Match-Emma

I am a day late, but this is my post…


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Burn away the fear and sadness. Burn away the anger and pain. But let it burn too long and it burns away your hopes and dreams. And as the flame reaches its end your happiness, your smile burns away with it. The flame travels down the match getting closer and closer to your hand, to your heart. It burns you and you drop the match, extinguishing the flame but the damage is done. There is nothing left. Your fear, your sorrow, your anger and your happiness, everything that makes you you is gone. A person that has dealt with so much pain, so much sorrow is nothing but an empty shell, a burnt out match.

Bliss

I wrote this a couple years ago during a summer camp at a splash pad. It’s a nice change from all of the depressing stuff we have been posting lately right? šŸ˜‰


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It was a feeling of complete ecstasy, miles away from any problems, far away from my own life, which, incidentally, was Ā made up of problems! I felt the sun warm on my back, once in a while accompanied by the gentle spray of water from the splash pad. I smelt the sweet smell of overgrown grass and heard the joyful sound of children laughing. Ā For those few glorious minutes, I was someone else, someone whose biggest problems where which towel to lay on at the beach. I breathed in those moments greedily, knowing that in a few moments, those clouds of bliss would slip away, leaving me to grope at nothingness and spitting me out into my own world. I was experiencing total calm for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Silver and gold-Emma

I was thinking about this when I randomly painted my hand silver and it started to peel off.


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What if every one had one hand that was painted silver and one that was painted gold? Gold would represent beauty on the outside and silver, the inside. Separate everyone into 8 even groups. 3 of those groups have terrible lives, are over weight or have some other physical flaw. That causes the gold paint on their hand to wash away there for their outer beauty is gone. But no worries, even though they are constantly criticized for their looks, the silver paint on their other hand remains possibly shining brighter than before. You then have another 3 groups out of the eight that have wonderful lives and are beautiful. And they are somewhat kind but not anywhere near as kind-hearted of those who have no gold paint on their hands. And those whose outer beauty shines bright are those who criticize the kind-hearted people. And as they continue to do so the silver paint is washed away and they become as cold-hearted as a rock. But don’t forget the other 2 groups of people. Those people are beautiful inside and out. They stand up for those who are criticized but are never really thanked or noticed for that matter. But they stand up anyways, they don’t need to be thanked. Who would you rather be? Beautiful on the inside and on the outside, only on the inside, or only on the outside? Thank you to those who did not answer. Because not one person can be that perfect, physically are personality wise. You have one painted silver hand and one gold when you are born. If you do then there is something wrong with you. Nobody is perfect and nobody will ever be. And you should be thankful for that.

A twice upon a time

I am so sorry about the wait! I now that I was supposed to post on Saturday, but I was sightseeing in Quebec city. Then, today was my first day of school. I hope you enjoy this poem, and also, I would like to let you know that my next post will be a paragraph, like what Emma writes. ;). Also, if you guys were wondering, the end of this poem isĀ Once again I have the stage. I ended the poem because I had also written,Ā A way to end this rhyme. This was meant to signify that this person had fulfilled what they wanted to do which wasĀ Making things right.


Once upon a time I was happy
Once upon a time I was filled with joy
Once upon a time I had people to trust
With whom I had time to enjoy

But where has this once upon a time
disappeared to
When did this fairy tale end
Where is that little laughing girl
When will the books open up again

I need another chance
A twice upon a time
I want a way to make things right
A way to end this rhyme

I am opening up my story again
I am finding my rightful page
I am going back to change the past
Once again I ha