BiographyJunior 2019
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Silver words of woe sigh from the jukebox in the corner Old neon flickers through the windows beckoning the broken in Ricketty bar stools and benches are a welcome refuge At four in the morning the Bar for Broken Hearts is alway open This is a place for those at war with love to relieve the pain A place to safely medicate away the all encompassing sorrow Where alcohol is the glue that binds crumbling hearts together And everyone contemplates their ailments in companionable silence The bartender, with her watchful gaze, monitors the menagerie Calling cabs for those who have diluted their souls too much The cook, with his kind, caring words, heal the hurting Bringing food to appease the gnawing, biting emotions deep within As I look through the window at the bleary eyed lot within I can’t help but feel an ache grow within my own heart While those inside have loved and lost I can not say the same Love has never made a home in me and probably never will In fear I ran from love, afraid of the emptiness it may leave But now I see that I am the one who’s lost the most Even if I never have felt any pain, I shall never feel any love I will always be broken hearted for I never found my other half BiographySenior 2019: Looking back on my life I can say I have had many hurdles. The greatest of which would be learning how to read. Most of my elementary years were spent being passed from teacher to teacher, each of them too busy to give me needed one on one attention. In second grade I was assigned a Special Ed. teacher to work with me every day. By this point I was bitter towards the idea of needing extra help. All I wanted was to be like the other kids, and instead I felt singled out. It took months to get me to read simple sentences, but my teacher never gave up even though I wanted to. But, thanks to her, by the end of that year I had gone from illiterate to one of the top readers in my grade level. Three years later I won a district- wide writing competition and presented it to all the district staff. From these hurdles and triumphs I have learned that no matter your disadvantages you can achieve anything if you pour your heart, mind, and soul into it.
Concerning Dross by Logan RayBiographyHey it’s Logan Ray, graduating 2019. I'm more technically inclined than literary, so I find it curious that in vulnerable moments I find more solace in an immersive book than a CAD design sketch. I read because I find happiness in the experiences of others, and I enjoy writing because it's what makes my experiences worthwhile. I don't consider myself an invigorating and inspiring writer, but that's kinda what I like about it, writing's not a prestigious realm where only the Dickens’s and the Tolkiens are allowed; it's for anyone with the desire to express themselves and make impressions on other people. My inspiration comes from my tiny sliver of the lens of life and the emotions that I feel as a result. Enjoy.
Their voices always call to me
A literary song Hidden in fact and fantasy A place where I belong But they often sing of deeds Long before my time I listen as the old world bleeds I shiver at their rhyme The song they sing is one of old Times of silver, times of gold To light a flame, to inspire Echoes of their stunning choir It's simply music to my ears Words upon a page It gives voice to all my fears As I wait the coming age In the day, she is an Angel. She glows as though she has her own halo. Wherever she walks becomes heaven on Earth. Never does she have a harsh word against the wicked. In the night, she is a Fallen. Her wings have broken, so she hurtles toward pain. The light in her dims until it goes black. She gives up faith because she knows she can’t be saved. In the darkness, she is a Victim. The words of demons slice her skin. Thoughts hold captive her heart to tear it down. A perfect angel loses her wings to become human. In the morning, she is Ethereal. Gone are the painful memories of days past. New wings sprout to help her fly. She wears a smile for all the people she has yet to see. Everyday, she is a Loop. The wings she has break and turn to dust, Her halo loses its glow because of the pain, And then she wakes with no more memories and a heart filled with hope. Stitched by Áine JesselThere was a time when she was whole. Now, she’s broken into tiny pieces. They are scattered all around her, And she’s picking them all up. When she finally has them all, She finds her needle and thread. As she moves forward in life, She’s struggling to put the puzzle together. Slowly, oh so slowly, The pieces come together. She’s only half completed, And her body is littered with stitches. Everyone sees her as a whole girl with a nice smile, Missing the scars left on her soul. BiographyMy name is Áine Jessel. I will graduate in the year of 2021. I love to read fantasy, horror, mystery, and science fiction (pretty much anything nonfiction)! I write because I have always been writing, and it is a good way for me to be creative and cope with the world. Writing is my escape, just like reading, and creating a new story that can whisk my mind away on a new adventure. I write like my blood is made of words because, sometimes, that’s how it feels! There’s always some kind of story running through my head.
Ringu. Apple. Sweet. Fresh for the perfect day. Right from the tree she picks those that are pure. She’s young, maybe six yet tall for her age. She picks only the flawless ones to take home for her aging grandma whom she loves dearly. Ringu. Grandma once told her, on a crisp, May morning that apples were once a poisonous, Vile and dreadful fruit. One not to be picked. But the fruit was so beautiful and enchanting, that it could not go without being plucked. Over time the people bred this apple with one no one dared to eat because of its bitter taste. The two went together like lovers. It created the shining, ideal apple, that their people eat still to this very day. Ringu. The young girl picks them from the orchards near the Fuji mountains. She walks the same route each time she comes. Sometimes she brings her older brother along. He always picks the ones atop the tree with ease, and she feels jealous when he does so, but her brother always reminds her that she too will grow tall and reach the most delightful ones. Ringu. When the young girl arrives home, with a basket full of only the richest fruit, Her grandma is always waiting patiently with a warm smile. Grandma always takes the basket and sets it atop the kitchen counter. She will make something special, as she often does. None of the apples will ever go to waste. They are too delectable. She puts the apples into various dishes. Jams, cobblers, crumbles, pies, donuts, and platters. The young girl watches and helps when asked, for when her grandma departs one day, She must also know how to prepare the perfect Ringu. BiographySenior 2019: High-School was supposed to drag by at a excruciatingly slow pace. Though I’m beginning to think that mentality came from the numerous high-school movies we watch as kids, because it didn’t go by gradually. Instead, it whizzed by unexpectedly. Though the beginning of my senior year was rough, I enjoyed the majority of my high-school career and I’m sorry to see it pass.
I have never excluded myself from activities involving school as I did sports throughout my time here, yet I didn’t put myself out there either. This year, I was able to take classes that I didn’t think I would enjoy at all, but did! During my second semester I took Yearbook which I actually dreaded doing due to the busyness of it all. But come mid-quarter, I was looking forward to going because I felt appreciated by my peers in that class for just doing my work! I’m not a very outgoing person, but I did want to make the best of what I participated in. I’m only going to high-school once, I’m only going to live once, I’m only going to experience this once, so I’m going to believe in each thing I do. |
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