This is... Photo Poem

This is an adventure
At Six Flags
With fun friends and roller coasters
And comparatively no crowds

This is a good day
The sun shining
Sixty degree weather
With dippin' dots and dancing

This is a best friend
Holding hands
Walking through shadows
Making memories

This is a good time
Laughing together
Consoling with each other
Experiencing life

Photos of the Millennium; How To Find Peace (a poem)

Author's note: I tried searching for where and when this photo was taken but I couldn't find any information on it. It was just a photo that came up when I searched "Iconic photos from the 21st century." 

Crowds of people

Shouting voices

Angry men

Angry women

fight, fight, fight

Forcing "peace" only heightens discord

An upset mob screaming for the pursuit of happiness

For their rights

For their wants

For their needs

Broken glass

Sirens wailing

People chanting

Officers demanding

Protesters demanding 

fight, fight, fight

Amongst those bitter and violent

A couple has their own peace

Trapped in a world contrary to theirs

They find their own happiness

The others heighten their rage for peace

Unaware that peace is within their reach

Unaware that they're the ones that can make the change

Unaware of the more effective ways to get what they want

Pursue, pursue, pursue

And you will find peace

Pursue against and despite the hate

Pursue for love

Pursue effectively

Pursue with determination

Perseverance brings peace but

Fighting only breeds more angry people

Flea Market Photo Inspired Piece; Elizabeth May Fairfield

Elizabeth May Fairfield was cursed with the misfortune of always missing someone. Since she was five years old, you could find her sitting on her porch in Diamond, MO, waiting for someone to return home. In July of 1914, her father was drafted into the war and every evening after her piano lesson, Elizabeth would sit on her porch for a couple hours until her mother called for dinner or the sun went down. Her father returned home a day before her 15th birthday, May 11th 1917, after being shot in the arm. Elizabeth was granted a good six months of contentedness before her brother, Samuel, moved to the University of Arkansas. She thought of her brother in similar fashion on her porch until every summer came and he returned. Although with every summer her father left to work on her grandfather's farm so she was left waiting for another.

Elizabeth attended a high school that was only a short walk from where she lived. She excelled in the arts, spending a lot of her time painting or playing the piano. She joined the women's rights movement at an early age, her mother leading the way. She attended her first rally with her mother when she was ten years old and took part in many protests years after. She held on to the dream of becoming a business owner. She wanted to open a florist shop and cafe.

After graduating from high school, she became one of the few women in her graduating class to attend a university. She was the only woman in her business classes at Missouri State University and faced a lot of prejudice. However, it was at the university where she met James Lee Simmons.

James was a Junior at the university, earning a music degree. He was a pianist protege, a skilled guitarist, and a talented vocal artist. He focused most of his attention on jazz, a genre that had heightened in America. He dreamed of performing in famous concert halls.

Elizabeth first met James in the music room. She was leaving class when she heard him playing the piano. The music intrigued her and she was reminded of how much she loved to play. She watched him play and once he was finished he said hello to her. They introduced themselves and began to meet in the music room every afternoon for the second semester. Before they left home for the summer, they spent time out side of school together. When Elizabeth returned home to her mother, father, and younger sister, she was left to wait again.

Elizabeth and James were both afraid that they wouldn't find each other the next year but, with Elizabeth waiting patiently in the music room, they were reunited and her sophomore year, his senior, was spent falling in love with each other. After he graduated, James proposed to Elizabeth and they got married that fall. James was successful with his music, working as an accompanist or a director. They moved into a small yellow house and her parents moved closer as well for her younger sister graduated high school. With Eliza excelling in her business classes, she thought that maybe her life of waiting was finally over.

MSU reflection

I met a girl named Wendy. She taught me a few words in Chinese including theatre, rehearsal, and seniors. She said that American high schools "teach you how to live a life" whereas Chinese high schools "teach you how to pass an exam." I told her that I was involved in a lot of theatre and am currently rehearsing for my 8th show. I also told her that I love cats and going on road trips. She was surprised by the size of my family (6) and said that it was very big. I showed her all around our school. I took her backstage to watch a class rehearsing for "The Curious Savage" and she thought it was really cool that we have a class devoted to the Spring play. I showed her the student center, the library, the gym, and the science wing. When we walked by the culinary room she was really surprised that students get to cook for a class. She commented on our style saying it was "free" and "relaxed" and that she liked it a lot better than Chinese style. I loved getting to know Wendy and learn a little bit about her culture. I'm glad we were able to share our school so that they could experience an American high school. If we had more time, I think it would have been fun to play on the computers in the commons, walk into the culinary classroom to watch/help cook, and walk into the journalism room and explain what our school does there.

Art Walk

(This is not the original painting used to inspire my writing, but it is similar)

Dark rocks just out of the shallow blue sea. The ocean rolls across the rocks like smoke. Waves catch the light and reflect a white color. In the distance, a deep blue sea stretches out to the horizon with dark rolls of waves. There is a pink light against the blue sky behind the silhouette of mountains on the horizon. A waterfall flows over the rocks and plummets down like a water fall.

The scene gives an overwhelming sense of peace for an escapist. Problems and worries are long gone. It reminds me of my "wander lust." I want to constantly be seeing new views like this.

The sea crashes into rocks

Spraying

Rumbling

Splashing

Roaring

The sun sets behind the mountains ahead

Pink

Red

Orange

Blue

Water touches my toes

Cold

Wet

Clean

Soft

I breathe in the sea air deeply

Salt

Moss

Fish

Spring

The sea is like smoke

plummeting down from the rocks

reaching the calm dawn

I have found a place

where I can finally breathe

I have found my peace

"3rd Grade" 2nd Narrative poem inspired by Banksy

A little boy
met a little girl
Happy
Silly
Pretty
Little girl

They played on swings
They climbed trees
They drew with chalk

She taught him a cartwheel
He taught her to catch
She made him fall in love
He made her feel important

The summer before 3rd grade ended
The school year began
The backpacks were bought
The hair was done

The little boy
met the little girl
again

She only said hello
He only looked for her all day
She never showed interest in their friendship
He never forgot about her

The little boy bought flowers
In hopes that the little girl would like them

He caught her on the playground
Flowers behind his back

She didn't even smile
She didn't even stop.
He didn't even speak
He didn't even breathe.

She walked right past him
And ran to another boy.
They ran to the swings
They ran to the trees
They ran for the chalk.

She taught him what love feels like
He taught her what being loved feels like
She made his heart break
He made her heart sing care-free.

Inspired by Hopper-- "Strangers"

Strangers

The night was bright and cool, the breeze coming from the east just as pleasant. Most of the city had long gone to bed but I was feeling restless. I walked down Harlem avenue, a street in the heart of downtown. Along that street stood a building with flats and on the third floor resided my good friend Lincoln. I wasn't at all positive that he was still awake but I was determined to have his company that night. I went up the stairs and rounded a corner to reach his door. I rapped on the door a few times and waited impatiently for an answer. Finally, Link opened the door, but only a crack. "Carmen, it's one o'clock, what are you doing?" He mumbled.

"Come on Link, let me in," I replied.

He opened the door wider with hesitation and I let myself in his dark, quiet flat. His yellow lab, Scout, greeted me with a lick on the hand. "Why are you all dressed up?" Link groaned, rubbing his eyes awake. He was in a white T-shirt and joggers, his dark hair that usually falls over his forehead a curly mess- a sight I had seen him in many times over the course of our six year friendship.

I gave an explanation to my red dress, "I went to a show tonight that my friend was in. Now get dressed, lets go do something."

"It's one AM, don't be ridiculous," Link complained.

"Come on," I urged. "Scout is awake, he can come with us." I bent down to scratch the dog's head as he wagged his tail at the sound of his name.

"Go with us where?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, I'm dying for a gallivant. I want to meet new people. Besides, we haven't hung out in a while."

"We see each other all the time," he grumbled.

I retorted, "I wasn't talking about you, I was talking about Scout."

"Carmen, I'm not going out, I just got to bed," he insisted.

"So you're going to make a young girl walk the town at night all alone? It would be a shame for such a pretty girl in such a pretty dress to go out alone without a handsome escort..." 

Link threw his head up and sulked to his room, growling, "Fine, I'll change."

"Wear something nice," I called after him. "I don't want to look out of place next to you."

Linked walked out a few minutes later and we leashed up Scout and we headed outside. Florescent streetlights flickered along the dim sidewalk. Scout padded obediently beside us but his excitement was clear from the wagging of his tail and the alertness of his ears.

The yellow light of a diner streamed into the dark street. The diner sat at the corner of Harlem ave and Whitaker rd, it's two walls made almost entirely of glass. We could see one employee- a bald man with a long white apron. Another man- a customer- sat at the end of the counter in a suit and hat, similar to Link's attire.

"Coffee?" Link asked me and I nodded.

We stepped inside, the smell of coffee instantly invading our noses. The man behind the counter greeted us with a friendly "hello."

"Do you mind if our dog joins us?" Link asked.

"Not at all," the man smiled. "Have a seat. What can I get for you?"

I sat down on the hard wooden bar stool. Scout took a seat below Link's feet and Daniel sat on the other side of him. Link answered, "The coffee smells good, we'll each have one."

"And I've been craving a waffle," I added.

Link nodded in agreement and said, "Oh yes, two waffles as well."

The bald man nodded, already poring our coffee. He placed our mugs in front of us and a tray of sugar and cream. The steam from the brew floated towards the ceiling. I watched as the man then began to make a waffle mix.

"What brings you two here this late at night?" He asked.

"Well I was forced outside against my own will," Link replied.

I ignored my friend and said, "The need for a gallivant and a change of pace. Routine is only pleasant before you get stuck in it."

"Oh ok, so do you live around here?" The man poured the batter into a waffle iron.

"Lincoln lives a few blocks down, but I live south of downtown," I answered.

"How do you like living in the city?" The man asked Link.

"It's convenient but not very peaceful," he admitted.

"Oh but for some peace is convenience," the employee said.

I huffed, "Only the lazy."

"You have a good point, young lady," he nodded.

The waffle iron made a "ding" and the bald man lifted the three fluffy waffles out onto plates. He put out syrup and silverware on the counter. "Lincoln, right?" The man handed Link his waffle after he nodded. "And you are?"

"Carmen," I replied and was given my waffle.

"Well Lincoln and Carmen, I'm Robert," he introduced. "Let me know how the waffles are."

"Thank you, Robert," I replied.

Waffle already in his mouth, Link nodded, "They're very good." And he was right, as I found out for myself.

It grew quiet as we finished our waffles. I was about three quarters of the way through when the stranger at the end of the counter caught my eye. He was watching us intently. Or, rather, one of us. Me. I tried desperately to remember if he had been looking at us the entire time, but my focus had all been on getting to know Robert and my waffle. The stranger's hat hung low on his head, a shadow cast over his face so that I couldn't make out what he looked like. The loneliness that surrounded him was familiar and the way he sat alone, coffee in hands, made him recognizable. He looked down at his coffee after I held his gaze for more than a beat.

After we finished our waffles, Robert cleared our plates and refilled our coffee. "Robert, who is that man over there?" I asked him, loud enough for the stranger to hear what I said if he was listening. I could tell that he had been paying attention to me and heard what I asked because he turned his face ever so slightly away.

Leaning over the counter, Robert whispered, "That, Miss Carmen, is William Richards." He said his name as if we were to recognize it but Link and I exchanged a dumbfounded glance. There was an awkward silence as we awaited a further explanation but it didn't come.

"I'm sorry Robert, William who?" Link asked.

"William Richards," Robert repeated. He hushed, gossiping, "You know, the writer who's always playing that silly instrument on the street and panhandling. Panhandling! For goodness sake he's a successful writer! Why anyone would panhandle for the fun of it, I don't know. How humiliating, indecent, unprofessional..." He shook his head in disapproval, muttering to himself as he turned around to clean up his area.

Link and I sat in silence for a moment, sipping our coffee. I opened my mouth to say something, but then closed it again. Link sensed my itch and looked at me, shaking his head and grumbling, "Don't Carmen..."

I did anyway. "Mr. Richards?" I called down the counter to the stranger. He looked up, finally allowing the light to stream onto his face. He was a younger than I expected and quite handsome. "Would you like some more coffee?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he answered.

"I'm sure yours is cold by now," I observed.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he nodded.

I stood up from my bar stool. Link grumbled into my ear, "He doesn't want your company."

I grabbed my hot coffee and glared at him. "Don't be silly, he's been staring at me this whole time," I hushed before leaving Link to approach the stranger. "Well then have my coffee, please," I insisted.

"Oh, no that's perfectly alright, ma'am," he chuckled.

"I don't mind. I'm awfully too awake right now to be drinking it. Do you mind if I sit here?" I asked.

He took his hat off politely and replied, "No, please sit down."

I sat down on the other edge of the corner. "So you're Mr. Richards," I started.

"Please, call me William. Will even, if you'd like," he corrected.

"Of course. I'm Carmen. Over there is Lincoln." I pointed to Link who was already in another conversation with Robert. "He's a good friend of mine."

William said quietly, "You know, I can't imagine there'd be anyone who wouldn't want your company."

"You heard that?" I blushed. "Link has never been a good whisperer."

"Oh I hear a lot of things. It's my job to listen," he chimed.

"I thought it was to write?" I inquired.

"Oh writing is only half of the job, at most. A good writer has to be a good listener," he explained.

"What else do good writers have to do?" I mused.

William answered, "Well, good writers have to experience things. New things- things outside their  comfort zone. They have to watch people and see places. They have to feel new things and new feelings. Good writers have to be alone."

"Wouldn't that be lonely?" I pondered.

He shrugged, "Well, I suppose it is sometimes. But sometimes it's actually quite the opposite. There's a difference between being alone and being lonely."

"I agree," I nodded. "What about tonight? Are you alone or lonely?"

William looked at me, allowing a soft smile to flicker over his solemn face. "If I was lonely before I'm not now."

I smiled back. Robert and Link's chattering filled the silence that separated us for a moment. A car drove by and the sound of a trash can toppling over clattered from across the street. It didn't take long for the streets to grow quiet again. I mentioned, "Robert told us you play an instrument?"

William shook his head. "I can play the guitar, but I only have a child's guitar so it's kind of silly."

He looked down to the ground on the right of him. I peered over the counter, following his gaze. There, hidden under the counter, sat a small guitar. "Why don't you get a new one?"

"I kind of like the small one. It's been my first and only guitar. It's not that I can't afford another- I just don't see the need for it," he explained.

"Why do you play on the street?"

He shrugged, "People seem to like it."

"Then you must be very talented. Will you play something for me?" I requested.

"Oh no, I don't think I should," he shook his head and glanced over to where Robert was standing.

"Oh, don't worry about him. They'll love it. Please don't be modest," I said.

"Well there is something I could play," he agreed, picking up the small guitar.

He plucked the strings to tune it and Robert and Link looked at us. Then William began to strum and pluck a beautiful melody. I motioned Link to sit next to me and he did so, Scout joining us as well. Then William began to sing and song. The diner was immediately full of beautiful music and Robert even began to bounce when the song picked up. It wasn't long before Link offered his hand and we danced on the slick, greasy floor.

When William finished the song, he gave it a rest. "That was lovely!" I exclaimed, sitting back down next to him. "You're so right to play in the streets- I wouldn't want to deprive anyone of such music."

"Thank you, Carmen," he smiled.

"More coffee?" Robert offered.

"I'll have some," Link nodded.

I shook my head and turned my attention back on William. "So, mister writer, you say you spend a lot of time observing?" I inquired and he nodded. "I assume you were making judgments on us. What did you think? Humor me."

William chuckled, "Well... I thought that Robert didn't like me very much. I thought you were a little..."

I urged him to continue, "What?"

"Insane. Perhaps a bit nosey. Wild."

"Excuse me?" I interrupted him.

"I'm not finished," he hushed. "You were still enchanting, I'll give you that. When you began to talk to me I realized that you are also kind and gentle. Care free. Confident. Joyful. Most importantly I thought that Link was the luckiest man in the world. Even if he was just a friend, he still got to be around you."

I don't remember if I responded to him or not. I'm sure I must have said something in return, but all I can recall is feeling taken aback and flattered.

William continued, "May I ask you a question?" I nodded. "How are you able to talk to strangers? More so, why do you talk to strangers?"

I waited a moment before I answered, "There are seven billion people on this earth and not one of them lives the same life. Every single person is different and everyone experiences different things. For so long I viewed people that I didn't know as 2D. I wasn't mindfully aware of the amazing stories that lie within every human being. Then I realized that I had been missing out on so much. There's so much that you can learn from others. I don't want to limit my intellect to the experiences of my closest circle. I want to know new people, I want to feel new feelings, I want to go new places, I want to see new things. I'm trying to get everything out of this life that I possibly can."

"Thank you, Carmen," William blinked. "You have opened my eyes to new worlds."

Link walked back to our end of the counter with Scout's leash. "Where to now, Carmen?" He asked happily. "To home, I hope?"

"Yeah, I think we will go home," I nodded. "I've made the most of my night." I got up from my bar stool.

"It was very nice meeting you," William stood up to shake Link's hand. "And you, Carmen," he shook mine as well. "Although, you spent all your time learning about me. I hope we'll see each other again, so that maybe I can ask you about yourselves."

"I'm sure we will," I nodded.

"Any time," Link agreed. "Accept for now- my eyes are glazing over." I linked my arm in Link's and we started for the door. "Take care, Robert!" Link called and I waved goodbye to the two men, no longer strangers, standing in the now quiet diner on the corner of Harlem Avenue and Whitaker Road.

Dan in Real Life Questions

Can you know in three days that you love someone?
Soulmates?
Love- a feeling or ability?

I think it's silly to believe that you are in love with someone after three days of knowing them. Of course, everyone is different and I know that for me it takes a while to get to know people and to let other people get to know me. However, I think that love can be very deceiving and many things may lead you to believe that you are in love. "Love is an ability, not a feeling," but that ability still feels like something. Lust, desire, and passion can all feel similar to love.

I believe that love is something you choose. You have every ability to choose what you love and who you love. It is all up to your decision. You can choose to fall in love with anyone and anyone can choose to fall in love with you. You also choose to stop loving someone. Some times it is much easier to stop loving someone than it is to keep loving them. Your relationship with your significant other all depends on the both of you, at some point, making a conscious effort to love each other. Love may came unwillingly and unconsciously, as it should, but a relationship isn't made real until you reach a point when you make the decision to love your significant other. With that said, there are many people you can fall in love with and I don't believe that there is one perfect soulmate for everyone. Even if there is, there are over 7 billion people in the world and the chances of you finding that one person is 1 in 7,000,000,000- very slim.

Describe your perfect day.

My idea of a perfect day changes all the time but it always consists of spending some time on the road and visiting a place outside of Springfield and usually with a small group of friends.

At this specific moment, here is what my idea of a perfect day looks like: I am living in my own house with a roommate (preferably Claire Edelen). We have two pet cats and two large dogs from the animal shelter (some sort of German Shepherd, Lab, or Golden Retriever). I have the whole day free to do whatever I want. There are sparse clouds in the sky, the sun is bright, it's 80 degrees, 0 humidity, and a slight cool breeze. I take the hood and doors off of my black jeep wrangler and load up my two dogs and Claire. We drive to Arkansas to get to the Whitaker point trail. The road trip consists of good tunes, a coca-cola ICEE, Sprees, and a lunch break at a cute diner in Arkansas.
We hike the trail to Whitaker point and have a picnic on the bluff. Beautiful pictures are taken, exploration and adventure is had. We set up a tent and hammocks and start a fire at night. When it is darker, we put out the fire to look at the stars then either fall asleep in our hammocks or in the tent.

Do you think asking questions makes you a good conversationalist?

When talking to someone, it's important to make eye contact, visually respond to what they are saying, and be genuinely interested in what they are saying. Sometimes asking questions is what you should do and in many cases it does help the conversation to continue and increase in depth. However, there are times when no words need to be exchanged- silence is the perfect sound to fill the space. I am a strong advocate of silence and believe that it should be treasured. I think that comfortable silence is a sign that your friendship or relationship has matured. I have mentioned my post about silence in my other blog before, but feel free to check it out here if you would like!

"Reel" Life

I have always loved movies. A good movie inspires me to write. It would be impossible for me to narrow down on one movie that is my favorite, but I'd like to shed light on a lesser-known movie called "Take Me Home".
It was released in 2011 and directed and starring Sam Jaeger, available right now on Netflix. It's one of my favorite movies, but not number one. It's a romantic comedy and I can be picky when it comes to rom coms. This movie I would describe as "indie" and what makes this movie stand out is the soundtrack. There is a song they play by the Bootstraps that I absolutely love. All of the music is chill and creates the mood of the story perfectly.

I don't usually care for movies that are almost all action- take Mad Max for example. I really like good dialogue and chiller vibes. I'm moved by stories that get you to think, rather than sit there and watch a fight enfold. Inception is a great example of an action movie that also makes you think (if you didn't give the movie your full attention you would be lost) and it is one of my favorites.

I usually watch movies on Netflix. I like finding good movies that others may have overlooked or older movies that my mom loved when she was younger. I watch a lot more movies in the summer than during the school year, and I once went a month watching something new every night!

For a movie environment, I don't mind having company but I would rather watch it alone. If I am alone I won't be disturbed so my full attention will be on the movie and I won't refrain from showing emotions- I can let the tears flow if need be! if I am watching a movie with company, they can't be talking throughout the movie. I don't care what kind of me we're watching- I don't like being distracted when watching something. It's irritating and, in my opinion, rude to be talking through a movie. Of course, I have watched a movie with friends before souly for the purpose of making fun of it or having dialogue through out it. Popcorn is always a must- lightly buttered or no butter at all with a little salt. Sometimes I'll snack on cheese-its or make a smoothie, but I like to have a little something when I watch a movie.

The test I took told me that I am...
58% extroverted
75% agreeable
58% conscientious
67% emotionally stable and
100% open to new experiences.
I rated high on movies that allow you to escape from reality and movies that are artistic.

If my life was to be made in a movie, I would want Julianne Hough to star as me. I would want it to be an artistic, quirky, indie film with a killer soundtrack. I would hope they would use songs on my spotify playlist. It would have a happy ending and there would be some deep dialogue and I would hope that my life story would impact others.

"Reely" Good Quotes

Culture Swap Email to China

Hello friends!

As I have learned, you have been watching What Would You Do? and Wife Swap. My class watched the same clips you watched.

What Would You Do is one of my favorite shows. As you might have guessed from one of the episodes, there are some people in the US that discriminate or judge other based on race or religion, especially Muslims as of late. After the 9/11 terrorist attack in 2001, discrimination and unfair treatment escalated against Muslims, and because Muslim women wear a hijab, they stick out of a crowd. I am very against discrimination of any kind. Our country prides it's self in the fact that we believe that all men and women are created equal and everyone has the right and freedom to follow their own religion. However, there are still people who treat others unfairly.

If I was in a situation like that of the What Would You Do episode when there is a Muslim woman changing a tire, I would hope that I wouldn't even notice her hijab. I've never changed a tire before but I have been taught and seen it done so I would hope that I would help her.

Another episode of What Would You Do that we watched was a young pregnant girl talking to two gay men interested in adopting her baby. A woman spoke out rudely against the idea and against homosexuals. This situation is similar to the other episode in that it has to do with discrimination and unfair treatment. LGBTQ rights have been a big topic of debate in our country lately. I believe that the woman who spoke out against the two men was very rude and small minded. It wasn't her business to get involved and tell someone that what they are doing is wrong. It is quite ironic though, for once the rude woman gets involved it is suddenly everyone's business to step in and insure equal treatment. That is one of the great things about our country- we want everyone to be treated fairly. We may not agree on many things, but most of us have everyone's best interest in mind and many will stand up for minorities.

The third What Would You Do episode that we watched had to do with "cat fishing", which is the term for when someone acts like someone else on the internet, luring someone to meet them. In this episode, an older man pretended to be a young boy who had a romantic interest in a teenage girl. Situations like these happen in America much more often than I'd like to or even admit. It is a very dangerous situation, especially for a teenage girl, because these situation often lead to rape, abuse, and even murder. Thankfully, most all Americans will do anything they can for something like that from happening if they can.

I hope that our country can not only "talk the talk" but that they can "walk the walk." By this I mean we not only proclaim that everyone is equal but we treat others as such. It is very embarrassing and shameful when people in our country with a lot of power and a loud voice say horribly things against other groups of people (i.e. Donald Trump, a rich business owner currently running for president).

The tv show Wife Swap has never been my favorite. The families that they show are always insane and blown way out of proportion. The episode we watched featured a family who described themselves as "modern day red necks" and another who was obsessed with pageants. There may be families like this in the U.S., but rarely to that extreme and insanity. I also feel like the show stretches reality.

Living in the Midwest of the United States, I have encountered many "modern day rednecks" and can say that there are definitely many near where I live and further south. Typically these people are loud, annoying, and not very pleasant to be around. From my experience, they can be close minded and uneducated.

I haven't met a family quite like the pageant family but beauty is a high priority for a lot of people that I know. Some women love entering their children into pageants but, unlike the mother in Wife Swap, children aren't typically entered into pageants unless they want to. As a whole, beauty is very important in our culture. Television shows, movies, magazines, and adds always portray what most people believe is a beautiful person. People photo shop models, especially women, just so that they look even more beautiful. Most of the women we see for adds don't even exist.

Personally, I don't see the harm in looking the best that you can. However, I believe that physical beauty is subjective and it doesn't last. What's more important is who you are- that's what I believe makes a person beautiful. Someone can be very pretty in physical appearance but mean and self centered and to me that is not beautiful.

I hope that these shows help you to understand our culture more and I also hope that they don't give you a false idea of how people in America act. I have a couple questions about how your culture compares to mine. Do you have any problems in your country when it comes to discrimination and mistreatment against religion or race? Where does our country stand as far as LGBTQ rights? What about you personally? Have you heard of people getting "cat fished" before? Where does beauty land priorities wise in your lives and within your culture? If you have any questions, please ask them!

Your friend from the U.S.,
Haley

Window Poem

I see a backyard with a large willow tree
A torn trampoline
A locked shed and a fire pit
I see children playing in the ditch
Past the fence
Hitting a ball
Skidding in mud
Shouting

To my left sits a cat atop a couch
She purrs and bats at my hand
A fire place is cold
Papers and books are scattered on the floor

I look back out the window
There is something different
The branches on the willow are no longer bare
The grass is greener
I even hear birds

I always listen for the birds
Because I know that Winter is over
Summer is near

The sky is clear
The children's faces are flushed
A rabbit jumps from a bush

The wind picks up, swaying the willow
It's still a bit chilly
But far in the distance
Just at the horizon
Summer is coming

"Circus Tiger" a Poem for Pieces by Banksy

The circus was always a sad place to be.
All the other children laughed and cheered

while I let out a plea
against the men in tails so revered.

The other children heard the tiger roar
but I heard the tiger cry.
How could the others ignore
that we were the real bad guy?

We chain up a lion,
we whip an elephant,
we hit a bear,
we cage a rhino,
we burn a leopard.
We turn animals into objects. They no longer have more of an identity than a bar code- the name that is labeled to them.

"And now the amazing Ramone..."
The tiger walks into the circle.
Her terrified eyes look at me and scream, "Alone."
The crowd doesn't realize that she is no immortal.

After her sad show
she is locked in a small cage
and her spirits are forever low.
Deep within me I enrage.

I come back at night
when the tent is silent
and all have turned out the light
but the tiger stays alert; defiant.

She looks straight at me
through the bars that keep her in.
A whimper escapes- she lets out a plea.
I nod and decide to begin.

Bars stretch
locks break
gates open
breaths exchange

The tiger is free at last
for I open her small cage
and her massive paw hits the grass.
I watch the moon bounce off her like silver sage.

She makes not a sound
and looks at me maybe twice
then disappears in a bound
in search for her own paradise.

Weeks come and go before I hear anything about her. I find her on the news-
a video of fur
claws slash out
a roar erupts
teeth are bared
blood is drawn
Ramone attacked a black bear that meant no harm.

The tiger is spoiled,
ruined for our own selfishness.
Her plans for happiness were foiled.

Even when it was offered, she would never find happiness.

One may hand her a flower
but she had only a club to offer.

Artists Profile

Banksy is an infamous street artist in England. He has successfully concealed his identity for years, but researchers have recently found his trail that leads to his identity- Robin Gunningham. He was born in 1974 in Bristol, England to Pamela and Peter Gunningham who also had a daughter named Sarah. Peter was a contracts manager and Pamela was a secretary. Banksy attended Bristol Cathedral School. He was always seen drawing or spray painting and began his career in street art when he was a preteen.

Banksy has lived through the most recent historical events in England including the turn of the millennium, "Winter of Discontent" strikes (1978), economic recession (1982), 9/11, and Britain joining the US in the invasion of Iraq (2003). The most difficult struggle Banksy has had in his career is concealing his identity. It took a close call for him to realize that he needed to cut his painting time in half. He was painting "Late again" on a London train when he heard the cops coming. He had to run through a thorn bush to get away but his buddies had already made it to the van and had driven away. So Banksy hid under a dumpster that was leaking oil until the cops left.

Here are some of Banksy's more famous pieces:

"Mobile Lovers"

"Balloon Girl"

"Slave Labor"

Here are two others that I really like:

"Boy Meets Girl"

Untitled

Famous First/Last Lines New Writing

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. "There will always be people who take advantage of something, you may even be guilty of such an accusation. When you do find yourself guilty, never let it go unforgiven- apologize and hope for forgiveness. If you are the victim, always forgive."

I'm standing in front of him now, his advice a stone in my stomach. For a decade I have seen the power of forgiveness he speaks so highly of. I have forgiven my father once before and a thousand times over but it was a lot easier to forgive when there was a disability to point fingers at. Now, no longer in his wheel chair, he sits at his desk with thin glasses at the bridge of his nose and a graying beard resting against his navy shirt. I stand in the doorway of his office, holding the box that is damned with the weight of piling evidence against my father's word.

I struggle to keep my deserves under control and explain, "When you missed my graduation I was able to understand why. You had just gotten out of the hospital after the crash and told you would never be able to walk again. I didn't blame you for not showing up. When you weren't at Mom's memorial I forgave you because I knew it was extra hard on you- losing your wife and your independence. I even forgave you five years after the incident when you weren't at the hospital when I had your first grand child. I didn't blame you- I blamed your disability, I blamed the truck driver, I even blamed myself. You didn't come to Janson's wedding last week. I wasn't angry, though- I was worried. Then I found this box in your attic yesterday."

"Kate," my father sighs sadly and gets out of his chair.

"Do not stand," I snap. "How long have you been able to walk again? Were you ever even unable to?" I accuse.

"Honey, let me explain," he begs.

"Yes, an explanation would be very nice!" I demand as I slam the box onto his desk before him. Inside are piles of pictures and post cards, and in each of them my father is standing next to people I have never seen before. "How is that during the years 1995-2015 you were damned to sit in a chair on wheels presumably forever and yet there are post cards of you standing on a street in Tokyo? There's a photo of you skiing in the Alps- something a cripple could never do. What have you been doing all these years?!"

He tries to explain, "Listen to me, Kate. It's not what you think it is- yes I lied. The doctors never told me that I wouldn't be able to walk again. Please try to understand- after your mother died I was devastated and broken."

"Don't put the blame on Mom," I tell him. "This was you, this was your doing. You are the one who abandoned Janson and me. For what reason, I have no idea."

"Kate, I have something wrong with me- that part is true. I don't think the same way you and your brother do, I don't experience or feel things the same way that you do."

I can't believe what he is trying to tell me. I exasperate, "What next, you're going to make up a mental disability for yourself? Is that it? No father, there is no explanation for what you have done. You're a liar." He stands again and starts to walk around his desk but I stop him, scolding, "Sit back down! I hope you're never able to get back up again."

"You won't forgive me this time?" He asks.

"No, not this time. I hope you experience the same loneliness you gave your children when you disappeared on secret vacations. In your rocking-chair, by your window dreaming, shall you long, alone. In your rocking-chair, by your window, shall you dream such happiness as you may never feel."

Pillow Talk

Hear this story my dear friend

Listen closely to the end

So that you will not fall

Under the demon's thrall.

For there is a shadow that awaits

To steal away all of our fates.

This is the story of Poor Little

Presented to me at night in a dream.

I share this to you in hopes that a broken friendship you may redeem.

This is the story of Poor Little.

There once were two ships 

    who sailed the seas together

And lil' ship did think

    that they would be forever.

The waters were still
    and not a shadow in sight.

Poor Little ship failed

    to recognize and take flight.

For there was a shadow

    hidden in the other ship.

The shadow would cause

    Poor Little's sail to rip.

Both shadow and ship

    cause Poor Little to sink.

Shadow takes over

    other ship does not blink.

The ship lets shadow

    take her from little one.

Poor, broke Little ship

    wishes she had trusted none.

The sea then rises

    the waves soon over power

And her old dear friend

    is not there for her last hour.

Waves from the shadow

    and waves from the runaway

Help the storm to kill

    The poor little castaway.

After my dreams were haunted

By this sad sonnet

I wondered if that was really Poor Little's end.

So tell me my dear friend

Does Poor Little get back up again?

Does she mend her sail

And begin a new tale?

(Illustrated by moi) 

Writers as Readers

3. Talking about bad events can in some cases make the matter worse, but in other cases may help. I know that whenever there is drama going on with my friends at school, the problem is almost always made worse when I talk about it to other people, particularly because it can easily turn into gossip. Chances are, the friend you are upset with will hear from the grape vine that you were talking to someone else about how you were upset. However, there have been more times when a situation is better after I talk to someone about it. For example, if there are problems at home or if I am fighting with a parent, when I share with a close friend or sibling, it helps to vent and clear my mind.

4. I agree with Maya Angelou that dreams tell the truth about us. They may be disguised or hidden, but there is always truth in a dream. Your dreams all take place when you are unconscious and you don't have control over them and therefor have the potential to express your true self. When I was little I had reoccurring dreams about a beast. The night mare ended when the wolf found me and jumped out and always ended with a loud bang. What was scariest was the tension throughout the whole dream that didn't end until the loud bang that shocked me awake. In real life, I fear tension and instability- being on edge and waiting for something that I know will be bad.

5. I have always been a fan of silence. I have written an entire blog post on my other blog just about the value of silence. I can be loud and talkative but I can also be very quiet. I feel that I more often than not lean toward introversion and am a little shy. However, once I get to know someone or a group of people I can break out of my shell and be energetic and bubbly.

6. I absolutely love other languages and other cultures. I wish I had the time, dedication, and discipline to learn another language. It saddens me that there are millions of people that I can't hold a conversation with because of language barriers. I have recently been listening to the French artist Stromae. Even though I don't know what he is saying, I can understand what he means.

9. To occupy my "small mind" when writing or before I write, I like to play with playdoh- just kneading it in my palm. I also doddle- A LOT. My papers are full of doodle and scribbles. My biggest distraction when getting something done is social media- including Pinterest and Neko Atsume.

Paragraph Color Story

My night was a black one. The dark sky swallowed the city below me as I sat on the top of a parking garage, my legs dangling over the edge in the night, and my dingy car playing music behind me. For a moment I found myself alone. I looked at my hands, still stained from the charcoal I was using on a canvas just before my evening took a turn for the worst. I left my artwork alone in my dim room when my parents came home. A crow flew past the stars, ka-ing overhead as if to mock me. A somber rumble of a car pulled up the garage, parking itself next to mine. A shadow emerged from its door and walked toward me.

I saw the silhouette’s blue eyes before anything else and recognized them immediately. It was my best friend Jayden. Upon recognition, sadness flooded my vision. He hopped up on to the ledge to sit down next to me and I leaned my head on his shoulder. He put his hand in his cobalt hoodie to pull out a box of cigarettes and I watched the cool flame from his lighter burn the end. Words were rarely ever needed for us and we passed the cigarette silently to each other. I reflected on the past month’s events that led up to that night.

My sister had been in a coma for four weeks, and since then I had been red with anger. She had been hit by a car on her way to work. I was furious at the driver, with the doctors, and at God. My rage consumed me, catching me by surprise and for so long the inside of me had been burning, my face steaming. When my parents came home to tell me that there was only a small chance she would ever wake up again, I finally broke. I let my bitterness dissipate and sadness stormed me. Jay squeezed my hand and I knew that somehow I would be ok.

Jay gave me a smile, a yellow ray of sunshine in my dismal, depressed world. A light in the garage flickered on, a beam of light streaming down behind us. I let the wind carry my blonde hair and rested in the fact that I still had my best friend there beside me, if nothing else.

417 Magazine and My Future

Daunted by my mother's apprehension and stress over my own future, I face graduation and college this year. With faith in myself, I do my best not to let the pressure of "success"  overwhelm me. Success, after all, is subjective.

Being someone interested in writing, journalism, and art, our past trip to 417 Magazine was intrigued me. We discussed many aspects of the magazine world including advertisement, graphic design, photography, production, and editing. The whole magazine world was very interesting and held an environment I would love to be a part of- specifically the art and design behind the making of a magazine. Even the advertising, which I have never put much thought into, sounded like a lot of fun to be a part of. I could definitely see myself interning or working there. I love Springfield, or "Springvegas" as I like to call it, and I believe the 417 area has so many hidden treasures. 417 magazine would be a great place for me to work.

One of my favorite moments during the 417 presentation was when the question was raised about copy write. The presenter couldn't respond, for they had never thought about copy write- they didn't even have a legal team. The question simply proved how much goes into making a magazine, the genius behind the glossy images you see on your counter, and how any magazine is constantly improving itself and growing as a business. I am left with the question of simply this: How did 417 magazine publish their first issue and how were they able to grow as a business?

Defeating New Heights (Newspaper inspired)

Whenever I hang out with Jensen we always end up climbing something. Whether it be a building, a parking garage, trees, silos, or light poles. Jensen has always been a better climber than me; he has a fearless way about him. He will climb onto anything- however dangerous or however illegal. Everything about him and everything he does is done with a silent confidence. For as long as I've known him he's always been quiet. My friends who don't know Jensen claim him to be boring due to his lack of words but his quiet aesthetic only gives me more reason to admire him. He's a mystery to most but not to me.

I specifically remember a windy night in early February. My memory tells me that it was very late at night, but I know that it was really only 8:00 or 9:00, a darker night brought on by the winter winds. Jensen and I had been walking the town all evening. I had donned a pair of red mittens that made me feel ten years old again, but I didn't care because I was determined to climb trees with Jensen in the cold wind.

We had been sitting in a tree, resting our sore feet, and watching our city's night life when Jensen pointed to a shadow in the distance. "Do you see that cell tower, Ella?" He asked.

I looked at the shadow more closely and, after Jensen's suggestion of it being a tower, began to form the shape of one. "You've been wanting to climb that for months," I laughed. Typically, whenever Jensen had his eye on a new climbing spot he didn't wait more than a week to conquer it. This tower was different. It was taller than anything he had climbed before, and by far the most dangerous- not to mention illegal.

"Tonight is the night," he decided.

"It's cold out," I complained.

Jensen had already hopped out of the tree. "Let's go."

With a sigh I slid down the tree and followed him back to the sidewalk. We walked a good two miles before we reached the tower. The metal bars that made up the tower creaked and shivered in the wind. We stood at the base, staring up at it. The top disappeared into darkness, illuminating every few seconds with a blinking red light. I looked over at Jensen. "You don't have to climb it, Jensen. Plus there's got to be several police out."

"They're attention will be on the clubs and bars, we'll be fine," he explained. He placed a bare hand on the first bar of the tower.

"It's not safe," I warned.

He looked at me and smirked, "I know." His feet left the ground.

I begged him not to. I had never before told him not to climb something for I had every confidence in him. It was the intimidating, dark, fragile monster that loomed over us that made me doubt his success and confirm my own failure.

"You don't think I'll fall, do you?" He asked.

I didn't answer his question. "What's the point of climbing it? Can't you just stay down here?"

"And live with the fact that there's something out there that I can't conquer? Never," he laughed then proceeded to climb up a few feet.

I let him become a shadow with the tower until I called through the bitter air, "Jensen, please come down!" I couldn't bare it any longer. The wind was treacherous and I couldn't shake the image of his falling silhouette from my subconscious. "You won't make it!" I had broken a vow that I had sworn to myself- I told someone that they were incapable of doing something.

Jensen stopped climbing. After a stretch of what felt like a thousand years he replied, "No I won't. Not unless I have help."

"You're no coming down, are you?"

He didn't reply because I already knew his answer. I rolled my eyes and with a huff I slipped off my mittens and placed a palm on the cold metal bar of the cell tower. Drawing up every ounce of courage I had, I lifted my foot off the ground and climbed onto the first bar, then the second, and soon I had reached Jensen. "Don't look down," he told me. He always told me not to look down but I always looked down anyways. I liked seeing the ground get further away, the world getting smaller and smaller.

Climbing that tower were one of the scariest moments of my life but I had never felt anything like what I felt when we reached the top. Together we had defeated the dark, luminous tower that threatened our confidence and success. Another feeling came when my feet reached the ground again- safety, security, and accomplishment. Truth is, Jensen would have made it up that tower just find by himself but it was scaling the beast together that gave both of us the strength and courage we needed.

Famous First and Last Words

"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since."

These famous first words came from F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald was born on September 24, 1896 and died December 21, 1940. The Great Gatsby was published in 1925 and the book takes place in the roaring twenties, arguably the height of the American Dream. The novel is narrated by the character Jim Caraway who recalls the events that centered around his rich neighbor and good friend Jay Gatsby. Gatsby was from a poor family that lived on a farm but was able to gain his own wealth and by the time he returned to Long Island from the war he was filthy rich. He claims that he gained everything all for a girl named Daisy, who he met when he was young. Gatsby is tragically in love with the married Daisy and does everything he can to get her back.

The Great Gatsby is my favorite book. There is so much imagery, symbolism, and meaning to everything Fitzgerald writes in the novel. It was the first piece of true American literature that I've read and I fell in love with Fitzgerald's voice. Each of his characters are well defined and it is easy to grow very attached to them and feel very strong feelings towards them. The Great Gatsby inspires me to write.

Six Word Stories

I'm always here yet always moving.


I treasure silence when it comes.


You can't be anyone but yourself.


Live presently
Dream presently
Do presently


Happiness is sunshine and a cat.

A two way friendship covers miles.

I make my art an adventure.