Sunday, November 3, 2013

"There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book."
             - Marcel Proust

Saturday, November 2, 2013


What is peace?
Peace is cease, cease from violence,
it is benevolence, no its a fantasy
an escape from this world full of drugs, thugs, and shit
peace is wonderful, peace is beautiful
if it could only exist in this world, this world we call Earth,
but is really truly hell.

Monday, October 21, 2013


I gleam upon the midsummer's night, whose beauty never seems to stun me, and then it happens...the transformation which has rightfully daunted me ever since I learned the truth of who I am, the monster that I am.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

A Fucked Up World

bad grades, no A’s
no cash, no stash just a
a whimsical world full drugs, thugs, and shit
no hugs, no love, no kisses, just blood
and hate and fate, and shit.

A Preview of my Upcoming Novel

Prequel- The Accident

Book 1- Emma

It’s extremely embarrassing when you have unexpected company, and you aren’t the least bit prepared for the occasion. Well that’s what happened to me this morning. Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Emma Rosebury and I completely dislike Ethan White. He’s the kid I’ve grown to hate. Well, at least I think…

There are certain moments in life when you look back and wonder “What if I could rewind the clock, and fix that one moment, that one tiny action which seemed so innocent, so juvenile back then?” This is one of those moments. I couldn’t to stop thinking about it as I peered out the tiny little window in the hospital room as a flood of tears gushed down my cheeks staining the floor with grief.

Waking Up

6 Hours Earlier…

It’s Saturday morning, June 1st to be precise. I feel my eyes flutter, as I wake up to the familiar screeching of my alarm clock and the faint sound of a way overplayed “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen. I open my eyes, waiting a couple minutes to adjust to the flooding light coming in through the window before I begin to trudge towards the bathroom. I pause, listening to my mother’s voice…

“Are you positive it’s not an inconvenience to drive Emma today? I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.” “Don’t worry Mrs. Rosebury it’s not an inconvenience at all, in fact it’s my pleasure.”

I rushed downstairs wafting in the singularly succulent sustenance which retains its number one position on the weekly grocery list week after week, blueberry pancakes. “Hello, Emma this is Ethan. He’ll be driving you to and from summer school.” I caught myself staring. Suddenly he jerked his head to move his hair, it caught the light and the golden gleam nearly blinded me. His hair itself was like spun gold, each thread falling perfectly weaving together into curls that framed his perfectly tanned face. My eyes wandered up to his lips (his lips!) perfectly formed, parted slightly, his breath, I imagined, moving in and out in steady streams of air. Suddenly, he looked up and I caught a flash of his emerald eyes framed by tangled golden lashes.
“You’re not interested, Emma. Snap out of it.”

A million thoughts start running through my head. “What if I start liking him? What if he starts liking me? What if we kiss? No, stop Emma.”

My mother leaves, leaving Ethan and I alone. I feel a cold draft. He chuckles. Not the kind of light-hearted chuckle that one often makes after a joke, but the type when you’re keeping something from someone. I hesitate, not wanting to know. “What’s funny?” “Nice pj’s Em.” His eyes brimmed with tears of mirth, and the smile tugging his lips broke into a grin; completely enveloping his face and it was obvious he couldn't hold it in anymore. He burst, filling the room with laughter until it was no longer audible.

It completely slipped my mind. I run upstairs careful not to trip on any obstacles that might be in my way as I make my way towards my dresser. I pause, contemplating what to wear. In a few minutes I’m dressed in my best dress. A beautiful periwinkle dress accentuating my figure perfectly, complemented by a pair of worn down combat boots, and a diamond tiffany bracelet. The perfect outfit for the perfect day. I make my way downstairs peeking one last glance at the mirror. Perfect.

“I never knew a trip to summer school could be such a special occasion.”
I blush.

“Well then let’s get going wouldn’t want to be late for your first day of summer school, now do we?”

We stepped outside. I felt the sun beating down on my head as a cool breeze swept by and then like that gone again. I walk down the steps, down my driveway to his car. A lovely Volkswagen Beetle. I waited for him to open the door. I turned back, suddenly I noticed him staring straight into my eyes. He comes closer, until we’re face to face and even a needle can’t come between us. I wanted to kiss him right then and there.

“Should I? What if he’s not planning to? What if I kiss him, and he doesn’t kiss me back?”

We kissed. We kissed for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally in the car, we avoided speaking or making eye contact for most of the car ride. And, then it happened. He looked into my eyes once again, running his hands through my hair, and then stroking my cheek sighing. We were about to kiss, and…crash! From there it all went blank.

Drug Awareness Poem

One mistake and your life is changed
One mistake and your life is at stake
One mistake is all it takes
to land you in this spiraling path of destruction, obstruction
whose riveting ways seem to eat away every spot of brightness,
thus leaving you astray

Monday, October 14, 2013

Staying True To Yourself

I wanted to be popular even if it meant sacrificing my happiness.

Growing up as a child I’ve never been particularly social. I’m not shy I’ve just always been the type of person to linger in the background opposed to playing lead star in the school play, to cringe at the thought of school presentations, and to avoid gaining any attention. It’s difficult to construe even I don’t fully understand why I’m like this. I just  know that I am, and that I’ve always been this way. I recall at one time I had been asked a question by a fellow student, I believe it had been the sixth grade or perhaps even fifth. Any who, as I replied a cluster of kids formed, awestruck, apparently a rumor had arisen that I had been deaf and incapable of speech. Another analogous occasion occurred in the third grade, the teacher had asked a fellow student to translate for me because allegedly I didn’t speak English, when in fact I spoke and wrote the language impeccably. Even though I’m not particularly social I do have my fair share of chums. Ones who I know will be there to catch me if I fall even if they do cachinnate before offering a hand. However that being said I’ve always strived for something more it’s something that everyone at some point has dealt with; popularity. Even today as I write this article I still struggle with this issue. No matter how much I try to turn a blind eye, it’s always there lurking in the shadows eating away at every ounce of self-admiration that I have, clawing it’s way into my soul. Over the years I’ve learned to accept what I have and be grateful for my fellow friends, but at one point I remember I became obsessed with the idea of being popular. I recall buying the latest clothes, magazines, and listening to the latest music in hopes of being recognized. I even went as far as doing petty favors for them such as doing a book report. I was desperate. I had to be a part of their clique, I thought. It turns out though and it took me awhile to realize this, but they weren’t the type of people I wanted to hangout with. I loathed my clothes, I loathed the music I listened to, and I couldn’t stand reading frivolous articles on the importance of thigh gaps. I felt dejected by my own self. It just wasn’t me.

When high school came along I sought it as an opportunity to completely reinvent myself. All throughout freshman year I would go by several alias names such as; Elizabeth, Gracie, Isabella, etc. I couldn’t decide which one I liked best. Eventually I settled on Giselle Faye. I felt like my name held me back. A new name would mean a new personality. Whenever I found myself insecure I would repeat the following mantra, “I am Giselle Faye. I’m confident, I’m perfect and everyone would die to be me.” I was another person. I felt titillated by the idea of fostering a new identity, empowering. I was shedding the parts of myself that I disliked, and inventing a new, and a more refined me. I was capable of anything, everything. It was my opportunity at a fresh start. Still, I didn’t feel right. Over time I learned to accept myself for who I am. I’m just not meant for center stage. It’s not me and I’m completely okay with that. Looking back on this article and my former self I realize how puerile I used to be because in a matter of years no one will even bother caring how socially-awkward you used to be. It’s just a point in time. In this article I truly want to express the importance of being yourself, because what seems significant now may seem petty and nugatory in the future. I recall a time when I felt woebegone and lugubrious, a time when everything I seemed to do felt like a burden. Think to yourself, is it really worth it? Sacrificing your happiness for recognition.

Popularity isn’t about having the latest clothes, nor listening to the latest music. It isn’t about knowing the most people, or acting contemplable towards certain people. It’s about being yourself, and having trustworthy friends who you can depend on and count on to always be there for you. I truly, and genuinely hope that you take these words to heart, because as corny as it might sound this is based on true experiences. Therefore, stay true to yourself and never lose faith.