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