FINAL DRAFTS

HAIKU

I'm falling apart.

You, a weathered skeleton,

Continue onwards.

STANZA:

He was a monotonous tragedy of wasted potential. 

Every morning, he'd snap his bones out of bed,

Peal his stiff muscles from the scratchy bed sheets.

He'd crawl from his lonely place of slumber,

Stumble over to the drawers of anguish and closets of rage.

Tear his skin from the hanger and step into it.

Zip up the flesh he must continually wear.

His skin was so uncomfortable.


He spent his days in utter misery.

Constantly trying to face the fact that he'd never have enough fist to punch away his anger,

Never enough love to fill the craters in his heart.

Never enough focus to replace the missing mechanics of his mind.

Never enough.



Lately was worse than usual. 

His best friends abandoned him at the first sign of vulnerability. 

He had been slowly fading into obscurity, 

and was now fully enveloped by the dark thoughts in his wandering mind.

His jovial personality had dilapidated. 

He struggled for the will to graduate. 

He could not comprehend why the sky, which is an inanimate being had more will to wake up in the morning than he did. 


But he emerged. 

Victorious.

He graduated high school. 

He found love.

He found peace and fulfillment. 

A world of possibilities opened up for him when he realized that embracing his life was going to be the biggest favor he ever did for himself. 

He let death find him alive.

FREE WRITE:

The blades of grass didn't feel like blades at all. 

They felt like tranquility.

They felt like the most beautiful bed.

The sun's rays didn't sting the way you'd imagine.

They warmed your face.

They reminded you that the brighter times are coming.

The snow fell gracefully to the ground. 

Beautiful, white, powerdy dust.

but it didn't feel the way you'd imagine.

Cold.

It made you think you'd never feel warm again. 

ROUGH DRAFTS

HAIKU:

I'm falling apart.
You, a weathered skeleton

Continue onwards.




STANZA:

He was a monotonous tragedy of wasted potential.
Every morning, snapping his bones out of bed, 

Pealing tendons and loose limbs from his place of slumber.

He must crawl out of his blanket of loneliness and sheet of despair.

Stumble over to the drawers of anguish and closets of rage.

Tear his skin from the hanger and step into it.

Zip up the flesh he must continually wear.

This skin is so uncomfortable.



Lately was worse than usual.
His best friends abandoned him at the first sign of vulnerability.
He had been slowly fading into obscurity,
and was now fully enveloped by the dark thoughts in his mind.
His jovial personality had dilapidated.
He struggled for the will to graduate.
He could not comprehend why the sky, which is an inanimate being had more will to wake up in the morning than he did. 

But he emerged victorious.
He graduated high school.
He found love.
He found peace and fulfillment.
A world of possibilities opened up for him when he realized that embracing his life was going to be the biggest favor he ever did for himself.
He let death find him alive.






FREE WRITE:

The blades of grass didn't feel like blades at all.
They felt like tranquility.
They felt like the most beautiful bed.

The sun's rays didn't sting the way you'd imagine.
They warmed your face.
They reminded you that the brighter times are coming.

The snow fell blanky on the ground.
A cold, barren landscape.
It made you question if you'd ever see the fields again.

TONE:

Beneath my feet is the soil of most beautiful mountain summit ever to be placed on the façade of planet earth - or at least the most beautiful one I’ll reach in my life. The view around me is not something I can grasp with just a glance; it must be absorbed, appreciated, you must immerse yourself into its sheer, mystifying artistry. Views like this are the kinds of things that make you question your entire existence, like you were only put on this world, in this lifetime, to see this view. Grasp how small you are in this world, and bask in the glory that Mother Nature has laid before us.

This hike was incredibly overrated. The view isn’t even that wonderful, I’m unbelievably tired, and I want nothing more than to get down. I do not want to open my eyes to see the “beauty” of this view. I’m tired and I’m bored and I highly regret ever agreeing to do this hike. It’s stupid. Why do people do this for fun? Why didn’t I pack more food? I could’ve been lounging on the beach and relaxing this vacation, but no, I did a stupid hiking trip. I hate nature. 

Angry Letter

Dear people who use the phrase “I hate everything”,

Can you PLEASE just be quiet and stop complaining. You’re doing nothing productive or beneficial with your continuous whining (except managing to annoy nearly everyone around you). You cannot honestly tell me that you hate absolutely everything about the universe. What kind of monster can find absolutely no happiness or beauty in this world? It’s pathetic. Stop being so utterly miserable.

But, let me get this straight. You’re trying to tell me you hate sunsets, shooting stars, THE MOON? Who even are you? Are you real? How is it even physically possible for someone to be so incredibly negative? I’m begging you, find something you love. Hot chocolate? Long showers? Making new friends? Waking up and realizing you still have time to sleep? How can you honestly hate all of those things?

This life is beautiful. You are a glorious being, act that way. Your body is merely a casing for a soul that has the power to make this life beautiful. Do not let a bad day define you. Its just a bad day, that does not come even close to defining the circumstances for the rest of your life. How can you hate thinking about how perfectly imperfect and limitless your life is? Search for the things you love in this world, and love them endlessly.

Do not hate. Ever. Stop using such a hateful phrase to define things so exquisite. You sound entirely idiotic and unbelievably annoying. Just shut up and think positively for once.

Sincerely,

Shaeleen Hughes

Apostrophe-

I’m so sorry, but I promise you’ve lived a glorious life.

You have fulfilled your purpose for so long, but your time has been cut short.


You have seen exquisite things in your life, and you have showed my mind memories that it will never forget.



I know how deeply you wish someone could see your deep blue oceans once more, but you must stay hidden.


You have been fading into this blackness for quite some time, and you’re now entirely enveloped into this obscurity.

You may never emerge again, but you will never lose your beauty.

 

Synecdoche-

The warm weather was welcomed with open arms.

We were free, we were happy; our lives were never so beautiful.

The wheels took us to places we’ve never been, and our minds explored galaxies far beyond the one we reside in.

The soil and dirt beneath our feet had never felt so alive, and the greens were ever-blooming.

Our smiles were never brighter, and we only squinted because the glorious rays of light made us smile so brightly.

Shaeleen Hughes

Creative Writing E

Mr. Smith

This room is so white. It is not off-white, it is not cream colored, it is white in its absolute purest form, unaffected, bloodless, white. There are thick cushions lining the colorless walls and floors. I have absolutely no idea why I am here, or where I am. I’ve only ever heard of complete nutcases going into places like this, and believe me, I am the sanest of the sane, the most normal there is, an incredibly average human being. Why am I in a place for crazy people? I don’t understand it. I bet I’m just dreaming. Yeah, I’m totally dreaming.

           There are butterflies of all colors flying all around the room now. They’re so beautiful, but they keep flying into the walls. They should know better. They’ll die if they do that.  “STOP FLYING AT THE WALLS YOU IDIOTS! YOU’RE RUINING YOUR WINGS!” I suddenly hear a series of clicks on one of the walls. It’s a door beginning to open. A nurse peeks her head through the door. She is wearing typical nurse gear of a typical, normal person, just like me. “Is everything alright Mr. Smith?” “No, everything's not alright. All the butterflies are dead and I don’t know where I am.”

           How is she not grasping what is wrong here? I think I was wrong about her. I think she’s a basket case. Maybe I’m a king and these are all my slaves. Yeah, I probably adopted a bunch of crazy orphans to help out around my futuristic home, and this is my bedroom. “Go make me some pancakes, you slave.” She promptly closed the door. What the hell? What a waste of money, I should’ve known to go with perfectly normal orphans.

           My memory is slowly coming back to me. I remember owning an apartment in Manhattan when I was sixty. It was a tough time for America, the civil war. I was desperately in love with a beautiful woman, her father was an Indian chief. He hated me at first, then he came to realize that I wanted nothing but the best for his beloved daughter, Pocahontas. Things didn’t work out though, she was too much of a feminist for me, so I killed her. Our kids didn’t seem to mind too much though, she was a real pain. I outlived both of my children; tragic. One of them died in a plane crash in 1871, the pilot was under the influence of ecstasy. The other one died of old age.

    There is a giraffe in my room, I swear. He’s eating the butterflies, but I don’t really mind because I’m still dumbfounded by their stupidly. What kind of living thing just aimlessly flies into walls, I’ll tell you what, moronic butterflies. I hate those things. They’re annoying and they do nothing but bring this world down with them.

    Anywho, this giraffe is named Kevin and he’s a super cool dude. He’s the kind of guy that you’d want to sit down and have a beer with, you know? Maybe play some guitar, talk about what it was like living during the civil war, it would just feel right. I wish I knew him when I was with Pocahontas, he could’ve helped me get a hold of the ricin, he seems like he would have connections to that sort of stuff. Hopefully we can hangout again soon, but he had to go because he wasn’t feeling too well after gorging on dead butterflies.

    I just sit in bedroom now. I kind of want to paint the walls, they’re almost too white. It’s uncomforting. I think I have blue eyes, so I wonder if I took out my eye and rubbed it on the wall, it would make my walls blue. Might as well give it a shot. I dig my long, unkempt fingernails into my eye socket and pull as hard as I can. IT WORKED! I sit here now holding my eyeball in my hand. This is extraordinary! My head has never felt so empty.

    My door is abruptly sprung open, and there are three slaves this time. “What’s the problem officers?” I calmly and politely ask. They just ignore me, and start yelling to each other “Get him to the ER. STAT!” Why are they trying to ruin my painting party? This is not okay.

    There’s a warm, red liquid gushing from the hole that once held my eye. Out with it comes chunks of this hamburger looking meat. Weird, right? I just want to sleep at this point, and they’re loading me onto this bed-looking thing with wheels. This is just plain weird. I figure I should shut my eye and try to get some rest. One of the slaves says into my ear, “Stay with us Mr. Smith.” Who does she think she is?! “Let me get some rest you dense, irrelevant waste of space.”

    I close my eye and the inside of my eyelid is nothing but black. Black in it’s absolute purest form. Thick, all colorful, black.