Smile, dear boy,
Sweet child,
Smile and don't let a thing
Stop you
Baby,
Small one,
Your time will come soon
Your time will come soon
But for now,
Be content,
And smile at everything
Sit on Santa's lap,
Resist your naps,
Learn to speak
And crawl
And don't be grateful,
Just grow up
Say thank you
And please
And smile.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Syle
Style
Abbigail H.
---------------------
"Eat your style" the old man said. His voice, gravely and deep, lilted the end of each word, wrapping me in what he was saying. I blinked.
"What?" I asked, my throat was dry and my voice came out as bare as the branches of one of those trees that happen to lose their leaves in winter (not pines, because they like to stay green and fresh, I've noticed). The man said nothing. I blinked again and he was gone.
---------------------
Hmm... Pretty sure I spelled things wrong and misused words. If I did, please tell me. If not, enjoy. I'll grammar and spell check on my own later.
Abbigail H.
---------------------
"Eat your style" the old man said. His voice, gravely and deep, lilted the end of each word, wrapping me in what he was saying. I blinked.
"What?" I asked, my throat was dry and my voice came out as bare as the branches of one of those trees that happen to lose their leaves in winter (not pines, because they like to stay green and fresh, I've noticed). The man said nothing. I blinked again and he was gone.
---------------------
Hmm... Pretty sure I spelled things wrong and misused words. If I did, please tell me. If not, enjoy. I'll grammar and spell check on my own later.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Not Terrible I Suppose
Not terrible I suppose
Abbigail H.
---------------------
There isn't a whole lot that I
Haven't screwed up
In my life
In some way or another,
But I've got to write this poem for class,
So at least I can try to get that done,
Though I haven't even started it right.
But I guess if you think about it,
I've never done drugs,
Which is a pretty good accomplishment,
Or drank alcohol,
Or skipped school,
Unless you're counting the days
I faked sick
So I wouldn't face the bullies.
I've never killed anybody,
Or cheated on my boyfriend,
Even though that's kind of ruined
Since I don't have a boyfriend.
I'm usually really good about
Grammar and spelling in my texts,
Unless I'm in a bad mood
Or trying to keep it short.
Punctuation doesn't count,
Does it?
And last year I stopped this kid
From killing himself about
Three dozen times...
Those were rough days,
And it might not have even been me
Who stopped him,
But he's still breathing,
So I'd call that an accomplishment.
And so far I haven't crashed the car
Or gotten pulled over
Or failed a class by the end of the term
I always try to get good grades.
It doesn't usually work out.
But I try.
And I suppose that
Trying isn't that terrible.
Because what else can you ask?
Nobody's perfect.
But everyone should try.
Not for perfection,
But at least try.
For something.
Abbigail H.
---------------------
There isn't a whole lot that I
Haven't screwed up
In my life
In some way or another,
But I've got to write this poem for class,
So at least I can try to get that done,
Though I haven't even started it right.
But I guess if you think about it,
I've never done drugs,
Which is a pretty good accomplishment,
Or drank alcohol,
Or skipped school,
Unless you're counting the days
I faked sick
So I wouldn't face the bullies.
I've never killed anybody,
Or cheated on my boyfriend,
Even though that's kind of ruined
Since I don't have a boyfriend.
I'm usually really good about
Grammar and spelling in my texts,
Unless I'm in a bad mood
Or trying to keep it short.
Punctuation doesn't count,
Does it?
And last year I stopped this kid
From killing himself about
Three dozen times...
Those were rough days,
And it might not have even been me
Who stopped him,
But he's still breathing,
So I'd call that an accomplishment.
And so far I haven't crashed the car
Or gotten pulled over
Or failed a class by the end of the term
I always try to get good grades.
It doesn't usually work out.
But I try.
And I suppose that
Trying isn't that terrible.
Because what else can you ask?
Nobody's perfect.
But everyone should try.
Not for perfection,
But at least try.
For something.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Different Style Practice
Different style practice
Abbigail H.
---------------------
His eyes look at me. The soft blue of them staring into mine unsettles me deeply, prodding into my mind. His blank expression further bothers me. I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. I look at him. I look away. Just for a moment. I look back. He notices. I can tell. Something in his eyes has changed. What did they look like before? Were they open and now they're closed? Are they disappointed, hurt, uncaring, amused? What does he see in my face? Am I giving him the same reaction he's giving me: this warm safety that is too revealing? Does he know? A squeal I barely suppress lifts up the corners of my mouth into a half-hearted smile. It goes away. I can't be smiling at him. My smile isn't pretty. It looks weird on my face.
He smiles back and my stomack starts throwing a little party. My face relaxes and I smile back, but he's looking away. The television has drawh his attention yet again. I've blown it. I didn't stud nim. He doesn't like me. This is ruined. I might as well give up now. Love will never greet me the way I chase it. No, not it: him.
I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now
I don't want to fall to pieces
Just want to sit and stare at you
I don't wasnt to talk about it
And I don't want a conversation
Just want to cry in front of you
And I don't want to talk about it
'Cause I'm in love with you
---------------------
This was part of a writing exercise for my Creative Writing class. I'm not sure that I accomplished what I was supposed to, but it feels good to get this out. Probably take it down later, though.
Abbigail H.
---------------------
His eyes look at me. The soft blue of them staring into mine unsettles me deeply, prodding into my mind. His blank expression further bothers me. I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. I look at him. I look away. Just for a moment. I look back. He notices. I can tell. Something in his eyes has changed. What did they look like before? Were they open and now they're closed? Are they disappointed, hurt, uncaring, amused? What does he see in my face? Am I giving him the same reaction he's giving me: this warm safety that is too revealing? Does he know? A squeal I barely suppress lifts up the corners of my mouth into a half-hearted smile. It goes away. I can't be smiling at him. My smile isn't pretty. It looks weird on my face.
He smiles back and my stomack starts throwing a little party. My face relaxes and I smile back, but he's looking away. The television has drawh his attention yet again. I've blown it. I didn't stud nim. He doesn't like me. This is ruined. I might as well give up now. Love will never greet me the way I chase it. No, not it: him.
I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now
I don't want to fall to pieces
Just want to sit and stare at you
I don't wasnt to talk about it
And I don't want a conversation
Just want to cry in front of you
And I don't want to talk about it
'Cause I'm in love with you
This was part of a writing exercise for my Creative Writing class. I'm not sure that I accomplished what I was supposed to, but it feels good to get this out. Probably take it down later, though.
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