Let me start at the beginning...

So I started this blog, but why? Why and who and what and where and how. All valid questions. So I guess I should start at the beginning.

I started this blog because I realized I had a passion for writing. I had done a writing course, and I was the youngest in my class. I was intimidated by the older kids for a few days, but by the end, I had written a bunch of poems that I was proud of. I wanted to show these poems to people, give them a chance to hear what I have to say. So I am going to post my poems here. The where and how are kind of obvious, no explanation needed, right? Anyway, I hope you guys like the poems, and if you have any comments or prompt ideas, feel free to say them.

I would really love getting some ideas for prompts, because having an idea about what to write is over half the challenge of writing them. Prompts can come from anywhere, anything. That's what makes them such a challenge to think of. You overlook the major ideas, and look only at the minor details that you shouldn't think about when writing. When writing a poem or short story, it's easy to let the words flow. Just write. Don't think about how it sounds. Spell things wrong, use improper grammar, that's what editing is for.

So that's pretty much it for my story of why I wanted to create this blog. People find blogging stupid, but I think of it as a way to express things. Not like Facebook or other social networks that teenage girls use as a diary, but as a journal that you're okay with other people seeing. That's all for now!

XOXO, Cristi

Growing Up

I wrote this poem back in October when I had my thirteenth birthday. I thought about what it was like back in kindergarten. The biggest decision was what crayon to use for my colouring book. Now, as I sit here and  think about my high school courses and what career path I am going to take, I look back on the past years. I have yet to reach some of the things in this poems, but I know they're close. (Oh, and I know this one is a lot shorter, but oh well!)

It's jumping into the deep end and trying to stay afloat. It's having your dad let go of the bike, watching you ride alone. It's you first day of school, your first date or best friend. It's getting your license; it's moving away. It's hard, it's scary, it's thrilling, it's fun. It's growing up.

What is Summer?

Well Hello There! It's been a while since I posted, but I'm hopefully going to start again soon!

I wrote this poem this past July when I was on the plane going to Europe. I decided to wait before I posted it, partially because I forgot about it, and also because now that it snowed for the first time this year, it's officially winter in my book.

What is summer? Summer is the cool ocean breeze, refreshing after the hot city. Summer is having a sticky cherry popsicle from the vendor melt down your hand. Summer is staying up late, and sleeping in. It's pool parties in bikinis and sleepovers in sweats. Summer bring new friendships and romances. Summer means being with people you love, doing things together. Summer is fabulous.

You're Beautiful and I Mean it

My prompt for this was a line from a song? Yeah, I think it was a song, one of my friends suggested it to my instructor, so we went with it. The first line, up until shoulder blade, is song lyrics, not quite sure what song though... I should find out!

In the morning by the window pane, the light against your shoulder blade makes you beautiful. Even more beautiful then I thought was possible. Girl, you may be dying, you may be crying, and may have lost your hair, but you're beautiful. I love you like I would a sister, maybe even more. You're my best friend, my soul sister, my world. When I see the morning light shine across your face and shoulders, I think to myself, why? Why her? What did she do to deserve cancer? As I write this to you, you're slowly dying. So I'm just going to say one last thing, something that you would never admit to yourself. You're beautiful and I mean it.

-Cristina

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