WA-3 Draft 2

Temporary judgment lapse
prison doors lock,
what’s best reiterates like a rock
falling under wraps

secrecy slithers through the slums
turning out the lights,
eliminating all our rights
nothing left but crumbs

Peace sits on a high hallowed thrown
while we are down below,
covered by an invisible throw
their blindness makes us groan

Nothing seems unattainable
despite everything slowly inching away,
issues dubbed unforgivable
are standing in the way

unnecessary actions carve a broken path
blindsided by rejected components,
peace should not have a wrath
careful are its opponents

WA-3 1 Draft

Temporary judgment lapse
prison doors lock,
whats best reiterates like a rock
falling under wraps

Secrecy slithers through the slums
turning out the lights,
eliminating all our rights
nothing left but crums

Peace sits on a high hallowed thrown
while we are down below,
covered by an invisible throw
their blindness makes us grown

Nothing seems inattainable
despite it slowly inching away,
issues dubbed unforgivable
are standing in the way

Past detriments obviously wave
noticing restoration on the path,
they slowly start to cave
allowing peace to show it's wrath

WA-2 Final Draft

It was 7:30 AM; I had to get ready for school. Ouch! My new room had a garage door in it, serving as my privacy wall, which I ran into. It was the first day of school and we had just moved with my dad to dirty Brooklyn from crisp, cool, Maine due to my parents’ messy divorce. I quickly had to decide between khaki pants or my classic plaid skirt to wear with my uniform. I decided upon the skirt because the gorgeous weatherman from channel 4 said, “Expect temperatures in the 80s.” I was all set.

I stepped outside onto the concrete sidewalk and whistled for a cab. Simultaneously swinging my hand up in an effort to catch a scruffy driver’s attention. A bright yellow cab screeched to a halt and invited me in. “Where to on this lovely morning missy, going to school?” He said in an unusually perky voice. I told him where to go and we sped off. Unexpectedly, as we turned a corner, I was blinded by a bolt of light reflecting off of an enormous building’s windows so I almost did not notice that we were passing Ground Zero. The cab driver became silent for a moment and then whispered for me to look. I did not know how to react because it was my first time passing by, so I frantically gripped the soft, smooth, seat and instead of obeying his command looked directly at the floor.

A block from Charleston Preparatory, my school, I whipped out my wallet and yanked out a 10 telling him to keep the change. At this point I was late. Sprinting up the steps to get to my first class, I ran into a bench right inside the doorway. I’m sure tomorrow morning there will be bruises resembling Jupiter spattering my legs. I ran past the beautiful painting of the Mona Lisa that hadn’t popped out to me when I toured the school back in June. Right as I hit the entrance to class I reached into my book bag and swiftly turned my phone off. Then the bell rang. I sat down quickly and my teacher greeted me with a cheek-to-cheek smile.

For the next eight hours of the day, I went from class to class receiving the same, incredibly boring speech. The other kids were probably thinking the same thing I was. Most of their time was spent checking their phones to see the time. Then, when the bell rang everyone sprang up and lunged for the door. The first day of school in the city was over. Summer vacation had just shut a big, thick door in my face and even the first day of school was exhausting. I stepped back out into the sunny, city atmosphere, trying to settle down the thoughts flying through my head. As I meandered around the city with no place to rush off to I reflected upon school and how much I missed Maine. Life in a big city, being seventeen, will be incomparably different. I could only imagine what the future had tucked away in little pockets for me. This was a new beginning.

WA-2 Draft 2

It was 7:30 AM; I had to get ready for school. Ouch! My new room has a garage door in it, serving as my privacy wall, which I just ran into. It was the first day of school and we had just moved to dirty Brooklyn from crisp, cool, Maine. I quickly had to decide between khaki pants or my classic plaid skirt to wear with my uniform. I decided upon the skirt because the gorgeous weatherman from channel 4 said, “Expect temperatures in the 80s.” I was all set.

I stepped outside onto the concrete sidewalk and whistled for a cab. Simultaneously I swung my hand up in an effort to catch a scruffy driver’s attention. A bright yellow cab screeched to a halt and invited me in. “Where to on this lovely morning missy, going to school?” He said in an unusually perky voice. I told him where to go and we sped off. Unexcpectedly, as we turned a corner, I was blinded by a bolt of light reflecting off of an enormous building’s windows so I almost did not notice that we were passing ground zero. The cab driver became silent and whispered for me to look. I frantically gripped the soft, smooth, seat and instead of obeying his command looked directly at the floor.

A block from Charleston Preparatory, my school, I whipped out my wallet and yanked out a 10 telling him to keep the change. At this point I was late. Sprinting up the steps to get to my first class, I ran into a bench right inside the doorway. I’m sure tomorrow morning there will be bruises resembling Jupiter spattering my legs. Running past the beautiful painting of the Mona Lisa that I hadn’t noticed when I toured the school back in June. Right as I hit the entrance to class I reached into my book bag and swiftly turned my phone off. Then the bell rang. As I was sitting down quickly my teacher greeted me with a cheek-to-cheek smile. The butterflies in my stomach kept fluttering faster and faster and with each flutter

For the next eight hours of the day, I spent going from class to class receiving the same, incredibly boring speech. The other kids were probably thinking the same thing I was. Most of their time was spent checking their phones to see what time it was. Then, when the bell rang everyone sprang up and lunged for the door. The first day of school in the city was over. I stepped back out into the sunny, city atmosphere, trying to settle down the thoughts flying through my head. As I meandered around the city with no place to rush off to I reflected upon school and how much I missed Maine. Life in a big city, being seventeen, will be incomparably different. I could only imagine what the future had tucked away in little pockets for me. This was a new beginning.

WA-2 Draft 1

It was 7:30 AM. I had to get ready for school. Ouch! My new room has a garage door in it, serving as my privacy wall, which I just ran into. It was the first day of school and we had just moved to dirty Brooklyn from crisp, cool, Maine. I quickly had to decide between khaki pants or my classic plaid skirt to wear with my uniform. I decided upon the skirt because the gorgeous weather man from channel 4 said, “Expect temperatures in the 80s.” I was all set.

I stepped outside onto the concrete sidewalk and whistled for a cab. Simultaneously I swung my hand up in an effort to catch a scruffy driver’s attention. A bright yellow cab screeched to a halt and invited me in. “Where to on this lovely morning missy, going to school?” He said in an unusually perky voice. I told him where I had to go and we sped off. As we turned a corner I was blinded by a bolt of light reflecting off of an enormous building’s windows so I almost did not notice that we were passing ground zero. The cab driver became silent and whispered for me to look. I frantically gripped the soft, smooth, seat and instead of obeying his command I looked directly at the floor.

A block from Charleston Preparatory, my school, I whipped out my wallet and yanked out a 10 telling him to keep the change. At this point I was late. Sprinting up the steps to get to my first class I ran into a bench right inside the door way. I’m sure tomorrow morning I will wake up and have bruises resembling Jupiter spattering my legs. I ran past the beautiful painting of the Mona Lisa that I had noticed when I toured the school back in June. Right as I hit the entrance to class I reached into my book bag and swiftly turned my phone off. Then the bell rang. I sat down at the closest desk as the teacher greeted me with a cheek to cheek smile. I noticed that I was so busy worrying about getting to school on time I had not been nervous for school itself at all.

For the next eight hours of the day, I spent going from class to class receiving the same, incredibly boring speech. The other kids were probably thinking the same thing I was. Most of their time was spent checking their phones to see what time it was. Then, when the bell rang everyone sprang up and lunged for the door. The first day of school in the city was over. I stepped back out into the sunny, city atmosphere, trying to settle down the thoughts flying through my head. As I meandered around the city with no place to rush off to I reflected upon school and how much I missed Maine. Life in a big city, being seventeen, will be incomparably different. I could only imagine what the future had tucked away in little pockets for me. This was a new beginning.

Writing as Therapy-WA-3

My emotions were going haywire. My dog was dying and I couldn’t handle it. I got her about eight or nine years ago. She had been neglected as a young pup and when we got her you could see her ribs and her beautiful fur was nappy. She was mixed but mostly spaniel. Her condition was specific for spaniels and often causes them to die young. I was the first one to notice her change in behavior. She was refusing food and she would lie in bed like a bump on a log. Her body wasn’t producing enough red blood cells for her to live a normal life. She was black and white and her name was Cinderella but we called her Cindy.

When she was going through her rough time it was really strange for me because I felt sadder than when my grandmother died from a rip tide in Guatemala or when any of my other pets had died. I was really confused because I didn’t know why this was happening to her. At the very beginning of this process I would just think back to before she was sick and wonder if it was anything I did. When we first decided to take her to the hospital she couldn’t walk down the steps she was so weak. She was trembling and I knew something was wrong. All I wanted to do was cry with Cindy because that was what I usually did when I cried. Part of me couldn’t imagine that I was crying over a dog, I couldn’t imagine that I had been crying that whole week when the statistics came out about her 25% chance of survival. I was even embarrassed at who I had cried to. I felt like it wasn’t real because I used to cry just from thinking of my dog dying, even when I first got her and now it is reality.

When she died it was like someone had died in our family. My whole family was crying for hours. It really shocked me to see tears streaming down my brothers face. I think that probably made it worse for me because I never see him cry. My grandparents were devastated as well because we used to vacation with Cindy down at their house. The worst part was seeing my mom’s reaction. Almost every day for about a month, I would come home and my mom would have red circles around her eyes from crying. I knew that Cindy meant the world to my mom and to see her upset like that was awful.

I knew it was selfish but thoughts slowly marched through my head, with each step pounding into me, about how my life would be different. I kept hearing the clicking sounds from Cindy’s paws on the hard wood floor. That sound would drive me insane as well as the sound of her tail hitting the furniture and making a loud thump because it made me think of her whenever I was home. For a long time her hair was everywhere in the house and her smell was on every couch ready to sneak into my nose. Her presence was inescapable.

Cindy was the best dog we could ever have had and she left a mark on our family that will never be erased. Thinking of her and hearing that tapping sound still makes me cry. I will never forget her.

Writing as Therapy-WA-2

My emotions were going haywire. My dog was dying and I couldn’t handle it. I got her about eight or nine years ago. She had been neglected as a young pup and when we got her you could see her ribs and her beautiful fur was nappy. She was mixed but mostly spaniel. Her condition was specific for spaniels and often causes them to die young. I was the first one to notice her change in behavior. She was refusing food and she would lie in bed like a bump on a log. Her body wasn’t producing enough red blood cells for her to live a normal life. She was black and white and her name was Cinderella but we called her Cindy.

When she was going through her rough time it was really strange for me because I felt sadder then when my grandmother died from a rip tied in Guatemala or when any of my other pets had died. I was really confused because I didn’t know why this was happening to her. At the very beginning of this process I would just think back to before she was sick and wonder if it was anything I did. When we first decided to take her to the hospital she couldn’t walk down the steps she was so weak. She was trembling and I knew something was wrong. All I wanted to do was cry with Cindy because that was what I usually did when I cried. Part of me couldn’t imagine that I was crying over a dog, I couldn’t imagine that I had been crying that whole week when the statistics came out about her 25% chance of survival. I was even embarrassed at who I had cried to. I felt like it wasn’t real because I used to cry just from thinking of my dog dying, even when I first got her and now it is reality.

When she died it was like someone had died in our family. My whole family was crying for hours. It really shocked me to see tears streaming down my brothers face. I think that probably made it worse for me because I never see him cry. My grandparents were devastated as well because we used to vacation with Cindy down at their house. The worst part was seeing my mom’s reaction. Almost every day for about a month, I would come home and my mom would have red circles around her eyes from crying. I knew that Cindy meant the world to my mom and to see her upset like that was awful.

I knew it was selfish but thoughts slowly marched through my head, with each step pounding into me, about how my life would be different. I kept hearing the clicking sounds from Cindy’s paws on the hard wood floor. That sound would drive me insane as well as the sound of her tail hitting the furniture and making a loud thump because it made me think of her whenever I was home. For a long time her hair was everywhere in the house and her smell was on every couch ready to sneak into my nose. Her presence was inescapable.

Cindy was the best dog we could ever have had and she left a mark on our family that will never be erased. Thinking of her and hearing that tapping sound still makes me cry. I will never forget her.

Writing as Therapy-WA-1

When my dog was going through a really sick period and then eventually died last November, I felt the most sad I had ever felt in my life. I got her about eight or nine years ago. She had been neglected as a young girl and when we got her she was really shy. She was probably the biggest wimp I know but she was also very protective. She was black and white and her name was Cinderella or Cindy (I named her).

When she was going through her rough time it was really strange for me because I felt sadder then when my grandmother died from a rip tied in Guatemala or when any of my other pets had died. She was mixed but mostly spaniel. Her condition was specific for spaniels and often causes them to die young. I was really confused because I didn’t know why this was happening to her. At the very beginning of this process I would just think back to before she was sick and wonder if it was anything I did. I was the first one to notice her change in behavior. She was not eating and she would lye in bed all day. When we first decided to take her to the hospital she couldn’t walk down the steps she was so weak. Her body wasn’t producing enough red blood cells for her to live a normal life.

When she died it was like someone had died in our family. My whole family was crying for hours. It really shocked me to see my brother cry the way he was. I think that probably made it worse for me because I never see him cry. My grandparents were devastated as well because we used to vacation with Cindy down at their house. All I wanted to do was cry with Cindy because that was what I usually did when I cried. Part of me couldn’t imagine that I was crying over a dog. I couldn’t imagine that I had been crying that whole week when the statistics came out about her dying. I really couldn’t imagine who I had actually cried to. I felt like it wasn’t real because I used to cry just from thinking of my dog dying, even when I first got her and now that it was actually happening I couldn’t believe it.

The worst part was seeing how my mom reacted to it. Almost every day for close to a month, I would come home and my mom would have red circles around her eyes from crying. I new that Cindy meant the world to my mom and to see her upset like that was awful. I kept hearing the clicking sounds from Cindy’s paws on the hard wood floor. That sound would drive me insane as well as the sound of her tail hitting the furniture and making a loud thump because it made me think of her whenever I was home. Also, for a long time her hair was everywhere in the house and her smell was on every coach.

Cindy was the best dog we could ever have had and she left a mark on our family that will never be erased. Thinking of her still makes me cry and hear that tapping sound on the floors. I will never forget her.