Bring Me Back to Paris.

"I don't belong in Paris." I told myself. I didn't want to belong.

My first day in Paris, introductions without giving my name. I was questioned whether I was human or not. Who asks that?

Then I realized.

Paris is where things happen.  So I answered.  I know I'm human because I bleed.  Paris is where I fell in love and where I found my fear of falling in love, because love is the closest thing we have to magic.

And Im thinking about Paris like clouds think about 9.  Before 7, 8, 9 forcing us to hold funeral services for 9's death.

That was the day I went shopping for Mr. Nelson and bought him bricks and duct tape because I was too lazy not to be a tourist.

My sixth week in Paris I realized who took this journey with me.  You're all amazing, and I'm just an ammature with a computer.

A direct order to rock out like you just got your first kiss turned into writing one word.

Then two.

I remember my first day in Paris.  I wanted to punch you in the face the second I saw you walk in.  There was a reason I didn't see you all summer. I wanted it to stay that way.

In Paris I got high on permanent marker fumes telling me the main idea was Promise me Promises or Loneliness tended his return to where he could be.

Paris taught me how to live and how to laugh. But no one commented on my How To prompt anyway.

Which brings me to the sad chair I found in the middle of Paris' open plains, or in other words-- the internet.



Week 13 in Paris. My fellow Paris adventurer wrote, "To the dickweed scientist with a telescope that decided that pluto wasn't a planet; screw you." You inspired me to write my true feelings. To my homecoming date last year: screw you.

My journey in Paris is almost coming to a close now and I don't know what to do. Robert Frost still makes me so jealous.

And I don't know how to write poetry.

I found myself in Paris;

my fears, what I love.

Just take me back.

I don't know how to Write Poetry.

I don't know how to write poetry.
The stanzas and the rhyming
with all the lines and the timing.

Whatever that was, took me ten minutes to write.

And that's when I realized my problem.
What muse would inspire me to write that?
Yep. None.
So I tried to start to listen to my muses.

But it's a little hard.
Considering before this class all I knew about Muses were they're the tan ladies who sang all the songs in Hercules.
But I learned,
And I listened.

To write about things you just don't do.
Going into an empty theater and sitting by the only person in there.
To write things you just don't say.
"I love you." on a first date.

And all I had around me when that came to me, was soap.
In the shower, I didn't let Larry take my symphony.
I listened to my first muse.

Then on my way to school.
I had to pull over. My second muse; my second symphony.
Hate. Why do we have it?
And why do we hate having it.

The same thing can go for love.
Why do we have it?
And why do I, personally, hate having it.

I just don't know.
Why is this all so important to me.
Maybe it's the same reason I care than I don't know how to write poetry.
Or why I was invited to the Muse Cafe on Facebook but was too ashamed to show up.
Or why I took a picture of a sad chair from the internet.

Poetry.
It needs to be real, and I guess I'm not.
Or maybe I'm the only real thing in this fake world.

But still. I don't know how to write poetry.

The Road Not Taken.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the under growth. 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning rqually lay

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted it I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

A poem by Robert Frost.


I don't know how to write poetry this fluid and have it make sense. I want my writing to mean something and have significance. Just keep trying I guess!

I Could've Been.

I could've been an officer in the Air Force. I could've been a manager. I could've cliff jumped in Hawaii. I could've been a great rugby player. I could've been the valedictorian. I could have gone on a mission. I could've been great. I could've been a famous singer, or an actress. I could have been a brain surgeon or worked at McDonald's. I could have made something of myself. I could have gotten my honor bee.
I could have been in love. I could have had my first kiss in high school. I could've been fat. I could've chosen to be anorexic. I could have been a girly girl. I could have gone Black Friday shopping every year. I could've read the Harry Potter books. I could have just spoken up.
I could've been taken in Africa. I could have chosen to study abroad in Europe. U could have been in love. I could've chosen to hate him. I could've been indie. I could've been a good writer. I could've done drugs through high school. I could have looked like fat Amy. I could've written this in a different colored pen. I could've been a Georgia fan. I could've stayed in California.
I could've cleaned someone's teeth for a living. I could've donated my life to charity. I could've dedicated myself to my education. I could've commented on more blogs like Dr. Phil. (Really, thanks. I appreciate the comments.) I could've made people proud to know me. I could've had potential.

Living Young and Wild and Freee.

We'll be friends till we're old and senile--then we'll be new friends!
We will be friends until I eat something artificially green.
We will be friends till a zombie apocolypse happens and we're left to fend for ourselves.
We're going to be friends forever.

We're going to be friends till dinosaurs rome the earth again.
We'll be friends when Chuck Norris is defeated.
We will be friends till I decide to like chocolate ice cream.
Which means w'll be friends forever.

We're going to be friends till December 21, 2012.
We'll be friends till Global Warming finally happens.
We'll be friends when the last hand on the clock ticks.
We're going to be friends forever.

We're going to be friends till all of our hair is gray.
We'll be friends when everyone has forgotten about highschool, because it never did matter.
We will be friends through all of the liking and retweeting and snapchatting, and even when its gone;
We're going to be friends forever.

We will still be friends when we live three states away.
We're still going to be friends; just friends with 5 other mouths to feed.
We'll still be friends when we're paying for our own insurance.
And even when you're amost dead, and scared no one will come to your funeral, you must have forgotten.
Because we're going to be friends forever.

Promise me promises.

I'm all alone in my room, laying under the covers. And all I can think about is you. We met today; in the halls, that's all. And yet--I can't stop thinking about you.

BUT WHY. 

You give me caterpillars. Which everyone knows will eventually turn into butterflies, and thats just because I don't know you well enough yet. 

Our eyes meet in the hall and you say, "hello." so casually it sounds like we're life long friends. But the only friends i've become well acquainted with are my caterpillars.  They never leave my side and are there for me 100%. Till they make me feel sick.

Because I don't know you well enough yet. But I still feel this way. 

So I'm just left alone.

Me and my caterpillars.

Notes to People Who will Never Read Them.

"To the dickweed scientist with a telescope that decided that pluto wasnt a planet: Screw you." -Dick Tidrow

To the guy who used to be my best friend;

Break up with your girlfriend. She's the reason we never hang out anymore.

To the cashier at Kneaders;

My name isn't hard to spell.

To the cute boy at Kahuku's in Hawaii;

Of course you're attractive. You're a Hanneman.

To my bus driver in kindergarten;

Looking back I wish I told someone you yelled at me for sitting in the front seat.

To My last year's homecoming date;

Im privileged you let me experience something you never could, being heartless and all you'll never know what a broken heart feels like.  

To my old yearbook teacher;

you could have stayed. Thanks for ruining yearbook this year.

The the clueless Model Boy who sits 2 seats away from me;

We're going to get married okay?

To my future sheep;

Your name will be Bathsheepah or Baahxter, depending on gender.

To my homecoming date;

Did you really not gather the fact that I was in love with you? No big.

To my old boss;

Of course I didn't want to get paid.  I wanted to do 180 hours for free.

To my dad;

I'm sorry I don't live up to your expectations.

To the boy who offered me drugs in 2nd grade;

Thanks for teaching me what dope was. I really hope you changed.  I want you to have a good life.

To the man who grabbed me and tried to take me;

Its not necessary for you to see the movie Taken--you experienced it when my dad saw what was happening.  

To Sydnie;

You suck at being a best friend. But so do I. I love you!

To the ditz who thinks she's cute;

"She asked me how to spell orange."  You and Karen from Mean Girls would get along quite nicely.

To the red-headed jock,

It's nice to see someone smile in their athletic pictures rather than the straight faced serious ones. 

To my blog;

I'm sorry I always vent to you.

Radioactive.

**Welcome to the new age

My options for a Future

-live with my parents
-become a brain surgeon
-buy 12 warthogs, 2 llamas, 4 starfish, 22 dogs, and a lamb.
-not be a dental assistant because Obamacare will make the taxes be too high so the expense of dental care will go up and more people want extractions cause they're cheaper so less assistants are needed. Yay America!
-serve a mission
-sail the open sea in a dingy
-become an english teacher
-live on a park bench
-convert myself to the Hare Krishnahs
-blog
-go to college
-get married
-become a mortician
-have my own cooking show
-train my husband the art of llama breeding
-find a cure for cancer
-stalk Jeremy Renner. #creeper
-be a substitute teacher
-sell hotdogs/food on the beaches of Kuai till i have enough money to buy a house
-learn how to snowboard, become an instructor
-be stranded on a desert island with nothing but a comb, animal crackers, and nail clippersand still be able to survive
-sleep forever

How to write a How to Prompt

think.

i know how to sleep.
i know how to eat.

think.

what do i know how to do.

How to Fall Asleep:
1. lie down
2. close your eyes.
3. fall asleep

too simple.

How to Eat:
1. open your mouth
2. chew

even worse.

think.
think harder.

i know how to laugh.

How to Laugh;
scratch that.

i know how to live.

How to Live:
1. decide who you are.
2. be who you are and don't change for anyone.
3. make yourself happy--you need to be selfish when it comes to this!
4.  choose to be happy the way you did as a kid when you got a brand new piece of chalk, a new chiseled marker, or the perfect crayons; when thats all it took to make you happy.
5. love.
6. take risks.
7. cry.
8. Live.

does that work?

think.

how to make cookies.
i give up.

10. Newspaper Blackout

 Loneliness tended his return to where he could be.

 Muzzle the silence.
Denounce the delicate dance, the likely price would be too high for anything else.

Promise me promises.




#ITried

#TisTheSeason

I'm not too old;

Christmas Wishlist:

-Twitter. #IWantOne
-Restaurants to use plastic instead of styrofoam to go boxes. (It's killing the earth.)
-A white Christmas.
-gas prices to be lowered.
-My hair to be 4 inches longer.
-The courage to finish Walking Dead.
-My family to get out of debt.
-Make good genuine friends.
-Not be an only child.
-to be given back my crayons.
-to actually hang out with people that I write "We're playing over the summer you have no choice!" in their yearbook.
-a big dog. (great dane, german shepherd, etc.)
-A clean room.
-to know what to do with my life.
-a bed time.
-a Skip-it.

Wasted Shooting Star.

I wished on a shooting star.
A freaking star.

and i NEVER see them. it was wasted!! I know i know.
respect our president. President. I will even capitalize the word.

signs of the times?? whenever we have that lesson in sunday school i get scared out of my witts! and now facebook has its cup running over with statuses (statusi) about the second coming coming. (that wasn't intentional..) and it being a sign and all this.
i'm scared and i feel so small. In all honesty i just wanted to change the size so i had to throw the word small in there somewhere.

But it all comes down to the frame of mind I guess...but I hope Barack Husein Obama is very proud of himself.  I give him a pat on the back for spending more money than every president combined.  And killing jobs while trying to create them. America may feel dead, but death is not the end.

haven't you seen the walking dead? we'll come back.  everything will be okay!!


i really have no idea what got me on this subject.. maybe because all ive been doing is watching psych and walking dead.

nevermind.

SAIL--blame it on the A.D.D.

All I can Do.

I had never heard my dad cry like he did last night.

The occasional teary eyes came but never sobs, that was my moms job.  I had been lied to, being told everything was okay and perfect when things clearly weren't. It made me angry. I lashed out at my mom and she lashed back. Being told to leave the one place you're supposed to feel safe leaves you feeling hostile and empty. Taking her seriously must have been a mistake because I got up and left while she begged me to stay.

I slammed the door and ran for what seemed like miles because I could never get far enough.  My phone started to vibrate and I instantly knew it was my mom. I hurried and answered it just to hang up; so she knew I had seen her call. I felt free like a bird. Finally loose from the cruel world that had recently bound me.

I got to a park with happy children blindly playing in a vile creation called earth. More vibrating. Answer, hang up. I didn't know what else to do. How long did I expect to stay out here. I could go to Sydnie's, but that would be the first place they'd look.

Vibrating; answer; hang up. To my hesitation of admitting it, the world finally caught up to me. But not only did it catch up, it grasped me like a prisoner of war. A poor flightless bird; that once thought her life was her own. That she wasn't a game piece in someone else's scheme of Life. My tears changed to cries which then soon turned to sobs. In complete horror I collapse. Lift my knees up to my chin, burry my face, and cry. Because that's all I can do. More vibrating; another answer; one more hanging up.

I started walking back. Resenting the text messages and calls knowing they deserved a simple reply.  One last period of vibrating--I couldn't handle it. I answer and don't hang up. I pull my phone to my lips and utter a small "hello." I hear screaming and blubbers that I try and make out as words. And this is where my own personal hell comes in.

I hear my dad, weeping in lack of knowledge of what to do.  Me hurting my mom had indirectly killed my best friend emotionally.  I start to run now, yelling occasionally to try and get them to hear me but all I hear in reply is "I've had enough. I can't support my kids anymore, we are losing our house, our cars and we are out of money for food. I can't stand this anymore," over and over and over again in different variations of words meaning the exact same thing.

At last I reach my house. I can't run faster to the place I once couldn't get away from quick enough.  I jerk open the door and my dad is there. On the floor, weeping. Because of me. I had broken my family in a matter of moments. Me. The girl that loves being happy and knowing its a choice and I blew it. I broke something so fragile, and irreplaceable, it's almost impossible to fix.

Duct tape can't fix it. Only the reunion of hearts. I run to him and pull him in my arms; the former Chief of Police Officer, the toughest and most genuine man I know. I try and fix it. My mom walks in; I grab her too. I try my hardest to show them I care and my sorrow towards all this because it's all I can do.

And suddenly, things start to seem like they're becoming okay, like it didn't even matter in the first place, because in reality it probably didn't.

9. I Remember.

I remember being a sophomore. And thinking HighSchool was a never ending part of my life. I remember the first day of being a senior. Being so intimidated by my "authority". I remember my first day at Lone Peak.

I remember Junior year Sadie's. People that know me really well will know exactly who I am now. I remember moving on. I remember being an Indian in a group full of cowboys. I remember leaving to London two days later. 

I remember eating crab legs for the first time. And eating so many I got sick. I remember thinking I was so cool for liking sushi when I really hated it. I remember discovering artificially green foods are gross. 

I remember being a kid. I remember eating Popsicles as if they were a meal. I remember Skip-its and Baby Bottle Pops. I remember being so scared to jump off my waterfall into my pool that my mon bribed me with a Baby Bottle Pop. I remember California.

I remember the death of my social life that my parents called a "For Sale" sign. I was in 3rd grade and California was everything. I remember my 9th birthday cake was a Twinkie from a gas station--and I hate twinkies. I remember finally getting to Utah and wishing I was swimming on my birthday rather than driving. I remember meeting my first friend--Karina Fredrickson. 

I remember hating life and thinking something was wrong with me. I remember my mom kicking me out of the house and actually meaning it. Then begging me to say when I took her seriously. I remember the first day of being an only child.

I remember deciding being happy is a choice. I remember the day my music died. I remember when i decided to create my own symphony. My music is still playing, and I'm the conductor.

8. One Word.

Bologna. Elementary.  Akagi. Clear Creek. Squirrel. Up. Russell. Kohls. Shoes. Socks. Winter. Model. Yearbook. C+. Brown-Noser. Dane. Mustache. Curl. Ice. Pebble. Zupas. TBA. Healthy. Gross. Smell. Cologne. Hollister. Shack. Shrimp. Hawaii. Ocean. Dieing. Tombstone. Message.  Love. 9. California. Twinkie. Oooz. Puss. Eye. Pointy.


My brain is fried
#7hourshifttoday

Two Words.

"Thank you."

Two words don't usually mean a whole lot, except for these two. It's nice to hear them once in a while..especially while you're at work in a stressful environment and someone realizes the time you put into their meal.

Thank you can be a response for so many things--I just love it!

It was a short post,
thank you for reading.

7. This is a Direct Order.

Keep 

Calm 

and 

Be Happy.

(Wannabe "Keep Calm and blah blah blah" Poster. But lets be honest, being happier makes things better.)

It's a nice Quote.

Nice Quote:

"Every storm runs out of Rain."

-Gary Allen

Dear Reader.

A Letter to Mr. Nelson's Creative Writing Students,

You surround me and I applaud you.  I don't know how you do it,  I can never compare to any of you.  The way you write captivates me and makes me want to be better.

I still haven't posted a quote to my blog because I can't choose just one. There are so many!! Really. I am surrounded by authors.  If anyone is actually reading this, give yourself a pat on the back.  Cause you are unreal and are an inspiration to me.

Fall Break---I actually thought about my blog posts (being out of town (its a big deal)). I wrote poems and stories and post after post after post; All to be left in my drafts.  So what I ended up doing=Not being indie. a.k.a. being a tourist. a well thought out tourist mind you.

And that's all I'll ever be.  It may be a disappointment to Mr. Nelson. I try and be a good writer trust me.  But I just never seem to measure up.  Charlotte Charles, I Aint a Doll, Sally J Skinny Love, Understanding Man, all of You. You're such good writers I don't get it.  Nobody probably even reads this so who am I talking to?
Myself.

So Congratulations. You're amazing. :) Take pride in your writing.

Sincerely,  A Lost but hopeful Writer.

6. Mr. Nelsons Shopping List.

Bricks.

Duct Tape.

#tourist

Being a 90's Kid.

Do I even count? I was 6 when the 90's ended. It still doesn't mean my life wouldn't be complete without Mr. Feeny:

and all of Full House:

 
But we really can't forget Fresh Prince:

this one's a little inappropriate...i probably shouldn't have even considered posting it. but i did.

I really could go on and on. I love watching these reruns....so great.

5. *Death is not the End of me.

death; noun. the act of dying;  the end of life; the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism.

My great-grandma lived till the age of 97; and died at the age of 103.  She died at the age of 97 and lived till she was 103. Thinking about them hard, both statements make sense. 

Or maybe not.

I don't know.

Is the definition of being alive; breathing, eating, and sleeping? Or is it hoping, doing, dreaming, and even loving? We've been talking in class about knowing you're going to die but not being dead yet.  My brain is in shambles because I never know where to begin when talking or thinking about death. 

When do we consider ourselves dead? Is it when we can't do the things we love and enjoy life or when our physical heart stops beating?  thump thump. I'm not dead but I'm certainly not living.

You can die and still be alive, but you're only alive till you die. It's like the math statement (the one thing I remember from great Mr. Carrillo's geometry class) of how a square can be a rectangle but a rectangle cannot be a square... How do you think the rectangle feels? My brain feels like its dead.  

Death, Death, Death.

Did that make sense? Any sense whatsoever. Or did it just leave you feeling how I feel while reading one of those indie posts that everyone who's anyone loves and I have no idea what the heck they're talking about.

Because in all honesty, it confused me just trying to think about it. And I'm okay with not talking about death for the next year, so I'll just stick with my opinion being we only live once. My little uncreative opinion. YOLO.

It Must Just Be me.

A girl told me this morning she only had five minutes to get ready so she looks like crap and left the house less than ten minutes after she woke up.  She had her hair curled, makeup was flawless, and had a cute matching outfit on.

I on the other hand had plenty of time to get ready. I picked out a seasonal ugly sweatshirt to wear with some leggings and quickly braided my bangs to the side not wanting to do much with my hair.  Nonetheless being quite pleased with my appearance I went to school thinking I looked fine. 

Confused by the girl's situation, I thought about it.--Probably a little too much. But it really had me thinking.  Are we so caught up on what we look like, who we impress, or how we spend our spare time that we forget to just ease back and enjoy the party of life?

Obviously the girl had taken more than five minutes, it's impossible to get the amount of ready that she did in such a short amount of time.  (But that's just my opinion, she could be Wonder Woman for all I know.) But it was so important that she had the right image. Not conceded,  she doesn't need a lot of time for herself. Can be pretty easilly...I don't know. I'm an overthinker.
Party. Life is a party and it's meant to be enjoyed! Am I thinking the same as others? Or is it just me..



I don't get it.
It Must Just Be me.



Now here's something to lighten the slightly depressing mood I just created.

It somehow applies.

4. I'm Thinking about You.

I'm thinking about you like clouds think about 9.  Like purple thinks about green.  Like rain thinks about falling.  I'm thinking about you.

I'm thinking about you like fluoride thinks about teeth.  Like olympians think about victory.  Like carbon thinks about deoxidizing.  I'm think about you.

I'm thinking about you like light thinks about bulbs and like bulbs think about tulips and like my tulips think about yours.  I'm thinking about you.

I'm thinking about you like jocks think about sports.  Like sports think about balls and like balls think about bouncing.  I'm thinking about you.

I'm thinking about you like snow thinks about snowing, like grass thinks about growing, and like hoes think about hoeing.  I'm thinking about you.

I'm thinking about you like Nelson thinks about showing videos.  Like tourists think about sleeping.  Like bloggers think about blogging--I am think about you!

I'm thinking about you like counters think about sheep.  Like shepherds think about sheep, like sheep counters think about sleep.  I'm thinking about you.

I'm thinking about you like I've never though about anyone, I'm thinking about you.

4. *Not What I Expected

Creative Writing- Noun. Class where writers write creatively.
My stereotypical creative writing class was a room full of the kids who hang out at Starbucks and write poetry and novels in their spare time. A room where I would feel so out of place because I don't know how to speak indie.
But what our class ended up being was a room full of jocks (and a lot of them), normal people like me, stupid people that don't think before they say, and then a few of my stereotypical version creative writers.
I like it.

3. *Bring Me Back

Bring me back to being little.
Bring me back to playing--not hanging out.
Bring me back to looking forward to school.
Bring me back to thinking the world was my playground.

Bring me back to eating food and not worrying what it did to me.
Bring me back to loving life.
Bring me back to when it mattered what color toothbrush I got at the dentist.
Bring me back to childhood.

Bring me back to when I didn't care.
Bring me back to cooties.
Bring me back to recess.
Bring me back to me.

3. Fear is..

1. ride in a hot air balloon.
2. swim with sharks without a cage.
3. get a tattoo.
4. eat a ghost pepper.
5. shave all of my hair off.
6. donate all of my money.
7. run through a china store and break everything in sight.
8. splatter paint a grand piano.
9. punch certain people in the face.

What would the world be like if no one was afraid of anything?
There would sure be a lot more power hungry people and war, as well as more courageous and happy people. 

Above was a short list of things I would definitely do if I weren't so scared.  Granted, some of them would be completely impolite and would involve having the immaturity of a junior high boy, but they still involve courage and bravery.

It's weird to think that the small amount of things that we're afraid of determines so much of our lives. 

For example, I'm absolutely terrified of moths.  I can't help it, but whenever I see one I either scream and run away very fast or am completely scared to the point of not being able to move and I just panic.  You'd think a simple fear wouldn't effect me all that much. But sadly, that thought would be very wrong.  It prevents me from camping, taking walks at night, or even being outside in the evening with bright lights in the vicinity.

Fears are one of those things where they shouldn't have been invented. 

2.* Ronan. Stand Up 2 Cancer--2012

I can feel her emotion in the lyrics and could pick out the lyrics that his mom helped her with.  If you haven't read about this story its worth it, go read it. The basics of the story are this; She followed a blog of Ronan's mother and felt so emotionally attached to them that she decided to co write this song with his mother in honor of Ronan's fight for life and love for fun.
As this brought tears to my eyes my respect for Taylor Swift grew. Love her so much! God Bless Ronan's family and friends.

If you would like to read more about Ronan's story click here. A fair warning it will bring tears to your eyes, especially May 10, 2011; Where's Ronan. May we Stand Up 2 Cancer and find a cure to this awful disease.

2. Baby Don't Hurt Me.

Love is white lint on a black shirt.  Its one of those things that just happens and there is no way of preventing it.  It may be annoying, persistent, but at the same time a nice addition to your appearance.

Love is a thorny rose. The beauty of the flower overpowers the hurt of the thorn when you handle it in the wrong spot. Everyone wants it when its de-thorned.  No one wants the hurty part, just the beauty.

Love is letting your best friend cut your hair for practice and end up hating it.  But you still love them, you can't help it!

Love is an emotion. Of course.

Love is the closest thing we have to magic, its a reason that everyone wants it so bad.  Love makes us feel good and then turns around five minutes later and makes us feel awful.

Lastly,
Love is sacrifice. Knowing you have to be somewhere in 5 minutes but your younger sibling asks for a ride to a friends house.
We never know how much we love someone till we prove what we are willing to sacrifice for them.

1.*United By Hope

I am so happy and grateful I live in this country.  We have so many freedoms that aren’t even close to available in most countries in this world.  We are able to choose if we want to believe in God or whether we want to express our views on homosexuals or how we express ourselves.  It’s our choice! We can choose whatever we want. And anyone that restrains us from it is in the wrong; we can believe in what we choose to be right. 

We are so blessed to live in this country.  11 years ago on Tuesday was one of the worst tragedies in America's history.  The tragedy of 9/11 united us as a country and brought feelings of hope and sorrow to each of our hearts.  As we stretched out our hands to those who had lost loved ones we
 had in mind a change.   Subconsiously or not, we all were searching for a way to express our patriotism and support.  And that goal we had in mind is helping us to truly Unite in Hope which is the theme in which the Ground Zero Monument was built.  

Whether we like it or not, we are citizens of this great nation.  We are Americans and I am so honored to be recognized by that title. As Tuesday arrives may we take that day to remember those who are now at rest and honor them and their families with all of our respect.

September 11, 2001; Never Forget.

1. Humans

We are all human, whether some disagree or not. Everyone of us who breathes has characteristics of being human. Being human means you hurt, you feel, you laugh, you feel joy! We feel emotion; It's human nature.

When we see a child running out into the street you slam on your brakes;
It's human nature.
We hear an ambulance and silently pray the person in need is alright;
It's human nature.
We notice soemone homeless on the street and we want to help them;
It's human nature.

We all act a certain way, we can't help it; it's human nature.

I can't say it enough; it's human nature. We go about doing things a certain way that sets us apart from any other living thing anywhere. We cry, we want, we love, and sometimes we even kill--Humans can be terrible but turn around 5 minutes later and they can be saint.

We lie, we hurt, we steal things.
We love, we give, we help.

There has never been a more diverse series of living, breathing, things. But it's not our fault; It's human nature.

Let me introduce myself.

Let me try to introduce myself. How can we introduce ourselves without our name?  This prompt is impossible.  This thing says my name is Sam and that I'm a boy. But for all you know I could be a girl named Rebecca.  I like food, and sleep, and being happy.  You are starting to get to know a human being without knowing the basic knowledge of my existence.  Throughout the next few months all who read this will know so much about me but we will still be complete strangers.  The real me loves animals, food, and being with friends.  Having fun is my game of life and its cheating to be sad. 
This class is creative writing, and i presume to do well the requirements are to be creative and be a good writer.  And considering I'm not a good writer and am one of the least "creative" people to walk this planet, it might be a struggle.  But depending on your definition of creative that opinion could be different.  My definition is to be yourself, even when yourself isn't accepted.  Nothing is more different than an original person.  And I, Miss Lawrence am my own different, original person.