Why I Can’t Write

My poems/stories are inspired by my emotions, or what has happened in my life. The summer between eighth and ninth grade was one of the saddest summers in my life, but I wrote more during those two months then I have in my whole life. Now, after I’ve adjusted, have settled into my little digit that I’ve created at my school, there’s nothing to write about. I go to an all-girls school, so there is no boy drama, and even the girls are so nice, there’s nothing to fight about. I haven’t experienced any extreme emotion since I started, and I’m starting go numb to where I don’t feel anything because there is no stimulation. I won’t be writing anything or posting anything because once school starts again I will have no energy nor anything to write about. Sorry

My Second Home

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Yes, this is the same place I’ve mentioned before.

I’ve written countless poems, papers, stories about this place. It came to a point where I didn’t want to write or talk about it, because I thought that people were getting sick of me talking about it. I wish I could go back everyday, and when I’m there I never want to leave. I haven’t been there in three and a half years. Time stops there. Like my favorite author from my favorite book said:

“Every moment of your life is lived for the future–you go to high school so you can go to college so you can get a good job so you can get a nice house so you can afford to send your kids to college so they can get a good job so they can get a nice house so they can afford to send their kids to college.”

There… college didn’t seem to matter that much. I can still hear the chants we sang there in my head whenever I need to fell pumped up. Even though I don’t believe in any religion, I feel like there is some sort of divine presence or a spiritual intervention because me, little introverted, shy, gifted, socially anxious 10 year-old kid decided to go to this summer camp for three weeks out of the blue. True, The Parent Trap (1999) had some influence, but even I was shocked by the fact that I only cried for five minutes when my mom was about to leave. I expected a lot more.

I’ve described this place countless times, and I’m afraid to do so now because sometimes I’m too literal and sometimes I’m too metaphorical. I haven’t figured out a balance yet, because there is so much to write down and describe that the biggest note book in the world wouldn’t be able to contain everything I remember. But I’ll try now:

Right where the poll meets the tennis courts, there is a water fountain. It has the water fountain top, but doesn’t have a bowl, so the water just spills right onto the concrete. The metal pipes that connect the fountain to the water are the shiniest silver I’ve ever seen, as if it is foreshadowing how good the water tastes. Anyone who has been to the mountains and drank from the tap, or a water fountain like me, can agree that the water tastes so good. I have never had water that tastes this good. Even though there were several water fountains on this ranch, this one water fountain was by far the best water I have ever tasted. People sprinted to this fountain fro water and drank for so long, that a line formed. Even though all the other water fountains were empty. 

That’s all that I can write for now. I’m too sad to write anything else.

Fulminate Against My Life

I dream of running away from my house. I want to leave this county, this state. Just take all of the money I have, and explore the world. I miss seeing places I’ve never been to and having the freedom to explore. The last time I’ve experienced this is July when I was in Florida with my aunt and cousins and we went to this resort near the top of Florida and my aunt’s friend and her kids. This first place I would go would probably be… East, toward the Sierras. I’ve been to the mountains before, and I love the smells, and the views. People always tell me how lucky I am to live where I live, and how beautiful the hills and views are, but I think they’re boring. Probably because I’ve hiked these trails my whole life, I’ve seen the same views for fifteen years, and the same million-dollar houses, and I want to see something else, I want to see a view where the hills are always green and never yellow. Yellow hills are hideous, they smell like heat, and it burns my nose. The beach is beautiful, but the one’s I’ve been to are the mainstream ones. I want to go to a hidden one, one where very few people go. That sounds like the best day ever. I imagine going with my friends, but the very few friends I do have either wouldn’t want to go, or would be unable to go because they live too far away from me. I thought that I would have more friends here, be happier, but if anything, I think I’m sadder. They’re are only two  people that I can have a decent conversation with and not want to bang my head against the table because of their ignorance. I wish that I was more accepting of other people, but being gifted does have its downsides. Actually, it has a lot of downsides, I can’t think of any upsides, other then the fact that I don’t annoy the upper class men. I look at the middle schoolers that are only 50 yards away and I wish that I was back in middle school, where everything was less complicated, and even though I thought I was sad, I was actually happy (I know it’s confusing, I don’t understand it either). I had a dream last night, that I was with everybody from elementary school, and I was still in eighth grade, and I remember telling myself, that I had to savor every moment that I had with them because our days together were numbered. I woke up, and I felt my heart collapse in on itself, because I haven’t seen them since June. I’ve seen them every now and then, but it’s not the same. I wish that I talked to one of them when I saw him at the market near my house. But I was afraid that i would be teased by my father because my dad has teased me about him and his friend that I liked them, when in fact I never had crush in them in my whole life. So I let him go, and I don’t know the next time I will see him, if I ever see him again. I really hope I see him again.