Poetry Friday – On the Stage

Coming of age

impacts everything

for  good or for bad,

 

In my life

coming of age,

changed one thing

that changed me.

 

My voice

High

a lead singer, a long line holder,

a leader

 

On a stage

Wednesday at 6

the leader,

The soprano,

the girly voice,

singing,

with the high voice

the bird in the clouds.

 

But now

so deep

First a alto,

Then a baritone,

The glottal sounds are gone

The registers of my voice changed

as deep as the ocean

still a leader,

but not high.

 

When school came

friends are shocked

my voice,

is so deep

 

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Slice of Life Thursday: Independence

 

 

Independence is a great thing. It lets us be our own selves. It is something that can be incredibly positive, but also incredibly negative. It can lead to fights, between my siblings or my parents. It can lead to disagreements between friends. And it can just lead to doing things that you would not normally do. Yesterday afternoon, I experienced this first hand. It was just getting home from school, just upset about life. I started to talk to my mom. We talked about my day, and how upset I was. Then I truly experienced what it was like to have a disagreement over some really dumb thing. I over exaggerated about how how you are supposed to organize your money. It was dumb, me not being aware that people are smarter than me. It is a way that I have been coming of age.

Confession Tuesday

I am a pretty normal 8th grade boy, in what I like and what I dislike. I like video games, sports, and things of that nature.  I dislike “girly” things. But I have a few strange dislikes. I loathe styrofoam, because of its affects on the environment, and because of that gruesome sound it makes. It is the same thing for balloons. But there is something even stranger that makes me shrink into my chair. It is something that every human owns two of, whether they work or not. It is called eyes. I do not like looking close up at eyes and eyeballs.

One of the reasons I dislike eyes is based on the statement: eyes are the window to the soul. I know I do not want people staring into my soul. My soul is private, and I am a person who values privacy. The fact that you can tell what mood I am in, how I am feeling, if something is wrong both scares me and makes me want whomever is looking at me to stop. If you want to figure out how I am feeling, why don’t you just ask how I am feeling. That would make me happier.

Another reason why I dislike eyes is experiences I have had with my eyes. One reason is my fear of becoming blind. That fear is somewhat rational, but that makes me hate eyes for scaring me so much, which is strange. So I always take heed to my eyes, make sure everything is okay. Another thing that happened to me regarding eyes is that I had pinkeye, during a vacation. What pinkeye is is it is a sickness that causes your eyes to get all crusty, and then get red. It is incredibly gross, both to have on you and to look at.

Another reason I dislike eyes is my 7th grade eyeball dissection. It was one of the grossest things I have ever done in my life. I was aghast at purely how disgusting your eye looks. It looks absolutely appalling in every way. All the different parts, squirted one the tray, it was gross that it was ever an eye, even if it was only a cow’s eye.

The final reason I dislike eyes is how much I have to look at them. Sometimes when I see or do something enough, a begin to get used to them. Something like this is when I had to get used to pants because of school. But eyes have not grown on me like that. Every tends to think that I have beautiful eyes – I do not know what that means – so I have to look at people’s eyes so much. Overall, they just bug me so much, and I am still not truly sure what caused this.

Memoir Monday

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My Split Head

“Why can’t we go see daddy’s friends?” I questioned my mom as she brought me and Chloe into her bedroom.

” They are talking, so you are just going to stay in my room.” My mother responded. “You are going to have a lot of fun with Chloe. Just find something to do.”

“Okay Mom.” I responded after a few grunts and sighs. She walked back to where my father was sitting. He was having all of his co-workers over for dinner. I went into my mom’s room with Chloe, my older sister.

“So, what do you want to do!” I eagerly asked Chloe. “Do you want to play pretend? Or do you want to watch TV?”

“Why don’t we play a new and different game. ” She suggested. I thought that was a fabulous idea. She continued by explaining to me that we were going to play a game called “boo.”I asked her what that meant. She told me that we were going to jump on my mother’s massive California King size bed, and try to scare each other.

So there I was. I got to go first, because I was younger. So I went up there and made the scariest face I could make. But it did not work. She wasn’t scared. I was so distraught that I didn’t scare her. It was than Chloe’s turn. I started to bounce. Unknown to me, I was jumping fairly close to the side of a bed. So Chloe leaped onto the bed and tried to scare me. It worked. In fact, it worked so well that I fell off the bed onto my mom’s bed stand.

I ended up breaking into my head. I had to interrupt what my father was doing so he could help me. He brought me to the hospital and my head was medically glued back together. It is interesting how things that are so painful when it happens sounds so cool looking back. I learned that I should be careful in whatever I am doing, because I don’t want that to happen again.

For more Memoir Monday posts, click here 

Papa Who Wakes Up Tired in the Dark

     Why won’t grandma play with me?, I asked my grandmother. He is just tired, she answered. I snuck in the room he is always in, in the big, brown, broken down chair squinting at the tv.

    Grandpa, always in the large room, the one with memories of 18 cousins watching Charlie Brown. The Illinois couch, the one I watch him on. He doesn’t have a flat screen, he as an ancient box tv. The tv, without cable, only the networks. The tv where the only channel I watch is the basketball one. The tv always playing the pixelated basketball while he sleeps.

He is a basketball player. He is a tough father, they say. But now he is in the big, brown chair, with my grandmother to his right. She is always there to get him water, to turn the fan on, to turn the tv up, and to protect him. My grandpa, always asking for things. My grandpa, tough as nail, never crying or complaining. My grandpa is a preacher. Always at his small, local church on Sundays. The church that wouldn’t have a life without him. Always up at 6, praying to see the Lord’s will. He raised his kids to be like him, a servant of the Lord. But the chair has stopped that. My grandpa is a worker, they say. Always in the factory with my father, working the line. My grandpa, fixing his house to stop the leaks. My grandpa who always sits on the big, brown chair watching the Big Ben. Grandpa, who has the Illinois gear, the poster of 2004. My grandpa, who celebrates with me when the pixels score on the network 3 of 20.

      My grandpa, in the dark room, who raised my father to be a great father. My grandpa, trapped in the cell of his illness, always sitting in the brown Simmons chair, with the box tv on while he sleeps.  

My First Job Dairy

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(House on Mango Street)

Dear Dairy,

        That was the weirdest and the scariest experience ever. That was very strange. It was my first job, working for the Peter Pan Photo Finishers. I was finishing up my shift, when a some man came up to me. I assumed he would be much more caring to me than he actually was. He had very nice eyes, and he acted like he would be my friend. He even told me that I could sit with him during lunch, in which earlier I had just eaten fast and hid. That was my first example of being naive. When I hid, I was not trying to conquer new things, I was still very childlike in reverting to the only thing I new what to do, which was to hide.

        I  was also very naive when he asked for a birthday kiss. I had no idea what he could do that would be different. Looking back, I was in a blur which was caused by my naiveness. I did not remember what Mr. Benny had said, about how looking like a woman both brings a new look, but also the threats to me. So I just went to kiss him, and I got what I should have been expecting. As soon as he pulled my head, I knew  had made a mistake. He refused to let go, he was doing something to me that I should have been aware of. I was traumatized by what this happened. I felt defenseless. He was trapping me in my innocence and I didn’t no what to do, because of how old he was and how I had never had one of these encounters. Young woman get molested and sexually abused the most, because of there innocence and them not understanding threats. I was scared, because something like this had never happened before. I was growing up, so I had been looked at, and commented on, but never anything near threatening. He did not even ask if he could. I am getting older, but there is still some things that I need to be aware of. When I look older, and when I act older, and do things that older people do, I am faced with the threats of abuse, especially sexually. So I always need to be careful not to grow naive to situation like this and be more aware of myself and what is happening around me.

          I was not aware, and I should’ve been, because I had learned about this same thing earlier on Mango Street, when we got the new shoes. We were looked on, and the same exact experience happened to Rachel, except we were there to protect her. But that does not always happen in life. We need to learn to defend ourselves, because there is not always someone to watch your back. I was naive in that moment, and know I have learned from my mistake. I dressed up like a woman, I acted like a woman, and I got the consequences of when a woman is naive. I was not ready for it, but now I will be, because it has happened before. 

Yours Truly,

Esperanza

Where I Am From

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Based on George Ella Lyon’s “Where I’m From”

I Am From Poem

 

I am from basketballs.

From Nike and missed shots, a constant struggle to win.

I am from the hill outside the house,

(Massive , vertical , it looked like a mountain in a valley.)

I am from the forests in my backyard,

The enormous deciduous trees behind my house that sent evil shadows into my bedroom window.

 

I’m from the Christmas eve at Taco Bell and the athlete sense of my family

From Amstutz and Grierson

I’m from socializing and the alone time in my room.

From “Nerds were for dads” and “You can’t eat jerky till your 10”. I’m from Sundays spent at church, and the Friday morning disciples with my siblings

I’m from Illinois cornfields and Lisa and Tony’s leg.  

I am from the vegan for a year, and empanadas on Sundays after church.

 

From the 21k struggle with my father

From dad working in the smelly factory in the early mornings.

The pictures, hiding in the scrapbooks under the shelf.

The history of us, all in a book, the memories of the good, the bad, and the ugly.