It Wasn't MeSomeone says, Can I see you in the kitchen?
My mother leads me away from my book.
Honey, is there something wrong?
I shake my head and analyze her.
She looks concerned. Have I been accused?
The counselor is worried, she says.
I sigh with relief. It wasnt me.
Its bursting to get out, I know,
but I hold it in. She looks quizzical.
Are you sure? Yes, I snap, escaping.
I run to my room; close and lock the door.
Then I trip over the book on the floor.
I curse as I fall. My arm is bruised.
It was already bruised. I didnt do it.
I collapse on my bed, the scene playing once more in my head.
A little girl screaming; the screech of brakes.
The night is black as I rush to help.
The little blonde girl from down the street... shes gone.
I can see her struggling to breathe... and then, she stops.
I cannot help. Someone has grabbed me from behind.
Sometimes You Have to SquintIt was four in the morning on December 3, 2003. I had been up all night playing on the computer, and I was tired but jazzy in that way some people are in the morning after they've had several cups of coffee. The phone rang, and I answered it. It was for my father, so I woke him up and handed him the phone. My sister Mary was awake as well, and we stood in the hall outside my parents' room as my father talked to whomever was on the phone. A few minutes later, Dad hung up and said, "Girls, your grandfather died around three AM this morning."
Mary immediately began to cry while I just stood there, stunned. It hadn't quite sunk in yet, and after a minute I hugged Mary, letting her cry. I wanted to cry, but found I couldn't. The tears would not fall. Moments passed and finally I realized I needed to get ready for school. Dad told me to tell my teachers I wouldn't be there Frid
The Thrill of the StormI love thunderstorms. Seeing the lightning and waiting for the inevitable crack of thunder is a thrill for me. Storms are to me what roller coasters are to other people. I'm not a thrill-seeker by any means (which is why I do not ride roller coasters), but I like that little jump of excitement I get when I learn there is a storm on the way. It is kind of like a sugar rush, but not quite as frenzied. There is not that low point once all the sugar has worked its way through the body. After the storm, it is like the whole world has been refreshed. The sun comes out and shines on the grass that is still wet with rain, and there is a fresh, clean smell in the air. However, thunderstorms are something that one has to take in moderation, like chocolate or marathons. Global warming is going to cause far too many thunderstorms for my conscience to handle, and that is why I am so concerned about it
Untitled - For MegSince when has it been okay
to not call me anymore?
Since when has it been okay
to hurt me to the core?
I'm happy that you're happy.
I'll admit that much is true,
but we haven't spoken in forever,
and I really do miss you.
It's lonely here in Louie,
and I feel like I'm regressing
to bleeding wrists and salty tears,
an onset of depression.
I miss our talk of sexy men,
and updates on your health.
I miss just talking to you;
Have you put me on the shelf?
I've been set aside for a guy,
and maybe I'm a little jealous,
but this guy is taking up all your time.
Perhaps you're over-zealous?
I don't mean to sound doubtful,
because I know this guy is great.
I know you want to be with him
before it gets too late.
You're spending all your time with him,
and practically none with me.
I'm not sure how long I'll last.
Should I set you free?
Should I release you from the burden
of being friends with me?
Should I just wait patiently,
until I'm old and grey?
Should I just give up now,
and not wait anothe