Myvoterhero

valentina

United States

Follower of Jesus...14 years old & 8th grade...author & poet seeking to bring light to YA
Passionate Spanish-speaker, theatre kid, history nerd, violinist, bibliophile
Major dork
I'd love to be your friend...no matter who you are, I love you.

Message from Writer

Hey, hi, hello!
I'm Addie (my username is my Spanish name!) I'm thirteen. I'm a Christian & a writer (obviously). I'm kind of a dork/nerd/geek, whatever ya call it. I LOVE theatre so geek out w/ me over shows if you want. (: I'm also a participant in National History Day-it's awesome, go check it out! All in all I absolutely love the community here on WtW. So, I can't force you into anything, but...if you want to be my friend, I want to be yours. You guys are amazing, super talented writers, and just great people. Thanks for letting me be a part of this community!

Published Work

"Well, congratulations on your bit of success/we can't wait to see what you'll do next."

Part I.
I AM NOT PERFECT
Why are you blind
to my faults, flaws, and failures?
Do you only love me
for the good things that I do?
If I mess up,
will you let me go?
You know, I don't know if you know me,
if I truly have a friend.
Are you a friend to me
or are you wedded to my image?
Do you treasure me for me or for my kindness?
And you say all I touch turns to gold
ignoring the coal I dig up along with it
Because you see only what you want to see
You transform me into an impossible standard...
I can't live up to your expectations
I'm always on my guard
Afraid I'm not who you think I am.
Scared that I am.
Because I am.
I AM NOT PERFECT.
Part II.
I AM NOT PERFECT
But You are.
You are not blind
to my faults, flaws, and failures.
And...

Snapshot II: Almost Like Music

The dog is tied up to the lightpost with her leash 
and she's straining and she straining to reach me 
But my bike wheels drift too far up to my dreams
And my head is filled with clouds and ice and lyrics that taste like poetry 

There's a foursquare court on my driveway
And a speaker that glows black and green
They ask what songs I like, I just smile slow
Cause the songs I like aren't fit for nine-year-olds

So I just lean back into my bike seat and
I have to listen to "Billie Eyelash" (so they call it),  
when my head is spinning with letters to Winter 
caught up in the hand of God, hole in the heart widening and widening
stupid deep 

The kids dance to ABBA on the concrete
Hearts-never-broken spilling dripping pink on the floor 
A girl's barefoot playing basketball 
A book lays spine-down on my peeling porch post 

The streetlight is a pale pool...

Fire and Ice

I breathe poetry, like
a fire in my veins, an ice in my eyes, an
echo of my days
it is my legacy, what
I will leave behind, so when
I die my words still stand,
this little light of mine.

Vanity/Insecurity/Humility

Selfie selfie in my mirror
Who is the prettiest girl in my feed
Is it me 
Is it me
Am I the loveliest lady you see

Selfie selfie in my mirror
Whose jealous locks do you despair? 
How's my hair
How's my hair
Would I look gorgeous even if my
face was bare

Selfie selfie in my mirror
Is the lighting just aglow
Do you know
Tell me so
Cause I've got all my ducks in an
aesthetic row

Selfie selfie in my mirror
Please give me a miracle cure
For I am sad
I am sad
I thought a nice picture would
make my heart glad
But I am sad

Still I cry
Still I cry
Disabled by emotion in the dead of night
Longing for a deeper sensation of life
Where's my joy
Where's my joy

Selfie selfie in my mirror
Tell me the secret to happiness
Are you there 
Are you there
I cannot find you despite...

#capitallettersQ&A

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE? 
I think the meaning of life is to overflow with love from the inside out until everything around you is so goshdarn loving you can hardly breathe, and then you'll die knowing your existence made the world that much brighter, that much kinder. You just do the best you can and give all the love you can. That's why we're here, that's why we're human. 

WHAT’S YOUR GUILTY PLEASURE? 
My guilty pleasure is tea. I drink it compulsively. 

DESCRIBE YOURSELF PHYSICALLY. (POSITIVITY AND HONESTY IS KEY)  (courtesy of she’s-got-a-story) 
I'm short and have a lot of random freckles, like the one on my right hand I've called my "special freckle" since I could formulate words. It also helped me learn the difference between left and right (actually, sometimes I still reference it to be honest). I scrawl reminders in pen up and down my arms so I don't forget. I get red very easily...

Waiting for the Sun

See these tired eyes
Waking only to sleep; 
A body of glass
flesh and bone 
She is waiting for the sun to come home 

The night is too long
So she holds a candle 
She rises again 
Lifts her feet to roam
Waiting for the sun to come home

The candle has melted 
Still the night stretches on
She finds a blanket to hide under 
In her place she is stitched and sewn 
Waiting for the sun to come home 

Light destroys darkness
If there is none, 
create your own
No more waiting for the sun 
to come home. 

I Wrote You a Song


Wish I could play guitar
Turn my fingertips into scars
But I can’t even say hello
Much less master the cello

I wanna write a ‘song
I’ve longed for it for so long
I wanna sing my own lyrics
But would anybody hear it?

Can’t you see that it’s just me
The opposite of young and free
Can’t you see that it’s just me
Tryina fit fifty years into fourteen

If I gave you a mixtape would you listen the whole way through
Or would you wait until there came a song that interested you
Gotta hold out for the catchy tunes
Don’t listen to the lyrics cause they might ring true

My poems carry their own tunes
If played piano I could shape ‘em into something new
My words they have a grace
A power this world wants to erase

I want to talk so loud
If I sang in concert d’ya think my mother would be proud
I...

Fill

When I was in seventh grade
I was thin as a dime
Flat as papyrus
Shiny as a windchime
Smiled at my reflection
Took my sweet time
Never was afraid, no, to eat every bite
I was what they told me to be, 
and then, I paid the price

The next year, I grew
The way you're supposed to
It was normal, I knew
The way that I grew

(and yet...
the voices of doubt creep in, and then...) 

I wished I was still thin
Still felt free in my own skin 
Shed the extra weight
A sacrifice at the gate
Of the gods of expectations
Who dictate our shape 

But instead I curved 
My thighs began to swell
Legs getting stronger every day 
I looked in the mirror, I saw I'm filled 

No longer a paper girl
More like a fire girl
No longer a glass girl
More like a flesh-and-bone girl

Though my belly hung 
Over the lip...

Tiny Love Story

Raw Heart

    She is in love with life.
    The sun is inside her eyes, warm, bright. Her hair is rainfall, her skin is threaded with roses. She eats pickles and peanut butter, and wears socks with sandals. Her laugh isn't pretty as a bell--it's more like a barnyard, full of snorting, hooting and grunting. 
    I love her laugh. 

    She is life. 
    She dances under the black clouds of thunderstorms, arms raised, taunting the lightning. She climbs up the tallest trees, climbing, climbing 'til she touches the sky. She never wears a jacket, and she never wears shoes. 
   She is my barefoot girl. 

The Wonder Woman #Story

    It’s getting later in the year. The sun sets at seven now, and the sky is already pinking as I close the door of my mom’s dented green van. I tilt my head up towards the sunset. I love everything about this moment; there’s nothing like late September.
    My jazz shoes are thin, and I might as well be going barefoot on the parking lot. My sister, Iris, with her unfairly pretty, messy blonde hair and big smile, bounds after me. It’s a good day.
    We hurry into our dance studio. It’s crowded and stuffy, the air conditioning faulty, but it feels like home. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m no dancer. I’m here to sing. I take Glee, a combination of singing, light choreography, and acting. The perfect class for me. I don’t think I’m the best singer, by any means, but it doesn’t matter. I have fun, and the people here are amazing. I couldn’t ask for anything...

A Wizard in a Muggle's World

A Wizard in A Muggle’s World

Introduction
Harry Potter lived for eleven years in a cupboard under the stairs. He was a wizard in a muggle’s world.
I’ve lived for fourteen years in my own head. It’s true. I spend half my time daydreaming and the other half eating. I don’t need to cite any sources for that one. I’m an introvert in an extrovert’s world.
Sometimes it seems like you don’t fit in. Harry Potter was a knobble-kneed orphan with the vilest aunt and uncle anyone’s ever known. He was sad and alone, desperate for just one birthday present. And then he found out he had something far better. Harry Potter had magic.
Introverts are a minority in this loud, loud world. Quite simply, we don’t fit in. But that’s okay. Because maybe we have magic inside of us after all.
    
So, define "introvert". 
What is an introvert, anyway? There are as many answers as there are...

525,600 Minutes

When they fall down they always get back up again
But I still fear that someday it won't happen
You are not invincible
Neither am I
You do not have wings
You cannot fly
We are daring, we are bold
We take risks and we try
My love for you
Is all the tears I cry

I love you too much
To take it slow
I will never lose touch
Because I know
But be careful, my sparrow,
Be careful
Life is a bow, Life is an arrow

Be careful, my dear
Please be careful
Life is a bow and Life is an arrow

Nothing is forever
Only love can last 
Life is short
Don't dance too fast 

THE SLATE FILES: Chapter I

Dear Director,
Enclosed is a copy of the Slate Files, a comprehensive collection of every work pertaining to the SLATE-KAUFMAN mission. The Slate Files include a series of classified documents, emails, interviews, medical reports, chat history, computer usage, military reports, and more. I hope you find this useful in your examination of the SLATE-KAUFMAN case. More importantly, I do hope my findings prove true. These files are extremely important and SENSITIVE. Show them to absolutely no living soul. At least until we know for certain what happened to Nikita Kaufman.
From 8126790 to 0093845,
History is written by the victors
Caseworker #0091


CLASSIFIED
Email between Phoebe Shaw Oberon of 0000000 to Nikita Amadia Kaufman of 8126790.
SENT FROM: classified01@0000000.mdirect.00.pov
Protectorate 00000000
SENT TO: kaufman01@8126790.mcase.12.pov
Protectorate 81226790
SUBJECT: Case 15-8-16-12-20, 8-16-9-8-8-16-16
Dear Ms. Kaufman,
(Caseworker #0012)
I write to you personally from Protectorate 000… in order to inform you of a new case that is of utmost importance.
Protectorate 00000000 is...

I don't know

I don't know

I'm feeling the love for WtW right now. Everybody's so accepting! Anyway...

 Stone Soup is a magazine where "young creatives" under the age of 14 can get published.
It's always been a dream of mine to be published there. Now that the deadline's coming up (I am thisss close to being 14,) I finally submitted some poems. Pretty much all the poems I've submitted I've already posted on WtW.
I got a story on the honor roll last month, which was awesome! I was absolutely thrilled even to get in the honor roll for them. It meant a lot to me! 

So I submit my poems. People say my poems are better than my stories, so maybe I've got a chance for actual publishing.  They say it'll take eight weeks to respond, or more if your piece is good. (Not exactly, but pretty much). 
It only took them two weeks for me. 

Today I found out they don't...

Snapshot

My current favorite book is Code Name Verity
with The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender taking second
My current favorite movie is Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
And directly on it's heels comes The Crimes of Grindelwald
My favorite drink is green tea
and my favorite language is Spanish
and my favorite song is Viva La Vida
and my favorite food is peanut butter 
and my favorite boy is Eddie Redmayne 
and yeah, I think he's ultra-cute 
(with a British accent
to boot!) 

I like to speak in a German accent
(Don't ask why
cause I don't know) 
I love birds, especially budgies
And I love playing African-American spirituals and fiddle tunes 
on my favorite instrument, the violin

I want to learn Latin dance
I'm listening to the 1999 Annie Get Your Gun on repeat 
I'm reading Magyk by Angie Sage and also
the book of Lamentations 
I have too much Algebra homework
I'm addicted to...

Weird Random Question

Next year I'll be a freshman and I'd really love to take Creative Writing as a class but it's only offered to juniors and seniors. Should I try to get it? They sometimes make exceptions. Anyway...I don't know. High school classes have been STRESSING me out. And I want to take theatre so bad but all the classes are yearlong so I can't. Anyway. Thanks. I know you guys have seen a lot of my work & and was wondering if you think I could keep up in a higher level class or if I should just wait until 10th/11th/12th grade. Yeah.

Thanks again (and yes, this stuff does literally keep me up at night!) 

G'night,

#firstraycontest ARISE

Luke 8:40-56

    I was twelve years old. I remember it so well...

    The pang in my chest would not flee. I gathered water from the well, carrying the clay bowl barefoot through the dusty paths home. Exhaustion seeped down to my bones, like precious water. The wind picked up, and water washed over the sides of the bowl. My white skirt swirled around my feet, my hair around my head. The cold chilled my arms. I tried to hurry the rest of my way home, but I was too tired to make it. My arms felt like leaden weights hanging from my shoulders. My chest burned, my legs ached. Beads of sweat gathered on my forehead. I dropped the bowl. It had grown too heavy for my pained arms. The well water that I had walked so far for spilled out onto the ground. It turned to mud that dried so quickly. Tears stung my eyes. A whole day's worth...

Fountain of Youth

We are all young  
Supposed to be free 
Tethered to nothing  
Becoming something 

When I was twelve I thought I could see 
The universe expand 
Thought I could cradle the world 
In the palm of my hand 
Figured I was strong enough 
Figured I could understand 
I thought I knew so much  
A lot can change in one year.  

Twelve to thirteen 
Might seem 
A small leap 
But to me 
It was everything 
Childhood to adolescence 
From standing in 
Wide-eyed-wonder at the world to 
Shouldering the  
overwhelming weight-of-the-world 

When I was thirteen I thought I carried 
The universe on my back  
Thought I could, through my burden, 
find something that I lack 
Figured I was strong enough 
I think I understand 
I think I know so much 
But then again, I used to think  
That twelve was old  

It's been almost two years  
Since my teenagehood began 
Since the world flipped upside down 
And back again  

The world is spinning...

Fountain of Youth

We are all young 
Supposed to be free
Tethered to nothing 
Becoming something

When I was twelve I thought I could see
The universe expand
Thought I could cradle the world
In the palm of my hand
Figured I was strong enough
Figured I could understand
I thought I knew so much 
A lot can change in one year. 

Twelve to thirteen
Might seem
A small leap
But to me
It was everything
Childhood to adolescence
From standing in
Wide-eyed-wonder at the world to
Shouldering the 
overwhelming weight-of-the-world

When I was thirteen I thought I carried
The universe on my back 
Thought I could, through my burden,
find something that I lack
Figured I was strong enough
I think I understand
I think I know so much
But then again, I used to think 
That twelve was old 

It's been almost two years 
Since my teenagehood began
Since the world flipped upside down
And back again 

The world is spinning...

I'm Sorry

I was consumed by my writing
Word to page, fingers to keys
And I turned you away
My mind is filled with questions
But now I'm begging you to stay 

I told you to leave but I clung to your hand
Now you flee down the hall
I'm numbed by the screen and I'm dying to leave
These cold, gray walls

There is life
A spark in the distance
An ember that burns bright
If only you would 
Forgive me tonight

Personal Essay Competition: Making Change

The Wonder Woman

    It’s getting later in the year. The sun sets at seven now, and the sky is already pinking as I close the door of my mom’s dented green van. I tilt my head up towards the sunset. I love everything about this moment; there’s nothing like late September.

    My jazz shoes are thin, and I might as well be going barefoot on the parking lot. My sister, Iris, with her unfairly pretty, messy blonde hair and big smile, bounds after me. It’s a good day.

    We hurry into our dance studio. It’s crowded and stuffy, the air conditioning faulty, but it feels like home. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m no dancer. I’m here to sing. I take Glee, a combination of singing, light choreography, and acting. The perfect class for me. I don’t think I’m the best singer, by any means, but it doesn’t matter. I have fun, and the people here are amazing. I couldn’t ask for anything...

No Such Thing As Alone

If there is no one to hold you, wrap yourself in a blanket.
If there is no one to sing to you, go outside and listen to the birds.
If there is no one to kiss you, unwrap the Hershey's kind.
And maybe through all of this, you'll find
that you are never alone. 

Almost Reverse

A letter to a friend and a letter to a Father

I AM NOT PERFECT
Why are you blind
to my faults, flaws, and failures? 
Do you only love me 
for the good things that I do? 
If I mess up,
will you let me go? 
You know, I don't know if you know me,
if I truly have a friend.
Are you a friend to me
or are you wedded to my image? 
Do you treasure me for me or for my kindness? 

And you say all I touch turns to gold
ignoring the coal I dig up along with it
Because you see only what you want to see
You transform me into an impossible standard...

I can't live up to your expectations
I'm always on my guard
Afraid I'm not who you think I am.
Scared that I am. 
Because I am. 
I AM NOT PERFECT.

I AM NOT PERFECT
But You are.
You are not blind ...

I Am the Mean Girl (Part One)

When I was eleven, I still believed in that thing called “kindness.”
Now, don’t go thinking I was any sort of perfect little angel. I wasn’t even close to a goody-two-shoes. But at least I tried to be kind, despite the constant tide of mean and ugly the world bombarded me with.  
I’m thirteen now. I am the mean and ugly.
Where did I go wrong?
I have to tell Bea something, and it’s big. Like, really, really, end-of-the-world, earth-shattering big. It’s the kind of big that makes you drag your best friend to the little alley next to the leaky school dumpsters to tell her, just so nobody else hears. I have a tight grip on Bea’s wrist. Y’know, so she doesn’t run away if she sees a cute boy or an animal.


“Ugh,” Bea attempts to swat my hand away, “I think you’re cutting off my circulation.”
“Am not.” I grin at her. “This is why you’re...

#cwcrandomq&a

I've never done a Q & A before but as they say, "There's a first time for everything." Wish me luck...dun dun dun...???!?!?


1. What TV show did you watch as a kid? 
I watched many, many shows. A lot of them were on VHS! (oh my gosh VHS what's that) Like the old (original!) My Little Pony, the 2003? version of Strawberry Shortcake, Holly Hobbie, Hello Kitty. etc. When I got a little older and found out about...Netflix...I adored Phineas & Ferb. When I was eight, I dressed up as Perry the Platypus from Phineas and Ferb and half the neighborhood thought I was an Angry Bird. Those uneducated sheeple. 

2. Should pineapple be on pizza?  
I vehemently support the first Amendment, freedom of pizza. Put whatever you want on your pizza, I won't judge. If you want to put something weird like I don't know, 74% Belgian dark cocoa sauce on your pizza, that's fine 'cause I'm not the...

Eighth Grade (#MyFormOfWriting)

They say eighth grade
Is when you start to find out who you are
But I've always known who I am 
And eighth grade is where I've lost myself
Don't worry, though
I've been waiting and watching, and
Soon I'll come back stronger than ever

Forever

FOREVER
Why grieve when you can keep your loved one encased in Forever Glass™?


Dear Lia,
I miss you. A lot. But don’t worry.
You’ll be back soon.
Audrey

AMELIA RUTH HARTFORD-SLOAN
Forever Glass™ Profile
Log:
(Showing two most recent posts)

Appearance has been reconstructed and inserted into Glass. Personality and history is being built currently using interviews with family, images, videos, social media, internet, journal entries, and many other sources. Hartford-Sloan had a very well documented life, which makes our job a lot easier.
10/21

Complete AI has been built of Amelia Ruth Hartford-Sloan and is being shipped to family. Just in time for Christmas.
12/24

12/25
Lia?
Yes, Audrey?
Is that...really you?
Of course.
But you’re dead.
Don’t be an idiot. This is Forever Glass™.
Wow. They really did this thing right.
I’ve been restored carefully. Down to the last detail.
Only the best for Lia Sloan.
Of course.
You say that a lot.
I said it a...

Echoes (For Addi): Please Read

*Warning, this is a true story from my own life, and it is sad. I don't want to upset anyone by reading this so just making sure you know. Also, sorry this is kinda long. I love you guys. <3 

Strange how my words from years ago
Seem to create mournful echoes, and
Why can't I seem to let go, and
How did I predict the future 


I was in a picture with her. 
I was in a picture with her and now she's gone. 
I wish I could say this is a story, but I can't. It's sad, but it's the truth. It's a small story about me, Glee, and a girl named Addi. 

Last Thursday, almost but not quite a week ago, my school district had a half day. I was released at 12:50, went home and enjoyed the fall air, and just relaxed until 8pm.
A fifth grader in a school not far from mine got released...

What If I Had Broken Teeth (#BoggartPrompt)

Broken teeth
Mouth dripping blood
Something drawn from an old nightmare
Her hair is tangled and hangs to her chin
Her eyes are dark and dead
Where did she come from?
She came from inside my head.

She is the image of me
that if I slip up, other people might see
What if I make a mistake? 
What if what if what if
I was not perfect 
for just one day

Stop saying that I'm perfect
I'm made of flesh and bone 
Stop saying that I'm perfect!
because perfect stands alone

They say I'm the kindest girl they know
and smart, and pretty too 
and they say I'm responsible and respectful and sweet
but my heart says none of this is true. 

You do not know the real me
I am not the girl you see
I am flawed 
I just hide it well

You do not know the real me
and I am afraid to be
human in...

Sometimes

Sometimes
“Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are.”
  • Markus Zusak, I Am The Messenger

I miss her.
I miss her. It’s true.
I cannot change my emotions.
Whenever I try to forget her, she climbs back into my mind.
She weaves my venomous memories into a web of pain and grief.
I am entangled in it every time.
I miss her. It’s true.
I wish so much that it isn’t.

Once there was the water.
Once upon a time, there was the water.
There were two girls.
One was called Lysel. The other Josephine.
The water was fast. Too fast.
The girls didn’t care. They tumbled down to the water.
They dove right in.
The cold water surrounded them, submerged them.
And the current was swifter than they remembered it being, last summer.
I was Lysel. She was Josephine.
The river spat me out in a pool of gray
like...

The Girl in the Storm

The air was flat and grey, slashed through with rain. A sea the color of slate toiled and churned. Pine trees lurched violently in the bitter wind. And in the middle of it all was a girl. Just a girl.

   She was a lonely, little girl. A battered teddy bear hung from her hand. Its fur was flooded. When she held it for warmth, all she got was a drench of icy cold.
    There was no one left to comfort her.
No one to hold her when the lightning struck or the thunder boomed. No one to save her from her forever wandering. There was no one.
    You see, little girls aren’t meant to be alone, in a storm. When the rain strikes the windowpane and the lightning flashes white, they stay inside. In the cozy warm comfort of a home, of a mother’s arms. The girl in the storm had none of that.
    She had...

On the Other Side of the Stained Glass (Pt. I)

The night is blue with longing. Perched low in the sky, the fat moon swallows the darkness. Sinners huddle in the corners of the streets; unrepentant children unfold themselves from their mother’s arms and come out to play. And the shard-stricken pavement is dappled with color on the other side of the stained glass.

Every night, when the churchgoers have gone, I stand in the backwards light of the stained glass window. The moon, stars and streetlamps glow, and I am alone. Alone, on the other side of the stained glass.

“Your kind don’t enter a church, no, miss.” Mama’s eyelids twitched. “They says they loves you, but they don’t. You don’t ever enter that church, d’ya hear me?” I nodded, meek as a churchmouse-a churchmouse forbidden from the church. “‘Cause, listen here. You go to a church, you get yourself killed.” That was two years ago, when I first asked Mama why we never got to carry leathery books...