My Vortex

Author's Note:

This is a poem that I wrote one day when I attempted to clean my room.  I originally was going to do it on my whole room, but decided it would be easier to do it on part.  I am focusing on formatting and voice.  Please leave comments.

It sucks and sucks

And never gives back

A filing system

Is something I lack

It takes and takes

For nothing is found

There's trash and clothes

From ceiling to ground

It grabs and grabs

And it is a mess

In just one word

I'd call it a wreck

It hauls and hauls

And hauls and hauls

When I move one thing

Everything falls

It holds and holds

Each one of my things

All of my girl stuff

But no guy things

It steals and steals

And never deposits

But I forgot to say

That this is my closet

My Best Friend

Author's Note:

This is a story that I wrote written from the perspective of a young girl.  (Again) I want comments!   

Pain never entirely goes away.  It doesn't go away no matter how much it is covered up by makeup, empty apologies, or hope; it is always going to be there.  You grow up hearing fairy tales from your parents like “a kiss will make it better”, but it never does. 

My parents never taught me these lessons, but I wish that they had.  You deserve to get to know my parents before I try to convince how horrific they each are. First, my mother is a demonic, control-freak that needs to learn that wine does not make anyone feel better.  She works at a small bank as a secretary, but doesn’t work very often.  Her idea of a long week is three days, three hours a day.  Second, my father is a workaholic, over-stressed, middle aged man who grew up with an abusive father.   He used to be a policeman, but then he got arrested (more than once) and was fired.  Now he is a plumber for Bateman and Sons Plumbing.  Together they are just about the worst parents I can imagine.

Each and every person is shaped and formed based off our childhood environments.  We learn what is right and wrong, what to do and not to do, and several other cliché life lessons.  Neither one of my parents learned these lessons, which formed them to be the kind of people that they are today.

My brother and I have been abused and taken advantage of ever since I can remember.  The two of us are each other’s best friends, for mother would not allow for any other friends, and each have a solitary, brick room in the basement of our . . . house?   We wake up each day to a chore list six pages long and each more idiotic then the last.  Some of my chores for today are as follows:

1.)    Clean bar counters

2.)    Shine tools in shed

3.)    Iron mothers’ clothes

4.)    Wash and dry the dishes

5.)    Be ready to have lunch and dinner prepared

6.)    Windex all 4 bathrooms mirrors

7.)    Pick up all clothes in parents’ rooms

8.)    Wash, sort, and put way all laundry

Neither my brother nor I are allowed to watch the television, listen to the radio, or go onto the computer.  We are only allowed to go to school twice a week and are never permitted to go to the nurse.  Each of us goes to school on different days and we are not allowed to participate in any extracurricular activities. 

Our regular afternoon activates are anything but cheerful.  The two of us get beaten and slapped repeatedly until we have completed our chores.  As of right now, I am covered in bruises, scars, and wounds, yet no one cares enough about me to ask about them.  While this might sound a bit odd, I have grown to understand my scars.  The cuts and marks are a part of me that I will never totally erase, even as I grow up.  These marks will be here when mother dies, when father dies, and still when I die.  Even though they do not define who I am, they make me what I am; same with my brother.

My brother forgot to complete one of his chores yesterday and father beat him so hard that I thought he was going to kill him!  Today my brother, whose name is Aaron (by the way), can barely walk or talk at all.  I cried harder than I ever had before, once I saw what father had done to him.  He got his black belt, The Snake, and lashed Aaron all over his body.  After I saw this, I had a sudden burst of courage and marched up the stairs and began to yell at father.  Then, he beat me as hard, if not harder, as Aaron. 

I crawled my way down to our bedroom and shut the door.  The two of us sat on our cold cement floor together as best friends.  There was too much blood on our floor to be expected to get cleaned up, so we just stayed where we were.  I could feel the life draining out of my body like water in a strainer, slow and purified.  Father came downstairs with The Snake, but before he could, I saw Aaron do something I had never seen him do in my entire life, he allowed for a single tear to flow down his cheek.  He was crying.  I now understood that it was going to be over him and he knew it too.  So he picked up all of his pride, courage, and strength and punched father right between the eyes. 

Within the same second father hit the floor, Aaron and I did too.  In one single second, I died right next to my best friend.

The Final Moments

Author's Note:
This is a poem that I wrote on Christmas Eve written from the perspective of a child waiting for Christmas.  

You await in your bedroom

The lights slightly on

You keep yourself up

Til the day's totally gone

In only hours you'll find

Presents that you've earned

Delivered by a man who

Ate the cookies you've burned

You asked for jump ropes

You asked for toys

You asked for sweaters

And a kiss from a boy

But sadly there still is this thing

Called your parents no less

Who wait until seven

To even get dressed

Oh no's what you thought

When you heard this bad news

You just couldn't help it

So you sang the blues

That time expansion

Creates two more hours

You try to bribe your parents

And you bring them flowers

But that does no good

So you go back to your room

You feel as though you

Are to wait until June

As you sit in your bed

You hear a slight knock

It must have been the clock

When it went tick-tock

Though you pause for moment

When you hear another

It might an ostrich

Or maybe your mother

You creep down the stairwell

To see what you've heard

And seen with your eyes

It was not a bird

You blink once, then twice

And see a red beast

Sitting down at your table

Eating up a cookie feast

No, it's not a ghost

A monster or phantom

To my amazement

It was the great Santa

You don't dare to speak

To this giant old man

But inside you know

That you are his fan

Now you know what to do

So you pick up your feet

And head straight back to bed

So your head, can sleep

My Good Deed

Author's Note:

This is another 'creative' piece that I wrote after reading Bradley's.  I still want comments! 

Hello?

I hear voices all the time. People think I'm "crazy", they must be joking. There is one thing for certain, I am not crazy. They just don't understand that I'm special and talented, not like them. No one understands that I am an extraordinary human being and can hear voices and see spirits.

Hello?

Oh, I forgot to mention that I can read thoughts. Whenever I am standing by someone, I can tell what they're thinking; the good and the bad. Don't try and fool me, because I can always hear what you really want to say. I keep trying to convince police officers to let me help them so that they can tell when suspects are lying. They don't want my help.

Hello?

Every night, I wake up at three in the morning, comb my hair, brush my teeth, eat my breakfast (after I brush my teeth), watch the news, get dressed, then finally I go to work. I work at an insane asylum as a consultant for the nurses and numerous doctors. They appreciate my help with relating to the patients, because I can read minds. For some reason they tell me if I do better, my contract can expire, but since when is losing your job a good thing?

Hello?

Each week we get to go for a walk through the grounds, though I work here and I do not see why I need to have a limit. But I follow rules and only go for a walk once each week; my favorite part of my walks is all of the flowers in the gardens by the east wing. They are colorful and enticing to me and I always want to pick them, nevertheless that is against the rules and, as I said, I follow rules.

Hello?

One of my friends, David (a patient here for mental retardation and instability), and I were out for a walk last week. During this particular walk, something astonishing happened. There was a black cat running through the grounds. It was unusual because no patients or staff could have pets, no one was allowed to bring them on the grounds, and there was a giant fence surrounding the perimeter preventing any nondomestic animals to break in.

Hello?

I did some research in the library the other day and I found that a black cat is an unlucky omen. They are considered evil and supernatural creatures in some cultures. Mysterious.

Hello?

I haven’t seen the cat anymore, but I believe that it was a sign. A sign from God maybe? While I currently do not know who the sign is from, or who it is directed toward, I decided it was time to investigate.

Hello?

I walked along the fence for my next three walks and kept my eye out for anything suspicious. To my amazement the cat came back on my third walk. My gaze followed it all the way to the secondary building. My feet took me towards Dr. Hewitt’s office and my hands opened the door. The cat meandered his way around the room and settled down in a corner.

Hello?

He, or she, didn’t move for a while, when a thought struck me; this cat was Dr. Hewitt! I started to hear more and more voices as I moved closer to the cat. It had to be Dr. Hewitt, perhaps he is an animagus. As fast as I could, I took off for my room to get something. It felt as though I had been running for months when I finally opened the latch to get into my room. I had to tear apart four of my drawers before I finally found it; my knife. The knife had been my uncles when he was in the army, but I found it.

Hello?

The cat had moved since I was last in Dr. Hewitt’s office. Instead, Dr. Hewitt was at his desk chair, but there was no cat to be found. I questioned him why there was a cat in here earlier and he acted as thought he had no knowledge that it was in here. As loud as my lungs would permit, I clearly shouted the words “liar!”. That startled the doctor and he nearly fell off his chair. Then, I remembered I had the knife. Once I knew I was at an advantage point, I pulled the shiny metal blade out of the case and pulled it upward. He screamed. I jumped over his desk and plunged the dagger into the doctor as hard as a bull ramming a child. Again, he screamed, but only for a moment as I saw the life drain out of his bewitched body.

Hello?

I did a good deed today.

The Things We Do For Love

Author's Note:

This is a 'creative' piece that I wrote after reading two of Bradley (Chavez's) stories.  It's a little scary so if you are easily nauseous, I do not recommend continuing.  I want comments!! I've never done this before and I'm not entirely sure its any good.  If you want to read Bradley's CLICK HERE.

My best friend; I'm in love with my best friend.  He's in love with Her.  I hate Her, Her hates me.  Three years of feuding and he doesn't even know about it.  Last year I almost won him, but Her poisoned me.  Her plays dirty; I could never do that to someone, anyone. 

I'm sitting in my room, planning on ways to get back at Her, but they will never work.  If Her dies, he will never love again.  If Her is sad, he will hate me.  I need to find a way that he won't know it was me doing it and Her won't die.  Nothing immediately pops into my head, not like I expected it to though.  I ponder over some more ideas, when genius joins the party. 

I have an idea.

My nerves, thankfully, get the best of me and I put The Plan into action.  Her has several friends with ears everywhere, so I can no longer trust anyone with The Plan.  Since I am on my own, I work faster than I would if I had a partner.  Haste is the devil in this situation, I need to take my time and put The Plan perfectly into action. 

You have no idea what The Plan is, so I will explain it to you.  I am going to force Her to leave.  The Plan is to dig up enough dirt and secrets to force Her out of here, his life, and mine.  Not just move, leave so Her will never see him again.  How am I going to find this without having anyone help me?, you ask.  For it only takes a simple word to get on to her laptop, I need a password. 

The first task is to gain access to Her laptop, easy.  All I do is walk into her dorm-room, pick the lock (not as hard as it seems), and steal it before she notices.  Silly, little, primped-up, cheerleader will never know; for Her is too busy making sure that the team uniforms were "mistakenly" ordered in children's sizes. 

The second task, cracking the password.  I try Her name, birthday, school ID number, everything that immediately comes, none of them work.  Next, I try completely crazy random passwords, jackpot.  My eyes almost can't fathom that they are looking at the home screen on Her laptop.  First I try Word, Internet, and Her Computer, but nothing comes up right away.  Then I try Her photo editing icon and surprisingly find something.  She's never going to make it now that I have these.  Her is way worse than I thought...

The third step is sending the pictures from Her laptop to mine.  I send every single picture and delete them from Her Sent Mail.  Once this task was completed I retreated from Her room.  Crap.  I hear footsteps coming down from the hall.  She is back and coming in towards Her room; Her room that just happens not to have any good hiding places.  The moment she spots me in Her room with Her laptop she screams.

"Burglar! There's a burglar in my room! She's gonna kill me! I think I see a knife! Knife! I'm going to die! Stop no don't kill me!"

The whole time I'm standing there, not moving, watching Her have a conniption.  It seems that, within seconds, the entire dorm is standing in Her room or in the hall watching.  Several guys start yelling how could I break into Her room.  I honestly don't care, so I leave the same way I came and acted like nothings just happened.  Her could not stand it and yelled, words I do not wish to repeat.  Then, she suddenly  threw something. 

I wasn't even able to turn around in time to even see what the object was, I never did find out.  But that something hit me.  Hard.  My body didn't even think before failing on me, no warning, caution, it just stopped.  Every thought in my head immediately ended and I was gone.

Because of Her, my corpse rests in this casket with poison in my lungs, a scar upon my back, and a crack within my heart.

The Help Theme Essay

You find yourself talking to the same people, day after day, trapped inside their bubble of conformity.  Somehow, you still pray that something will be able to break you out and set you free into the world.  Nothing changes and you feel like an innocent prisoner locked up in a jail with no way out.  Every person in your life has taught you to be proper, judgmental, pretty, and segregated from outsiders; blacks, misfits, anyone who doesn't belong.  In the book, The Help, Miss Skeeter found her hidden key to break out of her jail and escape onto a difficult road of accomplishment and opportunity.  A road that lead her to discover the importance of true friends.

The novel, The Help, has many themes, but I think that the most important is the importance of friends.   Three white ladies have been best friends for years, but are now reevaluating their friendship.   Miss Skeeter, starts to learn that, while some people not be as privileged as you, they will still make great friends.  Once Miss Skeeter's other friends found out that she had befriended these outcasts, they began excluding her.  I would agree with Miss Skeeter, because I also think that true friends are more important than popular friends. 

In the book/movie, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Harry is basically offered a chance to become friends with Draco Malfoy.  Harry understands that Hermione and Ron are his true friends and tells Draco, "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."  Miss Skeeter originally felt awkward around the maids, but later said, "It wasn't too long before I seen something inside of me had changed."

The Help, is a lot like life today; it is important to make true friends, not brainwashed, plastic ones.  Any living person can go through life living conformed, popular, and arrogantly, but how much fun would life be if everyone was "perfect"?   Skeeter's and Miss Hilly's friendship began, “With other people, Hilly hands out lies like the Presbyterians hand out guilt, but it's our own silent agreement, this strict honesty, perhaps the one thing that has kept us friends”, but once Miss Hilly found out Miss Skeeter made friends with coloreds, she went on to say, "And you call yourself a Christian."  A maid in the book said,  “Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, 'Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?', which made me think how enjoyable life could be if everyone was different, but accepting.  Overall, I think that even though The Help took place decades ago, the true meaning of real friends hasn't changed.

The true meaning of friendship was an important theme in The Help and I think that it relates to several other book themes and even real life.   Also, I think that this theme is important to illustrate to people living today; if everyone accepted who they were and what they were meant to be, we would be that much closer to living in a perfect world.  What you do if you heard of someone getting excluded from life for being different?  What if you could accept that one person as a friend?  This is the lesson I got out of The Help.

Celebrate

Celebrate

Exciting, entertaining

Party, dance, sing

Can bring people together

Rejoice

Christmastime

Winter's a coming

The snow is a falling

Big trees are a glistening

With lights on the walls and

Peppermint in the air

And pine needles on floors

Deer on our lawns

And wreaths on our doors

Snow days are important

Hot chocolate is too

The sky's turning colors

White, gray, and blue

Cold temperatures

That travel into homes

Calling and greeting

Loved ones over phones

Wrapping the presents

Placing the bows

Cutting the tape

The T-L-C shows

The songs on the radio

With Fa-la-la-la-la's

We stare at the plate

Of the turkey that was

No matter your money

Your family or size

Each Christmas season

Is its very own prize

Lines are for Paper, Swords are for Fools, Pens are for Writers

Lines are put on paper
So we can write the other way
Lines are put on paper
To write the words we can't say

Swords are given to fools
So that they can learn to dance
Swords are given to fools
To joust and skip and lance

Pens are made for writers
To write on cows and cats and birds

Pens are made for writers
To express our thoughts through words

Being Different

You laugh because I'm different

I laugh cause you're the same

Being different isn't hard

Being different gets you fame

Some people think they know it all

But I'm sure that they do not

So dress your way and show your talents

Even if it's wearing pots

I Just Can't Help It

I can sit when should I like

I can do what I am told

But I just can't help it

Till I'm eighty six years old

I might be doing homework

Or doing my chores

But I just can't help it

When I start to become bored

I read hours everyday

I learn all day at school

But I just can't help it

Because I am just that cool

I brush my hair and floss my teeth

I eat my three meals every day

But I just can't help it

From March to June to May

I put on clothes when I wake up

A shirt and socks and pants

But I just can't help it

When I need to dance

Little Girl, Little Girl

Author's Note:

This is a poem inspired by Keke Palmer's Music Box.

Little girl, little girl

Plug your tiny ears

Don't listen to the shouting

Or the words that you hear

Little girl, little girl

You could be a president

It doesn't matter where you started

It just matters where you ended

Little girl, little girl

Listen to me close

You're gonna get some food

And a nice little home

Little girl, little girl

You're daddy's coming back

He didn't want to leave you

Your mama's why he's mad

Little girl, little girl

Hey look it's a distraction

If you ever lose a loved one

To cry is your reaction

Little girl, little girl

Go raise your cell phone high

Raise up the light for

People who ain't getting by

Little girl, little girl

Please shut of your ears

Don't listen to the sirens

Or the shots that you hear

The Hood

Author's Note:

This is a poem inspired by Keke Palmer's Hood Anthem.

When you go driving down the street

To a different side of town

Do you judge everyone you see

Like they go shootin' people down?

You wonder what the schools are like

For children around here

Do they learn how to do hair

Or how to make John Adams beer?

Well I can sure tell you something

Not everyone's a hustler

There could be fifteen kids

That belong to just one mother

No matter how hard they work

No matter how they try

If they were born in the hood

They'll be hood until they die

If they go and win an Oscar

Which, I mean, they could

You'll still think of the gangsters

Cause they were raised in the hood

The Hood

Author's Note:

This is a poem inspired by Keke Palmer's Hood Anthem.

When you go driving down the street

To a different side of town

Do you judge everyone you see

Like they go shootin' people down?

You wonder what the schools are like

For children around here

Do they learn how to do hair

Or how to make John Adams beer?

Well I can sure tell you something

Not everyone's a hustler

There could be fifteen kids

That belong to just one mother

No matter how hard they work

No matter how they try

If they were born in the hood

They'll be hood until they die

If they go and win an Oscar

Which, I mean, they could

You'll still think of the gangsters

Cause they were raised in the hood

What Would Feelings Sound Like?

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling lucky

Would it sound mysterious

Or would it sound like country

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling fancy

Would it sound up-beat

Like symphonic dancey

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling trapped

Would it sound like Jay-Lo

Or nineteen eighties rap

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling amused

Would it sound like Beethoven

Or Louisiana blues

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling calm

Would it sound like beaches

Or silly Sunday psalms

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling free

Would it sound like Rihanna

Or new age R & B

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling keen

Would it sound like three year olds

Singing for Walt Disney

What would feelings sound like

If I was feeling on top

Would it sound like hard core rap

Or influential pop

This is just what I would hear

Without much getting used to it

But all that I would know for sure

Is that I'd be feeling music

My Adventure?

I met a dragon, a scary fellow

He was every color aside from yellow

He growled and roared and hissed through his teeth

I began to think that I'd be dead meat

Then I thought and excellent thought

I started to throw the cookies I brought

They were as solid as rocks and of my mother's making

She never really was  good at baking

But he dodged them with terrific moves

Now I really think I'm gonna lose

I peed my pants and almost cried

Because I sincerely think I'm gonna die

I ran and ran as fast I could

But I know that it will do no good

He breathed out flames and growled once more

He took one step and shook the floor

Then he did something really weird

Upon his face, laid a single tear

Maybe all he needed was a name

But he has no owner to put that blame

So I decided to call him Roary,

To bad this was just a story.

What To Do

What to do

When nothing's to do

Everyone's busy

But me

What to do

When nothing's to do

There's no TV

For me

What to do

When nothing's to do

Sister stole my bike

From me

What to do

When nothing's to do

Nothing that I like

At least

Point of View

Author's Note:
 This is my point of view response for the book My Brother Sam is Dead.

Tory or Patriot; rebel or loyalist; which side is the right one?  The narrator in My Brother Sam is Dead, Tim Meeker, has always looked up to his older brother, Sam, as a role model.  Though now Sam has left to go fight for the Patriots, while the rest of the family are loyal Englishmen.  Tim then becomes conflicted as to which side to be on, if any side at all.

In the very first scene, Sam runs into their house boasting about how he just enrolled in the Rebel army.  His father, mother, and even Tim are shocked at this statement and do not wish to hear any more of it.  Sam, being headstrong and quick to tongue, goes on a war-turned adventure of his own, completely against his father.  Since Tim has always looked up to Sam, he can't help but be on both sides of the war. 

The war went on, but without much prevail for the Meekers; Sam and their father both ended up dead after a few mix-upped, accidents occur. 

I think that if the story was told from Sam's point of view, it would be more bias towards loyalist opinions.  Also, I think that he would have criticized his father's viewpoints more and advertize what he thought was right.  A part that he might have added to the story would have been more stories about his adventures at college and how his girlfriend helped him through his rough patch with his family.  Finally, Sam would have left out parts about the war in the town that the family lives in and more about the war in other cities.

 

Character Analysis

Author's Note:
This is my character analysis for the book My Brother Sam is Dead.  I analyzed a man named Life.

Life is the father of the two main young men in the story My Brother Sam is Dead, by Christopher and James Lincoln Collier.  He is a strong willed man and is never willing to change his views on life, even when coming from one of his sons.  Throughout the story, he goes through several fights with his eldest son, neighbors, and even his wife, but never changes his position on the Revolutionary War.  I believe that he stays strict to his beliefs because he was raised traditionally and doesn't completely understand any other ways of life.  His actions affected the story because he decided to trade cattle with British troops, but had to go through rebel cowboys to get there; doing so got him captured and later killed in a British prison ship.  This event changed Tim, his son's, views towards being a loyalist or a Patriot.  "[Tim] has lost sympathy for both sides." 

I feel that Life is like Miss Hilly from The Help, because they are both a little headstrong and won't change their beliefs toward controversial topics.  Miss Hilly won't change her views that white woman were better than "the help", even though, I think, she started to get that she wasn't correct.  Overall, I think that Life, if he would have lived longer, still would not have changed his side in the war, or at least wouldn't have said it out loud.

Exactly How Would You

Exactly how would you do it

Build a brand new life

Would you make all new friends

Would it be a sacrifice

If we assume a just world

Where we can blend how we'd like

Would people accept us

Without much of a fight

What's the meaning of friendship

Conformity or happiness

Conforming makes you popular, but

I'd rather be happy, none the less

If we'd rather be different

Then fit right on in with everyone

Would we get mocked

And be left with no one

What makes someone special

Isn't the straightness of their hair

It's the friends that they make

That they can show that they care

Each and every person

On this great place called earth

Has a special talent

That we might have had since birth

We could be good at basketball

But not everybody is

We could be good at spelling

The word ventriloquist

 So the next time that you doubt yourself

Take a step out to refresh all

The things that make you great

Because you are someone special

I Tried to Learn

I tried to learn

To tie my shoes

Win soccer games

But all I do is lose

I tried to learn

(From anybody)

To cat daddy

And how dougie

I tried to learn

To catch a fly

Run really fast

And pass you by

I tried to learn

Just how to write

But without luck

It wasn't right

I tried to learn

To ask questions

So how do you do it

Now that you mention

Night

I went walking out in the night

I saw a thing that caught my sight

I followed it for fourteen minutes

I ran until I thought I was finished

I headed back up to my house

Until I stumbled upon a mouse

The mouse just stood right there and shrieked

For it is just a little meek

But then I ran into my dog

And then I fell upon a log

I reached my door, but it was locked

So I took out my hand and started to knock

It didn't work and I pushed the bell

Our bell is broke to I started to yell

I wonder why I am so clumsy

But it's so dark I can see is nothing

Sparkles

Shiny, shiny sparkles

Sally threw them in the air

Her teacher threw a fit

From the sparkles everywhere

Shiny, shiny sparkles

Sally held them close and tight

Her mother said to wash her hands

Before it's time for night

Shiny, shiny sparkles

Sally licked her sparkly hand

Her father had tantrum

And said while I'll be !

Knowledge

Knowledge is Power

Is strength

Is leadership

Is giving

Is kind

The bear on the table

On the floor

On the house

On the ground

On the earth

The girl held the cat

Held a paw

Held a heart

Held a mind

Held a thought

The car hit the post

Hit the building

Hit the person

Hit the counter

Hit the wall

Mom's in love with dad's

In love with sister's

In love with dog's

In love he's

In love with her

Fire

My mom said not to play with fire

But I couldn't resist and called her a liar

She said to never use that word

But the fire looked cooler than a ten footed bird

I picked up a stick and started to poke it

My mom said stop before I broke it

I dropped my stick into the blaze

My mom thought it was just a phase

That was twenty years ago

And it's still a habit I haven't let go

Paris

The city of love

The city of passion

The city of hope

The city of fashion

The city of love

The city of lights

The city of birds

The city of nights

The city of love

The city of color

The city of art

The city of wonder

The city of love

The city of magic

The city of peace

The city of tragic

The city of love

The city of time

The city of silk

The city that's mine

Dirty Floor

Dirty floor, dirty floor

Don't be dirty, any more

If you're not dirty, it's for the better

I won't need to make you even wetter

Dirty floor, dirty floor

How do you get messy, unlike the door

I could get out of it, doing this chore

If only you weren't a dirty floor

Dirty floor, dirty floor

What if I hit you with a board?

If you were broke, then no more chore

 I wouldn't be allowed to clean you anymore

Giraffe

Dear Mr. Giraffe

Please lower your neck

You make me feel short

(I feel like a wreck)

Dear Mr. Giraffe

Please take off your spots

You make me feel dull

(For that I am not)

Dear Mr. Giraffe

Please puff out your cheeks

You make me feel fat

(And a shy and meek)

Dear Mr. Giraffe

Please flex your shoe

Wait you don't have shoes

For that I am a little better than you

The Great Millow

Author's Note:
This a Dr. Seuss style poem that I wrote including references from my other Dr. Seuss poems and some of Dr. Seuss's as well.

If you've ever heard the tales

Of the planet named New Rillow

You've heard of Whos and Spronks and Quids

But how about a Millow?

Yes in deed a Millow is

The dumbest of them alright

But the only soul surviving Millow

Isn't leaving without a fight

He can punch a wherewolf

Straight from here to Mars

He can even beat a vampire

Across children monkey bars

He knows all about

Important stuff, unlike you or I

For he knows about philosophy

And this is not a lie

Da Vinci, some would call him

But that's just being modest

Cause this Millow knew about the Grinch

In the beginning of that August!

His power is so sought out

That he even knows Santa Clause

Mother Nature, Easter Bunny

And…dramatic pause

When the mean old Gleefs took over New Rillow

Do you know who they called?

Yes indeed, it was Mr. Millow

Who moved ten logs that needed hauled

No one really knows for sure

If New Rillow's even real

Though just go to the Great Millow

And see how that makes him feel

Adorable

Author's Note:
This is a poem that I wrote to sound like the song Cute by Stephen Jerzak.

If I received a nickel every time

I saw someone as pretty as you,

I would have all of five cents

And nothing to do

Could you go get me a Band-Aid?

And if you're wondering why

It's cause I've fallen in love

And I can't seem to fly

I think that there's something

Wrong with my cell phone

It doesn't have your number

So I can call you at home

Say could you grab my hand

If you wouldn't mind

Angels really exist

Is something that I'd find

When I ask you how you're doing

You always answer fine

I didn't ask you how you looked

In the way of my eyes

I might not have a library

Card on me

But can I still check you out

Or would that be mean?

So are you gonna kiss me

Or are you gonna make me lie

To everyone I know

With my diary in mind

Do you believe

In love at first sight

Or should I walk by again

I don't want to start a fight

Oh and your legs must be tired

From running through my dreams

I'm not making this up

It isn't one of my schemes

Every time I see you

You make my mouth hurt

Because you put my sweet tooth

On full alert

How much does a polar bear way,

Do you think?

Enough to break the ice

Or at least on the brink

I would walk on over to you

To ask about your fever

Oh sorry you just looked hot

To me, a true believer

I'm not trying to impress you

But in case you didn't know it

I am the one and only Batman

And I ain't afraid to show it