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Wyatt Lastname Oct 2014
P opcorn

O pium

P pop

C orn

O oral

R abies

N ope
Adele Jul 2014
At night, I lay on the ground staring at the moon and the stars. They are so beautiful from afar. But nothing’s more beautiful than seeing those shimmering eyes. As I looked inside, I saw the galaxies exploding with so much wonders. Then I envisioned feasting my eyes on infinity.

Fate worked the first time I met you. There! You were walking from distance. The long face you were wearing throes my heart. You caught me looking. I was startled but I kept staring. A sudden arrow stung my heart yet I was mesmerized. It wounded and scarred. You came nearer and touched it. I was captivated. Then I stroked your face. They are very gentle and sweet. They are alluring. Then you held my hands. I never wanted to let go. I don’t want to.

You smiled. Finally! They are the perfect curves that I don’t want to fade. The world stops and it’s just us two. The butterflies in my belly are soaring high. What I feel for you, I could never deny. Your eyes are on me but I looked away. I was shy but I want you to stay.

We talked and talked. I don’t know what’s so funny but you made me laughed. You've been a part of my life and that’s not a lie. There goes our love story…

You like it when you caress my hair and whisper my name. How’d you make it sound so special?

Then you brought me to carny and tossed a ring. You won me a fluffy bear that is my size. We can’t wait for the blue spun sugar to eat. It made our tongue blue too! I was scared of the big wheel. Heights petrified me. But you told me to not let my fear control me so I did. I did it! I conquered the world. I can now bungee jump or canyon swing.

Couple of miles we rode, there goes the big screen and the film’s rolling black and white. Some movies make me cry. You wiped my tears and I burst laughing. We shared popcorns and soda too. Then I glanced, I’m so glad I found you.

Remember when it rained and we were soaked. You grabbed my hand and twirled me like a ballerina. Then you’ll tease me and put me on your back. But your tire got stuck in the mud. I pushed it and as you start the engine, the tire whirred and splashed me with dirt. Oh, someone’s having fun!

Whispering the three words, my eyes grew bigger. You were shaking as your voice trailed off but my heart jumped out of joy. Is this really happening? I hugged you tight that you can barely breathe. I can’t help myself from being elated. Every moment of every day, you are in my mind, my heart, and the center of my being.

You are the syrup in my pancake, the helium in my balloon, the cream in my sugar, the lyrics in my song and the sparkle in my eyes.

We drive away. So far, that they can’t see. I look back watching how the city lights glitter like a fairy dust. We promised to forget about what’s behind and rather look what’s further. It’s just you and me. And that’s the only thing that matters.

I turn the radio on and we sing at the top of our lungs. I roll the windows down and remove my bun. The wind blows my long hair and it feels nice. The air is fresh and cold that I shiver. What’s ahead is an open road that never ends. You squeezed my hand and I was relieved knowing everything will be alright.

As you drive, I heard the seagulls and the crashing of waves. There could be a hidden paradise somewhere. The screeching of brakes led us to a new world. What’s beneath the sea and the sky comes to life. We build a fire and cover ourselves with thick blanket to keep us warm. I wish there are s’mores too! Then we sat on the ground waiting for the sun to come up. I lay my head on your shoulder then you kissed my forehead. It was quick but I blushed. It was sweet and hoping this will last.

The sun woke up and started to rise. I opened my mouth but then closed it. What I’m seeing is so wonderful that I’m going to cry. You wrap your hand over my shoulders the other is on my hand intertwined. You looked at me and said the words. Those words made my heart skip a beat.

“I can’t imagine how dark my world before you came. I was lost and empty. I was miserable. But it happened you looked at me the way I looked at you. Then that moment, we were meant.  I knew we were. Every night, I thank the Almighty how majestic he is for slowly turning my dark world into hue. That’s when I found you. And I want to spend the rest of my life holding your hands and loving you until my last breath. I want to grow old with you and just be with you. Only you.”

I tightened my grip. It was meaningful and brave to say. He’s true. We are meant and what we need to do is face and stand whatever chaos life may bring us. Our love is so true.

But then…

I woke up.

-A

5/25/14
Sharing my sad love story *sighs
{quite long but it's a good story >.< haha!}

http://adelekarla.wordpress.com/2014/05/25/how-i-met-you-2/
Alin Dec 2015
before they made it public
they created the technology
to create living puppets
producing a tapestry of thoughts
manifesting
through the filter
of authentic bodies
and minds

their enchanting color of
implemented poison

they had two versions of the site
one the true one and one the public one

the true one was
showing the nature of a mind
in a spherical wireframe
3-d
projected space

that could make the motives
of a mind truly observable
using this hi-tech breakthrough
(hi-tech for their time only
i.e  their hi-techness is still
bound to time)
to/by/for those
word loving
businesspeople
and hired scientists
and hired technologists
and hired creatives
and hired psychics
and hired you name a profession I will say yes es  
of their time
working for them
for an almost literally ground breaking technology

a time bound technology that showed them an observable truth of the visualized data
a design driven and poached from the participants’ ingenious minds

the public version on the other hand
looked naively innocent
with an amateurish design
using a ready to go script
presenting an acceptable ‘good site’
based on personal motives
of hard working profiles
of young idealist sisters and bros
you know
like teddies pathetically hugging each other all the time

in reality though
snail shells were being used to implement
new poisons for the game
on unshelled ones
poisson as is French
would be prettier term
to describe
an honest organic fish farm
but alas

yet in reality that hugging was distant jutting

to purposefully run a game that entertained
pockets of those who had it boringly full only
to spend it for their own fun
but which they vowed as
for the salvation of their Utopian land made of the
illusion of their materialistic psyche same as their popcorns
which  continually justified as they  repeatedly asserted
these well learned set of words
on communal and cyclic ceremonies

oh my!
stealing intellects as such!
for the game!
game also runs in a closed circuit just
so no one can see it
they have all passed the Turing test
for the game
cool right
and it works

so who on earth could judge its’ ethics
once a reflection of their own minds
even unknowingly the game admins
once falling in love
with unshelled ones
may turn to the unshelled ones
like the prince falling for a Lorelei
they were warned continually
and then still some
willingly stayed so
in love
and disappeared in the game
loosing their body

well whatever
there is a place though
don’t believe me because I say there is
go find it yourself

from that place
the headquarters of this game
is nudely visible
with all of its partaking pawns
because it remains too low a place in the universe

yes there is a mountain higher
where lives
the inhabitants of the residence of the destroyer
who are a little bit bored by now and since some time already
and so the destroyer -they think- may as well decide to
wipe it off - hiring a well fit dragon that can gobble it all in one go
so that dragon excretion may benefit a famine of sorts in the universe
eating that kinda stuff
****  yeack  ARG hhhh
(or Namaste!)
:)
inspired by the last cyborg movie I saw- I love cyborg movies - it feels like homecoming :D
Jason Chae Dec 2015
imagine if VCIS had escalators instead of hard stair cases
and water slides in each sides
just to keep our entertainment level high

imagine our classrooms with movie screens
instead of those pale whiteboards
where you can watch the math problems
as the ****** in this movie
while you enjoy the lessons
chomping some barbecue popcorns

imagine our canteen
as a 5 star Gorden Ramsy's
and our library with a super secret spy base
behind one of those 8 bookshelves
and our tiny comfort rooms with disco *****
so we can shake a bit while we release some bits
and our quad floor as the Pacific Ocean
because why not
imagine Koby Bryant standing in our Lakers ground
just to make our school look cool

imagine our school as a mental hospital
or a even a county called
"International Christian Republic of Victory"
for we have our own flag and an anthem to sing


imagine every extremes you had ever imagine

but once these imaginations step in the border of wishing
to change our school

VCIS will never be the same

because I like our school the way it is
it is imperfectly perfect

each of the classrooms have different crayons of personalities
where everyone fills the color of this huge painting

our windows are sealed with iron bars and covered with egg trays
but no great movies can be fun as this movie with best friends

and the those grade school students running every morning
as if I was chasing them on a 13th Friday
but they are happiest human beings I know

and even though our campus may be smaller than others
and even though there are some cracks in the edges
and even though I eat fried chicken with ketchup every single lunch

I will remember VCIS forever for that.
(wrote this spoken word poem for a school event)
mac azanes Jan 2014
A silly smile,
That will make me happy.
A kiss on my cheek,
Will make my day.

A simple hello,
Would ease my sorrow.
A grey sky will turn blue
By a stare from you.

Your voice,
Is a lullaby.
I hope you won't say goodbye.
And makes these leaves dry.

Candies and lollipops,
Popcorns and cheese on top.
Makes a perfect night,
While watching stars in rooftop.

Trains and buses,
Makes my adrenaline rush.
Like an airplane and rockets,
That fly so fast.

Mountains,rivers and seas.
Oh how I wish.
To  sleep in your tryst,
And wake up with your breeze.
.

A little bit of you,
Will completely make my day.
Without any doubt that someday,
We'll be happy .
george holman Oct 2014
p-olice will come after you
o-n the run
p-olice catch you
c-caught but you keep eating
o-n the run again
r-un for your life popcorns attacking you
n-othing but a dream
Zach Abler May 2014
Now I found I, a canty fellow
Like a lark found a common twig, an unlikely chance like finding identical popcorns

As I bask in the sight, the crowds held hands as they plea nailed eternity on the cedars of calvary

Thinking I gave you all the clues, I chose to marry the eagle that conquered the stone than a crippled hawk with theories and philosophies that bind him to a chair talking like white noise on a broken idiot box.

As he asked my hand for a sip of wine, my inclination grew like curiosity for this rather unexplainable reality

"Take My hand and sip beyond the humanly" I nodded like a crow lurking beneath me was my chaperone from decades ago.

I grab held of his cloak, even to a point where all my ribbons to devote!
But my chaperone rang "fallacy!" took me by the throat refusing to let go.
Written for 'Or Are We?' with co-founder James David Pedida.
Lunatic May 2015
First and foremost I'd great you and the audience,
Yet I'll never over-look the importance to introduce myself.
"LUNATIC"

Give me the platform!
I'd tell you and the audience,
"People can be so cruel, they'd pay bewitching you,
Yet won't smile to pay their child's tuition."
Yes meanwhile they complain of everyday costs,
Yet will not hesitate spending on useless and meaningless things.

Give me the platform!
I'd think to myself,
"Maybe I've said enough already..."
WOAH! Hold that thought, actually I need you to hear this one!
"See people will pray to sit on the front row with popcorns and toast to your downfall,
Yet won't celebrate to your victory."
Don't blame them,
Meanwhile they plan to deceit you,
Yet they'll never know God only plan to keep blessing you.

Give me the platform!
I'd ask you and the audience,
"Why people will go to church everyday,
Yet will still sin now an'everyday?"
"If people can play God for a fool,
Yet still keep their church attendance up-to-date?"
Who were you to judge, correct, question and mind people's business,
Yet forget to mind  your own?

Give me the platform!
I'd emphasize that,
"Let people alone, mind your own business and live your life to the fullest,
For everyone will face their JUDGEMENT DAY!"

Give me the platform!
I'd bow.
"Thank you, GOD BLESS YOU ALL..."
#People      #Fedup       #JUDGE NOT
Puspanjali Sahu Jul 2016
For me,
love was
my favourite
pale yellow chiffon dress
or may be
my light brown hemp neck less

Brightness of diamonds
placed closely on my fingers
Or darkness of black lines
around my eyes

Love,
may be smiling, giggling or crying over long phonecalls
Or spending hours and hours
and someone’s savings
in a overcrowded mall

Tell me.
how could I realize love can be
more than my imagination,
and your life

It could be choosing
sleepless nights in dark forests
filled with pointed stones
when chances to throw your body
over a cushy bed
in a warm room
is still on

How could I know
how it feels
to take a bullet
directly on your chest
only to
protect the soil on which you were born?

And we, whom you left
in our five star rooms
to sleep peacefully
watch movies with bowls of popcorns
will never understand
what you did for us
even though
we are not related with relations


Today
When I saw you
sleeping peacefully
in the arms of tricolour
and 21-gun salute
could not touch your ear
Today when
thousands of bodies like me
with tear filled heart
raised their hand

I realized
my heart can never love the way
your heart does
and
your soul can never be touched
with my prayers

because

I have never been there
A trial to express the unconditional love every soldier feel for their country.....A tribute to Indian soldiers and and soldiers of any other country, sacrificed their lives for their nation

We can try to feel but I am sure we can never feel what a soldier feel for their nation because we were never in that situation..we have never been there
Mane Omsy Apr 2017
Another huge wave will hit you
Since my pleas won't spark you
Let your heart show some mercy
One hell of a backlash, awaits you

No tongue can describe the ache
I endured once you slapped back
It was more than arrows sprinkled
Showered, shoved, turned to awake

It still bleeds, if you ever witnessed
I was drowning, you enjoyed popcorns
Watched the fatigue throw me on thorns
You howled at me till my eyes turned red
Redemption - IX

The incidents that hit you straight into your heart creates a revenge against who did it. To wake up and shake off the laziness will guide you to be stronger than any normal mind.
Ammar Sep 2017
Hot black coffee
The smell of popcorns
Corner seats
&
You and I

Still fresh memories
Of
Sunsets from when we lived
//ronay waalon se kaho unka bhi rona rolien, jin ko waqt o halaat ne ronay na diya//

Miss you
Gaye Sep 2015
A muggy dream walked to me
Yesterday night, all roads down
The equator
With the taste of salt and sweat
And the clocks of the world
Stopped for a moment,
I wrote without papers
Of all the things he ever said.

The drama of falling from a cliff
I did not know I was dreaming,
A careful section of love letters
Obscured under leather jackets
Flew with the body, down to the sea.
My red mail box had to wait
For the Orientalist’s stories,
It did wait.

I trawled his journals and poems
Like a desperate lover hunting-
For a vilified unpublished hero.
I didn’t want to be his Halloween-
Horror night or fallen oranges of the dusk,
I wanted to be the cigars he puffed
The rancheras he sung and the clipped
Clothes that hung on his backyard.

The clichéd sappy night fall,
Physical sensation and a tight lipped smile;
I had to write poetry, chew my nails
Chop my hair to fall normal again.
Why did they not teach in schools
To pause poems and eat popcorns
Why did they not tell me
To stop my wiggly sly will?

Lover, I’m drunk in Chaucer
Sea and a monster, now I’m drowning.
Let us paint the house, draw the walls
And say sorry to malicious kids we made
Let us take photographs, hang them on
The walls and make trips back to our sacks
Let us drive the hills, sing songs
Shock the folks and live out of track.
Ayesha May 2021
Wilted jasmines look like popcorns
… that wasn’t very poetic, right?
I was just watching the bushes sway outside my window.
There is no wind today
Just the hot air breathing
I have turned on the A.C. and the fan grumbles quietly

I feel as if my heart is in my stomach
Huh.
**** it,
I really am forcing it out today..
Whatever
I rested my palm on my stomach
As Faizan’s strange playlist chattered nonsense
Outside the blanket shroud I had built
Around myself
And I could feel the beat
The rhythm
Like a drum or a gong
I don’t know why it matters to me
Maybe because I feet as if nothing else does
Right now
I know that sounds exactly like something
A sentimental teenager would say

I don’t know
I want to talk to myself
A heart-to-heart
I want to ask that *****
What is going on
What is wrong
What the **** is wrong, girly!?
I want to hear her ramble on about stuff
Be bored of her talk, but feel kind of happy
That I’m the one she’s confiding in
I wanna give her a hug
To show I don’t have words good enough for comfort
Which I probably do
But am too lazy to fish them out my gooey head
(Besides
I think the poor **** needs a hug)

I wanna zone out and nod along to her words
Just so she can let it out for once
But that *****’s a *****
She acts tough and all smart
But she’s a sappy preteen girl inside
I say,
“Yo, Ayesha, you can cry, you know—”
And she goes,
“Yeah, I know.”
A flip of that inexistent hair
That she long ago butchered
And, bam, she gone.
She tells me
"Yo, Ayesha, you can cry too, you know?"
"I know" I tell her.
I don’t know what to do
So I lie around
Feeling this stupid ***** dance in my stomach
In my wrists
In my temples
I run my fingers down my neck,
Feeling for the echoes of the gong
That keeps talking, talking, talking
Untiring
As if calling me to my people
gathering us together for a battle
that is yet to be fought
yet to be fought—
yet to be ******* fought

And, hey, my
Money plant doesn’t even look rich
That *****—
(Hey, I got a rhyme!)
I don't know how I got from carefully carved and beautified poems to this *******... the little girly had learned some bold words eh
Nichole Aug 2017
A lovely Creature
They are like our miniature
The day that they are born
Its like a new color in our room
They are our treasure ones
So their husbands and wives will treasure them
When that day comes
And the day when they become dads and moms.
This carbon copy of mine
Was my prince and hime
They are my bell when I come home
Gladly waiting till I got home
A noise in my house
A kids that like a mice
A dirt of popcorns and ketchup on my floor
And a loud knock at my door
Their hands was soft as mine
As i cry when i saw them on the baby's line
They are sleeping soundly
As they hold unto me so clingy
May be some day..

The case in my storage fell on my head..when I was hysterically hitting my hands for the lost confirmations of adulthood..
The mother of coincidences and fate was up today..

The box contained all the pictures of my childhood.. which today are on Facebook, and the timely flashes of memories that don’t mean as much, pokes a hole in my heart..

The time where careless was adored and playful and silly was the only way to be.. running behind my little chickens and teasing my parrot for a chilli was the sport that kept me fit..sad that sport today means watching matches at the stadium or late night football leagues..

The exercise that we got when mother ran left and right only to put that bite in our hunger hole.. how so luxurious has that bite of mother’s love become..

When Hotwheels and Funschool and Playdough was the hip of the hour.. when did an iPhone replace it all ?
Popcorns and Rasna, and Uncle Chips and  lime juice were the menu desired.. no one told me Rasna becomes *** and coke and uncle chips becomes Pizza and Fries.. or lime juice would turn into a Mojito, flustered..

May be cotton candy will never be ‘buddhi ka baal’ again..and nutties and gems and boomer bubble gum are left just words..

Balloons outside the park were the reason we went to weddings..who knew weddings will be the misnomer for departing friends..how swing sets and see-saws are just equations of physics and childish banter..

When the only cricket teams were the kids in the colony, and we hadn’t to worry about India, Australia and South Africa..
When gangs rode cycles and ate Eclairs for evening snacks.. how has it become bikes and cars and kebabs with whiskey over the years..
When getting hurt in the knees was a sign of strength..how heart breaks have become a taboo of the weak..

Times when fever was a festival of cold packs and mother’s kisses on the forehead and stomach aches were the cheat codes for skipping school.
How even diarrhoea and fractures don’t get us off work..

Chilling meant Cartoon Network.. parties meant cakes and presents in the house..and birthday songs still meant like Grammy nominated jingles of happiness and satisfaction..

Sitting on the floor with a tiny tear and a wrinkle of a smile on my face, I get spotted by my mother. She’s curious to know, how her ever frantic and running child came to a halt.. and the time turned tides, it was 5th grade again, when I shared with my mother all the happenings and happiness and sorrows.. and insecurities meant bullies and not bosses anymore..

Like my wish of ‘may be some day, all over again’.., mommy picks her mess of a child up, hugs me tight with a kiss full of affection on my forehead..
May be someday, again this box will fall into my hands, and Luck will play its tricks to muster a kiss from my mother..
May be some day..
YayyaKhairudin May 2016
Accompany by lights
In the middle of the night
Enjoying the crunchiness of every bite
Thinking of the thoughts that i cant decide

Thinking of you makes me feel lonely
Cause all i have with you is just a memory
Running in my mind like watching a movie
Just me and the popcorns in theater B.
-yayyakhairudin
EJ Lee Mar 2019
Sitting in a room alone. It is clean, brightly lit but peaceful. A cup filled with water sitting upright on the table to my right. A stack of papers rests in front of myself. The sun shining brightly through the window, refracting off of the glass of water creating beautiful dancing lights across the paper. Glancing at the top page reads “Report of Psychological Evaluation” in ******* letters. An ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach imitating a thunderstorm is on the rise. The heading continues to cite my name, age, birthdate, dates of the evaluation, Psychologist’s name, and acronyms that are unfamiliar. Grasping the paper it feels smooth, sliding my hand across feeling the ink slightly raised off the page. Following the words as they describe myself at eighteen years of age.
Intelligence is complex. Some are off the charts brilliant, some are average, and others are below the standard of society. People live their entire lives obsessed about their IQ score because humankind accepts this as a universal standard of intelligence. Not everyone’s IQ can be measured accurately as it does not conclude someone’s motivation, creativity, curiosity, innovation and kindness are all key components of character traits that are admired and desired. Unfortunately people, like myself who are dyslexic, have a different method to measure our intellect as we must sit and talk with a psychologist for hours in order for them to determine how our brain works. This system consumed twenty-one hours of my life thus far. Repeating the same test throughout my life with various puzzles, a complete biographical timeline and questionnaires all to be summed up into thirteen pages. Strapped to my ankle like a ball in chain, my thirteen pages are forever in mind.
Looking at my evaluation form my name is written on the top of the page dismissing any doubt. Gazing at the pages on the table with a combination of anxiety and annoyance running through my mind. Reaching out to grasp the pages feeling the significant weight that it holds over me. At first glace the text blurs together. Reading closer the text becomes words but the language is different. The tone of the paper is distant and disconnected. Descriptions of my life begin to form, mapping out every milestone. Since the age of seven, my life has been a roller-coaster from changing school every two-three years, being bullied for being different, to finding salvation within myself leading into proactive accountability to finally rise above all odds. Growing up was not easy. Especially before the No Child Left Behind Act, children with dyslexia were over looked, as many teachers did not know how to teach them. Even now many teachers in public school are not equipped to recognize when students are struggling. Imagining a life where I am not dyslexic, how different it would be.
Turn over the page to expose more information. Written in the text is a comprehensive account of my life. Plainly scripted describing one milestone at a time. Reading a biographical novel, one familiar yet no emotional attachment. As though I am reading my life through the eyes of someone else’s words. The formality of the writing is distant and concise. Leading the viewer to see me as unremarkable.
Reading on, the narrative of my life changes into graphs and floating numbers that are meant to define my intellectual abilities. Staring at the numbers pondering what it means. Acronyms appearing left and right like popcorns. Confusion starts to set in as the suspended numbers start to dance. I was diagnosed at the age of seven in 2000. Nearing the end of first grade, a year I barley remember as I hardly learned anything substantial. My teacher never showed that they cared even after I told them that I was dyslexic. Looking back, I feel that my teacher never understood what I was trying to tell her; instead my teacher brushed me aside not even thinking twice of the ramification that she caused.  
Lifting and flipping the next page, but the weight feels heavier than the last. Pressure on my chest begins to build with my anxious mind. Acronyms begin to pop up out of nowhere like popcorn. Like setting sun the words and uses of language slowly start to become unfamiliar as the biographical aspects starts to fade. The terminology shifts to a different standard that is foreign. Lacking the understanding language that is formal academic style.
Remembering when my mother told me that I needed to change schools because the public school I was currently attending refused to help me. She continues to explain that I would not get the proper guidance unless I was behind four grade levels. As any rational person would think it was unacceptable. Over the next five years I attended two different schools still skating by, making little to no progress. Glancing back at the evaluation form it does not show the hardship and suffering that I endured trying to get an education that everyone has a right to. Reading the form, seeing my life plainly written with little to no emotion. Remembering, how I cried everyday, because I did not want to go to school. Daily kids would call me dumb and stupid because they could not understand how someone like myself existed. Ostracized by my peers I never felt so alone yet surrounded by so many people.
Before transferring to another school I never met anyone else with dyslexia. My salvation was around the corner; before I knew it I was attending a school in a different state in the middle of nowhere. Once more, I needed to update my evaluation, six more hours of my life to prove that I needed all the help I could get. This school on my evaluation form should get more credit to my success. My time there is summed up into one paragraph but the effect will last a lifetime. The three years I attended this school was difficult but absolutely necessary.  
Imagine yourself at twelve years of age but you only have the capacity of reading at a third grade reading level. I was so far behind it did not seem possible to catch up to where I was supposed to be. Spelling was broken down into phonics in my first year. I was encouraged to read and test my comprehension daily. Math was the only other class that wasn’t reading. Later I was introduced to science and writing. In my last year I took a history class and proceeded to complete high school level classes, as I was technically a freshmen. After attending this school I gained six grade levels within three years, ready to transfer once more as a sophomore entering into officially as high school student.
Once again turning the page, unable to resist the temptation of reading just a little more. Despite the paper feeling light to the touch the information generates the feeling of a lead weight. The popcorn of acronyms begins to intensify as the biographical section comes to an end. Test results are the next section of the evolution. The psychologist also examines my personality in detailed written notes. The movie of “Stranger Than Fiction” comes to mind as a “big brother” feeling psychoanalyzed.  
High school was no different as I was still surrounded by my fellow peers all in a similar boat trying to survive. Three years pass once more, sitting in a small room with a different psychologist recounting my life. Explaining my story, completing puzzles hopefully for the last time. Graduation is around the corner, I feel different. Six years ago I was at the bottom of my class. Now, I am at the top of my class, graduating with high honors, straight-A student accepted into college. I’m on top of the world. It’s amazing what can happen in in six years.
Flipping to the next page, the lead weight transitions into a dumbbell. Dancing numbers mimicking the illuminating refraction of the glass of water. The numbers seem random at first glance, as there seems to be no pattern to correlate it. The acronym popcorn begins to explode with every other word with no end insight. Words begin to merge and brake down. The written text transitions into gibberish. I recognize my name in a sea of unrecognizable babble. A pain of needle ****** start to add pressure onto my chest.
The dancing numbers suddenly vibrate as the insanity of the acronym start to multiply. The splattered numbers represent what is inside my mind. A roadmap filled with blockade and detours constantly shifting in my head. Breathing becomes difficult as it feels someone has placed a cinder block on my chest. The acronyms start to plateau nearing the end. The text becomes legible once more.
Jolting up, I close my eyes and rest my hand against my forehead. Looking up at the window at the peaceful beautiful day. My brain starts to hurt and becomes numb. Mentally taking a step back from the stack of paper I push it across the table unable to finish. My brain is about to explode with the new information that I am still processing. My name is attached to this document as its littered throughout the evaluation. My academic life is detailed out for anyone to read at my school. Realizing this document defines me as a person. Ball and chain strapped to my ankle forever defining my intelligence.
I am incapable of escaping this documentation process to only be confirmed as someone with average intellect. The education system only documents ones ability on English and mathematical skills as deems more important in our growing society. The problem is people like myself rely on other forms of intelligence to compensate. Forever in our back pocket our evaluations sit there until it become irrelevant. After pondering this notion the bell rang and it was time to leave.
  The evaluation form that I hold today was completed when I was eighteen years old, still ringing true, pointing out my flaws, and exposing my weaknesses to anyone willing to read. After all of this time, I often wonder do these thirteen pages still define my intelligence? Having risen above my challenges and surpassing anyone’s expectations, who holds the key to the ball chained to my ankle? It is debilitating having a physical reminder of my limitations after I have accomplished so much. Struggling constantly, as I continue to fight battles even into adulthood. Graduating from college is the greatest accomplishment thus far. Imagining my next graduation is next year is unbelievable. No one knows where your life will take you but one day my evaluation form will wither away into oblivion as I stride everyday to not let it define me.
This is a creative story that is a combination  of  2 short essays that both related around the same idea. it is long
Alie Sep 2018
A billion shared moments
A million shared hugs
A thousand shared fruits
A hundred shared popcorns
And there is just you and me
I love you my best friend
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
It's 10:26 pm and I'm full of energy and restless
The ThinkPad with the blank screen beacons.

I tried to resist but it was absolutely pointless
Some fresh ideas just popped up like popcorns.

I have a need for some very new inspiration
A walk alone, a trip in the woods, maybe a tour

Maybe a stealthy visit to the constellation
Where few bright ideas emerge en masse this hour.

I tried t to resist the urge to be active
It was absolutely hopeless

My inner man is too hyperactive
Rendering me totally restless.


IBPoetry©️
Turning and feeling the urge to do something.....
In my way,outskirts garden
I looked you..
Gazing

Yours smiling face
And glitter in your eyes
Mesmerising me like a golden pearl

Diamonds in yours teeth...
Glittering beauty like a tornedo of love
Attracting crazily like deep mirage
Moved to the next adventure

Eyes to eyes
Revealed
..
..
..
..
..


expected possibilities
Again...we looked each other
Smiling...and watching eavh other
like a slow movie laugh...
Popcorns in mind
Popped out
Another movie begins!!!
...
.
David Zavala Nov 2018
sinners: his cane dislodged

l

Cane:

To an awake friend, he said mesmerized "rest on gorgeous fields are made for soccer players,"

The motion analogy is the lake or the river, at the school, reminds me of that the left row of made of pink lamps is still a malls sweat on their knees, whose above?

I lift your nudged fox to the women with the air filled with music in your clothes

Chicago is today, sick of the warm color warmed colored walnut an elementary something, happy by troubled, world only only world, enter my vision of art - the movie set, really,  

At the table, Socrates came from out of the cave,
of the center opened of the like a snoring beast snoring beast,
up staircases inside the small indent of the university, legs-crossed, lectures partially complete, and contemplated a 4 winged bird which leapt from the ground: cone-less and timeless.  

Frank Sinatra is on center stage, the square, literally, like being the poetess naked in the garden, singing with her husband went missing for several days reciting Shakespeare.

Eden, no that Eden, Eden is gorgeous and mothers multiple their eggs in wombs, they are birds, by way of television - sick of that rhythm, inside the history of museums, public images paint delicately.

                               Fathers are all brilliant and masterminds, the inside of the skyline fits my heart,

Driving to the national rabbit we liked the peanuts which were snacks and
saw walrus near the ocean with non-fury legs, their paws with peaches, pinks from schools like sugar Montessories, whole swarms of bees learning that John Ashberry's  mind used mine to mind dollars bills he finds off the street in New York to tell you that you should learn what a unit is. Close the world, close the window in the other room and when you to go to work and maybe to bring a snack where creativity is here and there. I see differently the trees and red wheel-barrow. My water bottle is purified and the reverse is the Cosmos on calcium. I want more chloride and sodium - make that ingredient good, good enough for your doctor, good enough for me, a cake for us, and faster because Arkansas is always walking, it is plastered rich sandwiches, missing girls are little and little on TV, the bud of a flower is a direction.

Space is big but my things are spill proof, the pumpkin we seed inside the my house next to the popcorns guitars are colored blue and fall immutably pulling loudly from men, in their canes, shaven cane, clean cane, looking at me looking at the portrait saying, I can see the red and blue in black and the dove sits on the statue on Monday and flew in cold from Alaska over whole towns, and the bird said, yes the bird said, he said "A fisherman saw, he was bearded and arrived on Friday, photos on the ground, animals are outside, libraries filled with no books and no their indexes leading to prologues that Freud says is moral but I've been saying better and reasoning that her makeup is missing and no shampoo in the bathroom, blush hands up in Vegas, fold - our cars are stuck on the highways means is leaving the only bar that is yellowish only from blue painters who paint with their paint brushes such that ballet dancers contemplate their watch. The Nutcracker and Animal Farm are complete. Bearded and braided black man, your is hair completely skinless in San Francisco which I've been to for two weeks because the back of the pack on back of the feet of the ton of the ground street lights guide us to a single number such is an exciting job opportunity, inside classroom, the difference is I'm in the front, how ludic it is, isn't it? Get dressed or get in we're going dancing. Drive or I can drive only to recognize a slip of free will, you're in white, the forums we enjoy are for professors which are only in my mind and therefore sprung forth whenever I want them. There are a couple of whole armies giving trees, Dr. Pink wants motion to activate a concert such that I like the words operraeta and subscribing to the dictionary, Mainly up is laughing are diamonds in hands in apartments are feet and hands, and almost wind, fire, water, turning from distance brothers and cowards uses his left hand and experiences sleep and whole days in a single sentence. It's cruel really to be beautiful and no I don't feel back for you. Your just a memory of him riding the shopping cart down the aisle of HEB - insight into psychologist's events - welcomed with nobility bowing down near the single article, sitting in front of our produced and not free laptops, their machines were used to make paintings and sculptures, thousand of journalists in their ties dress with microscopes in front of classrooms like a style that is thoughtful, high on salamanders, wait salamanders? No, a sad living room examining a firefly is a history of museums, it is useless. It is a calm waterfall, it is back from the seminary, it back from the river we sat at before inside of a conference room near downtown, the light of love produced kayaks.

We currently sit younger pondering an ice rink made of children dressed for Halloween, a few feathers but I know down on my injured fence after a tornado came in and placed beautiful women, their naked bodies and all, are here as a college student staying awake from both for Sundays and U-HAULs are only like criminal floats down the formed uselessness of that jars of pennies. But we selected! Entertained and busy, working, on a math problem from universities, I was reading Einstein earlier, bought it and profoundly expressed I am personally interested in Dvorak's String Quintet in B major Op. 77. That is, while watching YouTube videos of mysterious friendly characters although I'm standing naked in a bathroom, a peacock created the world, leaves fell, fire on the dirt, it doesn't burn too bad, does it? We pose another  question, to what sickness can I stand on a bench suit jacket, ill-fitted and have a friend say to me, you look like a philosopher?

I stick my leg out quietly because clouds coolly that day spent on wooden tables is possible and not meant to able to assuage the sun even for you school bus, actual school bus, hiding from large groups of people scared while the congregation sits praying,

Even for you, helmet,
On a football field, orange Spain leant me a hande, our dogs were not beside us though while Mr. Grinch sits in his apartment, editors don't want him pulling flowers from, for example, the baseball fields, doing baseball players are plays catcher, dresses in the same uniform totally is mesmerized by how water becomes ice, such that the eye bending time like a green cactus, objects and mountains and the insides of the restaurants, eight o clock evening dinners,

Dancing with angels the devil is ugly, trains go through time and say biology is easier than white picket fences, it makes me sad, it should make me sad, but there is new hope.

So more difficult the white flower is the candle menacing number 3 thousands of logically lettered alphabets for the alphabets, and for her, waiting at trees rooted but you know, construction men leaving everything at that grocery store where I can sit down and wouldn't buy a lottery ticket, sorry.

II  

Dislodged:

Entering my vision are tragedies
collages of white photos
eat our sons
              we
           swarm
          predators
          slowly
          down
             the
            street
                is
                a
             cigarette
                  is
busting friends out of apartments into huge houses after coming from grocery stores, passing fields, outside and zoos visited, jealous of her offices,
200 page completed novels completed, my way home, it's our problem really, but that comma coulda dressed in a suit, coulda been someone must run the title of his license plate

III

Cane Dislodged:

Settle down, the movie sat at the bar is dumb, i sit alone, I sit alone, still I sit alone, I sit alone. Tea from down the street is expensive so
we can't believe that the founders of the Quakers movement did that and that they are made in the image of empires such that a body ignorant because smudged paintings are the mouse, right?
Movements, unseen
Moments in time
Wings of the butterfly
Fluttters become still life,
a picture in the making.
Nature paintings
Coming to life
You see golden eagle flying high taking a dive in search of a prey.
Porcelain snow mountains,
strong but fragile,now melting. Avalanche danger.
Wild flowers dancing in the wind. Just growing wild .
Happy picture they paint
Popcorns in the sky
from white to grey
to thunder storms
Green branches of big old trees. Slowly moving with the wind. Losing their colors with sour rains.
Looking at nature
I wonder
Everything is moving....yet still.
A moment in time captured.
Where is our appreciation
Where is our love.
Moments in nature
Meant to be
everlasting in time.
Soon all will be gone.




Shell ✨🐚
Nature, always moving, moments in time.
Eshwara Prasad May 2021
Why a big universe for a small brained creature like humans?
For blind ants, Popcorns
are a big deal !

— The End —