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writing prompt #5

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On the way home from a friend's house the other evening this prompt formed in myhead. 

I threw my fists against the wall. Anger and frustration consumed me. All the emotion I had been holding back poured out. My head felt like it would explode. Tears slid down my cheeks as I sank to my knees. "Why did he have to die? We were finally getting to living a decent life for the first time in our lives. Why did he have to die from a bloody car accident of all things?" I kept asking myself. I was mad at my mom for leaving us, my dad for dying, and my grand parents for disowning my family.  I was mad at all the guys who teased me at school, the stupid girl across the street who wouldn't leave me alone, and social service last who took me into the foster system. I was angry at everyone and everything in life.

The uninvited visitor

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Fear is the uninvited visitor that comes to haunt you. It always comes in the most inconvenient times. And once its there it's very hard to make it leave. 
Fear crept up the stairs  Down the hall than stopped  At my bedroom door. It knocked twice then came in And crept into my head.  By Evelyn Creon

Scared and unworthy

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This poem was written for all the people who understand and have been through this particular phase in life, or know someone who has. 
My head is yelling at me About all the stupid things I've done. It tells me I'm unworthy for anyone I love.
I feel the pain it brings me,  My lack of self-esteem,  And the fear it drives into my heart. The idea that anyone could love me After all the nasty things.
I build my walls up high  Trying to keep myself safe,  fear is the tool that drives me there; While secrets are what makes my walls unsafe. 
The fear of showing people myself. The fear of opening up. Its the fear that drives me under cover Away from difficult situations. My fear pushes people I care about away  With out my realizing until its to late.
It brakes me up from inside out  And yet, still I build my walls high Making the same mistakes  I should know by now not to make.  By Evelyn Creon

I give you all

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I emptied myself out Into your hands. I gave you my all To protect me again.  You won't disappoint me You never have.  So I don't fear  That my life's in your hands.  By Evelyn Creon

Untouched

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This idea is to reflect some of the innocence that a child has.
Moonlight streamed down upon her As she lay asleep upon her bed.  It made her hair glisten. Outlined her eyelashes, nose, and lips; Her most delicate features while she slept.  Untouched by the evils  That lay out side her door. By Evelyn Creon

Touched by a Breath of Fresh Air

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Inspired by the memory of a cool breeze on a hot summer day. 
Touched by a breath of fresh air; Leaves trembled on their branches 
Touched by a breath of fresh air;  Flowers daintily waved a little. 
Touched by a breath of fresh air; Grass bent ever so slightly. 
Touched by a breath of fresh air; Goosebumps rose on someone's arms.
Touched by a breath of fresh air; Hair wavered from where it lay.
Touched by a breath of fresh air; a piece of paper crumpled a little more. 
Touched by a breath of fresh air, Refreshed a hard-working brain. 
Touched by a breath of fresh air Poetry was born.  By Evelyn Creon

Michael built a bicycle

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This poem was written by my DAD when he was in 5th grade in 10-18-1984. My grandma came across this poem while going through all my dad's childhood things two weeks. When she showed it to me I fell in love with it. I never imagined my dad writing a poem, and this is just one more example of how amazing he is. 


Michael built a bicycle  Usatiable for speed,  It's crammed with more accessories  Than any one could need. There's an am-jm radio, A deck to play cassettes,  A refrigerator- freezer, And a pair of tv sets.
There are shelves for shirts and sweaters, There are hangers for his jeans, A drawer for socks and underwear, A rack for magazines. There's a fish tank and a birdcage, Perched upon the handlebars,  A lookcase, and telescope  To watch the moon and stars.
There's a telephone and blender, And a stove to cook his meals.  There's a sink to do the dishes Somehow fastened to the wheels. There's a portable piano, And a set of model trains, An automatic bum…