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Shelby Murray Dec 2013
Shocks of purple on
My palet. Watercolours
Seep close together.
The blue comes into
Play and sends the paint away.
Green and yellow here
To stay. Orange has
Nothing left to say. Splashes
Of them all race in
A neverending
Whirlpool of emtion and
Thoughts that create a
Startling panic
That can only be silenced
By the sweep of my
Brush. Quietly I
Put paint to paper and pour
Whatever I have
                                                      
                                                          Out.
Shelby Murray Dec 2013
I'm too busy
            Spending my
                                                     time
                      
                                      Falling
        
     In
                
                    Love,
        
                                     And being
      Hopelessly
      
                                                          Lost.
Being around
                      You is like

                                           Breathing in
  
   But
                     Somehow
                
             I
                                     Continue
   To
    
              Remain

                                           Breathless.
Let me swim
                 In those

    Oceans                            
                                          You

Call
                               Your
              
                                              Eyes.
Shelby Murray Dec 2013
My bed is warm but my heart is loud,
You're so far away sitting atop that cloud.
I wait for all the love you're bringing.
Is it your voice that I hear singing?
A hazy room and a guarded mind
Leaves one with little or no time.
I stand still during every passing hour
Praying you'd ring the bell in my tower.
Leaving my arms with your imprint
Doesn't make anything less different.
My bed is still warm, heart still loud,
You still sit happy on that cloud.
I can't feel the love you're bringing.
I beg, hope, have faith that its your voice singing.
Shelby Murray Dec 2013
Holding my breath tight
Inside my chest. I'm waiting
For the slow, sad end.
Shelby Murray Dec 2013
Before you begin an essay the first thing you need is a topic. Once you have that its easy.
Or is it? I'm here to argue that it ******* is not.
When you are given the slightest glimpse as to what an essay even is, around age 10 or 11, you are taught the hamburger method.
                                                                 The top of the bun: Your intro.
                                                                   The tomato: Your first point.
                                                                      The lettuce: Second point.
                                                 The meat: Your last and probably strongest point.
                                                         The bottom of the bun: Your conclusion.
Although some methods and structures are different this is a summation of what I was taught in elementary school. I continued with this idea that while writing an essay all you had to write was your opinion on a certain subject.
When I arrived at high school my first two English teachers were less then willing to add upon this "hamburger technique". They gave me the A I wanted and didn't give any notes of improvement.
I was convinced that I was on the right track.
When I started my third year of English my teacher arrived with a rude awakening and a failing mark.
Confused, digging and shuffling through the relentless amount of sheets she'd given me I tried to figure out the rhythm of writing an essay.
I looked around. Some students had no clue, while others grasped the concept as if it were their birthright.
                                  I, however,
                                                    continued to fall
                                                                             into a swirl
                                                                                            of do's and don'ts
                                                                                                                        for writing an essay.
All the sheets mentioned all kinds of things. But in the midst of all these possibilities there still wasn't
          
                                                                               a clear answer.

The sheets and booklets I'd received seemed to talk down to me with words that even though I knew and understood were now foreign to me.
The overwhelming need to prove that I could write an essay always bit softly at the back of my head. And when finally faced with the challenge the need chewed deeper and harder. Confusion setting in once more.
Leaving everything I was taught about essays

                                                                                     as a big
                                                    sloppy,
                                                          
                                                                                 blurry,
                                                           jumbled
                                                                                                       mess.
                                      Filled with words that made me feel
                                          
                                                                                                                 completely stupid.
                                                                             And rules that made me feel

                                                  suffocated and limited.
Shelby Murray Dec 2013
The screaming that you can't hear but can feel ripping from your lungs and tearing up your esophagus.
Your heart is carried away into the sky along with that yell and suddenly you're empty.
Nothing can be felt anymore and your brain seems to turn off, refusing to cooperate, refusing to react.
Your knees buckle, your arms limp. All you can manage to do is breathe. Still feeling the steady inhale and exhale of breath.
The crashing, devastating yet slow realization that you've had a roaring victory and a soft defeat.
Shelby Murray Nov 2013
I hate forgetting
Your voice. Your face is blurry
In my clouded mind.
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