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Saturday, March 24, 2012

Thoughts on Age

I stumbled upon this video, and found myself crying a few moments later.
Life is something that just flies by, and right now, as youth, we have the power to do everything. 
We can define ourselves, our world, and our future.
But move quickly! We only have a hundred years to live.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Rebel Rant

Don’t try to put me in a cage
I’ll just emerge more enraged
Because I am something you won’t confess
I am a writer
My words can’t be oppressed
You might plunge me
Within a heap of lies you named bureaucracy
A dungeon of corruption you call democracy
But with these hands I can stand
Against this hypocrisy
 I’ve seen you stich my lips
With iron thread
But that won’t imprison the truth within my head
It’s only letting my passion and creativity be fed
Shove me down
Just go ahead
My petals will just bloom in a more daring fuchsia
And I’ll hold up a mirror to your cursed fa├žade medusa
and your inner ugliness will penetrate
the righteous body you have strived to create
I’m underage
To fight
To vote
To drink
But not to drape these words on this page
And you can say I’m unafraid
But you would be underestimating me once again
You see, my wretched friend
I’m terrified
Of your shackles, your laws, your repeated lies
And lines
Of you dear court who defines me as crazy
You can only tell someone their sanity is slipping
So many times until they begin to question themselves
Begin shredding the fabric of who they are
I can still face you though
Because my bruises have been bolstering the suit of steel
That I will wear when I reel back in
What is real
Of the truth you repeatedly have strove to steal
So you would think that your decision
Your condemnation
Your scorn
Is more that something you were paid to feel
So go on, shriek it simple and plain
Call me insane
But that can’t tousle my mane
For I’d rather be a lunatic and virtuous
Than what you call in touch with reality
And a cruel soul
That lets innocent children face vicious toll
And yes I understand
That this is a rant
But do you think I give a damn?
I have the right to claw at the world
After all this vindictiveness hurled on me
And you see
All I do is twirl in the same whirl
Hoping that perhaps by writing the same poems I will swirl
And spell out these words
Repeating to myself that this is the only way I can rebel
But I know now I have to do more
Rebel against the system of war against injustice I have used so many heartbreaks before
I need to write letters
Use fancy headers
To world leaders and senators
Activists and renovators
Of this damaged earth
So one day our world can prove its worth
And I can refine mine
I’m done complaining
I’m onto rearranging
Now hurry up, don’t lag too behind.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Children in the Warzone

Many of us are now aware of the atrocities committed by Joseph Kony in Africa, but what about children who face warfare on a global scale?
According to Children's Rights Portal, a nonprofit activism organization:

"During the last 10 years, around 10 million children are estimated to have been killed as a result of war. The situations resulting from armed conflicts affect primarily children because of their vulnerability, and do so in many different ways. Often alone and helpless because of the reigning chaos, some become child soldiers, others are forced into exploitation. The fundamental rights of these children are shamelessly flouted for the benefit of barbarous and cruel acts. Many of them remain deeply traumatized, wounded, or even disabled."

And, please, spread awareness. War does not just kill soldiers, but razes future generations.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012


I found suddenly I don't have a physics test I had been studying for. Weird.
This allowed me to post, about other strange things...

i grew up in the kingdom of suburbia
a land of
 white houses
 2 parents
 2.2 children
 leafs of flat construction paper that minivan moms tried to declare a lawn
 a home with black and white bricks
 1 single mother, two snowy white girls
a lawn that was more like the hair of a punk rocker after a show
 after a few drinks
after some time with the groupies
 and a wooden cow sprinkled on top
the world of cookie-cutter people found the cookie-cutter term for my not cookie-cutterness
not weird girl
weird blonde
   weird smile
      weird nerd
        weird dancer
           weird dresser
              weird mess-er
it was as if they had summed up my entire being into five letters and one syllable.
and of course, this story will continue as all of those in this genre do
i was bullied
my soul flung to the floor
and they would stomp and stomp
until they heard
                the satisfying crunch
echo through the crevices of their sneakers
                they who were the friction that eroded my skin
                                made the alleyway to my heart so simple
                                                so easy to enter and defile with graffiti
                                                                used bottles
                they were never normal
they were never the average snot nosed girl in some designer sweat suit
                never the average brown eyed child in two braids
                                never the boy with the buzz lightyear backpack
they were the girl with stepsiblings when divorce was a radio-active tumor
                they were the girl whose friends came and went like the rain
                                they were the black boy in the white shirt in the white school in the white country
 they were WEIRD
as if by tearing off my confidence they could use it to patch up theirs
now you’re about to hear a true story
and i’m warning you, it’s a tad weird
in the middle of 8th grade social studies
he performed his daily chant:
                                you are not normal.
and i said the right answer:
                                define normal.
he looked down at his charcoal hands
and starting repeating those words
three times at least
then he glanced up at me
and looked for the first time

after that he stopped
 the taunting
                and the teasing
                                the vicious crowd pleasing
and everytime anyone dared to say a word to me
he remembered that
you cant define normal
so you can label weird
and this world is unclear
and he told them to stay clear
because this girl knows things we don’t

that’s when i discovered i was going to be a poet
i was going to put words in the order they were meant to be
and even though they were said they would be things you could see
things that liberated
things that set you free
and be

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


This is the poem I wrote for a slam
Something that dove into my mouth from my hands
To tell you who the hell I am
And I know that once I get the flow
These words can be heard
And understood
No, I didn’t grow in the hood
But I have felt pain
The kind of agony that drives you insane
Harsh memories that you wish you can pour down the drain
Like the bath tub gin Ms. Hannigan is always sipping
And now this poem is tipping
From the kind of rap tap slap drama that was dripping
From my mouth in the beginning
Because I made an allusion
Not an illusion
But I can create one of those too
If that pleases you
I know if I can get these words right
I have the power to give you sight
Into my world
To show you I am not ordinary girl
I am a poet
And I’ve been proud to show it
From the moment I began scribbling these sentences at 11:20 at night
To the moment I am speaking them to you now
Damn I lost my rhyme scheme
And I now I have to dream a bunch of sounds that can cuddle with your ear
Because without this glitz I doubt you would bother to hear
The message I am trying to share
I know it’s there
But I quite haven’t found it yet
This makes me upset
Because I need this work to resonate with you
Reinvigorate and redo
All these problems that have turned our world into a zoo
Like rape and intolerance
Wars wrath
Mothers shoving their babies into a bath
And not even taking the time to clean up their own act
I want to touch upon
Something greater than Real Housewives marathons
$5000 Louie Vuitton’s
While there is poverty
Equality’s inconsistency
Sounds that haven’t been found
Am I sounding profound to you?
I pray I do
Because that’s why stirring these words into a poetry stew
Hoping your impression of me has flew
Oops flown
Man I need to own what I’m saying
So everyone doesn’t think I’m playing
Because this is for real
If I’m going to change this world I need syllables like steel
Ones that do more than rewind the movie reel
But change the frames
Rearrange the pain
Give the limping elder a cane
So I will never have to refrain
These words in another poem
I can just take these and show them
And you will understand
That I don’t want to hold your hand
But lift you from the shadows
End all the battles
Slaughter evil like cattle
I’m sorry if this offends you
I’m not a vegetarian
I’m a humanitarian
You know what?
I’m not sorry
I’m proud of every word that I have found
To grace the air
So be prepared
I’m done being scared
And unsure
That my words are too juvenile
To be heard
I’m a nerd
And I am capable of using sophisticated vocabulary
But I don’t want to talk down to you
This may be literature
But it’s most importantly a conversation
And I want you to respond
Are you fond of each letter’s location
My description of the situation
Come talk to me
 But be patient
Just pause
Because I think I need more time to iron out these flaws.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Protecting Our Own

As today's youth, we have a responsibility to protect other children in danger. This means that we must take a stance against Joseph Kony, who has facillitated the kidnap and transformation of children into killing machines and sexual objects. Watch the video for more info.


Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
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