Your Maze.

The moment you stopped to care,

I had already turned my head and locked my heart.

Lives just stopped and stared,

I was gone.

That memory of you saying my name,

So vague, distant, replayed in my mind like a movie.

Yet everyday treated like a game.

I'll show it love.

The times you tore me down,

Creating another twist, turn, in the maze.

There's only one way out.

I am lost,

All because you have the key to my heart.

The directions to the game.

You know the way out of this maze.

Dusted Yesterday

The saltiness of the air caressed my silky lips and soothed me to awaken as I lay with fatigue on my pillow. I opened my eyes, simply adorning the sunrise seeping in through my keyhole of my deck and watching as dust twirled in the beauty of it all. My eyes sift through my bedroom, finally landing on my bedside table, falling on a key. Pain and sorrow fill me as I shoot straight up in bed. No. No it couldn't have. Racing to my deck doors, I pull aside the curtain, yellowed with age. No. I look out to my ocean, my world, to find it pained by ashes and burnt by sorrow.  My fingers smooth over the key held in my hand; its intricate design intriguing me, and the weight of the brass weighing down my life. All with the dust dancing through my hair.

Heart

Author's Note: I went to a dance convention this weekend (I am soooo sore right now!) and I tried out for a scholarship. Judges were critiquing you the entire day on and off the floor. This piece explains what I felt and what it was like even after my hard work and amazing effort...enjoy!

A pair of eyes watching every move.

Shifting, searching, digging.

Heart beating.

A mouth and tongue disapproved.

 Criticizing, correcting, challenging.

Heart beating.

A nose sniffing out the wrong.

Mark, incorrect, downgrade.

Heart beating.

A head shaking out all joy.

Paining, wronging, pushing down.

Heart beating.

A heart, cold as winters' grounds.

Unsympathetic, misunderstanding, misleading.

Heart beating.

No ears to listen to your pleads.

Ignorance, innocence, no.

Heart racing.

Photograph

Author's Note: I started writing this creative piece, and I didn't know where to go from here! I figured to just post it on my blog and have all of my amazing peers give me feedback and ideas for me to continue this story.
 

Merriam Webster's definition of photograph "A picture or likeliness obtained by photography." What a picture really is; A moment in life, a person, so dear to you and near to your heart that time froze,  the world stopped,  and life stared you straight in the eye. Everyone has the photograph whether portrayed for the world to see, creased in your back pocket, or engraved in stone in your mind. Everyone has that moment that means the world to them. I know I did, and when it's snatched out of your very hands, the world doesn't stop-- it ends. I had the photograph that meant the world to me, because it was all that traced to my previous life, my backwards life, me.

Try an Apple for Valentine's Day...

       More than 35 million heart-shaped chocolate boxes were sold on Valentine’s Day last year. Over 35 million people, then, were supposedly shown signs of affection. Key word there: Supposedly. Have you ever realized how pointless the point of chocolates given on Valentine’s Day really is? Basically, you’re saying “Hey! I love you! That’s why I am going to find you the cheapest chocolate I can get my hands on (most likely from Wal-Mart,) sit here with you, and watch you put on the pounds by the moment.” Yeah. Love you too. All in all, chocolates for Valentine’s Day equal pain (whether it is on your part or on theirs,) and a regret-filled holiday.

            First of all, chocolates aren’t that all healthy for you. When I say unhealthy, I am not talking about eating two servings of potato chips instead of the recommended one, I’m talking, by eating two chocolates, you are putting 7 teaspoons of sugar into your body. Multiply that by, say, eight to find the amount of sugar you consume by eating that entire box of chocolates; 56 teaspoons of sugar. You really would be safer getting that questionable look from your loved one when you give them a bag of carrots, instead of listening to them complain about feeling bloated, or hearing them whine about how their favorite Hollister jeans don’t fit anymore. I mean come on people; buying a box of chocolates may leave you in endless hours of drudgery and regret.

            Not only are chocolates somewhat unhealthy, they are a complete waste of time and money. For example, the caramel filling in these chocolates—simply takes an extra 5 minutes to fill the candies with caramel, and you pay an additional 5 bucks! The shiny ribbon on that wonderfully wrapped package costs close to 25 cents while you pay around two dollars to have that bow that really isn’t necessary on your box of chocolate. These are just two examples to show how much of a rip-off heart shaped chocolates are.

            To be honest, chocolate candies for Valentine’s Day is extremely overrated and kind of stupid, as you might just be spending your holiday listening to whining and complaining all-the-while with an empty wallet. So, show your love you care and get them an apple this Valentine’s day, opposed to a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

           

Truth or Dream?

When you stare at me my heart flutters to my throat,

When you respond I smile.

Your laugh sings in my head all day and night,

But why don't you stand up?

I know that I am not what is wanted,

I know we could not be.

Your face melting through my thoughts,

What is wrong here?

So what am I feeling, friendship or more?

So which do I listen to, my heart or my head?

Comparative Essay -- Sarah and Sara

          Not only do these two characters have the same name, Sarah from Sarah’s Key and Sara from My Sister’s Keeper both have and embrace their determination that is fueled by hope. In both of these tragic stories, Sarah and Sara fight for family members, sparked by that little sliver of hope of their family staying alive. These characters in both books are made up of a similar recipe – large amounts dedicated to determination and small portions of giving up.   

            These two characters care about probably one of the most important things in my life, their family. Sarah and Sara are dedicated to keeping their family safe and bound together. Once Sarah in Sarah’s Key finds herself being taken away from her house, home, she is asked by Michael, Sarah’s brother, to lock him in the cupboard. Hesitantly, Sarah does what she is told, and turns the key thinking this is for the best. On the way to the concentration camps, all Sarah can think about is her brother probably starving in the secret room. Her dedication to believing that her brother was alive brought her to Michael eventually; they found him in the cupboard – dead. Similarly, in My Sister’s Keeper, Sara’s daughter, Kate, is diagnosed with cancer at three. Throughout the novel, Sara struggles to preserve Kate and preserve the tears she will eventually cry at her daughters’ funeral, but Sara forces herself to put the thought of Kate’s death out of her mind. By the end of the book, Kate doesn’t end up dying, rather, her sister Anna who has been working hard to sue her parents for not rightfully taking her blood and cells, but Anna’s story comes to an end.

            These two characters don’t just save their family; they are bound to keep them safe and together. With Michael left on the side of the road, the road of Sarah’s past, Sarah is not letting go of her parents. Her parents are all Sarah has left, all there is tracing to the life she used to have.  Yet, her parents are also the main source of depression on Sarah’s life. Sarah’s determination comes into play here, being the ball of energy she is, as she tries to bring her parents out of despair. She has hope that she will stay with her mom and dad although her brother may be gone out of the picture. Sarah, similarly, is doing just that – keeping her family united not just physically but mentally. After Anna sued Sarah and Brian, Sarah feels as she is the knot of the rope that ties the Fitzgerald household together.

            Although these characters are similar in many ways, they both have one major difference that makes them differ so; Sarah from Sarah’s Key wants to face the truth, face the death of her brother, while Sara from My Sister’s Keeper on the other hand, runs from the possible death of Kate. Another difference between the two determination filled characters is that Sarah lives in her future, wishing and planning for what is next. On the other hand is Sara who hides from her future, and she lives in her past.

Sara and Sarah’s determination and dedication have yet to leave a mark on your soul. Their intriguing personalities pull you into their story, and leave in a state of despair. Although these two characters endorse in hope, having too much is not good medicine for the heart, as it may just leave you with a tragic story to tell and with death lingering in the air around you.

Sarah's Key

Author's Note: In this piece, I am retelling Sarah's Key. (Retelling is focusing on the major parts of the story.) A very tragic story... please enjoy!

 

          A key turning in the lock of a cupboard locks Sarah's little brother, Michael, into a state of misery and despair which unlocks the past; the Holocaust. In the July of 1942, French Policemen pounded on Jewish families homes, taking innocent ones to death camps,  one of them being Sarah's family. When Sarah heard the knocking on her front door, she knew her family was in for a dangerous and life changing ride. Michael, full of innocence and curiosity, pleads Sarah to lock him in the "secret room," a small cupboard equipped with water, food, candles, and complete with a brass lock. Through smells of excrement, and sights of dirty and naked bodies, all Sarah can think about is her brother locked in the secret room. Sarah's determination motivates her to escape the grasp of the French Policemen, in hopes that she will find her little brother -- and she does end up finding him; dead.

A Flourish of Hate

A flourish of hate,

Here.

Blooming from love,

Why.

A single thread hanging on for,

You.

One voice a dagger to,

Night.

A flourish of hate,

Love.

Why.

Innocence -- Lemon Chiffon

          Before my adoption, my life was cheap, pointless, and without-a-doubt, ruthless.  Sitting on my bed in the orphanage every night, I would gaze out the window in search for a wishing star with hopes that my dream would come true. Every time though, a blanket of pollution clouded the night sky, sending my soaring hopes crashing to the ground. Frustrating as it was, I was persistent, until one day it paid off; I had a family to call my own.  To this day, I wish on shooting stars, though this time, wishing to undo what I have done-- found a family.

          Laying in bed the night of my 15th birthday, I was awakened by a series of crashes and thumps. Knowing already what kind of monster would be awaiting me if I left my room, I just rolled over on my side, and tried to ignore the pounding in the kitchen and in my heart. Life repeated itself, and mom was drunk constantly until, one night, things stopped. In tragic lives, there are words for  orphans like me, there are words for someone who loses  biological parents, but, in life, there are no words for when someone loses the only thing giving hope and determination to keep a family bound together.

         Everything fell apart after my mom's suicide, including my sister.  It seemed as though my sister had grown so far away from me, when I say her name,  there is a pang in my heart as "Megan," seemed so foreign. One day though, she took a turn that wasn't going in the right direction-- at all. This one day, life seemed to be a movie put on pause, as someone went to get popcorn; except now it wasn't popcorn, replacing it was a knife. "Kill me," was all I heard the 26th of June, and it rang in my ears for days. My sister. Asking me. To. Kill. Her.

          After weeks of being haunted by Megan's statement, I decided it was time to end my worries. Baking a cake that afternoon, I knew what I was going to do. A lemon chiffon cake, innocent, harmless, and smothered  with ignorance. Everyone would think differently of lemon chiffon now.  Choosing  not to follow the ingredients shown in the recipe, I reached for a small vial, and drop by drop imagined my sister lying motionless on her bed, all she had wanted.  After cutting a sliver of lemon chiffon, I found a doily, daintily placed it on mom's best china plate, and crept up the stairs in search for my sister. I sat in her bedroom and watched her eat my cake.  I smelled, in her bedroom, death lurking in the distance. I listened, in her bedroom, to her last words. Not only did I end my worries that day, I ended my sister's life. I. Killed. Her.