The Last Thing He Said..

This is a poem I wrote, well, I don't really know why. The last thing he said was a prompt idea. I don't what made me write about a man giving his daughter up. It didn't happen to me, I don't have friends who it happened to, it just came to me.

The last thing he said to me was I love you. As the tears streamed down his face, I turned around and walked away, never once looking back into the eyes of the man who had raised me. My eyelids burned as I tried to hold a flood of salty tears. I kept them in long enough to get away from everyone, to hide. I was never going back to the place I called home. It was over, done.

I'm in a new place now. It's been three years, I'm 17 now. I'm starting to understand why my father left me. He cared about me, he wanted what was best. It turned out that the best was something he couldn't give. But there was always one thing he always had enough of. Love.


-Cristina

Avoiding Reality

This poem was written after I looked at watercolour painting a friend of mine had made. I wrote a poem about it, but while writing it, I was thinking of how my week at Arts Camp, and my week at my writing course was coming to an end. It was time to face the real world, school, extra curriculars, whatever. I didn't want to do it. I wanted to avoid reality.

The music floats through the air like a bubble before it pops. I sit on the hard cold stone bench and watch the birds sing through the branches. The sweet clear sounds wrap around me like a blanket, secluding me from reality. If only the real world were this peaceful, not quite so hard. Maybe then, I would stop running and hiding from everyone and everything. But until that happens, I don't want to leave my haven. I want to stare at the trees, listen to the melody of the birds, feel the warmth and comfort that my safe haven brings to me.


-Cristina

The Blue Teacup

My writing instructor, Lara, gave us a prompt. Blue Teacup. That's all. Whatever you thought about, that's what you wrote about. Sounds hard, but it isn't. Because like I said before, all you have to do is let the words flow. You could write about ANYTHING!

The blue teacup. It was my favourite seat on my favourite ride. The smooth feeling of the seat was like a cold river pebble. I loved it. The outside was the most brilliant blue. Not quite the blue of the sky on a hot summer day, but not quite the blue of the waves in the ocean either. The blue teacup was a part of the teacup ride, right on the edge where I liked it. The ride was located in the middle of the park, the heart of the park, its special place. But the blue teacup also had a special place in my heart. When I went on the ride, I felt like a whirling top! The shrieks of laughter and enjoyment I made sounded like those of a child. Although I spun quickly, I still saw spectacular sights. Patterned cobblestone paths, flowers in the colours of the rainbow and more, it was all so beautiful. The swirling teacups were a magical place. But the blue teacup was my favourite. Always was, always will.

I don't go on the teacup ride as much anymore, But what can you do? Children become teenagers, teenagers adults, and as you grow up, you forget about the magic.


-Cristina