So many viewers!

I feel so lucky to have a blog that's had so many views since I started it a few months ago. Well now I've got my own personal blog where I write down some of my deep thoughts.. My works are important to me, but I hope some of you check out my new blog at http://purpleismyshadeofwild.blogspot.com/

It's a real change from this one and we'll see how it goes........

The Hands of Fate

This is a story all about fate and how destiny can lead us into unexpected directions. The main character Wallace finds himself facing loneliness until he meets the love of his life. She completely changes him and he's positive once again.

The Hands of Fate

            I belted out the song while holding both beers in either hand, feeling like nothing could touch me. Standing on the table probably wasn’t the best idea for anyone this late at the bar, but the bartender didn’t seem to mind anyway. My slurred words to “She Thinks My Tactor’s Sexy” brought out the very best in me, but no one knew that. The next morning I would go back to my empty home with a headache that would remind me of the fun I hadn’t shared with anybody the night before. Wallace was the name. Forgetting was my game.

            “What did I do last night?” I kept trying to stop the habit of talking to myself, it was getting ridiculous. I suppose that’s what happens when you live alone for so long. I think I remembered a fight, but I wasn’t sure. That would definitely explain the bruise on my left cheek. The throbbing in my head wouldn’t cease, nor would the pounding ache that came from my lower back.
“Am I really getting that old?” Dammit. Talking to myself again. I was being a lazy pig. I peeled myself off the couch and into the kitchen to try and wake myself up from the lousy dream I was having the night before. The only thing I remembered was a tree with stretching branches that reached out towards the sun. The sun behind the branches had shone through with a yellow glow that illuminated the rest of the scene. Leaves were blowing about, but the wind was calm and not threatening my happy dream. It was peaceful, and I’d give anything just to float back into my colorful dream. But instead I get to lounge and suffer through another day in this empty house.

            The hangover wasn’t all too bad, although the empty list of missed calls and texts on my cell phone was. I thought back to the time when my phone rang relentlessly as if trying to scream for my attention. My friends and I would go out to TGIF on the weekends and enjoy ourselves like the college roommates we once all were. What happened to them all? They had all moved on and fell in love. Marriage and kids of their own had broken each of us into separate cities and states, with rare text messages or emails including pictures of the new families. Where was I? In the same place they had all left me. I felt like a lump of coal in that poor, unfortunate kid’s stocking Christmas morning. Nevertheless, the smell of wet grass, new flowers, and fresh laundry would soon fill my apartment, along with a sweet smile that would bring me joy each and every day. But I still had no idea.

            I met her at the restaurant I loved to go to by myself after spending the whole day running, as if trying to outrun my problems. She sat there, silently staring at the empty seat that waited across from her. I knew it’d have to be bold, but I wanted more than anything to fill that chair and that empty table with conversation. I waited ten minutes at the side of the bar and then dove into my opportunity. Julia. I wondered how her date could stand her up, she was beautiful. Her wit and intelligence amazed me and still amazes me to this day.

            Now I think back to how one day could change the rest of my life and finally I have pictures of a family that I can send to my former friends that used to be my only happiness. The kids keep me busy, my new job at the local children’s hospital keeps me busy, but more than anything my new positive and optimistic outlook on life keeps me busy.

            I guess the old cliché is right. It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness. Before Julia, the darkness that I cursed each and every morning only brought me bitterness and made me an aging drunk. I’m never looking back now, the future is all I, and everyone else, can look forward to. 

Oh, Homework

This is an original and humorous poem all about homework. Through sarcasm, I show the positives of homework. This is an ode or an elegy to the thing that most students hate the most in the world.




Oh, Homework

The muffled sounds in the other room

Silence that seeps from the walls

Concentration that eclipses the moon

Long hours, and the warm bed calls

Keyboards chattering away into the night

Eyes drooping, mouths yawning

Oh, how terribly wonderful the sight

Working till the sun starts dawning

Busy nights that keep me firm

Never fearing boredom

For you have so much appeal and allure

Idleness I cannot fathom

Together, we go hand in hand

A life partner through the years

Creating masterpieces without demand

No pain, no stress, no tears

Homework, I could not live without

Could never part with thee

For if there’s one thing without a doubt

Homework is a part of me

Trust vs Suspicion

This set of two poems is an emotion prose poem vs another emotion. The two contrasting emotions describe how people can be split between two different feelings simultaneously. The two poems are set side by side and personified.

Trust

Trust holds the hands of the lonely, lights the way in the dark. When hearts jump, trust catches them like open arms. Trust leavse no eyes unopened, no words unspoken. It is the son that breaks the darkness of clouds and dries the tears on a forgotten face. Trust remembers those who left no mark and brings them flowers. Trust picks up the drooping frowns on the face of lost hope. Trust goes home to Courage and they hold hands and watch the sun rise. She goes out in the day and begins all over again.

Suspicion

Suspicion knaws at the back of our throats. He puts nightmares on our pillows. Waiting... For our minds to absorb the dread. Suspicion lurks, quietly in the bottom of our stomachs. His butterflies are let loose into our blood as they flutter and fly about. Suspicion weighs down on our eyelids, heavily dragging down our hopefulness. He fights with our laughts, trapping them in jars, throwing them over cliffs, never to be heard again. Suspicion drives our minds over the edge, and into the cave he crawled out of.

They Call Her Goldilocks

This is a third person narrative I wrote for a fairytale assignment in our class. I decided to twist the original theme and story of Goldilocks and apply it to present day San Francisco. I am in love with the city and thought that the story could have an interesting plot in modern day dynamics. 

They Call Her Goldilocks

            Once upon a time, in the booming city of San Francisco there lived a girl with bouncing brown curls that would spring up and down as she walked down the busy streets. She would spend the days roaming the alleys and looking for new places to explore. Her name was Genna, but they called her Goldilocks, since everyone knew that was her favorite fairytale and she talked about it relentlessly. Seeming to not have any true fiends, Genna found herself causing mischief and getting into trouble with adventuring to places where girls would not normally find themselves. However, the people of the city knew that they could always count on Genna going off and finding trouble wherever it was hiding.

            One morning, Genna decided to skip her busy 7^th grade school day and find exciting places to see in the big city, a decision she often found herself making. She started her trek in Union Square and made her way left and right and up and down the crowded intersections and sidewalks. Eventually she came to a house under construction amidst newly built apartment buildings. No workers or busy men could be found anywhere as she made her way to the back gate that led to the freshly watered backyard lawn. The house was enormous, filled with brand new furniture and covered in bright paint. The wooden floors glistened and the lights inside glowed with new fluorescent lights that invited Genna further into the house, where she made herself comfortable as if it were her own home. The house seemed empty, but it was too perfect for a family not to live in such a warm and alluring place.

            After kicking her shoes off, she went straight for the kitchen and dug into the shiny refrigerator that was stocked with anything a heart desires. However, it was strange that there were only three spoons, three cups, and three plates in the whole house. All three were different sizes as if custom made for a family of three. Without thinking about whose it could be, Genna picked the perfect sized cup, spoon, and plate from the cupboards and served herself to pastas, and rice, and fruits, and assorted chicken and steak. It all seemed too good to be true, and right as she sat down in the small chair by the fireplace, the tiny chair broke under her weight. Without a second glance, Genna lowered herself into the comfiest chair and ate her food with ease.

            It only seemed necessary to Genna to take a nap after eating so much food, leaving her dirty dishes on the coffee table and heading upstairs. She climbed into the most comfortable bed out of the three that varied in sizes and quickly fell asleep. Until….

Standing above her face as she woke up, the family of three watching Genna sleep just started without saying a word. Genna jumped out the bed, startled by the people she’d never seen before and it took her a minute to remember she was in somebody else’s seemingly empty home. But instead of scolding the stranger in their home, the family kept her there the whole day asking her all about her life and Genna seemed to enjoy so much attention from three very different people. They laughed and talked and felt like a whole new family together, and even planned trips for the future that involved exploring San Francisco’s ever corner. Genna was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to tell people all about this new family the next day at school.

            The very next day was her birthday, but when Genna strolled back to the beautiful house, there was nothing there but an empty driveway with a dead lawn and no home. She was dumbfounded by the disappearance of the house but knew that her good fortune was too great to be true. She walked back to her home in a slump and was again disappointed to see that her parents were nowhere to be found, especially on a day like her birthday. Sulking and wishing she had some company, Genna sat down on her couch and put her face in her hands. But right when all hope was lost, her parents burst through the door with balloons and streamers and lights with bright colors and swept through the room. Behind them came in classmates and friends from around San Francisco that had all come to celebrate Genna’s birthday with her. All her worries went out the door when she suddenly realized that she had everything she could ever want all around her.

Bill

This is a collaborative piece that Hannah Phillips and I worked on in class. The point of view is switched to the father who is dying of disease instead of a third person narrative. The story really changes as the different points of view are brought into light. This is the point of view of Bill.


I can't bring myself to tell her, but I bet she can tell something is wrong. The coughing has gotten worse and I feel like my lungs are slowly disintegrating. But I keep her in mind, trying my best to distract her from what she's already lost. First her mother, now the man who has tried his best to fill that void.

I'm making the most of the time I have left with her. I try and memorize her smile, keep her laugh in my head to keep me strong. Sometimes I feel she's the only one that keeps me going.

But I can't be selfish, I have to let her go so she can be safe. The family that has her has to be near to perfect; that's what she deserves. Her mother would've wanted nothing less for her in such a difficult situation.

I can barely bring myself to look her in the eye and convince her that she's a big girl. I hope her little heart grows strong over time. It breaks my heart to watch my little girl walk away, but it helps knowing she'll be safe and happy in a loving home.

Letter from the Rose Garden

This is an original one-act play that we wrote for our class. The short play consists of a few scenes of two romantic characters that undoubtably fall in love with each other. Although they are unable to be together at first, their connection never seems to separate. 

One Act Play

Letter from the Rose Garden

DARUIS: The golden boy from the suburban cities in Italy. His character is modest and simple, a hopeless romantic who strives to find himself in the studies he’ll learn from going back to school during a time when education wasn’t the number one priority. This character falls in love easily, as shown by his fickle heart in this act.

Lorette: This character feels herself different from the crowd and her long brown hair falls messy on both sides of her face. She sees through the fakeness in people and cannot stand to be a part of the rich and wealthy society that she was born into. She yearns to escape the noise and go somewhere quiet with someone she loves above all.

Scene 1

The audience is opened up to the path leading up to a garden outside in the suburban areas of Italy. In an ambiguous time in the past, the audience then sees DARIUS pacing back and forth on the dirt path near a fountain and rose bushes. The sky is a pale purple and blue mix where the sun has just recently set but the weather is still warm from the sun’s warmth earlier that day. There is a party somewhere in the distant background where a masquerade ball is happening. The wealthy party while DARIUS sits alone in the garden, trying to clear his mind.

DARIUS: Why do my thoughts disturb my peace? How is it that I am so pensive on such a carefree evening…?

[The sound of footsteps on the dusty path to the garden can be heard. LORETTE walks out from behind the bushes.]

LORETTE: Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.

DARIUS: Quite the opposite, I am in the need of company. How goes the party?

LORETTE: No excitement or interest in there for me. Only masked people yearning the attention or notice from a stranger.

DARIUS: Although you are not strange, I am glad to have caught your notice.

[LORETTE smiles at the kind and clever joke and they proceed to talk for hours on through the night.]

Scene 2

Later that night, as people are filing out of the ballroom. Their eyes meet as they meet up outside. The moonlight is illuminating the scene and the quiet murmur of people milling about is heard in the background.

LORETTE: I’ll be seeing you again soon I hope?

[DARIUS looks away sheepishly as though severely apprehensive to tell LORETTE of the thoughts on his mind.]

LORETTE: What is it?

DARIUS: I must leave before sunset tomorrow, for I am returning to school in Vienne for a while.

[LORETTE and DARIUS are forced to say their goodbyes although both know that they have easily fallen in love with one another just from one night of getting to know one another. Their parting takes forever, neither one wants to leave.]

Scene 3

DARIUS leaves for school, but immediately writes a letter to LORETTE’s home in Genoa. The years pass and the two send letters back and forth while the short encounter still burns within them both. Years later in the city of Padua, not too far from Genoa, the two meet again at last. The cobblestone streets from the train station are loud with people bustling by and the two spot each other as DARIUS steps off the station.

[LORETTE runs to greet DARIUS.]

DARIUS: To think it has been so long.

LORETTE: Although it does feel as though you never left.

[The two stare at one another lovingly.]

Nordstrom (North Storm)

This is a vignette piece that we wrote that describes a memory from our past. The short story also shows a little part of our history. I also consider this a portion of a memoir. More importantly, the things in our past make us who we are today. 




Nordstrom
(North Storm) 

The yellow and orange parking lot lights are the only thing illuminating the wet cement, while the rain pounds down on my dad and I that I can barely see in front of me. The sky, pitch black. The moon is hiding behind clouds that are relentlessly releasing their pent up energy on the earth below.

            Suddenly the rain stops, and I can only feel a faint drizzle on the tops of my open palms that face the sky with relief. Late night Nordstrom shopping had turned into an eventful evening when the first bolt of lightning exploded in the distance, snapping my head towards the direction it came from. Thunder rippled towards us from the ever so close lightning and roared past us. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I can no longer peel my eyes away from the direction the lightning shot from.

            The parking lot is almost empty below us now, and the stairs are still soaked with puddles and damn leaves are strewn about. The storm is worth the wait, and my young and untried eyes glued themselves to the black sky that showed nothing but a dark grey veil over the sparkling city lights. A few more flashes, and the cement beneath my feet vibrates with the growl of the thunder that rushes by everything in its way. Finally, it was getting late and my eyes had been seasoned to the power of nature. I knew I would never forget my first thunderstorm and it became an obsession of mine that I pondered over on the car ride home. The windows were being pelted by the falling rain, but I was still searching the skies for one more flash. One more burst of lightning to satisfy my little mind. 

Burning House

"If your house was burning, what would you take with you?" This is the question we were asked and thought over until we could think of our most prized possessions. Here are a few of the things I would take:

Name: Leila Nomani
Age: 16
Location: Bay Area
Occupation: High school student
Website: http://toomuchmani.blogspot.com/


1. A photo of my the best friend who was with me during the roughest and most awkward of times
2. Sand in a water bottle from the beaches in Turkey
3. Container full of my fuzziest, most comfortable socks
4. My favorite flip flops aka Rainbows
5. Photo albums from my family's past
6. Notes from that special someone
7. Cell phone
8. Pebble from the ruins of Persepolis in Athens, Greece
9. Rough coral from the beaches of Hawaii
10. Chapstick
11. My camera
12. Lap top
13. My old song book full of original music

Wings

This is a first person narrative. Written based off of the life of bird, the story is about what the bird sees and feels throughout its day. The story also interracts with people and has a point of view from the sky.

Wings

            I watch them from atop this branch, and I wonder. How do they spend their lives walking on two feet, slowly getting from place to place without the help of the wind beneath them. It’s a shame, but I know this freedom that we have across this sky beats any feeling in the world.

            I see a mouse. It’s trying to hide from me, but I’m too sharp for it’s useless concealment. Finally I fly over to a window, open by people too lazy to shut their own glass containments. I see crackers. I want them. But before I knew it, the glass wall behind me shut with a loud thud and I flew forward to escape whatever had come for me from behind.

            A human girl had her arms reached out towards me and inched closer until her hands were near my beak. She has a cracker in one hand. I want it. Against my own judgment, I move forward, and then I’m standing on her arm, talons wrapped around her tiny, little wrist. Her hair was thick and black, eyes like steel. Calmly she fed me the cracker until I had pecked away at its every surface. Satisfied I rested on her arm and she had gained my trust. That is how I got my name.

            Mojo. My new name. She feeds me, strokes my wings. I love it. Every day I come back now, waiting for her black hair to shine in the distance and know that she’s brought me seeds and nuts for me to snack on.

            One morning she took me outside on her shoulder and I felt what it was like to walk at human pace. Slowly, but steadily. I began to look around me. So many things that I had never bothered to notice before. The flowers on bushes shone with colors of spring and rebirth. The roots from each tree broke through the soil and stretched out as if the tree was yawning from standing so long. But every time a car whizzed by, my wings quivered and my beak rattled. The girl would give me another seed and I’d forget about the metal death traps that zoom by on the black road.

            We were headed towards the towns largest cement structure. Labeled “Safeway” I flew off of her shoulder to get a better view before going through another glass wall that slid open every time someone approached it.

            The inside was cold. Artificial light absorbed the entire building. The shelves were stocked with human food wrapped in the strange waste of plastic and paper. Once she had found her candy and snacks, the girl walked towards the checkout with me still on her shoulder. The woman in front of us kept looking beside her and behind her on the floor. She checked everywhere until she looked at the two of us and asked, “Have you seen my groceries? They were here just a sec….”

            Just then I snap my head in the direction of a man walking out of the store with two bags of groceries in his hands. I squawked, but no one seemed to be paying attention to my bird noises. I raced out of the store and into the bright sun outside once more until I found the man stealing the groceries. I didn’t have much time, the man was getting into his car, so I did the only thing I thought was possible for me to help. Floating down towards the back wheels, I lifted my beak back until I couldn’t bend my neck any further and then plunged my beak into the tire with all the might I could muster up. I repeated this with all four tires until I heard the engine revving up and getting ready to leave the scene of the crime as a seemingly smooth getaway. However, the man couldn’t get his car rolling out of the parking spot before the little girl and the woman who had lost her groceries were out in the lot, staring at the scene unfold.

            Some may call me a hero, but I save them the breath and just puff out my chest like any proud bird would do after saving the day. With a new home and a boosted ego, life with wings didn’t seem all the bad. Although enjoying the little things that humans seem to experience even on a simple walk to the grocery store was worth the tortoise pace.

THE END



6 word memoir

These memoirs are made up of six short words. The words are a description of your life or what you may believe in. Our class came up with our own six word memoirs to sum up ourselves in once tiny sentence.

My voice is my only escape.

Tale of Love

This short story is made up of words with only one syllable each. Perfect prose was our example, and we tried to make it our own. I based this story off of a friend of mine who inspired the character.

He sat. The phone rang and he jumped 3 feet. His heart rate pumped, loud and strong.Strong with fear, that he'd feel once more. The day was bright, but he felt cold and so he stayed. At home he watched, drew out a plan for the day. No school for him. Speech day? No thanks. He'd wake up late, not see the sun rise. This would be his life. To skip or not to skip. But bad boys go far.

He'd grab his board and not brush his hair. Roll through the streets till his heart would beat fast. Quick and fast. His mom would call for him, scream when she meant it. Dad? Can't be found. All the way 'round the globe.

He tries. The boy he waits for arms and calves to swell. To look big, to feel strong. But then he finds love. It clouds his eyes. She changed him as he changed her. Both worlds mix till they're one. Then they go back home. Back to their own lives, but they stay close. The day ends, but his heart is whole. He will crave her, till she comes once more. This is the tale of love.

Sweet Summer Solstice

This is a short piece of poetry I wrote about a picture studied in class. The photos inspired our poetry. With the theme of the new spring sun and near summer feelings, the poem seems appropriate.

I look down at my feet
Feel the individual blades between my toes
My weight crushing the life in the grass
The coolness reaching up through my legs

I'm alone, without a care in the world
My palms face upward
Soaking in the sweet summer solstice
Hoping for something to fall into them

My mind is a balloon out here
Peaceful from emptiness
Lost in the world, forever floating
Reaching the height of the birds, flying

My smile breaks the wind
My eyes shut out the world
And in this sweet summer solstice
My soul feels new once more

The breeze takes my worry
The leaves absorb my pain
The flowers open up my arms
And through and through, I smile

My Room, My Home

This is a descriptive piece that describes the room that I've grown up in for the past thirteen years. The assignment was to describe our room for memory. This is what I could remember...

As you walk into the very last room at the end of the hallway, you'll see my name printed on the closed door on a laminated strip of construction paper faded over time by the light of the sun. The name has been stuck there since i was in kindergarten and before I could even write.

The icy blue walls in my room sparkle when the sun angles a certain way, since the half satin paint is meant to illuminate. An Amy Winehouse poster stares down at the full bed that is covered in fluffy green and pink pillows and sheets.

The window sill has always been my favorite place, a wide enough ledge so that I can sit on it and lean against the perpendicular wall. The window overlooks a small willow tree and in the distance, Mt. Diablo juts out between layers of trees and smaller hills.

The lamp resting on the dresser to the right of my bed glows at night for midnight studying hours, while my phone sleeps and charges nearby. The leather headbaord to my bed helpes support my neck while I stay awake and read Macbeth. You can see a whiteboard, a full length mirror, and a kiss stain on the wall in front of me where a friend tried on lipsick and attacked the wall with a pair of lips. The stain rests next to two corsages with slowly aging flowers thumtacked to the wall...

Slam- You, Friend

Here's a poem written in slam style for a school production. The poem was written with no rhyme scheme, but still flows without any specific format. 
The peom is about how as high school is ending, friendships will be separated but will never be forgotten...

Friend
Your hands I rely on
Your smile I wait for
When I need a cushion for my falling tears

But they don't stick around
They never stay in one place
If I turn around for one second...
They're gone.

Have no fear though, there will be others
New smiles, new laughs, and new memories
The bonds that crush us
They keep me from falling apart at the seams

Friend, what would I do without you?
How would I create my own path without you?
With no shadow to keep me company.
This is our future.

We cannot hold each other forever
We close our eyes to the future
Where cities and states pull us apart
Ties that will last a life time?
Only an experience now
A stain I've framed and kept untouched
Because you've meant that much to me

For now let's sheild each other from the rain
You teach me, learn from me
My energy comes from yours
Friend, let's make the most of the next coule years
Let's end with this
I am grateful,
That you my friend, came into my life.

Spring Writing

The best place to write.
Photo I took in Oahu, Hawaii

What sits on my nightstand..

10 Ways

Valentine's Day this year inspired pages of poetry across the world: words of love and heartbreak. The following poem I wrote on Valentine's Day emcompasses all of those day's feelings... Called 10 Ways of Looking at Love

To embrace the heavy heart

Of love's past

To emrace the void

With open arms

 

Tinkling of glass hope

Whispers of affection

Splashes of dreams

 

Hidden in the eyes

Of a lost stranger

Reaffirmed

With a kiss

 

The gleaming sun

Shining down on

Hopeful hearts of the young

 

Eternal oceans of

Loving

Infinite skies of

Wishing

Endless coasts of

Longing

 

The one and only

To stand from a crown of millions

The pearl in the sand

The needle in the haystack

Careful now

 

Rolling,

Stronger and stronger

Catapulting through fierce,

fiery emotion and

feeling

 

Anticipation, butterflies

Scattering in a burning field

Their wings hot with fervor

 

A pillow to the stone

To ease the blow

To catch the fall

To hold the heavy heart

Of a love

 

Reaching towards the sun

Breathtaking

Looking into the light

The light that blinds

The love that is light

The love that is bright

About Me

I don't consider myself an artist, but I love to create.
To write and to make something out of nothing is a favorite pass time.
Whether it's a creative poem on the topic of love or an academic essay that reflects the symbols and themes in The Great Gatsby.
Everyone loves to write, but I love to invent new emotions and put them on paper.
The music I write is a direct reflection to things I'd never say, but exist on the tip of my tongue.

I am a sixteen, almost seventeen-year-old high school student. My full time job is learning and my activity of choice is living my life. I love my friends and family with all my heart. They are my inspiration and the people I write for.

My experiences, my daily emotions, and my leisurely thoughts all motivate my writing and provoke the inspirations within me that keep me creative and in love with writing.

Writing poetry is one of my most loved things to do, and it allows me to express how I’m feeling and be creative at the same time. Whenever I feel at a loss for words, I write. Putting myself behind a page of poetry or song gives me room to describe things that would normally be impossible to explain without poetry. Now, as a writer I look back on my previous work and I see that I still write with descriptive language. This type of writing makes me feel like a storyteller or an author of my inner thoughts. However, before this year I never knew there were so many styles and diverse forms of poetic writing until I saw the many different examples and forms that poetry can come in. I hope that I continue writing into the future and for as long as I still know how to hold a pen. Writing has become a large part of my life and I know that it will remain that way forever.