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Post by Dayna on Jul 20, 2005 22:09:57 GMT -5
I made this thread so people could put poems, rhyming lines, and short stories of any kind on this, I think most of them will be about a certain Irish actor, but its up to the poster. ;D
So post away!
Love is like missing someone when your apart.
But somehow feeling warm inside, because your close in heart.
Just starting it
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Post by jill on Jul 21, 2005 21:31:35 GMT -5
nice start to a poem! veryyyy cute.
this is a cool idea for a thread, i'm loving it. i'll post my (only) short story (haha, im kind of long winded..this was for school, it was supposed to be like 3 pages but mine ended up being 10). it was an assignment for my english class in 8th grade (i'm going into 10th now) and the theme was acceptance. so...yeah, its kind of REALLY cheesy, and cliche'd but here it is:
Flaws and Quirks
Hayden is the most interesting man I have ever met. Not a lot of people know a lot about him, but once you get him to open up, he's the most interesting, gentlemanly creature that you'll have ever had the pleasure of talking to. Hayden knows about everything. He taps into your mind, he can read you like any businessman can read the Wall Street Journal. He can mention something, and just by watching the expression on your face, the way you position yourself, where your eyes wander, he can decide whether or not to continue talking about that something. Hayden is a watcher, an observer. He had been observing me for about 20 years now.
I still remember the day I first started to notice him. I was only 5 years old, and because I was a little bit of a math genius in kindergarten, the school had decided to put me in a more challenging class. It was my first day in the first grade. All of the big six year olds squirmed and fidgeted at their desks as the teacher was talking to us with her big, goofy smile. I gawked over at the kid in the back row, with the messy black hair that fell in his eyes, as he stared up at our teacher with this wonderful look on his face, as if he was asking, "Wait a minute.you're not really that cheerful when you're talking to grown-ups, are you?" He c*cked his head slightly to the side, as if he had just figured it all out, that hair of his falling in his eyes. Up went the arm.
"Yes, Hayden?" the teacher cooed.
"How come you talk to us kids like that and not the grown-ups?" he bluntly asked.
Just thinking about that day never ceases to make me laugh, because while Hayden isn't quite that frank anymore, he's even more observant.
Once we hit high school, everything changed. I mean, I never really talked to Hayden much in the first place, I just always kind of noticed him over other people for some reason. We were never friends. But things got more dramatic in high school. Things mattered more. Like how Hayden never really talked to people our age. He had a few friends that were always seniors, always very quirky seniors. They were either outlandish seniors or teachers. It had always amazed me how well he got along with some of the teachers. He was as serious as them, most of the time. We were in all the same classes, and the minute the bell rang, he would casually take forever to gather all his books and saunter up to the desk to talk about the economics in Europe or the controversy of this or that, or some Calculus problem that he finally understood. Not that I really cared, I just thought it was kind of sad that he had nothing better to do, no one cooler to talk to. Part of me always felt a little bad for him. I chose to ignore what the other part felt.
My group of friends never really considered Hayden 'cool.' I always hung out with the same five people; Marissa, Cassidy, Ryan, Noah, and Sean.
"It's too bad he's so anti-social. He's really hot.in that serious, studious, quirky kind of way," Marissa would sigh, as Cassidy just gave her this little attitude-spiked look.
"You know he's completely into you, Madison. I see him checking you out in American History all the time," Sean would tease with this horribly smarmy tone.
"Yeah, and you two would look cute together.," Marissa would say, eyeing him. Sometimes I wondered if she had a little thing for him, too. But no, I would tell myself, that's ridiculous, he's not popular enough.
"He's really tall and you're really short. That's always cute. Plus, you're both working that whole black hair-pale skin deal," Marissa continued. The rest of them would laugh at that.
They always kind of picked on me about my hair. You see, in the 7th grade, I asked my big sister to help me dye my stick straight, dirty blonde hair to a more platinum shade, but instead she bought black dye as a prank. But to my surprise, it actually turned out looking really cool. I wasn't 'goth' or 'punk' (as my friends classified all people who dyed their hair black) or anything, not at all, but since I had silky hair, the black looked made my hair look really shiny, especially against my 'peaches-and- cream' complexion, as my girl friends would call it. So I left my hair black.
"Yeah, you should hook up with him. You do have a thing for older men," Cassidy would giggle in her fake, squeaky voice, twirling her blonde striped hair. And then they would all start laughing at once. And for some reason, I forced myself to laugh along with them.
Our clique didn't really fit into any of the stereotypes you see in those teen movies. We weren't jocks, or rebels, or really rich kids.well, actually, we were kind of a mix of all of them. Not that we were like those evil kids at school that make everyone else's life a living heck or anything, no no. We were okay kids. Really. We weren't that exaggerated, like, sports obsessed or danger obsessed or money obsessed. We were balanced, we had it all together. At least.we thought we were. I think that was what made us so horrible.
Another day I still remember perfectly was the day I found out Hayden had a poetic side to him. We were both in 12th grade, it was a few weeks before graduation. He was 18, and I was still only 16, since I had skipped kindergarten. I always knew he was quirky, but he always seemed too interested in other, more sensible things to get caught up in poetry. Turns out he wasn't. I remember how hard it hit me when I read his poem in the school newspaper:
Flaws
You're a book full of flaws. No, a whole encyclopedia of them.
You and I both are. But the difference is, I know my imperfections.
Let me tell you a few of yours.
You get caught up in this world. Money. Status. You don't think you
do, but you're wrong. You do. You try too hard to please all the wrong
people. You try to please your friends by throwing in courtesy laughs
at their jokes that aren't funny. You try to please boys by letting
them think that you aren't a witty genius, and you refuse to think
about what you say before you speak. You throw a blending rug over
your quirks and talents and interests, to make yourself gray, and
anonymous.
Your broken smile assures me that it's only a mask you're wearing. I
can see you through the cracks, when you let yourself slip. Someday,
you'll let your security blanket- the blending rug- go. You'll realize
that your biggest flaw is one that's easy to overcome.
I couldn't stop staring at him the next day. Okay, it was more like glaring. I knew that poem was about me. The way his steel blue eyes met my frustrated ones as I rolled and unrolled and folded and unfolded that newspaper at my desk in American History, the way he just charmingly raised an eyebrow and offered a little smile. It ticked me off so much. Why did he have to act like he knew everything about me? I had never even talked to this guy, and he was already telling me what a horribly fake person I was? What right did he have to just write something like that and make me re- analyze my entire life? Immediately after class, I marched up to his desk and slammed the newspaper down on the fake wood grain.
"Why?" I started, after just staring at him for a moment, trying to figure this guy out. He just calmly stood up, glared down into my eyes, and smirked.
"Think about it.why do you care?" he murmured. For some reason, I felt faint as he brushed past me, leaving the newspaper on the desk for me to keep. I must have read that poem a hundred times that night.
The next day at school, I was talking to my friends at Noah's locker, which was next to Hayden's.
"Gosh Madison, why are you being so quiet today?" Cassidy asked, smacking loudly on her gum. I wanted to tell them that Hayden was right, and I was sick of being in their little group that did absolutely nothing but put other people down and stick their noses up in the air. I wanted to tell them how much he fascinated me and intrigued me. But instead, I just shrugged.
"So, um," Ryan started, I could tell he was trying to hold back a smile. "What did you think of that sweet little poem Hayden put in the paper?"
And just then, right on cue, he sauntered over to his locker, glancing at me as he creaked open the door. There he was. Right in earshot. And all my friends eyes were boring into me, waiting for me to just completely tear him down. What did I think of it? Well, I had decided a part of me definitely wanted to be ticked at him. This was my time for revenge. I could tell everyone how corny and sappy and melodramatic it was. But he would just chuckle and shake his head. No, that wouldn't work. Hayden was the kind of guy who acted all tough with brooding eyes, but then went ahead and sat with the new kid at lunch and took them around school and introduced them to everyone, made them comfortable. He was a teddy bear. So, considering that, I went ahead and took the "guilt trip" route.
"It was totally stuck up. He thinks he's so much better than everyone, I hate it so much. What a loser," I stated, loud enough for him to hear. The look on his face as he softly shut his locker and walked away killed something in me.
Later on that day, after school, I bumped into him in the huge school parking lot. I had stayed after for cheerleading practice, and it was a beautiful early fall evening. The sky was a beautiful lavender, muted gray by the hovering clouds. The still, mild air was still a little warm on my skin as I walked towards my car. Before I even had the chance to apologize for being so clumsy, he stopped me.
"Madison, listen.I'm sorry if I hurt you, with that poem. I really didn't mean for it to come out so harshly," he was dead serious. I could tell he was a little upset.
"You didn't," I said coldly, sighing. I wasn't about to tell him how true I thought the poem was, I didn't want him to get any ideas about how I felt about him. "So don't worry about it. I have to go.."
"Wait a minute. You know what I meant by that poem. You're a smart girl, whether you want to admit it or not. You know exactly what I meant by that poem," he repeated, giving me this little knowing look.
"Please don't act like you know me," I said quietly and politely.
"But I do, I do," he chuckled as I turned my back on him and started towards my car. I could hear him talking behind me as he walked nearby, "Why, you're Madison Jones. One of the three most popular girls in school. You're on the cheerleading squad, and the swim team, even though you hate doing both of them." Already walking away, I sensed a little bit of a mocking, knowing tone in his voice, and what bothered me was, everything he said was true, and everything he mentioned were things about myself that I would've rather not been reminded of.
He went on, "You're secretly a little bit of a bookworm, and you're a math genius, though you try to hide it. Your favorite color is pale pink, you hate loud colors. You get these adorable freckles on your nose and cheeks in the summer, but you insist on covering them up with makeup. You don't like most movies that come out nowadays, except psychological thrillers, but you're a sucker for old black and white romances. You accidentally dyed your hair black in the 7th grade, and it looks stunning on you."
"Thank you," I said politely, turning around and smiling at him.
He returned my smile and offered, "And you have an impeccable sense of manners."
I smiled, shaking my head and turning away again. He could be so charming sometimes, and I had to wonder if he even realized he was doing it, or if it just came naturally to him. He still followed me, and to be honest, I was quite flattered that someone actually noticed all these things about me that not even my best friends knew.
"Sometimes, you wish that people still dressed like they did in the old black and white movies you watch, like in the 1940's. You know, guys wearing hats and nice suits all the time.," he trailed off as he noticed I had slowed my pacing away from him.
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around to face him again. Just the other day I had mentioned to someone in American History about how cool people dressed back then. I remembered Hayden was nearby when I said that. He really did pay attention to me.it amazed me how much someone I barely talked to could know me so well, really care about me enough to pick up on these things about me.
"You know, all I wanted to do with that poem is help you. I don't think you belong with them.they bring you down," he said in a low, gravelly voice.
"Where do I belong then?" I questioned, frustrated. I didn't have anyone but my close friends. And then he whispered something I'll never forget.
"You belong with me," he replied, his raspy voice almost in a whisper, sadly looking down into my eyes. He handed me a folded up piece of paper, smudged with his fingerprints. It had been folded and refolded so many times that it felt leathery to the touch. I gave him a questioning look, wondering what it was. "It's the whole poem.some things were a little too personal for me to publish," he answered my confused facial expression. He was quiet and solemn and stern, and I almost couldn't bear to look him straight into his cold, slate eyes. And with that, he was gone.
Driving home that day, I couldn't stop thinking about him and how true the words he wrote were. I missed him already, and by the look on his face when he turned away from me and left, I worried a little that I would never see him again. I mean, I knew I would see him in school and everything, but I could imagine him never talking to me again. And that was just as bad. I imagined what would have happened if my friends and I would have been more accepting of everyone.especially Hayden. This never would have happened, he would have never published that poem in the newspaper, I wouldn't be upset, and neither would he. Sighing, I pulled over the car, near the fence by the football field. I just regretted everything at this point. Just a few minutes earlier, I had my chance to tell him that he was right, that I did belong with him.but I missed it. He was gone. I let out a frustrated sigh as my eyes fell on the piece of paper he had given me. I unfolded it and read his smooth yet smudged, laid back, oh-so-Hayden-ish handwriting.
Flaws
You're a book full of flaws. No, a whole encyclopedia of them.
You and I both are. But the difference is, I know my imperfections.
Let me tell you a few of yours.
You get caught up in this world. Money. Status. You don't think you
do, but you're wrong. You do. You try too hard to please all the wrong
people. You try to please your friends by throwing in courtesy laughs
at their jokes that aren't funny. You try to please boys by letting
them think that you aren't a witty genius, and you refuse to think
about what you say before you speak. You throw a blending rug over
your quirks and talents and interests, to make yourself gray, and
anonymous.
Your broken smile assures me that it's only a mask you're wearing. I
can see you through the cracks, when you let yourself slip. I love
those quirks in you. The way you smile when you're making fun of
yourself. The way you dance when you forget anyone's watching. The way
you stomp off when you're upset, clicking your shoes and switching
your hips like a runway model. The way you look in your dorky little
reading glasses with your hair up in a wispy ponytail, pieces of your
long, raven hair framing your rosy cheeks. The way you blush and bite
your lower lip when you catch me looking at you. Someday, you'll let
your security blanket- the blending rug- go. You'll realize that your
biggest flaw is one that's easy to overcome.
I anticipate that day more than you'll ever know.
Tears filling my eyes, I folded the paper and tucked it into my purse. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. I looked up, starting my car again, when I saw Hayden walking home, reading some book and listening to his headphones as he walked. I turned off my engine, swung open my car door, and sprinted up to him. He dropped his book to wrap his hands around my waist as I threw my arms around him and kissed him with everything I had bottled up for him, everything I had hidden from my friends; it was all released in that one moment. And from that day on, we were always there for each other.
Hayden saved my life. I mean, I know that sounds dramatic, but he really did. If it weren't for him, who knows who I would have married? Who knows who I would have become? If it weren't for that poem, if he hadn't saved me from my snobby friends who didn't accept anyone who was different from them, maybe I wouldn't have learned one of the most important lessons in my life. He taught me how to be more accepting of other people, and to accept myself for who I am. He was one of the first people to seek out things about me that set me apart from everyone else, and not only did he accept them, but he cherished them, he loved me for them. If it weren't for that poem, maybe I wouldn't be able to wake up every morning and watch him put on that business suit of his, and rush off to work. Maybe I wouldn't have married the one man who could break down all my insecurities just with one look.
***
so yeah. thats my only "short" peice of writing, hah.
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Post by raine on Jul 23, 2005 22:06:02 GMT -5
it's weird, i had writers block... no making fuN!
The Path
The crystalline angel tears fall from the heavens
entrancing us in our winter wonderland.
We stroll past frost bitten Junipers and families of snowmen,
surrounded by laughing children happily launching snow at one another.
Chuckling, we walk on the sparkling white path
that led to our own personal Never-never Land.
Weeks of hot coco by the fire, and late night rendezvous under the mistletoe past,
and the snow began to melt.
The children's forts were shrinking, and the ice families began to lose their luster.
I began to wonder¦ is our winter magic fading too?
Gazing into your eyes filled with wonder and love,
I silently asked you if our snow covered romance was coming to an end,
as winter does with the outside world?
You lean over and kiss my nose lightly as if to answer my question,
and I took you hand.
Together we find ourselves once again on the road to our Never-never Land.
But this time I note it is no longer in the presence of snow covered Junipers
or families of ice,
but with the joyous songs of mother Jays,
and beautiful daises and roses lining the path.
Our sparkling white path has transformed
Into a lush green springtime wonder.
And as the children chase each other,
You stop and pick a flower,
And we stroll on,
Towards our personal never-never land.
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Mega thanks to Greenday for the awesome sig!!
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