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she_writes

United States

Teen
Writer
Poet
Book Lover
Coffee-Addict
Feminist
Believer
Gryffindor
Greaser
Star-gazer
Dreamer
I am trying to make a difference in the way I know best: my writing.

Message from Writer

Good day, future legend!
Today's struggle, tomorrow's strife-
all essential components of your origin story.
You, forged for greatness. Go!
- Lin Manuel Miranda

Published Work

Song Writing Competition 2019

We Grew Up


Verse 1:
Summer treehouse days
Running through the sprinklers
Bug bites and play
When we were just kids

Verse 2: 
Chocolate ice cream cones
Words we didn’t know 
Unprepared, scared to grow up
We hid behind our mothers

    Those were the good old days

Chorus:
We grew up
Once said we’d stay young forever 
Promising it would all stay the same
Until we realized the big world needed big people
To fill the space the others left behind

Verse 3:
Not a care in the world
Oblivious childhood
Nowhere to be, nothing to do 
Just children and our dreams

Verse 4: 
Dreams of tomorrow
Spaceships and sunshine
We said we’d go all over the world
And perhaps we did

    Those were the good old days

Chorus: 
We grew up
We once said we’d stay young forever 
Promising it would all stay the same
Until we realized the big world needed big people
To fill the space the others left behind
...

0-9

Heeaaaahh, Phuuuuhh - A Narrative in Numbers

0 - Rock bottom. Lying on the bathroom floor, wondering what led you here.
1 - Brushing a tear off your cheek, you lean your head against the wall and silently curse as your head bumps against it, hard. You feel bad. Really bad. An emotional hangover. 
2 - Your Dad walks in. Asks you what is wrong. 
3 - You scream, telling him to get out. He doesn't move for a few seconds, looking at you the whole time.
4 - He leaves. You bury your face in your hands. 
5 - Sniffle. Sniffle again.
6 - Stand up like a big kid. Look into the mirror. Wash your face with the bar soap lying on the counter and dry your skin with the towel.
7 - Try, and fail, to rub away the redness on your cheeks. The hollow places under your eyes. You look like a mess.
8 - Breathe in, breathe out. Heeaaaahh, phuuuuhh. The air...

Song Writing Competition 2019

We Grew Up


Verse 1:
Summer treehouse days
Running through the sprinklers
Bug bites and play
When we were just kids

Verse 2: 
Chocolate ice cream cones
Words we didn’t know 
Unprepared, scared to grow up
We hid behind our mothers

    Those were the good old days

Chorus:
We grew up
Once said we’d stay young forever 
Promising it would all stay the same
Until we realized the big world needed big people
To fill the space the others left behind

Verse 3:
Not a care in the world
Oblivious childhood
Nowhere to be, nothing to do 
Just children and their dreams

Verse 4: 
Dreams of tomorrow
Spaceships and sunshine
We said we’d go all over the world
And perhaps we did

    Those were the good old days

Chorus: 
We grew up
We once said we’d stay young forever 
Promising it would all stay the same
Until we realized the big world needed big people
To fill the space the others left behind
...

Answers for @PRANAVI_079

1. If you could live anywhere on this planet, where would it be and why?  
    Somewhere in Europe, maybe Edinburgh or London. I would sip fancy coffees in little cafes on the streets, and on the weekends take the trains into neighboring countries. Edinburgh is attracting because of the city's history, and it has fostered many writers such as JK Rowling and Sir Walter Scott. 

2. What is your biggest fear?  
    Failure, without a doubt. Also, not succeeding in life. I want to make something of myself and don't want to disappoint anyone. 

3. If you had to describe yourself as an animal, which one would it be?  
    That's hard. I would say a parrot. Colorful, loud, and unique. Or maybe a dog, a fund loving Aussie-Doodle. 

4. If you could join any past or current music group which would you want to join?  
    I would join a musical, Hamilton. Being a...

Open Prompt

Brillant, Not Stupid

They told her she was stupid, but she was brilliant. Could a stupid person have so carefully examined and noticed the shadows under a dewy leaf, or the minute details of a butterfly’s wings? Never had I see someone so flawlessly blend colors to make the perfect shade and move the paintbrush over the canvas as if it were an extension of their own body. At least, not until I meet Silvana Lasagna.
An old saying goes that a picture is worth a thousand words. For Silvana, a picture was worth much more than that. She was born and raised in Chile, grew up speaking both Italian and Spanish then learned English when she moved to the United States over 20 years ago. The remnants of her birth language still dance across her tongue when she speaks, intermingling English and Spanish when she tells me her stories.
“I have a disease called… oh, how do they say it... dyslexia?” Her...

Food Writing Competition 2019

The Honey Cookie Grandmother

The most insensitive thing you could do to a cookie is to scoop the dough harshly with a melon baller and plop it on the cookie sheet without another thought, not taking the time to shape and form the dough. Doing so makes the dough ball crude and unshapen. Instead of this method, my grandmother taught me as a little girl to roll each bit of dough carefully between my palms, back and forth, to make each one alike. When my fingers set the finished sphere on the cookie sheet, my grandmother would say to me, “You make cookies just like my grandmother did. Her cookies were always the same size as each other, almost perfect.”

She would tell me this every time I came over to her house to make cookies. I was always sure to put deep concentration into shaping the dough. I wanted to earn my grandmother's praise and make my cookies like those of her grandmother....

Sadness: A Poem

The storm arrived just after she left me for good
A tornado came through, took all that it could
Sent cold rain dripping down my face and into my world
Sadness has come, it will not be ignored

How Fortunate Am I

My grandfather is the cornerstone
Of an already crumbling building

A grandmotherly cornerstone with a twisted drink in his hand
A smiles-with-his-eyes but not his mouth cornerstone
My pinkie around their finger cornerstone

Does everyone have a cornerstone such as mine?
With hair the color of sea salted wind
A cough rough like sandpaper
And a laugh like smooth river stones?

How fortunate am I to have such a cornerstone
Who tells stories that hang in the air like mist
Who nuzzles liquid tolerance in their glass every evening
Who listens to the stars as they fall from their nest above

How fortunate am I
How fortunate am I

Believing in the Impossible: My December Competition

Every December I hope and pray for the same natural phenomenon to occur - snow. My Christmas would be complete if only I woke up the morning of December 25th to white powder covering the lawn, the roof, the leaves on the pecan tree outside. But in Texas, snow is a very rare thing. In fact, sometimes our winter season isn’t even cold - it’s just an awkward period of change between fall and spring when the weather doesn’t know what to do with itself. 
Every once and awhile, the weatherman says there’s a chance - just a small one - for snow. Which could mean no school, which in turn would mean snowball fights, snow angels, snowmen, warm winter clothes, hats with pom poms, and even gloves. The sort of things you see in Christmas movies like Home Alone and A Christmas Story, happy kids enjoying a snow day like it’s no big deal. 
My Christmas wishes had yet to become a reality,...

Why I Write

I write so that I don’t have to be alone. How can you be alone when you have a whole world in front of you? My ideas are my company, my words are my friends and family. I’m an only child. I didn’t have siblings to play, fight, run around with after school, so I read books instead. Reading stories evolved into writing them, and soon I had not only other people’s worlds to explore, but my own. I had read stories for so long, it became second nature to me to make my own. Plots, characters, conflict, and storylines were already engraved in my mind. So that’s why I write - because it makes my world bigger. Because it gives me company. When I write, I am no longer alone.  

How Fortunate Am I

My grandfather is the cornerstone
Of an already crumbling building

A grandmotherly cornerstone with a twisted drink in his hand
A smiles-with-his-eyes but not his mouth cornerstone
My pinkie around their finger cornerstone

Does everyone have a cornerstone such as mine?
With hair the color of sea salted wind
A cough rough like sandpaper
And a laugh like smooth river stones?

How fortunate am I to have such a cornerstone
Who tells stories that hang in the air like mist
Who nuzzles liquid tolerance in their glass every evening
Who listens to the stars as they fall from their nest above
How fortunate am I

How fortunate am I

Sadness: A Poem

The storm arrived just after she left me for good
A tornado came through, took all that it could
Sent cold rain dripping down my face and into my world
Sadness has come, it will not be ignored