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I do not know what to write about.
This is quite honestly stressing me out.
As time is almost over and my paper still white,
My time management is clear to sight.
I’d like to stop it, take it, make it mine
But my ideas can’t leave my mind.
They are here, they’re good, but they’re not on paper.
But what do I do when the time is tight?
I sit down here and write these ****** lines.
Have you ever wondered how your life would be if you were somebody else? I have, and it takes courage, empathy, and ​acuity​ to fully understand what another person is going through in their life. I have the ​inane​ ability to create ​figments​ of reality about myself being someone else. I have wondered how would it be like to be​ indubitably​ pretty. I picture myself being the girl who is confident, popular, preppy, somewhat​ testy​, and surprisingly smart. In my mind, she is perfect and has not experienced any of the humiliations that I have. It pains me to think of myself as a travesty​ of her image, but that is all I am. A nerdy girl in school, ​her glasses falling from her nose​, thinking about how her alter ego could conquer the world. But I never thought that she suffered too. She is ​reputed​ to be a loose woman and others' jealousy ​enervate​ her confidence, but she has a ​penchant​ need for attention and, for that, she won't stay away from those who hurt her. She is​ fecund​, very capable, but she fears that her intelligence will turn her into someone else. A pretty girl in school, ​her popularity falling apart​, fearing she will become someone like me. I won't judge her because she wouldn't be able to walk a day in my shoes, because I know I wouldn't be able to walk in hers either. But I hope that now that I understand her life, I get to walk with confidence that she has.
by Valerie De Jesús

I trusted my father
More than anyone in this world.
He could talk about anything
And I wouldn’t question a single word.
He made me believe in the craziest thing;
Chickens come from trees.

At first, I thought it couldn’t be possible.
How can chickens grow from trees?
But my father proved me wrong;
Chickens come from trees.

He signaled a tree in our backyard
And said; “Look at that tree and tell me what you can see.”
I looked at the tree and said; “All I can see is a tree full of leaves.”
He picked up a rock and said; “Take another look”,
And threw the rock towards the tree.
Chickens jumped off out of nowhere!
My father told me the truth;
Chickens come from trees.

I told everyone about this.
My tree wasn’t an ordinary tree;
My tree could grow chickens.
Why would I keep that as a secret?
No one else had a chicken tree;
No one else had a father like him.

I trusted my father
More than anyone in this world.
He can talk about anything
And I will question his words.
As I no longer believe in the craziest thing;
Chickens do not come from trees.

— The End —