Dance the streets with fireworks; light the sky with your charming laugh and spirited smile. Wave the sparks through the air, crafting pictures of colors and illumination. Persisting as the light within the darkness for those around you, your energy remains utterly captivating. As you are, you paint the earth with your adrenaline and intrepid risk. I, however, will stand at a distance dreading your torch igniting my fragile-self. Crinkled and scrabbled with haunting scars – feeble to every touch. Made of paper and straw, the simplicity of burning my soul down is as tranquil as kindling the initial flame with a match. Never will I know whether you will continue to warm my soul or burn me down.
Her favorite color isn’t black because it makes her seem tough or different from the rest. She doesn’t like it because she is flashed back disgusted countenances from others or because it makes her eyes look lighter. She likes it because it reminds her of her coffee every morning, warming up her fingertips. It is also the color of her abused boots she wears to all her adventures. Black feels raw slipping off her tongue. Black is the color that seeps from the skin from a deep cut. Black is the color of the font in her favorite book. Its darkness intrigues her, not knowing what it holds and constantly pushing her to explore. It is the color she sees in herself. It is a black hole, filled with everything that was destroyed. Everyone else likes being abstract with a variation of colors like pinks, violets, and blues, looking like a distorted galaxy. Black is a combination of every color on the spectrum. Black is her favorite color because her soul is black.
The white seats were bleak plastic, the bottom of the train screeched past the railings, and my coat hugged my body, eliminating the breezes that could pierce shivers to my skin. He sat across from me, eyes locked, and my hair electrocuted off my head. That night, I told him. I confessed that he was a fireplace to me, longing to snuggle up close; his smile was my light instead of the sun, and his laugh bore fairies. My heart pattered uncontrollably, but hearing his voice made it stop – made everything stop. I told him his hair reminded me of sweet chocolate, and his skin was the infant snow. I loved him, and that’s all I knew. Except, of course, I didn’t say any of this out loud. I sat there, staring and embracing all I can of him. Because after this train stops, we would depart like every other evening.
Whilst sorrow’s wail burn thy throats of many;
Such horror consumes thee shaking cities
With thy callous souls, left the world empty
Only abhorrent feinds feel at ease.
Not once, not twice, thou never seems to stop;
Those tears rain from thy broken cheeks fall forth.
Onto grounds of ruin, e’erywhere it seems:
‘Round thee former green earth; south, east, west, north.
Weep, weep. We hold hands, for respect to needs.
Pray for Paris, Pray for Japan; Baghdad,
Beirut, Mexico. Respect lays to these.
Not dost ever forget what was then had;
For thy world yearns peace and fly thee a dove,
We look up as one, giving thy earth love.
Lowkey actually my Literature assignment. Shhhhh.
It is time for greater and less than signs to be eliminated from society
It is time for women to not feel endangered whenever she goes out at night for a couple of drinks
It is time for those to not condemn others for praising a higher deity
It is time for racial nicknames to end – “cracker,” “diaper heads,” “chinks”
It is time to let situations draw us back only to know that it will leave us soaring in the sky like a bow and arrow
It is time to roast marshmallows around a bonfire rather than roasting each other when being realistic
It is time for society to see that mental illnesses are not an adjective
It is time for humans to stop acting as robots, cold-hearted and stoned, but to sober up and be altruistic
It is time for Americans to stop sleeping on the American Dream, but to wake up and live
It is time to stop saying, “It is time,” and genuinely act upon your moving lips and go