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Tuesday, January 08, 2008

  • Five Minutes Ago

    Five Minutes Ago

    He picked up the phone,

    just said hello.

    A sob of relief, a quiet

    he's ok.

    A long awkward silence.

    Then the earth shaking words

    there's been an accident.

     

    The phone drops from his hand

    but he doesn't care.

    No it can't be he says to himself.

    Cause just five minutes ago,

    we stood under that tree.

     

    Just five minutes ago,

    she held my hand.

    Just five minutes ago,

    I hugged her goodbye.

    Then five minutes ago

    she jumped in her car,

    and drove on down the road.

    Not knowing or caring

    that hug was her last.

     

    Another young boy had too much too drink.

    Then five minutes ago

    he jumped in his car,

    and sped on down the road

    not knowing ore caring

    this night was his last.

     

    A stupid decision, an innocent victim.

    Two broken bodies, lying on stretchers.

    Both carted away from all they once had.

    No more wind in their hair,

    no more sun on their face.

    Cause five minutes ago God cut to the chase,

    and took them both home

    each one to their place.

    Neither one knowing

    that breath was their last.

     

    Why did I live when he tooke her away?

    She'll never laugh again.

    She'll never dance again.

    Her smile, her face.

    A million things lost, cause that boy

    had to drive.

     

    If only, if only that drive wasn't her last!

    He'd hug her, He'd hold her,

    If only if only this night wasn't her last!

    Two lives and two dreams,

    both terribly wasted.

    Only because that first sip

    wasn't his last, only because

    that boy had to drive.

     

    How does one live,

    move on and

    forgive?

    When that hug was her last,

    When that wave was goodbye,

    When that boy was stupid,

    and that girl is dead?

     

    How can he live, laugh and love

    when an angel now stands,

    Where five minutes ago,

    he last held her hand?

     

    Tomorrow they'll come, put them both in a box.

    Then bury them deep, far below the earth's crust.

    Think of the friends, the family all those they loved.

    But most of all think of those poor wasted lives.

    Then measure your dreams, your hopes and your wishes.

     

    Don't make that trade, cause whatever you've got

    it's so so much better than a box in the dirt.

    Think of the sun shine, the wind on your face.

    It's a beautiful day but it could be her last.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

  • Butterfly Wings

    There's a whisper of hope,

    borne through the room

    as quiet as a whisper.

    Then it's gone,

    immediately replaced

    with doubt

    with frustration

    with despair.

    Wishing won't rescue the princess

    from her dragon-guared prison.

    Dreaming won't take the child

    into a world where he is loved.

    Dreams, Wishes and Hope.

    It's a start.

     

Monday, December 31, 2007

  • Goodbye 2007

    This isn't a story, or a poem. It's one of those personal reflection type things, if you find that sort of thing intresting feel free to read.

    At this time last year I was hiding in the hallway at a dance crying, I had a strong hunch that one of my best friends was lying to me and I was trying to get up the guts to ask her. I did, and she was - had been for over a week. It completely destroyed our friendship, it wasn't so much that she took my guy but that she wasn't willing to stand up and tell me what she'd done. It was the lying that really killed me. I got over it, sort of. Everytime I saw them together in the hallways it hurt, and I lost two friends over it not being able to forgive. That's my biggest regret for 2007, not working it out in a way that we could have started over and stayed friends. But at the same time I'm greatful for it. Sometimes it hurts to let go, but she's not the same person that she was when we started out friends. I learned that sometimes you have to say goodbye, even when it hurts because you can't always be the one trying to fix something. Friendship is a two way road.

    Accomplishments..

    Getting my first starring role in a play, I was Beauty in Beauty in the Beast and I worked my butt off for it. The beast was a real beast, but we got through it.

    Having five weeks away from home, working in the kitchen at a summer camp. My life wasn't incessantly micromanaged and I was able to be myself, completely and totaly. It's the first time in my life I've felt comfortable singing in public. I sung Defying Gravity from wicked with my best friend at the variety show, I was Elphaba and had a huge singing part. It was nerve racking and I'm not the best singer, but it didn't matter and that was amazing. I met my cousin Adam up there too, he's a really cool guy. We share a lot of the same dreams, but he's had a lot of struggles in the past couple months. It's amazing being around him cause he's just such an inspiring person, he doesn't stop to feel sorry for himself and he's constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure everyone else is doing okay. He's one of the funniest, liveliest most theatrically talented people I know, more than that he's a straight up honest good guy and you don't meet many of those now days. I'm honored to call him my friend. We went cliff jumping into the river, I was terrified and wasn't able to do it. So we went back, and I worked at it, throwing myself off the rocks into the river again and again until I could do it without freezing up. I spent a lot of time outside, it's not something I get to do a lot. We went traversing, white water rafting, swimming and pulled some killer pranks. It's probably the most free I've ever felt.

    Enlightened Warrior Camp - the most amazing terrifying experience ever. I'm a better person for it, but I never want to do it again. Completing Predicament showed me just how much stronger I an than I ever thought I was.

    Wishes..

    I'm graduating highschool at sixteen to pursue an acting career. I'm auditioning for a summer program in February, hoping for a scholarship so I'll be able to go. I want to go, I know it will be a life changing experience. I need to know if this is really what I want to do for the rest of my life.

    Cinderella in the Spring play.. it would be fun to do one last play with a leading guy I actually like.

    Writing contests, I'm entering a play and a writing portfolio. Winning would open a lot of doors, but that's not my real wish. My real wish is to create something beautiful enough that I'll be proud of it whether I win or not.

    Direct a play at my local children's theater.

     


     

  • The Price of Creation

    The title might change.. I'm trying to write a play under the same name, different story. Any way, it may be hard to tell but this story is written from the point of view of the feet of this little girl. Don't ask, it was just a creative writing assignment :)

    Lucy is entirely unremarkable, just another little girl with a dirty face barely keeping off the streets. She’s quiet and patient and never speaks loudly, if you passed her on the street you wouldn’t look at her twice. But when Lucy dances, you stop and take notice. Her dirty face and second hand Pointe shoes disappear. It doesn’t matter that her pink tights have holes in them, or that her hair is too short to stay in the perfect ballerina bun. When Lucy dances, beauty comes to life. That’s where I come in. Most days I’m just another poor child’s foot, dirty and shoved into last year’s charity shoes. I’m cold and wet, from the holes and tears in Lucy’s too-small shoes and smelly from her older brother’s graying hand-me down socks. In a crowd, Lucy is invisible – I get stepped on a lot. As she hurries through the stinking, darkening streets to the theatre I wake up. I’m tired, bruised, and exhausted from that day’s many chores. But it doesn’t matter, in approximately three minutes Lucy will set me free from last year’s charity shoes; and the soaked, cold, smelly socks. Gently, she’ll slip a pink satin ballet slipper over my aching surface and run eagerly across the hardwood floor into the stage lights. The music will start and we’ll begin. While Lucy is dancing I am no longer heavy and tired, the thoughts of the cramps and aches that will come when she takes off the slippers are far from my mind. When Lucy dances I become more than a battered, ordinary foot – with Lucy’s graceful movement I become central to an artistic creation. I bear the weight of the masterpiece. We dance in a group with the others, warming up; but even then Lucy’s movement sets her apart from the giggling group of girls. Her face is bright, her motions more effortless.

    The dancing master will clap his hands “Miss Bell” he’ll say proudly “fetch your Pointe slippers please.” The ordinary girls will watch with envy as she slips off the warm-up slippers and laces the pink ribbons around her ankle. Her Pointe slippers are hard, unlike the soft silk ballet slippers and the interior of the shoe is stained with my blood.sick The music will begin again and we’ll start, Lucy and I one with the music. She’ll dance a solo, breathing life into her characters. She’s a despairing Odette, turned into a swan; a delighted Clara with a wealthy Christmas that Lucy can only dream of. When our rehearsals are over, Lucy limps over to the corner; the painful price of the last two hours extracted now from me. She gingerly unlaces the Pointe shoes, now crusted with fresh blood and carefully slips the damp, graying socks over me. I cry out, desperate for the lighthearted elegance of ten minutes passed. We hobble home, almost too broken to bare the weight of her body. Uncomplainingly, Lucy sets the table and washes that day’s dishes. Then bedtime comes and we bask in the rest that comes for the first moments without weight as she lays down on her bed. Moments later, the weight of the day comes, our muscles contract in painful cramps. Lucy sits up, sobbing in agony as she carefully massages the muscles back to peace. Our toenails are broken, blackened and torn. We are rent with indescribable pain, but through it all we wait calmly – for such is the price of creation.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

  • On a more light hearted note

    Cause everyone has to write something light and pointless occasionally, I hereby present

    Tina Toilet bowl's Object Obituary

    Tina ToiletBowl

    Tina ToiletBowl, a pink porcelain toilet of eight, was assassinated this morning by Louis Manther, a six year old boy who flushed his little sister’s gigantic pink teddy bear down the toilet; suffocating Tina and permanently destroying the toilet. Manther is believed to be a member CIFPT, an underground radical group of young children in favor of new fangled plastic toilets. Manther was caught and is currently being held in his household “time out” room. When questioned about his motives Manther reportedly stated that he favors plastic toilets because their toilet seats are not cold in the morning. Tina’s assassination brings a tragic end to the three year rivalry between her and Timmy ToiletBowl, a blue Thomas the Tank engine toilet, who has spent his last three years in the bathroom section of Home Depot plotting to overthrow Tina and take her place in the Manther children’s bathroom. Tina has faithfully served the Manther household since her purchase five years ago. Lucy Manther, the owner of the pink teddy bear that ended Tina’s life, reports that Tina “was a very nice toilet that flushed easily” while her mother stated that Tina “faithfully served the Manther family’s sanitation department without complaint or problem for five years.” The Manther family expresses their heart-felt apologies to the surviving Bathroom family Sarah Sink, Sammy Shower and Laurie Light bulb her younger siblings. Tina’s funeral will be held at 3pm tomorrow afternoon when Mike, the contractor, carts her off to the dump.



An_artists_brush

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    • Name: Kyra
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 11/3/2007

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About Me

  • I'm Kyra, sixteen and a senior in highschool. I'm very creative and often live in my own little world. Writing and acting are my passions. I speak my mind almost too much, I'm often impatient with blatent stupidity. I'm generally an understanding person, and I'm always willing to listen to a friend.

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