Friday, March 24, 2017

MARCH IS WOMAN'S HISTORY MONTH!

And Stanza Saturday is Free Verse Friday
(at least for today)

TO CELEBRATE....
We will read some POEMS written by 3 freshman woman.

ENJOY!!!!!!!

(and thank you Gina, Caroline, and Julia)


She rolled out of bed:

It's 6 AM.
She was restless.
Her mother and father are still sleeping.

He needed to get ready for school,
But he didn't see the point.
He wasn't up to the standards
And he didn't have the motivation to be better.

They walked the halls;
Tired, careless, and irresponsible.
They never shared their feelings.
People started to wonder.
But at the end of the day,
Mother and father are sleeping.

Gina Schreiber



Equals

They rounded us up
And tested for disease
But something about it
Set me off ease

Their sickness
Was called feeling
And it wasn’t until now
Did I realize my heart
Was screaming

I didn’t like to feel
I didn’t like remembering
Until I found a girl
Lonely and trembling

She could feel too
So together we hid
They said we would die
And we very well did

On the outside
That is
Euphoric were our hearts
Until their analysis

A cure was created
So we planned to escape
An unlikely ally
Wore the hero’s cape

But something went wrong
And she was stolen from me
I could no longer live
I could no longer flee


This agony would last
So I asked for the cure
Hours would pass
Before I would again learn to endure

But then she came back
And I was beyond remedy
I held her that night
For soon I would become her enemy

And then it was over
I could no longer feel
I could no longer remember
I had left her

But she refused to leave
This girl whom I no longer knew
Escaped with me
Where we started anew

Caroline Kominick



.for the longest time, 
i thought being in love was like a car accident. 

i thought love was twisted and charred metal, sharp and blackened and hot to the touch. 

i thought it smelled like blood and alcohol; thought it left bits of glass on the roadway like so many prehistoric teeth. 

i thought love burned you beyond recognition, mangled fingers reaching from warped metal cages.
 
for the longest time, i thought someone loved you only if they stabbed the gearshift into your back like a knife.
 
even now, long after the wreckage of our accident has been cleared,
i can’t understand a love that doesn’t leave skid marks on the road; 
that doesn’t smash through the guardrail and over the cliff’s edge;

that doesn’t kill you


Julia Pickard






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