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Ileana Payamps Aug 2017
Have you heard about our tennis player?
She is our first singles slayer,
She can serve and she will probably hit you with an ace,
She is impossible to replace.

She can be the sweetest girl you have ever met,
Before the game starts, we shake hands by the net,
But do not try to mess with her when she is playing the tennis game,
She could hit you with her racquet’s frame.

But let me tell you about this girl:
She can easily win the game,
Not only with her smart brain,
But also with her skills that will surely get her to the hall of fame.

If you ever see her around,
She never has a frown,
She will gladly give you a smile,
But do not forget to slowdown and take a look at her style.

You might recognize the girl,
It’s the one with the awesome curls,
You will see her around these halls,
And her pictures will be hanging on the walls.

She is our proud valedictorian,
She will forever be victorious,
One of our most outstanding students,
Oh what a big inspiration but she is clueless!

This journey has been tremendous,
So let me give a shout out to tennis,
Is the sport that brought us together,
I could not ask for anything better.

Now looking back at the place we were,
Only makes me cherish every moment I spent with her,
I will always be thankful for every advice,
That has helped us reach our own paradise.

The best I wish for her career aims,
I hope to see her in the Olympic games
And be the player she wishes to become,
I am a proud friend to see how far she has come.

I never thought I could be this close to her,
Nobody else I would prefer,
To say a “see you later”, at the end,
What a big blessing to call her one of my best friends!
Andrew Dunham Jul 2015
a day in the life: valedictorian at the school of hard knocks,
already committed to humdrum state university--full scholarship
she laces up her shoes, buttons her top, ever so slightly to balance
the constant feeling in the pit of her stomach
like that of a roller coaster moments before the big drop
each car horn and bird chirp plays into a miserable melody
raining down upon her withered teenage face like ashes of anxiety
burn-holes her already tattered clothes until they resemble swiss cheese
she breathes heavily.
each step is a hurdle,
each word a quarrel,
each conversation an uphill battle
every potential relationship another personal waterloo
dimples and straight teeth mask the dread coursing within her skull
just as her long sleeves and wristbands hide the things she shouldn't do
her body lackluster and tired, as if she hadn't slept for days
or maybe just worn from escaping the holes she finds herself in daily
or from her Jackson *******-esque arm motions when she splatters paint
because she thinks she can never paint else anything right
she opens the door with her right hand
her left hand remains in a fist, squeezing tight
her sweaty palms make holding the door a challenge
but it's best that she not let go.
observations of someone close to me.

— The End —