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You try to conceal it
It just breaks through
You try to put it out
The flame gets bigger
You try to hold it back
It always comes fourth
When it does break through
There are concequences
When its flame gets bigger
You get into trouble
When it comes fourth
You are punished
Hard to control
It’s such a harsh emotion
A parent mad with his child
A sibling annoyed with another
A friendship turned upsidedown
It will crush you
Kill your pure soul
Into a million pieces
It will make you cry
Make you yell
Make you regret
Make you fight
Make you die
Take the real you away
The kind you
The sweet you
The generous you
And replace it
What is Gray?What is Gray? Gray is a tiny, scampering mouse dragging its long tail, dark, rain filled clouds pouring down rain onto the Earth, and of course a scary ghost which came from the graveyard.
It smells like an attic full of toys and old photos, a stinky, dead rat covered in spider webs, and even the smell of rain on slippery concrete.
You can taste it in freshly cooked oysters, delicious Chinese cooked fish, and also in your mouth when you bite your tongue.
Gray sounds like an alpha wolf howling in the forest at midnight, hovering ghosts screaming wildly in the darkness of caves, and thunder that is booming in the dark, night sky.
It feels like annoying, fuzzy lint that flies with the wind, cold, wet rocks that you can find in rivers, and even really thick smoke that comes from forest fires.
I feel gray when I am gloomy, like when it’s a rainy day in school and the wind is blowing hard, when I am suspicious, like when I’m trying to figure out where the ball landed when I play
The Blazing StarThe Blazing Star
So much depends upon
a yellow blazing star
glazed with shining sparkles
beside the black universe.
Recipe for ImaginationRecipe for Imagination
Start out with a whole lot of thoughts, add 2 gallons of wildness, and 11⁄2 pound of fun. Mix until some images appear.
Mix in 3 cups of love, 5 cups of drama, and 2 cups of art with a pinch of music. Stir until you hear singing and see dancing.
You’ll need 6 cups of nightmares, 14 cups of dreams, and 16 cups of ideas. Put in 2 quarts of memories, 11 cups of fantasy, and 21⁄2 cups of adventures. Let it sit until you hear a flap flap from the wings of a flying pig in your pot.
You’ll even need 2 cups of sleeping, 9 cups of smiles, and 9 cups of evil that goes,“mu-ah ha ha ha ha!” Optional: mix in any extra things that you would like to think about.
Mix until you hear a poof! Cook at any heat and anytime you want. Let it cool after cooking. Make sure its magical. Finally! You’ve made yourself a batch of imagination!
WTWM AT Part 2Part 2: Finn
As I opened the door to the treehouse, I looked over to Fionna. The expression on her face was absolutely hilarious. Fionna stood there in the doorway clutching onto the door frame with her mouth wide open. Cake stood just behind her with her eyes wide open, grasping onto Fionna's skirt. Me and Jake were just chuckling to ourselves.
"I didn't know that your treehouse would look so much the same…" Fionna said, seeming pretty surprised.
"Heh, well, you sure do look surprised," Jake said in between laughs and I nudged him in the side.
Fionna finally noticed that her mouth was hanging open and she immediately closed it. She blushed. Cake slightly giggled but then Fionna nudged Cake in the side.
"Ladies first," I said, and Fionna and Cake walked inside, while me and Jake followed just behind.
"Wow… it looks so…" Fionna started.
"Messy? Boy-ish? Weird?" Jake questioned, and I nudged him in the s
The Talent ShowThe Talent Show
I’ve always loved standing out amongst others, being the “star” of something since kindergarten. To do better than others, to be unique, or to stand out in any way would make me have a good feeling inside. Even if someone called me weird, I took that as a compliment. To be weird is to be different, and to be different, in a way, is to be unique or standing out. This is probably why I liked the book, Stargirl, so much. But sadly, I could never accomplish to do so, to be different. I would always remain “ordinary,” though I didn’t like it that way. I would never get involved in a lot of things due to my shyness, nervousness, and terror that I might ultimately fail at something. That was all until fourth grade.
It all started on an ordinary school day, a Monday. We were finishing up lunch, and that was when Shira brought the topic of the talent show up, since it was being mentioned in our school news.
“So, do you gi
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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