Don’t you love the kids who make us laugh,

Who give without asking back?

Who goof off with those closest to them,

Who screw up again and again?

Don’t you love the kids who try to be chill,

But you see a smile break through, still?

The chaotic kids, so full of life,

It’s love or hate, in the blink of an eye.

Don’t you love the kids, unafraid,

Who will gladly look like a fool,

Who are so unashamedly lame

That it makes them cool?

The land of Great Lake Erie

And Oliver Hazard Perry.

These beaches tell of courage.

“Don’t give up the ship!” they said.

Pennsylvania is my job at the small grocery store,

And the elderly and disabled

Who come through the door

With those willing to help them out,

Who can always give more.

Pennsylvania is the church buried in the woods,

With only twenty members

Who go there every Sunday and Tuesday

To remember

How we’re saved.

Our Savior died on a tree

To take the sins of you and me.

We walk in faith,

We live in love,

Because of this great sacrifice

From heaven above.

This is the Pennsylvania I see

From the small town of Harborcreek.

These woods may be different for another,

But no matter what,

Pennsylvania is like no other.

Am I really giving up?

Take the pieces of my puzzle,

Throw them in the air,

But hold on

To what's still there.

I want to create.

I want to inspire,

To make someone's eyes

Rise a little higher.

I want to be me

And help you to be you.

I want to be free

And free others, too.

It's not about likes,

I just want to fly.

Hold onto that dream

And I'll be just fine.

And the wind that chases clouds away.

I am rising sun and falling snow,

A peaceful place for you to go,

The world outside your window.

New failure

What we want to change

Always makes a point to stay

What we need to stay

Is bound someday to change

Time flows too fast

They'll fall away

They'll never last

Moving on without us

No one left to trust

When we're stuck here

Trapped by our fear

Running in circles alone

Trapped in this box we call home

Surrounded by the rolling racing tide

But we can't enjoy the ride

Right here we stay stuck

The kids who never grew up

They say we'll learn and grow 

How do they know

They mock all of the adults

Who act like kids

Who won't give their all

Don't know how to exist

How long before that's you or me

Just when will we be

The kids who never grew up

Still we keep going

In the box, our own current flowing

The perfect future

We haven't found

Dusty wings brush the ground

Pulling, hoping, running, falling

Rushing, rising, living, flying

Maybe we didn't grow up 

Maybe we're still stuck

In our quirky reality

But we can still be

The kids who rose above

The kids who never gave up

miserable? I'm ruining my childhood. I'm letting my family down. “I’m worthless,” I whisper. The words feel too dense for the air, falling to the cement floor like bricks. Maybe because I said it out loud, or the intense emotion just ran its course, but either way I begin to calm down, my tattered breath returning to normal. I look up and unclench my fists, then take a deep breath and stand up on shaky legs. I survey myself in the dirty mirror that leans against a stack of totes full of clothes and books. I got the mirror off of the side of the road a few months ago because I thought I could make something cool out of the glass. My reflection looks almost as worn as the once-elegant trim. There are faint bags under my eyes, and my skin is sticky and gross, besides the fact that I’m beet red. My dirty blonde hair is a mess, and my arms look thin under my big t-shirt. I shrug. I look like the protagonist of a very dramatic movie. Pre glow up, of course. I giggle at that. Yeah, I’m a hot mess, but I’m not in a coming of age movie yet. Plus, I don’t have the right body type to be the protagonist of anything. Most days I feel too small for my body. Sighing, I head inside to refill my water bottle.

I pause outside for a moment, letting the cool air calm my nerves, maybe freeze out the rest of my dramatic thoughts. I’m careful not to let the house's front door squeak, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. The only light I can see is the dim glow from the lamp in the kitchen. It's enough to illuminate my younger sister, Alex, who is sitting at the table wearing a red t-shirt. “Hey, Brooks,” she says nonchalantly.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Am I not allowed to eat cheese balls at 10:30pm?” Her green eyes twinkle, and her high ponytail looks surprisingly bouncy for this time of night. 

I can’t help laughing. “It isn’t wise,” I point out.

“Eh, I’ll live. What were you doing in the garage?”

“You know I like to craft in the garage.” That isn’t a lie. All of my supplies are out there since it has more space and less carpet than our shared bedroom. I never said I was crafting now.

“Weirdo,” she says as I make my way back to the door, water bottle filled.

I stick my tongue out as I escape, still smiling for a moment. Then I let out a sigh. The whole exchange was so normal. She doesn’t know anything is wrong. To be fair, I have way better control when I’m with people. At least, over things like this. Truthfully, I might flip out about little things, like, multiple times a week. I really can’t hold it together. But I can hide some things. I don't tell anyone that I feel like life is running away. That I think everything I do and say is wrong and my existence itself is a waste of time and energy. No, I just complain loudly for entire afternoons about schoolwork, or freak out when I can't find the shirt I want to wear, or cry for two hours when my sister says something even slightly offensive. I might as well scream from the rooftops that I’m stressed. If I were nicer, I wouldn’t. I feel horrible when my mood affects the rest of my family, but I have no self control. I have to let my feelings out. If only I could tell them the reason just as easily. It's not like I'm really trying to hide anything, because I can't, I just feel like they don’t get it. I’m screaming, but nobody really hears what it is that I’m saying.

Still, maybe Alex doesn’t know that anything is wrong because when I spend time with her nothing is wrong. Much as it hurts that nobody knows what’s going on, sometimes I need a reality check. She doesn’t give me the time to be worried or confused because with her I'm too busy giggling over something stupid or we’re mercilessly skipping each other’s turns in Uno. She’s my bright side, my chill pill, my personified therapy. My sister is my best friend. 

It's just that if I'm being completely honest, I don’t know if she’d even care that I’m upset. That's what scares me most.

I know I’m being stupid. Why should she care? There’s nothing to care about. I’m inventing problems. It’s an illusion for me alone. She has her own life, and probably her own problems. She is the one with the learning disorder, after all. I’ve seen her crying to Mom about her struggles, though she’s usually strong. Gosh, I’m so selfish. I should be worrying about her instead of being upset that she isn’t worrying about me when there’s nothing to worry about. You see what I mean by dumpster fire now, right?

Putting my complicated thoughts and instinct to keep breathing way too fast aside, I reenter the garage and force myself to focus back on my tablet, which is open to a YouTube dance tutorial. Dancing is probably one of the reasons I'm even in this state of mind right now, but it's also something I love to do. I'm dumb like that. I dance all the time for fun, but it's not like I'm any good at it. Now's as good a time as any to change that, though. And if I give my stupid fat body some excercise in the process, that won't hurt, either. Dancing is only one of my many projects (sometimes I feel unaccomplished and empty if I don't have enough short term goals to work on), and lately it's been hard to keep up with all of my endeavors plus school. That's not even to mention family or friends. My entire life feels off kilter, but I really do love to dance, even if the garage is a small practice space. So I turn up the music and focus. 

I'm currently trying to learn "Can't We Just Leave The Monster Alive?" by TXT. I just need to hear, “It’ll be alright, alright, alright,” because right now my whole body is telling me that it will most certainly not be alright. But I don't have to think as I follow the screen propped up against the mirror and the beats playing in my ears. All I have to do is move my body in a certain way, a bounce here and a twist there, and suddenly I'm dancing, and then it's just me and the music and the sweat on my back. And for a while I truly feel alive.

That's until I try to perfect the pre-chorus. I replay Yeonjun’s key footwork around fifteen times, but I just can’t keep the steps in my head. They’re probably bouncing off of the same suffocating wall that keeps reflecting all of my thoughts back onto each other in one big jumble. After another ten minutes or so, I’ve gotten exactly nowhere. Glaring at my reflection in the mirror, I decide that I will keep going until I get it. Twenty minutes later, I’m kicking the wall in defeat.

I decide to work on another end of the world issue instead: crafting. Funny story on that:

"Hey, Brooks, just coming to check on you," Dad said yesterday. He ducked to avoid hitting his head on the hanging light as he entered the garage. A breeze followed him through the door, cooling my face as I hurriedly turned off the phone and went to stand by my craft desk. I pretended I was busy with the glue gun, but it really wasn't even plugged in. "How're the crafts coming?"

"Good," I said casually, even as my mind flickered to the Etsy order I had yet to start.

"You're doing that show with Aunt Dede on Saturday, right?"

Shoot. Shootshootshoot.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Yup!" Or did forget and completely screwed myself. Whatever.

"You've been working hard out here lately. You should be pretty well prepared."

"Uh-huh! Definitely!" Nope. I was not prepared. Not at all. In fact, I was doomed.

I grabbed the phone to text Aunt Dede as soon as Dad left. Scooching myself up to sit on the hood of our old lawnmower, I typed, "R we still doing the craft fair Saturday?"

Her response came through seconds later: "Of course! I'll pick u up at 8."

"K, how much are you bringing?"

"I was going to do 20 hats and 10 paintings. Why?"

"Just trying to figure out how much I should bring." 

'And make,' I thought as I sent the message.

"I'd say around 20 key chains and 20 headbands. Are u doing shirts?"

I bit my lip, drumming my fingers on the back of the phone. I had five key chains made, and the materials for at least fifteen more. I also had the decorations for the headbands, but not enough plastic bases. T-shirts are fun to decorate, but I wasn't sure I had time. Six days to make fifteen key chains and twenty headbands was bad enough. I'd also need to buy more plain shirts. It probably wouldn't be worth it. Screw that. I could do it. It should've been started already, anyway. "Yeah, will 10 shirts be ok?" I typed.

"Sounds perfect."

I smiled. Perfect. I could do this.

So now I set to work. One key chain, four headbands, and a few paint stains on my jeans later, I'm so tired I can hardly stand up without wanting to die on the spot. Besides that, the garage is freezing. I reluctantly trudge back to my bedroom, where I find Alex fast asleep. The wise decision would be to go to bed myself, but do I? Nope. Instead I find myself eating chocolate ice cream out of the carten while watching YouTube at one in the morning. Sighing, I finally turn the device off. I didn't care about anything when it was on, but now I have to–ugh–think. Why am I so stupid? One in the morning on YouTube, yet I can't bear to keep working on things that need done. If I put so much pressure on myself that it causes this weird anxiety thing (which it shouldn't), I could at least hold myself to my standard. I'm being all dramatic, yet I'm still so light on myself. Some days–or nights–the world feels impossible. 

I don't have much trouble falling asleep, my body tired and my mind quickly falling back into the digital world. Of course. I'm pathetic. I do have lots of trouble waking up in the morning, but I eventually drag myself out of bed. It's an hour later than I want it to be, which fills my chest with a tight frustration, but I push past it and open my computer to begin classes.

I realize it's open to a coding screen. That's the other thing I've been working on.

I was headed to the garage with my phone last week when I glanced down and quickly changed my plans. I saw a text from my friend, Zara. "You busy?" She asked. 

I had a feeling I knew where this was going, so I replied with a, "Nope!" Sure enough, I was soon riding my bike down the road, my heart thumping a little too hard. The sky was bright, yellow leaves crossing my path as I pedaled harder. Cold air snapped at my cheeks, and I breathed it in happily.

My heart beat even faster when I came to the end of the road. As always, I hesitated at the light, even when there were no cars coming. I wondered if I should turn back, but I didn't. Eventually I rolled into the busier road and made my way down, towards the park. I flinched every time I heard the whirr of tires behind me, and I could barely see past the tangle of blonde hair flying into my eyes, but the speed made me feel alive.

Zara was already on the swings when I swerved through the gate, skidding on the gravel. "Yo!" I called with a smile, half waving as I hopped off of the seat and put my kickstand down. "Nice hair," I added, observing the purple and blue mixed into her rich brown locks that peaked out from underneath her beanie.

"Thanks, I died it myself," she said airily, brushing it off of her shoulder.

"No you didn't," I told her.

"Fine. They're clips."

"That explains the beanie."

"What? It's cold out."

"Uh-huh." I sat down on the swing beside hers. "So-ome things never cha-ange!" I sing-songed. I knew the clips were horribly scattered on top of her hair, just like she had worn them when we were nine. That had been when I went to public school. Since I started cyber schooling this year, I haven't seen as much of Zara, so it was a relief to know she was still the same goofball.

"Ugh, not Frozen!" Zara protested.

"Come on, you used to have a Frozen backpack," I reminded her.

"Used to. Meanwhile you still have a Hello Kitty T-shirt."

"Hello Kitty is cool, and I bet that backpack is still in your closet."

"I hate you," she informed me. We laughed, our voices echoing across the deserted playground. I kicked hard at the ground as Zara started playing music off of her phone. Soon I was going much higher than she was, practically flying away from the world. For a moment I envisioned the chain breaking. I would just fly forever. I shared this idea with Zara, and she laughed at me. "That would hurt," she commented.

I giggled. "Whatever."

Truthfully, I felt like I was flying already. The park is one of the few places I'm allowed to go by myself, let alone actually have the means to get to. Going there with Zara feels like freedom. With how I've been feeling lately–stressed beyond imagination even though I don't actually have anything interesting going on in my life, trapped in my own mind, boxed in by my stupid temper–freedom is something I'm learning to cherish.

"Oh! I saw this thing online, you have to do it!" Zara exclaimed after a few moments of swinging along to the music without talking.

"Do what? I'm not breaking any laws, ok." I giggled.

"Shut up, I'm trying to explain!"

"Sorry." I held my hands up in surrender, then nearly fell off of the swing. Zara snorted as I hurriedly regripped the chains. "Go on," I said casually.

"It's a coding competition for high schoolers. The winner gets free classes and a trip to LA!"

"Seriously? That's so cool!" I said, designs already coming together in my head.

"You have to do it," Zara said again.

I smiled. Why not? "Duh!" I agreed.

"I'll send you the link so you can look at it."

"You're the best."

We parted twenty minutes later, each heading in our respective direction for the long ride home. I felt light as a feather, full of sunshine and joy.

So that's another thing I've got going on. The days are taking on a regular schedule. Wake up, get mad about waking up late, school, meltdown (some days worse than others), guilt, coding (everyone assumes I'm doing homework on the computer; they think I work harder than I do), go outside if it isn't dark or raining (I'm beginning to hate the dark), dance (usually only for twenty minutes), crafts, watch YouTube, bed. Time is ticking away. Rain pounds on the garage's metal roof more often than not, making me feel even more anxious.

I never get everything that I want done. I always feel like I'm drowning, but in reality I'm fine. My headbands and key chains are getting sloppier. Every time I think I might be getting good at dancing, I look in the mirror and realize I'm still as awkward as ever. As for coding, progress is slow. It's been a hobby of mine ever since I took an online class for fun two years ago, but I've never tried anything as big as this contest.

I guess it makes sense that I'm stressed. It's clear that what I'm doing is too much, but it shouldn't be. I love these things. I want to be able to handle them. I will be able to handle them. Still, I hate this feeling. I know I'm wasting my time being miserable and that scares me, because I only have so much time. One day I'll wake up and be in the 'twenty years later' epilogue, a grown woman with actual responsibilities. I want to be a kid while I can, but I don't know how to escape myself. I try to be carefree, but sometimes it feels forced and leaves me even more stressed. It's like there's a gaping chasm inside of me, blocking the way to what I really want, whatever that is at this point. One wrong step and I'll go plummeting down into the void.

In the end, it's a tiny thing that sends me crashing down. I'm trying to perfect the chorus to "Can't We Just Leave the Monster Alive?", but I keep getting stuck on a certain part. I repeat it over and over. And over and over and over. And– I have no control over my feet. I hear plastic and metal crashing together as I stumble into my desk, sending craft supplies flying everywhere. I don't even hit that hard, it barely even hurts, but it's enough to make the tension that's been building for weeks light up as rage in my chest. 

I choke out a scream, wildly tearing things off of the desk and hurtling them across the room. Buttons, plastic headbands, tape, copper wire, it's all bouncing off of the piles of junk. My eyes are burning. My throat is burning. Everything is burning. I wish I could throw harder. I wish I were stronger. I yank the glue gun's cord out of the wall and throw that, too. A sickening crack fills the air and I look up just in time to see cracks like spider webs spread over the surface of the mirror. I'm frozen for a moment, staring at my fragmented reflection. 

"Are you ok, sweetie?" It's Mom. She cracks the door open and peeks through, concern clouding her brow when she notices the craft supplies littering the already cluttered room.

I humm out a reply, but it doesn't sound all that convincing. Especially since I'm crying the next second. And trust me, I would prefer to not be crying right now, but the tears are there anyway, tickling the inside of my head and spilling out of my eyes. No matter how hard I might try, I can't hold them back. And so I stand there ugly crying in front of the broken mirror. I never could hide my emotions.

Mom doesn't say anything else as she enters the garage, sidestepping clutter to come and wrap me up in her sturdy arms. I remain stiff for a moment, my movements delayed by the thoughts running through my head. It wasn't even twenty minutes ago that Mom was yelling at me about my horrible attitude towards Alex. Guilt washes over me as I lean into her embrace. She's so soft and warm. Why do I have to make things so hard for her?

She holds me like that until my tears subside. My back is a little stiff by the time she pulls away, and then it's only to take hold of my shoulders and look me in the eye. I'm having trouble looking back at her brown eyes, so full of compassion and well-concealed weariness.

"I'm sorry I yelled earlier," she says gently.

"Sorry for being crappy," I reply, sniffling.

"I get that you're stressed. Life can be…a lot. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"It wasn't your fault." Because it wasn't. It was my fault. I was the one making everything difficult. "Mom, what's wrong with me?"

"I think you're overwhelmed with a lot of things right now. And I think you might not be the best at handling those emotions."

I let out a wet snort at that. "No duh."

I expect her to lecture me, point out all of my mistakes, tell me how to make it better but I still won’t be able to change anything. She doesn't. She doesn't say anything for a while, just takes my hand and gently rubs the back of it. "It won't always be like this. You're so much more than you think you are. You're going to be ok."

On the one hand, they sound like generic, empty words. She can't possibly know that anything will get better, and I like to think I have a fairly realistic perception of myself. Still, I want to believe her. Because she sounds so sure, so sincere. And she's looking at me with love, not judgment or even much pity. "I love you, Brooks. You're so loved. And that has nothing to do with your performance." And that was it, the words that break my resolve, crumble my walls. Finally the pieces clicked into place.

Fresh tears burn my eyes, and I have no choice but to bury my face in Mom's shoulder, letting the soft fabric of her blouse cushion me. She giggles, patting my head and then hugging me some more. 

We pull apart at the sound of Alex screaming from inside the house. "MOM! HOW LONG DO I COOK THE FRICKIN' HAM FOR?"

"Ham?" I ask, immediately perking up from how I was moments ago.

"Your sister's helping, so don't get your hopes up," Mom laughs, getting up to go assist her.

I laugh too, and then feel Mom's eyes settle on me, a fond smile on her face. "You good now?"

I shrug. "Better. Thanks, Momma."

I stare at the door for a few moments after Mom leaves, then turn around to assess the damage… and let out a verbal groan. The mere sight of the garage is overwhelming. It isn't going to fix itself, though. I gingerly pick up a piece of glass from the floor, careful not to cut my finger on the sharp edge. I can see my left eye staring back at me, bloodshot and shiny from crying. I hold the piece back a little and smile without opening my mouth, watching the dimples appear on either cheek. I don't look amazing, but I look alive. And that's the thing, isn't it? I'm still alive. And there's a lot more to my life than what's going on in my mind. 

I think back over the last month, over the good points instead of bad. Laughing with Alex. Swinging with Zara. Teasing Dad. Hugging Mom. Sunshine in between the clouds. Wind on my cheeks and stars in my eyes. People I love by my side. I'm loved. I'm loved by so many people. They might not understand every thought I have, and I might not be able to articulate everything, but they do care. Between all of the business, or maybe because of it, they make my life beautiful. 

It took me a while to realize it, but rain makes things grow. The darker a night is, the brighter the stars are. I might be a little bit of a disaster, but I'm not alone. I don't know anything about anything, but maybe learning is what makes life exciting.

My problems don't all disappear in a flash. This isn't a fairytale. There are still bad days, lots of bad days. Sometimes I kick myself back to square one, maybe even lower than that, but every time I make it back up. The light is definitely shining through. I might not be perfect, but I think I'm going to be alright.

Full of bittersweet memory.

When I found the melody of our summer

Amid cold and frigid winter.

A new dream unlocked inside of me,

An anticipation,

The culmination of

Everything I love,

A wonder for life.

I was ready to learn to fly

The day my wings began to grow,

Unfolding under winter snow,

Verses floating in my mind,

Magic I could almost find.

Puzzle pieces fall together

In this preview for warmer weather.

Life is not just memory,

But present joy,

The joy to breathe,

Every moment getting higher.

Passion burns in me like fire.

I still remember broken nights,

But on and on and on I’ll fight,

If only for the days like this,

When cold holds off,

When warm resists,

When highs and lows of adrenalin

Leave me in the place I’m in.

I don’t want to be

Crippled by a dream.

I want to be a daughter,

Making my parents proud.

I want to be a sister,

Giving my siblings smiles.

I want to be a friend,

Giggling through the night.

I want to be an encouragement,

Picking others up.

I want to be a Christian,

Living in the light.

I want to be a human,

Living vibrantly.

Creating magic

In the world around me.

I don’t want to miss a moment,

Focusing on only one thing.

I don’t want to be alone

In my world of beauty.

I want to write.

I want to draw.

I want to blog.

I want to dance.

I want to sing.

I want to have fun.

I want to smile.

I want to talk.

I want to laugh.

I want to help.

I won’t be

Crippled by a dream.

I will be a human.

I will write, draw, blog, dance, and sing.

I will have fun, smile, talk, laugh, and help.

I will live vibrantly.

Never growing old.

Ever rising passion, 

Simple wonder at the world.

Age 

Is just a number

Maybe 

We can choose it.

Old and wise,

Young and vibrant,

What if

We could have it all? 

What if

There were no limits?

     Charlie, who sat on Betty’s other side, was talking on and on about the anatomy of a polar bear, brushing back his messy brown hair. He was tall and lean with frosty blue eyes. Despite the fact that he was a total nerd, all of the girls at school insisted that he was hot. I didn’t see it.

     I glanced back to see that Georgia, Charlie’s twin, was patiently translating what her brother said into non-sciency terms for little Fred, who wanted to be a scientist. He was staring at her with round blue eyes, hanging on every word with his mouth partly open. Georgia gestured with her delicate hands, silver bracelets sliding around as she talked. She was an angel, and there was something odd about that. I’d known her my whole life, but I still didn’t know her. I wondered what was beneath the surface.

     “Hey!” I shouted as Nicolas slammed into the back of my seat and jostled my sketchbook. “Watch it!”

     He didn’t respond, instead trying to get Fred into a headlock. In return, Fred punched him. I groaned and rolled my eyes as the boys continued to wrestle in the back seat. Grandma and Grandpa kept up a jolly conversation in the front.

     So now you’ve met the cousin clan. It was always like this when we all came to stay with our grandparents in New York for Christmas: chaos. Betty was my sister; she and I lived with our parents in Florida the rest of the year. The twins were also from Florida. Fred lived in Kentucky and Nicolas in Ohio. We all came to our grandparents' house every year for a month in winter. Hence the chaos.

     "Stop it! I want to hear about the polar bears!" Fred yelped.

     "Nerd!" Nicolas taunted.

     I turned my attention back to the window, tuning the boys out as we passed an elaborate nativity scene. I focused on Mary's glass face. It was carved into a delicate smile, her eyes closed. I wondered how it would really feel to be in the scene. 

     "You know, kids," Grandma said, right on cue, "Mary must have been the bravest woman ever to live. Imagine being the Savior's mother!" Grandma said the same thing every year when we passed the new nativity. It always made me think. How had Mary felt?

     Two days later I was sitting in the corner of a church sanctuary. Kids were running laps and bouncing balls in the room that unfolded before me. Their loud voices echoed under the high ceiling. Adults were chatting and laughing merrily. I could see soda spilled on the floor near the pizza table; cookie crumbs litteredhe gray carpet. My sketchbook was open in my lap. I scribbled a few lines down as I noticed two kids chasing each other with a spoon. The kids brushed through the front of the church and I watched as May fell from the nativity in front of the pulpit. I hesitated, then got up to fix the display. The ceramic figure was cold in my hand. I turned her over, contemplating.

     "You're Anne's granddaughter, right?" a voice asked from behind me. There stood a woman about my mom's age with dimpled cheeks.

     My face turned red as I nodded. "Someone knocked this over," I explained.

     "Gotcha," she smiled. "Anything you found particularly special about it?"

      "What?" my brain always seems to work a little slowly in conversations with unfamiliar people.

     "You looked thoughtful; I was wondering why," she shrugged.

     "Just making sure it isn't broken," I said quickly, my face still hot.

      At that moment a little boy started screaming about someone taking his juice box.

     "Hang on," the woman told me, rushing away to help the boy, who I assumed was her son.

     Once she left, I had time to think. Nobody had ever asked me what I was thinking about. Ever. My mind was a veil, my thoughts and questions hidden from the outside world. Nobody ever tried to remove the veil. Not me. Not anyone else. Someone noticing and outright asking what I was thinking about was new territory. Maybe it was a special opportunity.

     "Anyway," I said the moment the woman returned, " I was just wondering how Mary must've felt." I was proud of myself for getting the sentence out before I lost courage.

     The woman chuckled, "She must've leaned on God's grace a lot."

     Now I was picturing some god dancing ballet. "Grace?" I ventured.

     "Giving us what we don't deserve. God probably gave Mary peace despite the crazy situation."

     "Isn't that called mercy?"

     "Mercy is not giving us what we do deserve. How much of the story do you know?"

     I shrugged, "Isn't it a classic story?"

     "Do you know why baby Jesus is our Savior?"

     "Wasn't it because he… actually, no, I don't know," I realized, blushing.

     "He was born through a sinful woman into a sinful world. Everyone deserved to die. The world is still like that today. When He grew up, Jesus took the punishment for our sons by dying on a cross. You might've heard about that around Easter before. If you trust in Jesus, you can have mercy and he'll give you grace when you need it."

     I stared at the woman, skeptical. "Can the world really be that bad?"

     "Think of all the world's problems: war, terrorism, murder. It can absolutely be that bad. Think about your life. Have you ever done something wrong?"–I nodded—"Then you've sinned."

     "Is it always a big deal, though?" I was feeling uncomfortable.

     "Not compared to some things, but it is compared to the spotless world that God intended," the woman said.

     I shrugged, "I guess."

     "Give it some thought," she advised. Just then the kid started telling again and the woman disappeared in the chaotic room. I set Mary down and wandered back to my corner. 

     The world doesn't change in a day. Mine didn't. I nearly forgot about the encounter, but reminders kept popping up. I began to wonder at the lyrics of Joy to the World and other classic songs. I stumbled across a devotional for 25¢ while searching for gifts at the thrift store. I found a gospel tract in the mall bathroom. 

     One night, a few days before Christmas, I couldn't sleep. I reread the tract, flipped through the devotional, and played gospel songs in my earbuds on repeat. I was only getting more curious, so eventually I tiptoed past Betty and Georgia, down the hall, and into the living room. The TV sat on top of a cabinet full of movies and old tapes. Buried behind the Harry Potter series was something else, though: an old, dusty Bible that had belonged to my great-grandmother. I cracked open the ancient spine and flipped to a random book. John seemed good. I sat against the wall, partially concealed by the big tree with the popcorn and mismatched ornaments. I read by the pinkish glow of the lights. And I read. And I read some more. I made the choice that night.

     Fast forward a year. We're here looking at the ice sculptures again. Fred is on his own trying to understand Charlie's words as Georgia is oddly silent. I wonder what's going on in her head.

     "You're quiet," I say, twisting in my seat.

     She shrugs.

     "Want to get out of this chaotic car? It's fine if not."

     "Sure, that sounds good."

     I yell up to Grandpa, and he lets us out, agreeing to pick us up at the nativity in a while.

     "What are you thinkin about?" I venture as we make our way down a lane of frozen candy canes.

     "Nothing really, just… I don't know. I feel sort of invisible," she giggled.

     "I get that. I used to feel like all I ever did was wonder about people, but I couldn't interact with them."

     Georgia snorts.

     "Not just real people, either. I always wondered how Mary felt. I mean, she was real, but like… not contemporary."

     "I bet she was scared. At least if she was halfway human. All of that pressure to be some saint… yikes."

     "Maybe. I still wonder about a lot of things, but I think I know how Mary felt. I think she felt full, knowing that God saw her and saved her and that she had a purpose, you know? I think she felt heard."

     By now we're back at the nativity.

     "You lost me," Georgia laughs.

     I glance thoughtfully at Mary's statue. "How much of the story do you know?" I ask.

Mirror, mirror, go away.

Don’t ruin me, don’t waste the day.

Mirrored wall breaking down,

I think at last I hit the ground.

fiercer until she thought her body would explode. She opened her mouth to cough or scream, but was met with the thick taste of rot. She writhed, kicking her arms and legs with the little strength she had left as the invisible enemy pursued her. It was no use, no matter which she turned, it was all the same. All black. All painful. Her mind was racing like a guinea pig on its wheel, so fast that she couldn’t catch any of the thoughts. Tears stung her eyes. Everything hurt. The world was spinning. That was when she saw a murky, green-brown light. She wasn't thinking at all, all she knew or cared about was reaching that light. Her own body was a blur as she thrashed with all her might. At last she bobbed up into blinding sunlight, coughing fiercely and gasping for air. She fell under again almost immediately, but kicked her way up once again. The water almost seemed angry, though. She was only able to hack out one strained shriek for help before it forced her under again. This time she stopped fighting. The world was already dark. Now it was going numb, too. 

"Are you sure that's all you remember? Sarah asks as Kayla finishes retelling the story.

"Uh huh,” Kayla replies in a hollow tone. "After that I woke up on the beach and you were there, and we started talking. You mentioned a friend named Kayla and I thought that was familiar. You know what happened since then." She says it all without any emotion, fiddling with the pink petals of a nearby flower as she talks. They are hidden in Sarah's garden, which is between Mrs. Wilson's house and the shed that serves as Sarah and Kayla's bedroom. The shed is tucked back into the dry weeds where nobody notices it. Because nobody ever goes back there, the garden is a bit secret. The reason it has to be secret is because clean water is scarce in the town. It needs to be brought in from other places, but it's getting scarce there, too. Not only does Sarah need to share her rations to make the flowers grow, she needs to protect the flowers from the toxic rain. Because of these inconvenient factors, gardening is illegal. Sarah can't give up her garden, though. It's the only place where she feels like she can breathe, both literally and mentally. Now sunlight is slanting through the leaves and landing on the rusty bench where Sarah and Kayla sit. Sunflowers are growing up to their left, and the ground ahead is carpeted in purple. Two white butterflies are playing in the air, and a bird chirps not far away.

"I know what happened from there up until you saw those butterflies and said they reminded you of something. What was it?" 

“I don't know.”

"Well, think! Don't you want to remember?" Sarah presses gently. Kayla shruggs.

"Hey, I get that knowing can be hard. I know how my parents died, and now I'm afraid of fire, but I'd still rather have that than just cluelessness."

Kayla is silent. 

"Do you want to live in the dark?"

"I really don't care." 

"Do you care about anything?"

“No.”

“I should've known, I guess. Ever since I met you, you haven't smiled once. You're beautiful, but you’d be so much prettier if you smiled.” Sarah pauses thoughtfully.

Kayla knows what she wants to ask, but she is hesitant. "Do you think I have a personality?"

Sarah doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to be rude, but Kayla needs her to answer honestly. "I think you could have one,” is all she can offer. 

"I knew I didn't,” Kayla states almost matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry.”

“But you think I could?" There is almost a hint of emotion in her tone. The tiniest glint of hope. "Of course, who's stopping you?" 

"I don't know. Somebody."

"What?" 

"I think... I think I used to have a personality. I used to care. I can just barely геmember what it felt like. I want it back, but I just... can't. Something won't let me." 

"Kayla! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Sarah asks, excited. 

Kayla shrugs."What's the point?"

"The fact that you want it proves there's still something there! Whatever is holding you up,

we can work past it. Nothing can block you from being yourself!" Sarah exclaims, her brown eyes sparkling passionately.

Kayla just stares into space.

“Pease. Just try,” Sarah pleads more gently. 

Kayla continues to sit perfectly still, her graceful hands folded in her lap, for an unnaturally long time. 

"Kayla?" Sarah begins to get worried. “What's going on?”

Kayla still doesn't move, but her breathing gradually gets heavier until she is panting as if in terror. 

"Kayla..."

All at once she sucks in her breath and springs up off of the bench. She leans against a small blossoming tree and does the most shocking thing while still catching her breath. She smiles-- no, grins. True to what Sarah said earlier, Kayla is a thousand times more beautiful when she smiles. Her pale skin lights up and two perfect dimples appear on her smooth cheeks. Her petite nose scrunches ever so slightly and, most importantly, her crystal blue eyes open wide to let the world in. She is so shocked, all she can do is laugh.

Sarah, taken aback, can't help giggling, too. “Kayla! Are you ok?" she manages to squeeze out. 

Kayla shakes her head, causing her curls to bounce before answering. "Not Kayla! I know who I really am!"

"What?" Sarah stops giggling and stares into the eyes of Kayla, who has also regained her composure. "Did you say…” 

Kayla nods. "You were right, nothing can stop me! I remember everything! I have a personality!” 

Sarah doesn't know how to respond. “Kayla, that's... amazing!" 

"I remember my real name, too. Call me Kalalaya.”

"Kalalaya?" 

She nods.

"That's not a normal name. I love it." 

"It's not normal for humans, anyway." 

"Wait..." 

"I'd better explain from the beginning."

So Kalalaya tells the whole story. As it turns out, she isn't human. She's a living particle of water. The community that she lived in before makes up the lake near Sarah's hometown where the foul water comes from. They are called the cursed, because they were doomed to a stagnant life of waste by the evil witch, Genella. Legends claim that Genella cursed the community by mistake in an experiment but didn’t bother trying to fix the damage. Nobody could punish her since the crime was unintentional, but she still faced seclusion. The lack of contact with other creatures and the knowledge that everyone was blaming her made Genella  hard and bitter.

The curse made everyone useless. Some got angry and rebelled, completing their usual journeys anyway. This spread the poison farther and harmed the crops in town. Most just stayed put, living a useless life of nothingness. Spirits in the community sank low and lives became bland. Kalalaya handled it differently. She knew she couldn't let anger control her since that only harmed others, but she wasn't going to sit around and let life pass by without any action, either. What she did was make her own fun and adventures where she was, spreading her happiness and curiosity with the rest of the community to ease the gloom. Life was pretty good for Kalalaya, who never stopped dreaming about going on journeys someday, but what she didn't know was that she had an enemy. It was Genella, who was by that point an angry and depressed creature who didn’t want anyone to be happy without her. With nothing better to do, she set her focus on getting rid of Kalalaya.

An opportunity came sooner than Genella had expected when rumors started spreading about a water creature who'd turned into a human. Kalalaya thought that would be the perfect opportunity for adventure, so she began searching out ways to do it herself. That was when Genella reached out in disguise and offered to perform the magic on the over-eager girl.

"We met in a cave where she told me to go a few weeks ago, and then she cornered me and revealed who she really was and that her plan was to turn me into a dull human forever to get rid of me,” Kalalaya goes on.

"Why would she tell you?” Sarah asks, eyes wide. 

"I'll bet she wanted to see me afraid, rotten scum--"

"Were you afraid?"

“Well, I don't think anyone could be pleased about something like this! But it's over now, and I have my personality back, so it worked out." 

“Did it, now?” a high, cruel voice demanded from the side of the garden, making both girls jump. They turn to see a tall, bony figure standing with her hands on her hips. Her wrinkled face is creased in a permanent frown.

"Mrs. Wilson! W-why are you--" Sarah begins. 

"Sarah, dear! I asked you to wash the dishes ages ago! Now stop playing in fairyland and show some gratitude for what I've done for you!" Mrs. Wilson snaps, uprooting a sunflower and tossing it aside as she talks. 

"Yes m--”

"Wait!" Kalalaya puts her arm out to stop Sarah from standing up. 

"Ah, and Kayla--"

Kalalaya growels at this. 

“--you never emptied the waste bin, and now I've got to do it myself.” With that, Mrs. Wilson picks up a basket the girls hadn't noticed before and dumps its contents into a patch of petunias. 

"You can't just--”

"That's going to hurt my people!” 

"Oh, that's right, Kalalaya, was it?" 

"How long have you been listening?" 

"Long enough to know what I need to know." 

"And that means…”

“I know that my fool of a sister is at it again. I'm on her side this time, but of course she can't pull it off! Now I'll need to step in." 

"Wait, did you say--”

"Yes, yes, what a shock. Unfortunately, Genella is my sister.”

"But you're a human..."

"Did you honestly think she just made that one mistake? I'm another of her failed experiments. Filthy rat turned me human, can't turn me back." 

"Then why are on her side now?" Kalalaya asks, immersed in the story.

"You were this close to breaking her curse with your happiness--" Mrs. Wilson spits this word out, “--and they don't deserve to fly free while I'm stuck here. Getting rid of you was the best bet. Since she couldn't do it, I will," Mrs. Wilson raises her voice on the last two words, making both girls jump. In a quick motion, she has them hovering in the air above the bench. They both shriek at the same time. Kalalaya begins kicking and writhing in the air while Sarah freezes in terror.

"Let us go!" Kalalaya shouts. With a nod of her head, Mrs. Wilson dropps both girls to the ground. Sarah crashes into the corner of the bench and sits panting on the ground. Kalalaya Falls onto a thorny rose bush. "Thanks," she grumbles. 

"That was just for fun. Now it's time to finish what my idiot sister started!" 

"She's going to take away your passion. Do something!" Sarah whispers urgently. 

Kalalaya immediately begins to panic. Palms sweating, she has the feeling like she's suffocating. It's the same way she felt when Genella cursed her the first time. But she made it through that. She can do it again. Before she knows what she's doing, she stands up and realizes that Mrs. Wilson is on the ground breathing hard. "What did I just do?" Kalalaya asks.

"Something,” Sarah breathes.

"Did I... take her powers?"

"Looks like it."

Mrs. Wilson is now pulling herself up, sputtering and swearing. She waves her arms at the girls like mad, but nothing happens. 

"Were you too strong for her?"

"I guess." 

"I wonder if you could defeat Genella, too. Would that break the curse?" 

"It makes sense. Going after the source has to work better than ignoring the problem. I'll just have to figure out how to get to her." 

"Are you aware that you're shrinking?" 

"Ah! What? Sarah, I think I'm changing back!" Kalalaya is already half as tall as her friend. 

"Well, that explains how you'll get to Genella."

"Will I be strong enough to defeat her?" 

"Of course. You can handle anything."

"What about Mrs. Wilson?"

"I'll get the police to take care of her."

"And you?”

"I'll be fine, but will I ever see you again?"

"Every time it rains, "Kalalaya promises just as she shrinks so small that Sarah can't see her.

A friend is someone

Who takes selfies and vacuums candy with you. 

A friend is someone

To get into messes with.

A friend is someone 

Who laughs with you.

A friend is someone

To share crazy memories with.

A friend is someone

Who plots with you. 

A friend is someone

To make you enjoy watching the stupid movie.

A friend is someone

Who lets you be weird. 

A friend is someone

To whip pillows at.

A friend is someone

Who can stay up all night with you. 

A friend is someone

To talk to.

A friend is someone 

Who makes you smile.

Dad called it Abbyland.

I was always singing along 

To the theme songs of my favorite cartoons 

Over and over

And playing ponies 

All day long

But then the cheesy songs faded out

And the ponies trotted away

Gradually,

So I didn't notice.

Now I'm fourteen years old,

Something I never thought would happen. 

Here I am.

I used to think I'd never change, 

That I couldn't if I tried.

Now I'm not so sure.

I'm a teenager.

How long before I dress like it? 

When will I start to hide myself in makeup?

How long before my dolls go untouched? When will video games rot my mind? 

Has it already started?

I like a boy band. 

This is the beginning of the end.

Maybe I should just give in

And follow the trends, 

But I don't want to be

Just any regular teen. 

I'm not giving up on me.

I guess this is normal. 

I'm just growing, 

But what if we can grow too far?

What if we can forget who we are? 

When do we outgrow our personality? 

Am I leaving myself behind me? 

What if I could just flip back a page

And be that little girl again?

Who is she?

Where is she?

I want her

To still be me.

I guess it's good

That life goes on

And bad times pass, 

But what's the price?

The good times fade off, too,

And we're left

To miss ourselves.

I'm thinking all this through,

My mind is one big mess,

When the sun smiles down on me,

Relieving all the stress.

I'm six years old again,

Reaching for the sky. 

Limits, they don't matter. 

I feel like I can fly.

Nothing has changed.

We don't change. 

We can't. 

What if we just expand? 

I've learned to try new things,

And that is good.

I don't need dolls or ponies to be me,

And that is good.

The present is forming around the past,

Like the rings of a tree

Coming in fast. 

The first is still there,

Close to the core.

Maybe it's just hiding

To make room for more.

Maybe if I let it happen 

And don't go to extreme or extreme,

It'll happen gracefully

And that tree

Will still be me.

Maybe I should just live for life 

And like what I like. 

I don’t usually go with the flow,

But I won't try or try not to grow. 

Maybe someday I'll buy ripped jeans 

And try a croptop,

But if I do,

I hope I'll smile in the mirror

And remember to remember

Every heartbeat that brought me there. 

Remember who I was, 

Who will still be

Who I am.

Remember to cherish every moment.

I'll learn a little maturity,

But I won't lose me.

I've always been here. 

Is it wrong to like good music?

Am I still me if I don't watch kids shows? 

The outside doesn't define me.

I know

I will always be 

That child

At heart.

We are all tainted.

Anyone who has ever done wrong

Is an evil sinner. 

No matter how small the deed,

However many good things we’ve done, 

It doesn't matter.

You are an evil sinner.

I am an evil sinner.

Every person 

Ever to live,

All sinners

Except one.

Long ago, a Child was born

In a manger,

A humble birth for a king,

For the King,

The Son of God,

The Artist coming to restore His painting.

It was the second beginning.

That Child,

Christ,

Would become our Savior.

Justice says that

Sinners deserve to die.

Mercy says that

We're no longer sinners. 

Christ took our sin,

Forgave it,

And died to pay for it. 

All we have to do

Is trust

In Him

To be saved.

I will be saved.

You can be saved. 

Death came from sin,

So Christ defeated both.

His grave is empty.

Now He is in Heaven,

The unspoiled picture. 

I will meet Him there one day.

Will you?

That you can sort us out

Like Uno cards?

Well, skip my turn.

Count me out.

I'm a wildcard.

Are we all red, blue, green, or yellow?

What about teal, vermillion, lilac, magenta? 

I don't want to be a normal color.

What is normal?

No two people are exactly alike, 

So nobody is normal.

We're all a different shade,

But even that is too limited.

I told you, I'm a wildcard.

You can keep lying if you want.

I don't mind if you're ok with

"Type normal",

But I think I'll go with

Type me.

I know the state of the world,

But I'm really happy.

Why?

I know this: 

Flowers bloom,

The sun rises,

And children laugh.

For every hurtful word

There's an encouraging hug. 

For every wound

There’s a bandage hidden somewhere.

I know about the darkness,

But I live in the light.

That's why I smile like this.

And the lines do get bent.

We're teenage girls

Expanding our worlds

And this is the best time.

To be alive.

I'm normally calm.

Compared to other kids I'm an angel, 

But I'm still stupid 

And smart about it.

I am careful

That as far as I can see,

The only person I could hurt is me,

So let's go a little crazy 

And laugh until it hurts 

And then just be.

Laura is Tom's crippled older sister. Throughout the play, she is presented as a bit odd and hard to understand. This reflects how Williams felt towards his real sister. Like her glass collection, Laura is fragile. Her entire character is very nervous and anxious. She was enrolled in college but dropped out because everything stressed her out so much that she couldn't do the work. Laura seems stuck in life, but she's content with that position.

Amanda is their mother. She is very picky, opinionated, and controlling. As I mentioned before, she argues with Tom a lot. She also has a habit of holding on to the past. She is always talking about all of the "gentlemen callers" she had at Laura's age. She regrets marrying their father, who left, and takes her feelings out on Laura by constantly pestering her about finding the right man. The climax of this behavior is when she makes Tom invite one of his work friends over to meet Laura. She acts over-eager and ridiculous the entire time, right up until the man, who Laura actually liked in high school, leaves after revealing that he already has a girlfriend. Then Amanda is able to squeeze out some genuine concern for Laura.

All of the characters in this story are unique. Tom is a hard worker who just wants to be free. Laura is an usure, gentle piece of glass. Amanda is an overprotective, controlling mother. As I said in my introduction, the characters are real to the audience because they were real to the writer.

When I'm feeling mad or sad 

I open up a certain Book.

What's there that makes me feel so glad? 

Why don't you take a look!

the editing process begins.

     I edit thoroughly, pausing to consider every detail and reworking many parts. I go through my checklist of aspects to pay attention to, and then I reread it again to get it to perfection. After this I type it into Google Docs, making little changed along the way. And then my baby is ready and I find a way to share it with someone.

     This is how I work. Maybe it's different for you, but I love to write with the birds chirping around me. I pause occasionally to look towards the woods before turning back to my paper and pencil. I like to plan it all out first. Once I start the real writing, then it can just flow free without any hindrance. That is the best part.

    Mom was actually about to donate you but, thank goodness, my sister and I got bored and decided to open you. Of course we instantly fell in love. Your faces were so cute and you were just the right size to take on any adventure. I was either very generous or incapable of playing on my own and I let my sister have Mackaila and Hailey, but I kept Ella and Lilly to myself. My sister got Sarina and Sydney for her next birthday and when Sarina hurt her neck we managed to meet the other Sarina and the other Sydney! I misread one of the boxes when the next two came along so someone called Louaou came with the other Lilly. Last to come was Lulu and our group was complete.

    I'm sorry we doubled up on so many names and I'm very sorry that we named your home Baby Bikini World! We had picked up the word 'bikini' somewhere and we thought it was very fun to say (because it is). 

    We had some very fun times picking a "Cutest" each day to receive special treatment and swaddling up in old baby socks at night. Instead of going to sleep right away we would stay up late talking and pretending we were in dreams. Do you remember?

    You were such a big part of my life and I owe so much to you! You were the models for a lot of my early drawings (my sister and I wouldn't hang any pictures up in our room besides the ones we made of you!) and now a piece of my artwork is going to be published in a real book. The first story I ever wrote was about you, and now I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't figure things out by writing about them. What about crafts? The experience of sewing tiny cloths for you has helped when a stuffed animal needs fixed or my favorite pants have a rip. Thank you for all of it.

    We used to talk while doing math, but last year I worked hard to focus on my pre-algebra textbook (and I was only in seventh grade). We used to clean up our messes slowly using my brother's toy dump trucks, but now I fold laundry just because I like to be useful. We used to pretend that I was your babysitter, but now I can actually stay home alone with my younger siblings. I've changed a bit, I guess. I'm more mature now, but I'm really not that different.

    I know I don't play with you every day like I used to and maybe I get embarrassed when I forget to put you away when my friends come over (sorry!) but I still love you. I love the sharpie smudge on Louaou's cheek, Sarina's wobbly head, and the loss of almost all of your shoes and binkies that reminds me of all our old fun. That's right, I'm still the same little girl with the poofy skirt and the constant giggle. I still love dolls and other babyish things and that's ok. I still jump at the chance to watch a Barbie movie with my little sister and that's ok. I am responsible and I am a child. Yes, I can have both. Nobody is stopping me from loving my dolls, not even maturity! I will always love you and any other harmless thing I like and it's all thanks to you. Thank you for being so lovable that I just have to be like this, because it makes life a lot brighter when the world is in chaos.

Sincerely Your Loving Kid,

Abby Rater

P.S.

If you see any Polly Pockets or LOL Dolls, please share that last part with them. The American Girl Dolls also say hi and thanks.

AR 

    Research shown on youthtruthsurvey.org says that although a majority of students feel engaged in school, only about half actually enjoy going. I am homeschooled, but this still applies. This applies whether you go to public school, private school, homeschool, or cyberschool. There are differences, advantages, and disadvantages to each, but it is all school. All learning. All taken for granted. Here is an example:

      I am doing my math at the kitchen table. I read the description of points and lines in my book for the second time, realizing I don't actually understand this explanation of the concept I've had a chapter on every year since second grade.

"Mom, can you please help me?" I ask.

"What do you need help with?"

"This doesn't make sense."

So Mom explains it to me carefully. I still don't understand. She explains again. And again. And again. I won't allow my mind to understand, by now I'm frustrated.

"That is so dumb!" I exclaim. I'm about to cry.

    A week or two later I pick up my reading book, I am Malala. In horror I read the true story of a girl who's country is in conflict over many things, including education for girls. Schools were being bombed. Malala got shot in the head at age 15 for standing up for education. In one part Malala wrote, "When someone takes away your pens you realize how quite important education is." And here I am reading in my own bedroom near the window, perfectly safe. I shamefully remember my tantrum over math. 

    While we look at our books, frustrated that we don't understand it, another child somewhere else is looking at last year's books or a friend's books or the picture of books in their mind's eye, wishing they could be learning right now.

    According to humanium.org, about 72 million children can't go to school and about 759 million adults are illiterate worldwide. These numbers are simply crazy, and much of the credit for that goes to poverty (though sometimes, as in Malala’s story, it has more to do with legal conflicts). Poverty affects education in a number of ways. This is proven by globalcitizen.org, which lists a few. The funny thing is, while poverty is preventing learning, education really has the power to end poverty. Concernusa.org says that if all children in countries experiencing poverty could simply read, about 171 million people could get out of poverty; if every adult had an education, poverty rates could be cut in half. Keep in mind that while this is going on we students are probably complaining about our own school. We have this weapon against poverty, why don't we use it?

    It's all too easy to find excuses.

"My teachers are boring."

"This subject is too hard."

"School is tiring and I can't think when I'm tired."

According to spielgaben.com, there are legitimate reasons for students to seem to lose interest in school and not care about learning. It is the job of those running the school to minimize these things, however, that does not mean we students are allowed to stop trying.  The main issue is attitude. With a good attitude and some effort, we can enjoy school, or at least be thankful for it, despite it's annoying problems.

    Education is important in my life. Maybe I’m a bit of a nerd, but I love feeling smart. I am always excited when I find myself reminded of something I’ve learned while doing an ordinary activity. It is an amazing feeling to realize how naturally you can connect your textbook to the outside world. I also want to be an artist and a writer when I grow up and both of these things require education. Anyone can see how education is required to be a writer, but it may be harder to consider it a crucial part in becoming an artist. Art is a creative process, but facts and knowledge are necessary to share it and to make better works. Education is being used all the time in obvious or hidden ways to help people achieve their dreams. Because of this and since we have access to it, it would be simply foolish not to try as hard as we can to get as much as we can out of our education.

    Many students who can learn don't want to, and 72 million children who can't learn wish they could. Students may have very good reasons not to like school, but they still need to try hard to learn. We students need to be thankful for the blessing of education.  The least we can do is try to have a good attitude about our own learning. If we, as students, take our education seriously, we could help others with their education, too. Learning is very important and before those of us who can learn can help those who can't, we must understand just how much this matters and have a good attitude about it. Education can change the world.

impossible wish, but every chance she got, Elizabeth imagined herself as a pioneer. The reason Elizabeth hadn't told anyone was that she was afraid people would act like she acted about the Bible and judge by the outside, even if it did work out well for the Bible. 

With much more of a flat sigh, Elizabeth reached behind the dress to get a denim jacket. She pulled this on over her t-shirt, which was black with a sparkly purple music note outlined with silver studs. Purple leggings completed the look. Rosa had said this outfit was awesome (she had picked it out) but Elizabeth would much rather have worn the 1800s dress.

Elizabeth bounced down the short hall to breakfast and hardly noticed the glances her Mom and Dad kept shooting at each other. They were half-nervous and half-excited glances. Elizabeth wolfed down her toast and ignored what could have been awkward silence. After a few minutes (or an eternity depending on who you ask) Mom said, "Lizzie, could you get your sister up, we have some important news for you two." Elizabeth jumped up to wake her older sister. 

"What's so important that I have to wake up early?" Elizabeth's sister grumbled as she stumbled out in her pajamas.

"Vikki, Lizzie, your mother and I have something to tell you. You may not take it well, but this is what will be best for you two,” Dad said. Elizabeth's stomach lurched. She had read a conversation that began similar to this one in a book once, and the outcome was not good. Elizabeth could hardly swallow the toast in her mouth. Palms sweating and mind reeling, Elizabeth expected the worst. What her parents actually said made her laugh a bit. "We're moving out to Warren,” was what Dad said. 

Elizabeth was busy being relieved, but Vikki had no such occupation. “Are you kidding!?! Warren?! I won't ever be able to see my friends! Why would you do this?! You're ruining my life!" she cried before jumping up and stomping back to her room. Everything was silent after the passionate outburst, then Dad chuckled. 

"Well that woke her up," he said. 

Mom swatted at him with a towel and said, “I'd better go talk to her."

As they continued with breakfast, Elizabeth asked Dad, "We're still going to see our friends sometimes, right?"

"Of course! Warrin is right near Kinzoo, that bridge we visited last summer. It isn't too far a drive for friends to visit, it just won't be as convenient as it is now. You'll also make new friends at your new school,” he explained. Elizabeth hadn't even thought about switching schools. She didn't know why, but this idea excited her; at the innermost part of her mind, she felt that she was doing something wrong at her current school. Elizabeth still had more questions. "When are we going to move?" she inquired. "We already know what house we're going to buy, but we scheduled the closing date really far out in mid-July. We probably won't put this house up for sale until that month so we can stay here right up until that closing date," Dad told her. 

The worst part was going to be telling Rosa. Elizabeth dreaded this and tried to avoid her friend at school, but at lunch Rosa couldn't be avoided any longer. “Lizzie, is there a problem? You've stayed away from me all day long. Are you mad at me?" Rosa asked right off when Elizabeth sat down at their normal table. 

"What? Of course I'm not mad at you! Why would I be? I do have something to tell you, though,” Elizabeth lowered her eyes to stare at her lunch tray at that last phrase. 

"Well spit it out already!" Rosa demanded. 

“I'm moving. To Warren. We're leaving in about five months," Elizabeth said, preparing herself for some form of emotional outburst from her friend. Rosa looked crushed at first but soon a smile spread across her face.

“Is it April fools day and nobody told me?” she asked. 

“Nope, it's still March. I'm really leaving,” Elizabeth said. 

"Oh,” Rosa's face fell again, but her smile returned a moment later. "At least we still have five months, and half of that is Summer vacation. Let's have the best five months of our lives, and once you move I'll visit every month, Warren isn't so far away," Rosa said brightly. They started to make plans and soon Rosa's short brown curls were bouncing as she jumped up and down in excitement.

They did have the best five months ever, hanging out together almost every day, going to the lake, camping, fairs, and carnivals, and licking ice cream cones. Then it was time to go. Elizabeth didn't mind leaving the tiny house so much, it was saying goodbye to her friends that made her sad, but not as sad as she had expected to feel. Saying goodbye to Rosa was the worst part, but they agreed to email at least every week and visit each other every month.

Moving was crazy, even if they still owned their old house and didn't have to do it all at once. For a few days some of their furniture and other things were in one house while the rest was in the other, so something as simple as brushing their teeth could become a long search through lots of boxes and eventually a trip to the local store to buy new toothbrushes. The thing is that Dad hadn't wanted to rent a moving truck so he could save money, but really that would have simplified some things, and the gas money amounted to the same price a moving truck would be.

It was August by the time they were settled in and Elizabeth had time to explore. Now she had her own bedroom (helpful for when she woke up before Vikki, which was always) with a bookshelf on one wall, her bed on another along with the door, and her closet and dresser on the third wall. The walls were a sunny yellow and would soon be full of photos of friends and sketches of birds and flowers. On the fourth wall was a beautiful bay window with a view of the backyard, the woods behind it, and the mountain rising up behind the woods. It was her dream room, and Elizabeth could not wait to explore what lay beyond the window.

Elizabeth slowly walked through the woods, paying attention to every beautiful detail. Seeing something shimmer in the mid-morning sunshine, Elizabeth ran towards it, holding up her pioneer dress. She had worn it because she thought nobody would be around to see. Elizabeth must have looked quite silly splashing in the water in her old-fashioned dress, but she was having fun. She was in fact having so much fun that she didn't notice the girl approaching.

"Hello there! You look like you’re having fun!" the girl said. 

"Oh! I was just looking for my bracelet. I dropped it,” Elizabeth immediately lied. She looked down, pretending to search, and saw the hem of her costume. Oh no! This was embarrassing. Then her eyes traveled out a bit and she saw a hem much like hers. The girls stared at each other for a moment. Elizabeth stared at the other girl's light blue, flower-speckled dress, white apron, and lacey collar. The dress was slightly loose on the girl's thin frame, also it was a bit wrinkled and had a few dirt stains. The girl had wavy blonde hair in a bun at her neck, which was messy in a pretty way. What was most interesting about this girl was her bright green eyes, which were big and curious.

Meanwhile, those curious eyes were studying Elizabeth. Her dark brown hair was in two loose braids, tied with ribbons, under her bonnet and her face, though startled and confused, was friendly. The soaked skirt of the dress looked very comical.

"Nice dress,” Elizabeth said at last in a quiet voice. 

“Yeah, you too," the other girl giggled.

"I'm not really looking for a bracelet,” Elizabeth admitted. 

“I didn't think it would make sense to chase it upstream,” the observant girl said. “I’m Emily, what's your name?" she asked.

“My name is Lizzie,” Elisabeth said. 

"Is that short for Elizabeth?" Emily asked. Elisabeth nodded. "Why would you shorten it? Elizabeth is such a pretty name,” Emily said. 

“Actually, I agree with you, it’s just that it sounds old fashioned and I don't want anyone to think I'm weird,” Elizabeth said, deciding she could probably tell Emily, who had already seen the costume and wore a similar one. 

"Why do you care if they think you're weird? You are but in a good way like me. Who cares who knows it,” Emily said. 

This turned a light on in Elizabeth's brain. "Ok, I think I can be myself at school, if you help. I'm going into fifth grade this year; do you think we'll be in the same class?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, I'm not going to school here,” Emily said sadly. 

"Oh, I thought since you live around here..." Elizabeth began. 

"Actually, I don't... anymore, I was just taking one last walk through the woods. I didn't realize you moved in already, " Emily said, trying not to cry.

"Oh, I get it. You used to live in the house my family just bought,” Elizabeth said.

"Sort of..." and then Emily broke into tears. 

Once she had stopped her tears, Emily motioned for Elizabeth to follow her deeper into the woods. Presently the girls came to a clearing which was surrounded by a thick circle of pine trees. In the center of the clearing was a quaint wooden cottage. It looked like something out of Little House on the Prairie, but not quite so welcoming. Through the window Elizabeth saw that it was empty. The whole place felt lonely. Emily gripped Elizabeth's hand tightly and tears slowly rolled down her thin cheeks again. “This was your home, wasn't it,” Elizabeth whispered. Emily nodded. “Why are yον leaving?"

Taking a breath, Emily began to explain. "My Dad lost his job last year. The company went bankrupt. At first we stayed at our house while he looked for a job, but then the bank took it because we couldn't pay. Not knowing what to do, Dad turned to a friend who used to live at your house. He said he didn't have the room to shelter us, but he had a lot of money and property, so he built us this cabin. It's small, but we made it home. Everything was great until the owner of that house died and his relatives decided to sell it. Since we were on his property, we had to move, too. I was just coming for one last look before we move to my aunt’s house.”

"Wait, so my family owns this cabin now?" Elizabeth asked. Emily nodded again. "Well then you can stay!"

"What?! Shouldn't you ask your parents?" 

"They lecture my sister and I all the time about showing kindness and helping the poor. Of course they'll say yes!" 

Emily blushed but she was too excited to be embarrassed for long. "We can be best friends!" she said. 

"We'll do everything together!" said Elizabeth. 

"Just promise me one thing."

“What?”

"We'll always be ourselves together, even in public." 

"Deal,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

himself so that He could die for our sin in our place. That’s real love. John 15:13 puts it clearly, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” I used the first cloud to represent that.

The second cloud, near the corner, is wrapped in some sort of ribbon. This is supposed to be like the wrappings Jesus was buried in. They are wrapped around the cloud because, well, they aren’t on Him anymore! Jesus was more powerful than the grave. He rose again! We read in John 28:6, “He is not here; he has risen!” In verse 12 of that same chapter, “Peter, however, got up and ran to the tomb. Bending over, he saw the strips of linen lying by themselves, and he went away, wondering to himself what had happened.”

Finally, there is the sun in the other bottom corner. You may be thinking I just really like to paint sunsets. Well, I do, but that’s not all. It can be a sunrise, too. Thinking of it that way, it represents a new hope for a fresh start. Because of what Jesus did for us, we can have new life. To quote 1 Peter 1:3, the verse Dad used in his sermon this morning, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” Maybe that’s why we celebrate the resurrection in spring. The sun also represents the Son, as in Jesus, the Son of God. He rose from the dead to give us light in this dark world. It represents the Son’s ascension to heaven, as well. Finally, if you look at it like a sunset, it could represent the end of the world. It will be beautiful for those who are saved with heaven waiting on the other side. Psalm 16:11 says this: “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” We only have that because of what Christ did for us, and because of His power.

So that’s what Easter is about, not sugar rush or oversized bunnies. It’s about new beginnings because of Jesus’ sacrificial love for us and His power over the grave. It’s about the joy we have in heaven someday, and about Jesus waiting for us there now. The words that really stuck with me from Dad’s sermon this morning are “living hope.” That’s what we celebrate today. As Easter comes to a close, let’s try to remember that every day throughout the year. I’ll leave you with this verse: “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.”—Isaiah 53:5

peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus. And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.

Philippians 4:4-8

This is one of my favorite Bible verses because it unlocks the answer to the important question: how do we find uncircumstantial joy? If we fill our minds with God and His word, it will fill our lives with His hope, peace, and joy. The way I see it in my mind and the way I chose to draw it, God’s word will wrap around us and comfort us as we are filled by Him so that we can shine through our difficulties.

How do we fill our minds and our lives with God and His word? By getting to know Him, of course! If we read the Bible and pray regularly with open hearts, then we will begin to know God. The more we learn about Him and interact with Him, the more we know him, look like Him, and learn to rely on Him. As we become more like God, we begin to produce the fruits of His Spirit, which fill our lives even more with Him.

But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!

Galatians 5:22-23

Sounds simple enough, right? All you have to do is trust and set your mind on the right things. It’s really that simple! Next time you’re feeling bad, be prepared. Fill your mind with God right now so that you always know where to look for comfort.

world. Now everyone in the world is a sinner.

     The penalty for sin is death but the good news is that God sent His Son, Jesus Christ (who was fully God and fully man, and therefore sinless) to die on a cross as the sacrifice for all of our sins. Now that Jesus died to forgive us of our sin, we can go to heaven if we trust in Him. We also need to ask God to forgive us of our sins and He will. 

     Heaven is a perfect place with no sin where God and everyone who has left this world trusting in Him lives. It is a paradise where God is praised all day long with joy. No matter how hard things get here, those of us who believe in God and all He has done can have the hope of heaven to chase our fear away. We know this world's problems aren't permanent and one day we will be in perfect paradise praising Him. 

     This is why I drew the earth flying apart with the cross in the middle, standing in one piece. If you look, you will see that there are lines coming from the cross to keep the world from completely falling apart. Jesus died on the cross so one day we can go to heaven, this hope can be what keeps our world from completely flying apart.

Dressing up my dolls,

Dancing along to Disney theme songs,

And making my friends laugh. 

I'm a bit dramatic.

(Maybe more than a bit)

I can be serious when I want to,

I like some "boring" things, 

And I'm really good at school,

But it all just adds to the vibrant mesh of me,

Who I've always been

And who I'll always be. 

There's just one thing.

I'm 14 years old,

Something I never thought would happen. 

I used to say I'd never be a teenager.

Well, here I am. 

I'd say I'd never change,

But now I'm not so sure.

"I'll always like My Little Pony." 

"No you won't."

"I'll never like a boy band."

"Yes you will." 

They were right. 

I don't know what happened to my pony figures

But they're gone 

And I don't care like I want to. 

I can't believe it

But I'm a fan of BTS. 

I can't help but love their personality,

Their message,

Their music.

Is it wrong to love good music? 

Am I still me if I don't watch kid shows anymore? 

It all sounds so stupid,

But if that can change so fast,

What else will I gain and lose?

I'm a teenager.

How long before I dress like one? 

How long before my dolls go untouched? 

When will I start to hide myself in makeup? 

When will violent video games rot my mind? 

I don't want to grow up.

They make it sound all great on TV,

But it's a trap.

"Life goes on.”

Yes, it's great to learn and grow, 

To let the bad times pass, 

But what's the price? 

Am I losing myself? 

Am I leaving me behind?

When do we outgrow our personality?

How do I stop myself from doing it?

What if we grow too far? 

What if we forget who we are?

I've never been able to go with the flow, 

But I don't think I'll try or try not to grow. 

I think I'll just let the real me show, 

Whoever I am, wherever I go.

Maybe I'll just live for life

And like whatever I like.

Does growth have to mean change? 

I could just be expanding.

The present is forming around the past;

It's like the rings of a tree

Coming in fast.

The first is still in there,

Close to the core.

Maybe it's just hiding

To make room for more.

Maybe if I let it happen

And don't go to extreme or extreme,

It'll happen gracefully.

And that tree 

Will still be me.

I don't understand it all,

But here's what I know:

Right now I have a fuzzy sweater on, 

Right now the world outside is beautiful,

Right now I like my dolls,

Right now I'm jamming to a boy band, 

Right now there's a smile on my face,

Right now everything is ok,

And right now is a day I want to save.

No matter what the future brings, 

No matter how I grow,

This is now 

And I'll always have the memories. 

If I ever decide

To wear ripped jeans and crop tops, 

I hope I'll smile in the mirror 

And remember.

I'm still the same little girl

On the inside.

Have you ever done wrong?

Then you're dirty.

I'm dirty.

The world is dirty.

Only one man was ever clean

And it wasn't Santa Clause.

Long ago in the city of Bethlehem

A child was born to a virgin

In a stable.

It was a humble birth for a king.

For The King,

The Son of God.

Merry Christmas.

That child, Jesus, was perfect and sinless.

He was the only human ever

Who didn't deserve capital punishment.

He grew up to die. 

He took the blame for our sins. 

And was crucified

To save us.

He even left the grave

To defeat death.

Merry Christmas! 

Now is the time to celebrate 

The birth of the greatest man ever to live. 

The birth of our Savior,

Who is the only way we can be good.

We only have to trust in Him

And be forgiven.

I don't know about you, but 

I think that's a much better gift

Than anything an imaginary man in a red suit 

Can deliver;

Salvation.

I can let myself go, 

Be crazy as I want,

Dramatic as ever.

No one will judge.

Mistakes are ok,

In fact, bound to happen.

It's all part of the process.

Art makes me feel free,

Transparent as my watercolors,

Graceful as the dove

Emerging from my brush. 

I can be

Whatever I want

To be!

I can capture all the beauty; 

Everything magical 

In the world around me,

All that I see 

With my eyes. 

Eyes--

They let me see the world outside.

I take it all in: 

Deep blue skies,

Blooming flowers,

Falling leaves,

And soft ripples in the water.

My eyes let me see

All the people around me

With their smiling faces,

Tender looks of love,

And every emotion.

I see their eyes, 

And then their personality.

Are they big and bright, 

Taking it all in 

With enthusiasm,

Or half closed,

Just waiting for slumber? 

What about the color? 

Is it clear and sure

Or dull and muddled?

Is there a mix of color-- 

A range as wide, 

As deep,

As confusing and utterly wonderful

As the personality

Of the eye's wearer?

Please, I invite you,

Dive into the shining pool.

Of mystery.

Now please don't take for granted 

This privilege that we have.

I urge you, take advantage 

Of your windows to the world.

Share with those 

In a world of darkness. 

I want to let them see 

Through my eyes 

With my words.

Words--

Feeling out on paper, 

Running across the screen, 

Or just hanging in the air. 

Feel how they twinkle and gleam! 

Like the laughter of the creek, 

They express our greatest joy. 

Like the moaning of the wind, 

They portray our every longing. 

Each feeling comes alive 

And is set free 

By the simply clicking syllables.

Stories come to light,

Offering comfort

Or confrontation

As we step into

A whole new world

And bring back a treasure

To beautify our own.

Oh, when the right words click!

I suppose the angels sing

At the flood of satisfaction,

The completed perfection

Of one heartfelt sonet.

When I write,

It makes me feel brave

To say what is true,

To really be me!

Oh, the relife

When a smile breaks out 

At the sound of my words!

Above it all, 

I love the fall 

Of the sounds 

In every place. 

It brings such a beauty

You just can’t erase.

I start to feel this way,

So peaceful and so pleased, 

On a bright, vivid fall day. 

When the orange trees reach and reach. 

They try to touch the deep blue sky, 

Which reflects the other's brightness 

As the hours and days go by.

I'm reminded of my friends,

Our giggles as we play.

We laugh and laugh and laugh, 

Or talk the time away!

I think that some of us are the sky,

And others make the trees.

We're made to glow brighter together

As we smile on with ease.

Wind rustles in the leaves,

I notice as each one gleams 

That the sun is setting from behind.

The world is gold, it seems. 

I see all of this beauty 

As the leaves remember summer sun. 

They put on quite a show

To keep up all the fun!

I remember this day last year 

And all of the good ol’ times.

I'm excited for it all again 

When there's nothing new to put in rhymes. 

I always keep my eyes open. 

There's always something new. 

I love, love, love the past, 

But there's more fun in the present, too!

Everything is so exciting! 

I can't bear to wait for tomorrow,

Though I never want today to end! 

There's always a thing to learn, a new way to grow. 

True, school can be quite dull. 

Over math I feel my eyelids drop, 

But I love to know I'm learning,

And sometimes I don't want to stop!

I like it best to have art before my eye

Or perhaps a book in my hand. 

I get the strangest feeling, 

You might not understand.

I feel the ideas stir inside of me. 

I itch to grab the nearest pencil

And pour all the inspiration out.

My hands and mind just can’t sit still!

His little jump of pure joy,

It affects the whole pond.

Soon all is up and active,

Laughing and singing,

All because of one tiny frog

And his beautiful little bounce.

At any moment this rope may snap,

And when it does,

Watch me sprout great wings, 

Large as my imagination, 

And fly away

To my home in the stars 

Where all is safe.

I'll bid goodbye to the ground,

Hello to the moon,

Such a jolly father he is. mother he is. 

I’ll greet my siblings, the stars, 

Sparkling and laughing with them. 

I’ll glimpse my mother, sun, 

Hard at work on the other side, 

And wave hello..

I will continue to swim

Through the loving atmosphere; 

Straining to reach the top,

Always just a few strokes away,

Never quite reaching it,

But still enjoying the journey,

Until I'll snap awake and realize:

I didn't travel to the sky,

I was already there.

To hold it all together, 

To make it fit, 

And to give it use.

Time--

It is running

Like the wheel of a broken wagon.

It rolls away, 

Too quick to catch, 

And leaves me feeling stranded.

Stuck. 

Lost.

Time--

It is here, now, 

Firm as the ground below me, 

Beautiful as the sky above. 

What lovely ground! 

Such magnificent sky! 

And it's been here all along.

It's seen every memory. 

Each hope is planted here.

Time is but a single thing. 

The past, the future, 

They both make the present.

Past, 

Present, 

Future, 

They all make time.

Of my innocent MG books. 

And just a bit too scared

For the daunting YA ones.

Too big for my old, simple bike,

 Too short for my 10-speed.

Young enough still to love my dolls,

Old enough to be embarrassed about it. 

I can enter the contests for teens, 

But their writing all stands over mine. 

I'm eye level with their elbows, 

And their shoulders lock together,

Blocking out the sky for me. 

The days of those clean stanzas 

With ever-perfect rhyme, 

They are all gone.

My words are scrambled, 

But falling back together 

In a lovely loose verse. 

I will be a butterfly 

And spread my colorful wings

With an intensified joy, 

With more freedom than ever

To be me.

We dance in the rain,

Turning our faces to the sky, 

Happy 

To be alive.

Thunder chases us inside.

Two by two we go,

Slipping and laughing happily. 

It's the perfect time,

It seems to me, 

To dive into a different realm

By cracking open a novel.

And then the storm passes

And the sun shines again.

The smooth, full puddles

Are the mirrors where 

The beautiful sky checks her reflection 

And the good natured trees.

Inspect their burly curls. 

The creek now flows better than ever,

Like a stream of liquid life,

Carrying every every hope.

Every dream, 

All the smiles,

All the laughter, 

And everything else

In her sparkling current. 

The reeds and leaves crowd close.

Every lovely glimmer of water 

That falls upon their graceful forms

Is illuminated

In the sunshine.

What a wonderful day

The Lord has made!

A perfect time

To feel Christ's love.

Some think that rainy days

Symbolize terrible things,

But I find

So many blessings.

All I can hear

Is the soothing call

Of the creek,

My pencil on the paper,

And a bird’s chirps of joy

For this moment.

I hear moss soak up water at the pace of a slug.

What shall I do with a day like today?

Live. Just live in the most joyful way.

Forget and forgive the snow as I say…

“Thanks to our Creator, God,

For He is so very good!”

Am I a poet?

I don't match any poems I've read.

Am I a poet?

I love to write what's on my mind.

Am I a post?

Inspiration is easy to find.

Am I a poet?

With beautiful words I captivate.

Am I a poet?

I was made by a God who can create.

Am I a poet?

He gave me love for poetry.

Am I a poet? 

I write for Him with glee. 

I am a poet.

With sparkling pink magic 

And the same live cartoon faces

Playing numerous characters. 

It’s only for her 

I have to remind myself.

Then I glance down

At my bubblegum pink nails. 

They are chipped, 

Though I just painted them.

I see my dress 

With the unicorn,

The sequins, and

The pink tulle skirt; 

The dress that makes my older sister

Roll her eyes, 

Create an expression

Of disgust and surprise,

And beg me to change. 

I will not change. 

I admit it. 

I don't want to grow up.

I’m a child at heart.

We all know I still play

With my dolls, 

Unashamedly fixing their hair 

With oh so much care 

And picking out the very cutest

Of their old-fashioned dresses. 

I don't have to fully grow up.

I can still be 

A child at heart. 

We all know I'm mature

In the ways that count,

So what does it matter?

Do dolls do me harm?

They won't get in the way of life,

I promise,

So please

Just let me be

That child

At heart.

Concealing magical adventures

All the way.

I long to swim

Through the shining sea 

Of delicate ferns

To uncover

Those adventures. 

I see a mess of long lost trees

Which look to have been cleanly chopped 

Many years ago.

I wonder who has done it. 

The thought is so vivid, 

I can almost see their cabin

Beyond the trees.

Back in real life,

In the present day,

I feel a firm log beneath me

And soft leaves

Gently tickling my thigh.

I have stopped jumping 

At the loose hairs

Blowing against my shoulders.

They don't feel like spiderwebs

Anymore

Because parinoía 

Is gone.

A queen bee's buzz

Doesn't startle me, 

But instead blends

With the incredible chorus.

Of birdcall

And the unusually quiet hum

Of my rambunctious sister's voice.

The stench of bug spray

Doesn't bother me.

It is muted 

By the fresh, tangy smell

Of greenery.

It even adds

A sort of summer-like

Sweetness.

In the hollow

Of our own imagination. 

Writing, drawing, dreaming

With my sister by my side.

Both with notebooks in our laps,

Happy to have each other.

To understand 

The other's thoughts,

To enjoy

The other's hobbies.

To adventure

Together, 

But to still be unique.

Being our own people, 

Doing the same things

But each in our own way

In the hollow.

Sends tingles up and down

As it relaxes my body. 

We think of water as blue, 

But look a little closer

To see the real colors. 

The clear water shows

The dark mud below

And reflects white and blue light

From the sun and the sky

On the surface.

All you must do is

Look a little closer.

Oh, the wonders God has made! 

He is so incredibly amazing!

Whirperdee, whirperdee, whirper wee-wee-wee, werrwe!

Cheeper, cheeper, cheeper!

Wher-whepher, wepher!