Chirp, chirp. Tweet, tweet. Caw, caw. The various birds shot out from the trees, darting between the branches of the trees that protected the outside of the cave from summer storms, from which deafening thunder would boom through the rainforest and shake the foliage just enough for the riper fruitages to plop down on the mossy cushioned forest floor. Mazie, who was merely five stood within the protection of the forested cave's mouth. Inside the cave, the walls and the floor were covered in moss to provide a soft place to rest one's head. Her brother, Lucas, who was nine, stood beneath the tree of protection and held out his hand to feel the gentle plip of raindrops dripping down from the drooping leaves, the water remaining from a storm that morning. All around little fluffs of tiny bunny and squirell bodies peeped their head out from their holes and absorbed the watercolor world surrounding them. How these children and little...
And as the rain beats terror into the hearts of those under the clouds, the frightened children shiver and tremble in fear. Not one can see through the blinding sheets. Lost and alone without the comfort of warmth. They are distanced from the heat of the sun and no soul is searching for them. They are gone so far without the hope. They must find their way out alone now.
Definition: a state of complete surrender to dreams
Derived from the English prefix, 'cess' which means "yield to" or "surrender"
Example Sentence: It was 3:00 a.m., Tuesday morning, after hours and hours of tedious paperwork, and Arthur finally retired from his desk work to bed and entered a dreamcession.
*this is not just a state of mind in which a person must be asleep, but can also be experienced during a person's wakeful hours
Do you remember being a kid in the beginning stages of learning? I mean how you learned, even before you were in school? For example, one of the first things you learn about is colors. What colors look good together on the coloring page? Which colored words and definitions on your beginning speller’s flashcards match? What color headband matches the dress your mom dressed you in today? All of these are color-based lessons that most kids are raised on, but what if you were blind? Answering these questions would be impossible. But what if you were to ask a blind child: what is your favorite color? This to me would be a question it is possible for them to answer. Let me explain to you why.
I associate colors with emotions, and when I say this, I don’t just mean the basics: Red is anger. Blue is sadness. Yellow is happiness. I may mean this as the underlying...
There we stood, two giggling girls excited to finally reunite after months of not seeing each other. We were the best of roommates with the funniest of memories, but she moved back home in November. . . now it was the hot month of June. Night had fallen, but the air was still warm from the heat of the day, and the whipped cream fluffs in the sky had altered into blotchy black masses illuminated by the moon's fluorescent light.
As my roommate, my partner-in-crime unzipped her Batman backpack (she is a complete batnerd), I could see her signature cutesy face and I knew she was about to unveil something wondrous and exciting from her teering crouch and her breathy laugh. Then, she swept her prized possession from the cover of the backpack, and behold: a slim, silver hoverboard. I gasped and began to feel anticipation build from within. Only my roommate could possess something so awesome and exciting. Only ...
It was the break of dawn, and Brooklyn Meyers sat gazing out her bedroom window admiring the beauty of the sunrise. The sky was a fluorescent swirl of orange and blue, with the faintest hint of purple streaking across it. Brooklyn watched as the sun rose, adding gold to the mix of colors, its blinding light breaking through the puffy white clouds that blotted the sky and shedding light over the beautiful beach below. Waves came rolling in from the ocean and crashed along the surf, sending up a foamy white spray of seawater.
Brooklyn loved her home here in Orlando, Florida, and she had originally planned to spend the entire summer at its beaches riding waves and soaking up the rays of the bright yellow sun that shone in the sky all summer long. Of course, that was before she had received her graduation present from her parents: an all-expenses-paid trip to London for the entire summer! ...
Tell me the way in which I should walk because as I am making my way down this road, I have become lost in the sights on the side. I have lost my view of what lies ahead and am not too sure even of where I am going anymore. I have what seems to be just one constant on the die I continue to roll each day, and the other sides change as though a magician were manipulating them. When I wake up tomorrow I will pick the die from its place on the table by my bed, cup it between my hands, shake, and roll. What will be the result this time? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. . .my fate is to be decided.
When someone cries, I see pain
I see hurt
Yet the tears you shed hold something different
Some emotion of a rare sort
When you cry, I see strength
I see the will
I see the courage
I see the control
All built up over periods of challenges and tests
When you smile, I see happiness
When you laugh, I see joy
But when you cry, I see nothing
Nothing but strength
My life is a gigantic "if, not when." Though most people keep telling me, "when, not if." When I graduate. When I move out. When I go to college. When I get a job. Yes, these I admit are "when's". These are "when's" I was raised on.
What about the "if's" I've developed. If I graduate early. If I move to New York. If I major in music management. If I instead double major in psycology and literature. If I become a social worker or a counselor. If I meet a man and he becomes my husband. If I have children. If I figure my stuff out, and by stuff, I mean the chaotic mess that is my life.
There it is, the biggest "if, not when." If I figure it out. . . whatever it is. Itis my future. I know what I want. It's getting there; now behold the problem that has arisen, it's...
I love you
Make or break
I love you
A poem about childhood innocence. . .
Do you remember those days
Those days, those days
When hour-long rides seemed like an eternity
And tired little faces
With their candy-stained mouths from the day's activities
Would find their eyes shutting out the world
Then waking up seconds later
And finding themselves home again
I remember what it was like
To be worn and tired from the day
Oh, how I wish
Wish to relive those times
Those times was life was to be lived carefree
And life was simple, easy
Sometimes I find myself drifting
Back to those days
I find myself
Falling asleep in the car
This is a poem I wrote when I was thinking about a trip to Disneyland my family took when I was a kid. I remember sitting in the farthest backseat of our SUV, watching a DVD on the small TV screen we had installed in the car....
And when you see me walking down the pavement beside the roadways, with both headphones in, talking to myself and in my "worlds", I only ask that you turn and walk in the opposite direction. I am lost in my imagination with a "Do Not Disturb" sign on my door. Nobody can drag me out of my mind. And when you wonder about me because I said nothing after seeing you, just know that I am fine and appreciate the space. And when you decide to reach out at last or to turn away forever, I will respect you in return. And when. . .
Thoughts of the past fill my days. How can I forget you, you who has left your mark of brutality on my heart and in my mind? Not physical force, but damaging curses and derogatory utterances. I will never forget you, but I can most certainly look you dead in the face and speak the words you least expect, "I don't care."
Some days, I feel like a foreigner in my own state of self. I find myself questioning who I am, who I hope to be, and whether the two resulting flows of thoughts in answering these questions even remotely coincide. The purely superficial view of who I am from the perception of an outsider is as follows: Her name is Sunshine Rose; a pretty name for a pretty girl. She is a young lady, petite with beautiful features. Sweet nature and kind heart. Very friendly. . . and on and on and on. In contrast, here is my thoughtful and deeply considered view of my inner-self. My name is Sunshine Rose; a name once disguised with misleading ugliness to distract myself from pressing questions that some wished to avoid answering. I am not yet past the bloom of youth, and while my physical features have ceased to produce any dramatic changes, my intuitive self is still in its state...