"Fatherless"

  “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take care of you and the boys. It’s just too much stress.” My father was yelling at my mother through tears while my mother just sat there unable to talk through hers. She let him walk out without a fight, without trying to stop him. He walked out and didn't come back. He didn't say where he was going or how he was going to get there. He just left. And that was it.

Master Class

On Friday, April 10, 2015, an author  named Boris Fishmen came to take to my creative writing class here at School of the Arts. He talked to us about what is is to be not just a writer but an artist as well. He told us that the world around us are where are stories are and that teenagers today are to busy with headphones in there ears to realize that. He told us to on the way home to take out our headphones and listen and look. And so I did and he was right. The leaves weren't just on lying dead on the ground but were now dancing around my feet and the wind didn't just blow but instead whispered in my ear like it had a secret to tell me. And the birds didn't just chirp but they sang to me a sweet melody. The things that Boris said to our class made me realize that writing doesn't happen over night. That you will get stuck and become frustrated at times but to not give up but to keep going. Thank you Mr. Fishmen, for you have really inspired me. 

This is a little taste of a short story i am working on. (I don't have a title yet) Tell me what you think so far. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

    
     She doesn't like being told what to do with her work especially when she really likes what’s she’s written. So she changes it temporarily changes it until no one is watching and then changes it back. But it never matters anyway because she is the most fickle person I know. So, no matter what you tell her or what she tells herself, a page and a half into it she’ll decide she doesn't like it, crumple up the paper and start fresh with a one. That’s just who she is, fickle and insecure.

This is a poem i call "Poetry Hides" Hope you enjoy!

Poetry hides while you seek. ‘Ready or not, here I come’ you call out and poetry waits for you to find it.

Poetry hides in the cracks of the sidewalks. If you step on the crack you will break the spine of your poetry.

Poetry hides in the hearts of your enemies. To receive the words of poetry you must first make peace with the other side.

Poetry hides in the center of an unopened flower. You must care for it until it blooms.

Poetry hides in lies that you tell. To set your poem free you must always tell the truth.

Poetry hides within the shadows of the night. Lurking and waiting for the right time to jump out on you.

Poetry hides in your worst fears. You must face them, overcome them in order to find the beauty behind the fear.

Poetry hides in the most obvious places. It can be easy to find but poetry leaves it up to put all the words in all the right places.

Poetry hides in the days that you will grieve. You can weep all you want but sooner or later you will have to wipe the tears from your eyes so you can pick up your pencil to write.

            Poetry hides. Sometimes you won’t know where right away but when you find it, use it. Take advantage of its words and don’t let it go until you know you’re ready to set it free. 

Here is a poem I wrote called "Anxiety"Hope you like it! please leave any feed back in the comments and follow for more stories, poems and more!

Anxiety

Anxiety is a stalker. She only comes around at the times when you least want her there. She has rough, pale skin that feels like sandpaper as when she wraps her long, skinny fingers around your neck. Black, soulless eyes that with one glance can spot each and every one of your flaws. And a sly, greedy grin that she uses to mock you with. She’s an ugly thing, on the inside and out. She’ll creep up on you during the night so you can’t get any sleep. She’ll turn your best day into your worst in a matter seconds and to her it’s all a game. You try to take medication to get rid of Anxiety but she’ll always find a way back inside your head and cause an uneasy feeling. Anxiety will find a way to be your worst nightmare but this time it’s not just a dream.

Here is a poem i wrote that I call "Why I am Afraid" (This poem is not about me. It's just a poem.) Please leave any feedback for me in the comments! And follow for more stories and poems!

Here is a poem i wrote that I call "Why I am Afraid"  
(This poem is not about me. It's just a poem.)
Please leave any feedback for me in the comments!
And follow for more stories and poems!

Because the dark has engulfed me for years

and I haven’t lived the life I should have,

 alone with the lurking shadows

 and alone with the voices in my head—

because of him,

I know not if I’m even alive

or if I’m dead in the hands of Satan

but perhaps I do live,

 in hell

or perhaps I sleep silently,

perhaps this is all just a dream—

but because of him,

I can’t wake up,

and am tortured with the reoccurring nightmares he shows to me,

 the nightmares that make me scream,

the nightmares that make me sob—

and because of him,

my life has been wasted,

and I pray to god to spare me,

to stops the never ending torture,

and pray that he save me from the shadows

 from the voice in my head,

that he rip me from Satan’s grip—

because he is the reason I have not lived,

 why I scream and sob,

 the nightmares while I sleep

 the voices and the shadows—

He is the reason I am afraid.

HA! HA! HA! HAPPY FRIDAY!