t see my eyes, of course, but I know what they must have looked like. They were wild, like a stallion that’s been cornered and trapped. He kept asking me what was wrong. I didn’t answer for a long time. Then the words finally came.

            “My grandpa’s dead.”

            I’d never been close to him, I’d always called him by his first name. One of the few times I’d called him ‘grandpa’ was I’d found out he’d died. He’d beaten my mother when she was young, abused her in so many different ways. I’d resented him for as long as I could remember, why wouldn’t I? I hardly even remembered him, he was mostly just an uncomfortable story. My mother would sometimes tell me about him. I would fill with the deepest hatred and concept when his name was spoken. He’d been sick since I was a child, but it had gotten much worse over the last two years. My mom had to fly to Florida, where he lived, constantly to take care of him. I think everyone knew he wasn’t going to be around much longer a few weeks before he died. I had expected this, so why was I so upset? Honestly I don’t think I’ll ever know. I still think about him sometimes, and maybe one day I’ll figure out what he meant to me and who he was in my life.

            The day before that, I’d scheduled a date with a boy I knew. I’d texted him and told him what had happened, canceling. He asked me if I was going to be at school the next day. I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d thought about staying home, I didn’t feel like facing my classmates or teachers. I didn’t want to move, eat or talk. All I wanted to do was sleep, so I wouldn’t have to think about anything anymore. Originally, this boy and I were planning on going to get coffee. He said he’d bring me some if I came to school that next day. It may not have seemed like much to most people, and maybe it wasn’t even much to him. Still, it made me smile that he was even thinking of doing something like that for me.

            I don’t even remember getting dressed that morning, or the drive to school. I can distinctly recall being dropped off, however, because I know what my face must have looked like. I can only imagine how unapproachable and angry I seemed, and that’s because I was. I was angry and sad and so incredibly confused. The next thing I knew, I was sitting at a table with my best friend. When I told her what had happened, her face dropped and she offered her sympathies. I didn’t want her sympathies, it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, like I didn’t have the right to mourn him. I’d hated him, truly hated him. Yet here I was, acting like the classically bereft family member.  Other friends of mine came and hugged me, and I had to tell them the truth. I told them that I wasn’t close to him, that I hadn’t even liked him. This confession seemed to relax them and make them more unsettled at the same time. One of my dearest companions, who’d known how abusive he’d been to my mother, even said “good” when I’d told her he was dead.

            When my would-be date arrived, he had two cups of coffee in his hands. This gesture warmed me more than any of the hot liquid ever could. He’d place it on and table, and then reached out from behind him and smacked a bag of Smarties on the table.

            And I laughed.

            We’d had a class together once, and in that class there had been a private joke. This boy was a genius, and I’d always been in awe of his incredible intelligence. So, one day, my friends and I had said that he should bring Smarties for every time he says something bright, and just whip them out to give to everyone.

            I couldn’t believe it, he’d actually made me laugh. On today of all days, he’d made me laugh. I started to feel better then, and I could feel whatever had broken in me begin to come back together.

            I don’t think I realized that I was falling in love with him at that point, but as we began to spend more time together it became clear. Maybe it’s stupid of me to say, and I know people will roll their eyes, but those early days of dream-like bliss were some of the happiest of my life. Unknowingly, I’d kept the coffee stick that had come with the drink. I put it in my purse and had intended it to be garbage. It’s funny, isn’t it? The way things change.

            I keep it with me whenever I go, it’s become one of my most prized possessions. I don’t know if our relationship will last, I don’t think anyone knows that. But the symbolic meaning of the coffee stick isn’t going to change.

            And maybe one day I’ll see my grandfather again. Maybe one day he’ll smile at me. And, who knows, maybe one day I’ll smile back.  

I Am

I am Sleeping Beauty on the weekends and Cinderella at night, a damsel who’s never needed to be rescued from the highest room in the tallest tower.

I am curly hair that cannot be tamed and eyes as wide as the moon, I am pair of lungs who never quite knew how to work and never tried to learn.

I am a laugh as loud as a clown from the circus that make others chuckle in amazement at the ridiculousness of the sound, it echoes across the room and always comes back to me.

I am Chinese food after karate, soy sauce stinging the inside of my mouth every evening. I am sweat that has dried on my skin and won’t wash off until I get home, and belts made of wood, time and effort.

I am rainbow shoe laces and unicorn hoodies and a pink backpack covered in donuts and I am 17 years old. I am Peter Pan who refuses to leave Neverland.

I am silver pans covered in barbecue sauce and spices, sitting at a tan table with my legs never quite touching the ground. I am one life taking up space.

I am slumber parties and movies at midnight and endless giggles. And I am hoping the sun never comes up and the moon will stay watching over us forever.

I am darkness once the sun sets, and the white light after the stars come up.

I am the girl who tries dancing in high heels, and then I’m the girl who dances without any shoes at all. I am a white dress that flutters in the hot evening wind.

I am airplane tickets and marred by the stress of travel. I am wide eyes and shock and amazement. I am grateful for all I have seen and broken by all the things I never will.

I am wanderlust, and I am the fear of leaving home. I am one of the few who doesn’t even know where home is. Yet I always miss it. How can that be?

I am shy like a puppy and fierce like a wolf. I am endangered like the white tiger and in abundance like a deer.

I am late nights in the theater and early mornings on the stage. I am strong and quiet, and I try to be a leader when people wish to follow.

I am a child trapped in a young woman’s body and I am a woman trapped in the body of a girl. I try to be honest, and yet hide all the pain that people don’t want to see.

I am frightened and fearless, and brave and cowardly, and I am a beauty and a beast.

I am me.