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Even as a small child, I was obsessed with fiction and storytelling. Before I knew how to read or write, I passed the time by telling scary stories to my sister and cousins, convincing them of the most outrageous things, and often instilling fear, which would keep them awake at night. I often got in trouble for scaring family and friends, and telling tall tales so well, that my listeners believed them to be true. Reading became a hobby in third grade. I started with R.L. Stein, was reading Stephen King novels by fourth grade, and was up to Edgar Allan Poe, William Golding, Anne Rice, and H.G. Wells by 5th grade. My passion for storytelling, coupled with my passion for reading, naturally developed into a writing addiction. I loved playing with words, enjoyed grammar, and liked writing from strange perspectives. I wrote short stories, long stories, and fictionalized diary entries based on my own life.

I tried to keep an accurate diary or journal, but simply writing redundant facts of what I'd done that day seemed so boring. I didn't enjoy writing in my journal, and never bothered going back to read it later. It felt pointless and dull, though I wanted to document the details of my life to refer to later on. One very strange day, I was upset over something that seemed extremely important at the time, though I can't recall what it was now. I had to write it down, but basic descriptive language simply wouldn't do. No traditional account of "this is what happened" and "this is how it made me feel" could every describe what I felt that day... and so I wrote a poem. Perhaps the first poem I'd ever written, at age 14. With poetry, I was able to describe my feelings, my experience, my state of mind in a much more unconventional and accurate way... and I enjoyed writing it! It wasn't just a redundant statement of what had happened, but an experiment with words, twisting and manipulating the English language to suit my current state. It felt also very personal, for I am perhaps the only one who could have truly understood what it all meant. And I enjoyed reading it days later. From that day, I began keeping journals where I would pour my mind into its blank pages each day, in poetic form. I've been a poetry addict ever since, and despite my optimistic and happy-go-lucky personality, my poetry tends to be on the darker side. Perhaps this is how I express the inner darkness that is contained within us all.

::03:03:08::

::: The American Death :::

I’m late, I’m late
For a very important date
No time to say hello, goodbye!
I’m late, I’m late, I’m late

Running running running
No time to rest, I’m running
From the life at home I’m shunning
The scenery is stunning
But it’s all a blur, I’m running

Racing racing racing
Not time to think, I’m racing
All the goals I’m replacing
With this silly dream I’m chasing
Against the world, I’m racing

Falling falling falling
No chance to live, I’m falling
God is up there, lolling
Meanwhile, I am bawling
From my dreams, I’m falling

Every lived life
Has the ups and downs of a fairy tale
We’re all characters
Protagonists on a constant conquest
In pursuit of dreams
The antagonists and the bored realists
Knock some sense into us
We’re late, running, racing, and then falling A complete cycle Four stages of the American death

Written by: ~ Sky

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