family.
i don't know if thats what i could call the people in my house
other wise,
i'd be calling my house a home
it is a warzone
and i am on my own
against my sister,
who is the sniper
shooting stinging, and simmering
comments
supporting my mom, the leuitanent
everything she says goes,
no questions
no conversations
let go of yourself if you don't like it
my brother is more normal
a soldier in the storm
hes not targeted, nor is he aiming
but hes still offected by the war
then there is my dad,
hes the nurse picking people up in stretchers
covering skeletons with a white sheet
underrated;
underappreciated
by most but surely not me
and then there is i
where do i stand in this mess?
im the prisoner they picked up
captured in the middle of night
a cloth gags me
suffocating my words
throwing out my freedom
our relationships are sometimes faulty
but everything works in the end
a deconstructed household
can be put together to make a family
probably
A little shop.
It's a little shop. It sits down a shadowed, winding side street and people don't really notice it when they pass. The lights are almost always off.
You enter it on the way home from work one day and as soon as you step over the threshold a feeling you can't quite describe washes over you, like walking through the door is a trap. You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. The air is icy and stale and damp. The products are old and... indescribable: trinkets and small wooden carvings, notebooks, keys, mirrors; they would all be considered antiques anywhere else, but here they rot and they whither.
You do not notice the man at the till, if man is the right word at all. It's trying so hard to be human, it copies the gestures but they appear clunky and delayed. Eventually, when you are about to leave he speaks in a voice that isn't, see anything you like?
You turn around, jumping slightly at the noise. Unsure if he was always there or if he simply appeared from the shadows.
You shake your head, mouth dry and fear beginning to grow in your stomach. He smiles like he expected nothing else, and gestures for you to come closer. You approach, wondering why every cell in your body is screaming at you to run.
Slowly, from under the till he pulls out a doll and places it gently on the counter, how about this? The doll is perfect, small and beautiful, nothing like the other items left to decay. You swear its eyes are almost... alive.
Shadows begin, slowly, to reach out from the walls, from the corners of shelves, out from under the tables. They have thin, sharp fingers that move in jolts stopping and starting, always coming closer, closer.
You don't notice. Your eyes are still on the little doll. A small step forwards, you’re almost touching the fabric of its dress. The shopkeeper smiles his not-quite-smile and waits, patiently, for you to speak.
“I want to--” you don't know what stops you from finishing the sentence. The air is tight around your throat and the longer you stand there the more you feel like... like prey. But the doll is so beautiful, you want it. You need it. The man’s smile widens, yes?
And then you realise.
His mouth doesn't open when he speaks.
You stumble back, breath coming in sharp, painful gasps, “I’m sorry… I - I have to go”
His smile barely falters.
It's all you can do to stop yourself from running as you leave. You hear as the door swings shut behind you,
Come back soon.
My Brother was Yogi Bear and So was I
My older brother was, quite literally, Yogi Bear.
When I was five, my brother worked for a company that did promotions for Hanna Barbera productions, the makers of Yogi Bear. My brother was Yogi and he worked alongside his best friend, who dressed as Boo Boo.
For grand openings the company would rent a helicopter. And thus Yogi and Boo Boo would arrive via helicopter at a strip mall or car dealer grand opening.
My brother told me that he got to hang from a rope ladder, just like in the cartoon, but years later he told me that wasn't true.
Mostly Yogi and Boo Boo would drive a rusty Dodge Van loaded with puppet gear. This dynamic duo blazed a trail across North America, spreading the gospel of Yogi and Boo Boo. My brother met his future wife in Canada while dressed as Yogi Bear, but I digress.
One fine summer day, these two smarter than average bears stopped at home. My brother gave me a special treat: I got to wear the Yogi Bear mascot head. It weighed more than I did and smelled a bit strange. And I couldn't see out of the oversized mesh eye openings, I was too small. Somehow I managed to hold it up long enough for my mother to snap a photo.
And so that was the day when I got to be Yogi Bear.
Hey Hey Boo Boo.
To Whom It May Concern
I have to admit I have no tact, but I have mastered the art of "if you have nothing nice to say, then stay silent.”
Which is why people think I'm shy. I don't WANT to hurt people's feelings, and growing up, I truly believed people didn't want to hurt mine.
Until i met Jasmine.
She was pretty and ALWAYS said the right thing at the right time. Everyone liked her, but there was something about her that made me uncomfortable.
In short I really didn't like her.
I was quiet around her, I smiled, was as polite as I could possibly be…but…I guess she saw through me.
Soon every slip-up I made was broadcasted across the school! If I was even a LITTLE blunt Jasmine would start to cry FOR the other person! Even if I said ‘please’, it didn’t even matter any more…everything I said was now ‘mean’.
I was now a ‘bully’.
One day, during lunch, the teacher made us sit outside in a circle, and I was next to Jasmine. She prattled about how I needed to be more aware of my words and how violent I was. How SHE, a VEGAN, was the EPITOME of PEACE. All I needed to do was follow her example!
As i was lectured, i contemplated how mean she was being by assuming that I was being mean. She didn't know me. As far as i was aware, we'd never had a proper conversation.
I guess that's the day I snapped...
“You know, you are so right,” I said dramatically with a small laugh, “I think I’m beginning to see the error of my ways.”
I plucked a piece of grass and set it on her knee.
“To be a vegan…”
I plucked another as though the grass blades were flower petals and I was asking if someone loved me.
“To eat the vegan…”
Pluck.
“To be a vegan…”
Pluck.
“To eat the vegan…”
I relished her look of silent horror as I continued. I just kept going plucking one blade at a time, placing them with the others.
At least she was finally silent.
Villain
I'd like to think I'm the hero of my story, but I can't lie to myself no matter how hard I try.
I'm the villain, plain and simple. Everything I do goes against what I want to be, I'm supposed to be this perfect person, get straight A's. I say no, I couldn't give less of a crap about my grades, or what people think of me. I enjoy watching those that have wronged me suffer. You get what you deserve, I always say. I self sabatoge, and procrastinate untill an hour before a big test, or a project is due. I push away friends that just try to help me, though I couldn't tell you why. I just don't like myself in general. I'm the perfect antagonist to myself, It's kind of funny, and sad. I'm tired all the time, and I wish I could be an upbeat, always cheerful person that everyone likes. People don't tend to like me very much, and I hate it, I'm always so bitter and resentful toward life. I want to become a hero, but I'm afraid I'm too far gone. I guess I really am the villain of my story.
- Freyja
A villain or a Hero?
When have I ever been the hero? Was it when I put a knife against my arm. Or when I starved myself to become smaller? No, I am the villain. At least, if I consider my mind, me. Although, no one can truly be their own villain. Otherwise I would be dead. My only visitors the flowers next to my grave. So I must give myself some credit, though it is hard when I have spent my life doing nothing more than fighting myself. Trying to figure out who was the savior and who was the devil. What if the one with the knife really was the hero. Just trying to save the others in my life. The one fighting to stay alive the devil, trying to tear down the epople aroune me. I thought that I would have a one-sided answer. But how should someone be one-sided when wars are being fought. For no war is ever the result of an agreement. Even this has been a fight with myself. The ramble of trying to write who I am when I am nothing more than something. Villain or Hero? I have no solid answer, all I that I can say is that I do not think that any person could be just one.
Had an ex whom that he was the STAR of the show
Entitled he was like we all should've worshiped his BIRTH
A legend in his own mind, to this world he was the PRESENT
Although, if you ask me he was nothing more than a bad tasting FRUITCAKE
As far as I'm concerned, he can make like a TREE and leaf!! lol
Advice?
Don't make choices you'll regret.
Make sure you've saved money.
Don't act all high and mighty over minors just because you can legally go to jail now.
Remember, don't do stupid crap, because if you get caught, you'll have actual consequences.
Don't get too caught up in life; remember to breathe, and appreciate the little things. it'll do wonders for you mental health.
Take my advice with a grain of salt- I'm not even eighteen myself.
