#yale - Hello Poetry

The home where Chella grew up, in the ghetto of Liberty City Florida, had beige carpets so old that pieces of the tuft and twirl would come out of the backing under-foot. The apartment window shades were white floral plastic rectangles cut from an old shower curtain. She shared a bedroom with two younger siblings and the overhead lights were naked light bulbs. she grew up in the a noisome ghetto of Liberty City Florida she never knew her dad she won’t talk about her mom she hated the flaw of things nothing worked, not the dishwasher or the air conditioner they couldn't afford to run. There was no wi-fi for the no computer Her mother worked two or sometimes three part-time jobs They added rice to hamburger-helper to stretch it. Maybe you got a pair of shoes for Christmas and chicken, not turkey. They were poor, used clothes poor, food assistance poor, third world poor. She got a used bike once, for Christmas. It was stolen. At 14, she babysat for months to get a Rihanna mini-backpack. It was stolen. But they lived 2.5 miles from the beach. It was a 53 minute walk. She couldn't afford the bus. She knew not to hitchhike. She kept a knife in her right front jeans pocket. She studied at school or at the beach She practically lived at the beach Her wardrobe was a one-piece swimsuit under cut-off jean-shorts and flip flops. What friends she had were at the beach. A wino, who couldn't really talk, looked out for her at the beach because she once gave him a dollar. One night he pulled a knife on a **** who was bothering her. The police came and took his knife. “I’m SO sorry,” she told him, “I’ll get you another one,” but he mumbled in his incomprehensible way, and waving the idea off, he shuffled over to a garbage can, and leaned it up to reveal eight other knives under it. We were looking at some of our high school pictures together and we realized that my designer, high-school freshman prom-dress that I bought with my allowance ($6,000, on sale, with no fitting) cost more than her mom’s car. . . *A mini playlist for this: Baxter (These Are My Friends) by Fred again.. & Baxter Dury Runaway by Slick Rick Redemption Song by Mitchell Brunings Breakout by Swing Out Sister* . . Our cast: Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale University who is currently a Harvard Master's candidate. She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things. Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate.

0

Jul 15, 2025

Jul 15, 2025 at 2:12 PM UTC

anaisvionet

Chella

The home where Chella grew up, in the ghetto of Liberty City Florida, had beige carpets so old that pieces of the tuft and twirl would come out of the backing under-foot. The apartment window shades were white floral plastic rectangles cut from an old shower curtain. She shared a bedroom with two younger siblings and the overhead lights were naked light bulbs. she grew up in the a noisome ghetto of Liberty City Florida she never knew her dad she won’t talk about her mom she hated the flaw of things nothing worked, not the dishwasher or the air conditioner they couldn't afford to run. There was no wi-fi for the no computer Her mother worked two or sometimes three part-time jobs They added rice to hamburger-helper to stretch it. Maybe you got a pair of shoes for Christmas and chicken, not turkey. They were poor, used clothes poor, food assistance poor, third world poor. She got a used bike once, for Christmas. It was stolen. At 14, she babysat for months to get a Rihanna mini-backpack. It was stolen. But they lived 2.5 miles from the beach. It was a 53 minute walk. She couldn't afford the bus. She knew not to hitchhike. She kept a knife in her right front jeans pocket. She studied at school or at the beach She practically lived at the beach Her wardrobe was a one-piece swimsuit under cut-off jean-shorts and flip flops. What friends she had were at the beach. A wino, who couldn't really talk, looked out for her at the beach because she once gave him a dollar. One night he pulled a knife on a **** who was bothering her. The police came and took his knife. “I’m SO sorry,” she told him, “I’ll get you another one,” but he mumbled in his incomprehensible way, and waving the idea off, he shuffled over to a garbage can, and leaned it up to reveal eight other knives under it. We were looking at some of our high school pictures together and we realized that my designer, high-school freshman prom-dress that I bought with my allowance ($6,000, on sale, with no fitting) cost more than her mom’s car. . . *A mini playlist for this: Baxter (These Are My Friends) by Fred again.. & Baxter Dury Runaway by Slick Rick Redemption Song by Mitchell Brunings Breakout by Swing Out Sister* . . Our cast: Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale University who is currently a Harvard Master's candidate. She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things. Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate.

41

With three more weeks of holiday vacation, Lisa and I’ve started studying 5 hours a day. You can read a novel for atmosphere but you have to puzzle over and wring-out academic books - with their essays and worksheets after every chapter. I feel a simultaneous focus and boredom - but the pull of school is staggering - like resisting it could break me apart.

0

Jan 7, 2022

Jan 7, 2022 at 10:11 AM UTC

anaisvionet

getting ready

With three more weeks of holiday vacation, Lisa and I’ve started studying 5 hours a day. You can read a novel for atmosphere but you have to puzzle over and wring-out academic books - with their essays and worksheets after every chapter. I feel a simultaneous focus and boredom - but the pull of school is staggering - like resisting it could break me apart.

8

Ever notice how a piece of timber first catches on it burns so bright... There's sort of a passion to it? How it moves along flaring hot or hotter, flaming-out here or there... Coming around again to exhaust all efforts at staying alight... ...but it matters not. That dark hardened shell of the wood has nothing left to give... ...can't maintain itself. Sure, -you can add accelerant. A later something, perhaps different in thermal expression? In the end only speeds up the process of becoming nothing; as ashes cast into the winds. Charred pieces were better left alone, dissolving in raindrops over time? Never rekindle a thing once burnt. Yes I suppose that makes logical sense... Unless you feel cold? *

0

Nov 27, 2016

Nov 27, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC

david-john-mowers

Fire

Ever notice how a piece of timber first catches on it burns so bright... There's sort of a passion to it? How it moves along flaring hot or hotter, flaming-out here or there... Coming around again to exhaust all efforts at staying alight... ...but it matters not. That dark hardened shell of the wood has nothing left to give... ...can't maintain itself. Sure, -you can add accelerant. A later something, perhaps different in thermal expression? In the end only speeds up the process of becoming nothing; as ashes cast into the winds. Charred pieces were better left alone, dissolving in raindrops over time? Never rekindle a thing once burnt. Yes I suppose that makes logical sense... Unless you feel cold? *

15

Skull and Bones free markets calling, we're sailing off with your income's falling... Skull and Bone's gain, -your hurt; all your fetid industries we do subvert... Skull and Bones my outlaw swear! on the altar I cremate the care!

0

Nov 13, 2016

Nov 13, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC

david-john-mowers

Ivy's Ballad

Skull and Bones free markets calling, we're sailing off with your income's falling... Skull and Bone's gain, -your hurt; all your fetid industries we do subvert... Skull and Bones my outlaw swear! on the altar I cremate the care!

6

We outlasted the moon! In a timeless place we did it! The pull of the moon and the rise of the sun irrelevant! A group of warriors who couldn’t be more different, as I see myself in grey —faded color, colors that will never cease to exist! A rapper from south Africa, a student fluent in Chinese music, a girl with no bounds from down the road, a cyclist from Manhattan, a quiet devil from Belfast, and two girls who could be twins from Mexico all of us surived! The famous campus— empty a bond forever, only the flies dance with me!The pizza crust from what feels like eternity or last week at this point fresh on the table, still two hours before the day begins, eyes droopy, faces baggy no idea where the sun is a blink sleeping, eternity awake the music on and off replacing conversation occionsally tossing condoms a laugh, talk of favorite memories. only sif (not sure what that was) hours ago pitch dark, lost with a welcome room Sleepy travelers some head off needing the destination and rest wanting to jump offand hit the ground running, we made it walking as a bottle cap falls from an open window at three four disappear as the night lights turn off around me. The ones who left early no less brilliant, I owe them all so much. I will not begin to describe them because they could all take up a book of memories. Funny stories then sad ones as it becomes clear to the tellers that one is in the making all it was, ice cream followed by a half hour, thrilled at company to Ashelies ice cream after farewell song. Reality chugs along. A door opens, nobody comes along. At three in the afternoon dizzy as light starts to claim the clock-tower. Dizzy sick and unable to think in the afternoon the prophet before hand calls straight-mistake, (the first N4 alcoholic hungover never another drink I swear before drinking ) At ten that night out of the timeless room it’s one hour then fifteen minutes then another then thirty disappear. Dancing on the table music and stories. Later that night or morning, at our lowest bit of energy. pumping iron. Pulling back together with a friend from the other side of the planet falling back letting go getting sprung up in the famous campus. Dancing on a tread mill shirtless together in the dimly lit gym. Is there anything more divine?! Then quite in the timeless room, at 3 in the afternoon sick missing the talk of a life claiming “there is no love without sacafrice", at 6 in the night I’m sleeping debating heading home on that paved road opting instead for "who knows?!" At six in the morning, out of the timeless room, I’m the only one out, writing this as the drone of the song continues from the windows of fellow warriors, briefly drowned out by a helicopter. The beloved campus dead quite even birds asleep. Before the iron deep in the morning pool and talk of maybe being social accidentally sinking the 8 ball. At twelve in the alleged dead of night a room trashed unknown and the words spread a half mile out and brings the head honchos down to the timeless room, at three saved from sleep by a prior story of farting in sleepers faces woke me just in time in the timeless room. At sometime the door opposite the timeless room opened and a long narrow stroll around leads back to the timeless room, at some time time in the timeless home my presence maybe anxiously sought or ignored. The ecstasy and disbelief to see the sun, running back to the warriors who I just wished well at the sun! The same planets with vibrant colors. I will never forget the warriors but maybe their names. I swat at a fly that was never on my arm. I think of the infinities of time I will miss later. My hearing worn thin with my sight, the birds songs lost their fullness though in our business it’s very likely for the better as I look to see the clock tower fully conquered, I wonder if my parents will assume intoxication, it is impossible to do this tail justice, though it will likely end in the same spot: dizzy complaints of exhaustion getting sick and bliss before the end. I have known the warriors for 3 days, yet I know them better than family. Outside the timeless room I learn partying means drinking with others to bad dance music, the kind that kept me awake, as the smoke of others cigars enter my lungs and the take truly ends in the same spot I trying to survive the eternal earthquakes after a long journey to say good-bye and in the timeless room, the light stays the same. Some foosball in a timeless place in reality its a language or a wreck room, in truth the room was always spinning, as my head is now.

0

Aug 7, 2015

Aug 7, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC

JMMcCann

An eternal place

We outlasted the moon! In a timeless place we did it! The pull of the moon and the rise of the sun irrelevant! A group of warriors who couldn’t be more different, as I see myself in grey —faded color, colors that will never cease to exist! A rapper from south Africa, a student fluent in Chinese music, a girl with no bounds from down the road, a cyclist from Manhattan, a quiet devil from Belfast, and two girls who could be twins from Mexico all of us surived! The famous campus— empty a bond forever, only the flies dance with me!The pizza crust from what feels like eternity or last week at this point fresh on the table, still two hours before the day begins, eyes droopy, faces baggy no idea where the sun is a blink sleeping, eternity awake the music on and off replacing conversation occionsally tossing condoms a laugh, talk of favorite memories. only sif (not sure what that was) hours ago pitch dark, lost with a welcome room Sleepy travelers some head off needing the destination and rest wanting to jump offand hit the ground running, we made it walking as a bottle cap falls from an open window at three four disappear as the night lights turn off around me. The ones who left early no less brilliant, I owe them all so much. I will not begin to describe them because they could all take up a book of memories. Funny stories then sad ones as it becomes clear to the tellers that one is in the making all it was, ice cream followed by a half hour, thrilled at company to Ashelies ice cream after farewell song. Reality chugs along. A door opens, nobody comes along. At three in the afternoon dizzy as light starts to claim the clock-tower. Dizzy sick and unable to think in the afternoon the prophet before hand calls straight-mistake, (the first N4 alcoholic hungover never another drink I swear before drinking ) At ten that night out of the timeless room it’s one hour then fifteen minutes then another then thirty disappear. Dancing on the table music and stories. Later that night or morning, at our lowest bit of energy. pumping iron. Pulling back together with a friend from the other side of the planet falling back letting go getting sprung up in the famous campus. Dancing on a tread mill shirtless together in the dimly lit gym. Is there anything more divine?! Then quite in the timeless room, at 3 in the afternoon sick missing the talk of a life claiming “there is no love without sacafrice", at 6 in the night I’m sleeping debating heading home on that paved road opting instead for "who knows?!" At six in the morning, out of the timeless room, I’m the only one out, writing this as the drone of the song continues from the windows of fellow warriors, briefly drowned out by a helicopter. The beloved campus dead quite even birds asleep. Before the iron deep in the morning pool and talk of maybe being social accidentally sinking the 8 ball. At twelve in the alleged dead of night a room trashed unknown and the words spread a half mile out and brings the head honchos down to the timeless room, at three saved from sleep by a prior story of farting in sleepers faces woke me just in time in the timeless room. At sometime the door opposite the timeless room opened and a long narrow stroll around leads back to the timeless room, at some time time in the timeless home my presence maybe anxiously sought or ignored. The ecstasy and disbelief to see the sun, running back to the warriors who I just wished well at the sun! The same planets with vibrant colors. I will never forget the warriors but maybe their names. I swat at a fly that was never on my arm. I think of the infinities of time I will miss later. My hearing worn thin with my sight, the birds songs lost their fullness though in our business it’s very likely for the better as I look to see the clock tower fully conquered, I wonder if my parents will assume intoxication, it is impossible to do this tail justice, though it will likely end in the same spot: dizzy complaints of exhaustion getting sick and bliss before the end. I have known the warriors for 3 days, yet I know them better than family. Outside the timeless room I learn partying means drinking with others to bad dance music, the kind that kept me awake, as the smoke of others cigars enter my lungs and the take truly ends in the same spot I trying to survive the eternal earthquakes after a long journey to say good-bye and in the timeless room, the light stays the same. Some foosball in a timeless place in reality its a language or a wreck room, in truth the room was always spinning, as my head is now.

40