limegreen-jellybean

[limegreen-jellybean]

[limegreen-jellybean]

To All Writers of Everything Ever

I need to rant about this:

Also known as the best writing program ever! It’s a full-screen writing program!

So you open it up, and it looks like this:

You’re thinking, “Ok, so what? It’s a screen with a picture. Whoopdie do.” But it get’s better! It’s customizable!

See that “appearance”? Click it.

You can also use custom fonts that you have installed!

See that “music”? Click it.

If you drag your own music into the folder, like so:

You get this!:

But wait! It gets better!

See “typing sounds”? You can change those too!

Perhaps the best is - YOU CAN USE ANY PICTURE FOR THE BACKGROUND. It will automatically fade it for you!

Seriously, guys, this tool is wonderful. You can use it for:

Research papers

Novel writing

Play writing

Short stories

Homework assignments

Ranting about your friends when they piss you off

Writing your shopping list

It auto-saves. It exports to .rtf. Hotkeys from Word for italicize, underlining, and bold work. You can print RIGHT FROM THERE.

And the seriously best thing ever?

It fits on a flash drive. The entire thing with added music is maybe 131MBs.

The bestest thing ever.

It’s free.

[limegreen-jellybean]

Hope

This is a poem I wrote in an anthropology class where the teacher’s main focus areas were Mexican immigration and deportation. After reading several dozen accounts of what it’s like to make the trip to America, I wrote this poem.

“I cannot keep my children here.”

The mother’s thoughts, as she shakes in fear.

They need to find a place to go,

They can’t stay here, in Mexico.

They need to run, they need to flee,

To find a place to be free.

She packs their bags and kisses their cheeks,

She won’t see them for many weeks.

She wishes them well and watches them go,

To a place she doesn’t really know.

She’s heard about the risks, the danger, of course,

She cried to God until her voice was hoarse.

“Save my babies, God, oh please.”

She clutches the rosary, on her knees.

Her husband is above them, in the skies,

He never got to say his goodbyes.

Killed by random violence,

The cruelty of this world makes no sense.

The usually happy daughter, aged seventeen,

She’s silent, slow, moving like a machine.

All this stress has worn her down,

Her easy smile is now a frown.

She’s had to fight and struggle to survive,

She’s fought to keep the hope alive.

Her brother is now ten and a half,

He smiles and laughs on her behalf.

He clings to hope like a child to a bear,

Even though he has nothing clean to wear.

Even though he’s hungry and cold,

And he doesn’t have his mother’s hand to hold,

Even though life has hurt him so,

Even though he had to go,

He had to leave his friends and the life he knew,

To try and have a life anew.

They enter the desert, with coyotes as guides,

In one of the women, the young girl confides.

She tells of all her hopes and dreams,

She tells how she is ripping at the seams,

She admits her resentment towards her mother,

A slow hatred like no other.

“She sent us to die,” she moans and wails,

The woman tries to console her but fails.

As a mother of six, she understands

This young woman’s mother’s plans.

She understands that they took a chance,

They knew about this in advance.

But better to run away and die,

Than to sit and wait like a fly

In the spider web of the Mexican streets,

With more and more stopping heartbeats.

Little brother collapses from dehydration,

In this desert of damnation.

They try their best, but he’s too sick,

Of all the people God could pick!

His sister has lost the will to live on,

Knowing that her brother is gone.

In the desert, he is laid to rest,

She continues the journey and tries her best.

She is caught on American soil,

And her anger makes her blood boil.

What did she do to deserve this life,

This existence of pain and strife?

Deported, deported, she loathes that word!

Hatred increasing each time it is heard.

The guards beat her, bruise her,

And in so many more ways abuse her,

All this she endures still,

Sent back to the streets that kill.

She’s back home, in Mexico,

With no other place now to go.

She is with child, in four months due,

Now her options are very few.

She could try and try and cross again,

Her child could be American.

Even though she might no longer have hope,

She doesn’t want to sit and mope.

She wants to give her child a good life,

Free from past pain and strife.

[limegreen-jellybean]

A poem of anger and rambling

You look down on me, with eyes of daggers and disdain

They cut into me, rip into my marshmallow flesh

You burn my tender skin with words of hatred

And I want to get revenge. I want to cut you, burn you, send to you the same treatment you so graciously gave to me.

But instead, I burn. I shine brighter than a thousand suns, I become so overwhelming

That you can’t take it.

The brightness of who I’ve become, the sheer radiance of my being

You don’t want to acknowledge who I am, how great I’ve become.

You gouge out your eyes, shrieking at the blinding light and collapse under the weight of my success you never foresaw

And that’s when I know I’ve won. Because you can’t stand that close to light without lengthening your shadow.

[limegreen-jellybean]

I hate myself sometimes, Sometimes not

I hate myself sometimes, sometimes not,

Some reasons are known, others forgot

I hate my chest because it isn’t flat

In a few years, I’ll change that.

I hate my feminine face and my voice is too high,

All of this because I’m a trans guy.

I started hating my eyes at some point as a kid,

And I really don’t know why I did.

They look like my dad’s, so maybe that’s why,

My dad really wasn’t a good kind of guy,

And well, you see

the kid that looked most like him was me

My sister was the pretty one, my twin was the baby,

And did I have a “thing?” maybe.

but there was nothing special about me

Nothing on the outside I could see.

I hate myself sometimes, sometimes not,

It depends on the day and my train of thought.

I hate my appearance now more than I did in 8th grade,

Which is saying a lot, because though memories fade,

I don’t remember feeling bad about my short choppy hair,

I was thirteen and- somehow- without a care.

And my diagonally-broken front tooth wasn't a big deal to me,

Because I was voted best smile, you see?

I couldn't comprehend that people made fun of me for that,

I didn’t care back then that I was ugly, weird, fat

I hate myself sometimes, sometimes not,

And sadly, self-esteem can’t be bought

But maybe as years pass and I become who I want to be,

All the self-hate will finally leave me.

[limegreen-jellybean]

Words Never Spoken

A thing that I wrote for English 107, tw for death

Reily grinned at the napkin his best friend had shoved at him. On it was a poorly done drawing of their teacher as a griffin, with angry eyebrows drawn on and fire coming from his mouth. Reily responded with a carefully drawn picture of the teacher, but as a hairless cat with the man’s face.

The pair couldn’t be more different if they tried. Brick was thin and frail, with pale skin and green eyes that could cut like razors, freckles exploding over their face and shoulders like a galaxy. Reily was tall and well-built, with deep brown eyes bordered by long eyelashes, and dark skin. His dyed-green hair was fixed into cornrows, as opposed to Brick’s loose, curly natural red hair. Reily liked tank tops and athletic shorts, Brick wore large baggy clothing that was at least two sizes too large for their frame.

Their powers also couldn’t be more different- Brick had the ability to see into a person’s past by touching their palm, and Reily could see the future if he had a full stomach. Reily couldn’t choose when to use his power, while Brick had their power completely under control. They could decide to see a person’s specific memory from an hour ago, or even memories that a person didn’t know they even had buried deep within them.

“Hey, we’re getting a new student today,” Reily whispered, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

“Oh?” Brick shrugged. “Who cares?”

“I do. I just had a vision about him.”

“What, is he your type or something?”

“Mm, maybe? Do I have a thing for bright blue eyes?”

Brick shook their head. “Doubt it. You like hazel best.”

“Do either of you have a question?” The teacher huffed, turning around to face them.

Reily nodded slowly, smiling politely. “Sorry, Mr. Montgomery. We were wondering if the last step was to divide or subtract.”

Mr. Montgomery rolled his eyes before re-explaining the procedure, whipping the chalk along the blackboard in a flurry of motion.

Brick pretended to focus and take notes, but they couldn’t reign in their thoughts. It was unusual for someone to transfer in so late in the semester. Maybe he was a late bloomer and was coming over from one of the powerless schools.

At lunch, the pair sat in their usual spot by the classroom window and people-watched. Silas, one of Reily’s ex-boyfriends, was wandering off by himself again. Brick felt sorry for him sometimes. His power was just finding four-leaf clovers. Even compared to people like Aisha, who had the power to control sand, and Maria, who could converse with only doves- Silas had a worthless power.

“When is he coming?” Brick asked, tearing their gaze from the window and pulling out a brown paper bag from their desk.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t get much from the vision. But I think he’s kind of dorky,” Reily replied, reaching over and taking the bag away from Brick. “What did you bring for lunch?”

“Don’t you dare change the subject,” Brick huffed. “Tell me about him!”

“Almost as white as you, brown hair, uh. He wears those glasses, the ones that are big and have thick rims?” Reily leaned back and closed his eyes. “Red shirt. Plaid. Taller than you. In the vision, he was right next to you.”

Brick leaned closer to him. “And? What happened?”

Reily snorted. “He said you were the bomb. How lame is that? And he was like, smiling at you?” He handed their lunch bag back to them and opened his own lunchbox, pulling out a small bag of grapes.

“Holy-- really? I dunno, I think it’s sweet,” they shrugged and pulled out a peanut butter sandwich from their bag.

“Trying to get a boyfriend?”

“Not really. I might lean more towards AFAB people.”

Reily nodded and popped a grape into his mouth. “Like me? Ahah, just kidding. Um. Oh, so did you hear the news this morning?”

“You know I don’t have a TV at home, so no, I didn’t hear the news this morning,” Brick said through a mouthful of peanut butter.

“I heard about it on the way to school, and—can you stop talking like that? It’s gross.”

Brick swallowed and grinned. “Sorry? But really now, what happened?”

“A group of people was killed this morning. They said they couldn’t even identify the bodies, they were such a mess. No one really cares about the powerless anymore, but for everyone to be so casual about a group of them being killed off is just kind of…” Reily trailed off, looking out the window.

Brick put their sandwich down. “…I think I’ve lost my appetite…”

“Sorry. It’s just. It’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, and people get famous for that kind of stuff.”

“They go down in history, yeah.”

They sat and finished their lunch in silence.

Free hour started, and the class looked up as the principal walked in with the new student Reily and Brick had been waiting for all day. All eyes were fixed on the front of the room.

“Well now, Mr. Greene, have a good first day,” the principal said, patting his shoulder before walking out. Mr. Montgomery urged the new student to introduce himself.

“Ah, alright. My name is Mikhail Greene.”

“Where are you from?” Maria shouted from the back of the room. Aisha hissed at her to be quiet.

“Oh, I’ve lived here for years, actually? I was just homeschooled.”

The class erupted with murmurs and various conversations as Mikhail found a seat near Brick and Reily. After shaking both of their hands, they all talked about their favorite games, music, and how terrible Mr. Montgomery was. Suddenly, the tide of conversation shifted.

“How do you feel about the powerless?” Mikhail asked, meeting them both with an intense gaze.

Brick hesitated before answering. “I feel like we shouldn’t call them that? I mean, it’s kind of degrading. And we shouldn’t separate the schools. It just breeds more ignorance.”

Mikhail nodded. “We should rule over them, and protect them. What we’re doing now is just a mess.”

“Rule over…? That seems a bit much.” Reily said, biting the end of his pen. “Brick? Can you help me with this real quick? The homework for tomorrow, question five?”

Brick was thankful for the subject change. “God, I don’t want to even look at that crap right now. I’m gonna deal with it tomorrow morning, right before class, as usual!”

“You damn procrastinator.”

They continued talking and getting to know each other. After a bit, Brick excused themself to the bathroom.

“They’re kind of cute,” Mikhail said, flipping through the student handbook.

“Really? Pft, they’d love to hear that.”

Mikhail stood up to stretch and patted Reily on the back. “Don’t worry, I’m not into them. I can see that you have a crush on them, though.”

“Do not.” Reily huffed.

Brick came back, and Reily couldn’t look them in the eye. Class resumed, this time with a literature lesson. Reily took out a sheet of paper and began writing a note to Brick.

Suddenly, a loud explosion sounded outside of the classroom door.

“What just happened? Was that a bomb?” Brick said, horrified. They began to shake violently, hyperventilating.

“Hey, no, don’t worry—it’s probably nothing.” Reily crumpled the half-written love note and shoved it into his pocket.

“No, you are the bomb.” Mikhail smiled at them. “That’s my power, you know. I can blow up anything if I’ve touched it once. And you know what? I think I’m gonna use my power to rule the world.”

Reily looked at Mikhail, horrified. “Are you--man, come on, that’s a really messed up joke--” He reached out to Brick to pull them into a hug, desperate to calm his shaking friend.

Blood splattered across his face as Brick suddenly wasn’t there anymore, and body parts were flying across the room. He opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn’t tell if it was him or the screams of the surrounding students. The last thing he saw before he died was Mikhail escaping through the classroom window.

[limegreen-jellybean]

Hands up who else is in the spends-too-long-daydreaming-about-the-thing-and-not-writing-it club.

[limegreen-jellybean]