Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it-don't cheat with...
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She traced all the days when she stayed in the city, enjoyed prancing along to uptown streets, and scaring off the black pigeons. Too bad she lived in the dirty grimy downtown, because she was a uptown girl who had the heart for the city already. Although she wasn't a native, she felt a deep connection with the blazing high life on the New York streets. They called her Foxtrive, and she was ashamed of her name since she was a kid.
Attending an academy, Fox had everything she ever wanted in life. She loved the academy, from the rigorous Geometry lessons, to the diverse student population. The brick walls sprawled with intellectual ivy; her wealthy aunt Beth went to the school, and excelled in every subject.
Beth called last night, ordering Fox to change her slippers into shoes and walk in the slick wet rain at night to her estate in Connecticut. Fox hated Beth, and remembered her house very rigid and plain, the maids even were neat and mean. Beth explained that she had something she needed to say to her niece, something extremely important. Fox decided to take the midnight subway, and ended up in New Canaan at 1:45. She drank some coffee and sandwiches, almost falling asleep, when a very homeless looking man filled up the train with his pungent smell.
Her dark brown hair, covered in a knit purple beret, was polished to make her look nice. Her pale face looked blank, as she flipped wondrously through pages of The Lord of the Flies. Her facial points were very unusually pretty, especially her gray sharp eyes. Covered her was a black trench-coat and jeans, underneath a red Ralph Lauren sweater and white blouse. Her once glove covered fingers smelt like lavender. Her perfect mouth had a smile.
"Foxtrive Milton?" a very tall man called, with golden-brown colored hair and crystal green eyes. It was Carlyle Banks, the putative King of Thyme Academy. He was rich and a party boy, with bad deeds. All the girls swooned for him. He was the captain of the swim team, and had dozens of stalkers. Fox secretly admired Carlyle, only for his looks. Fox fell silent, as he sat next to him.
"What are you doing?" he asked. Fox's body tingled.
"Visiting somebody in Connecticut- Uh, Look-" Fox paused. She couldn't bare to look into his green eyes, similar to the first day she attended the academy. He was utterly handsome, and his perfectly tanned body shifted to open his lapt
She traced all the days when she stayed in the city, enjoyed prancing along to uptown streets, and scaring off the black pigeons. Too bad she lived in the dirty grimy downtown, because she was a uptown girl who had the heart for the city already. Although she wasn't a native, she felt a deep connection with the blazing high life on the New York streets. They called her Foxtrive, and she was ashamed of her name since she was a kid.
Attending an academy, Fox had everything she ever wanted in life. She loved the academy, from the rigorous Geometry lessons, to the diverse student population. The brick walls sprawled with intellectual ivy; her wealthy aunt Beth went to the school, and excelled in every subject.
Beth called last night, ordering Fox to change her slippers into shoes and walk in the slick wet rain at night to her estate in Connecticut. Fox hated Beth, and remembered her house very rigid and plain, the maids even were neat and mean. Beth explained that she had something she needed to say to her niece, something extremely important. Fox decided to take the midnight subway, and ended up in New Canaan at 1:45. She drank some coffee and sandwiches, almost falling asleep, when a very homeless looking man filled up the train with his pungent smell.
Her dark brown hair, covered in a knit purple beret, was polished to make her look nice. Her pale face looked blank, as she flipped wondrously through pages of The Lord of the Flies. Her facial points were very unusually pretty, especially her gray sharp eyes. Covered her was a black trench-coat and jeans, underneath a red Ralph Lauren sweater and white blouse. Her once glove covered fingers smelt like lavender. Her perfect mouth had a smile.
"Foxtrive Milton?" a very tall man called, with golden-brown colored hair and crystal green eyes. It was Carlyle Banks, the putative King of Thyme Academy. He was rich and a party boy, with bad deeds. All the girls swooned for him. He was the captain of the swim team, and had dozens of stalkers. Fox secretly admired Carlyle, only for his looks. Fox fell silent, as he sat next to him.
"What are you doing?" he asked. Fox's body tingled.
"Visiting somebody in Connecticut- Uh, Look-" Fox paused. She couldn't bare to look into his green eyes, similar to the first day she attended the academy. He was utterly handsome, and his perfectly tanned body shifted to open his lapt
One comment 31 likes
Argh, I'm still working on my PP Presentation ): .
I'm going to ride my bike soon.
I'm going to ride my bike soon.
6 comments 37 likes
This is for Cory♥
Your so cool :) and nice! A great poly friend too ;)
You guys should all check her out. She's so awesome :)
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/profile?id=1037539
Her style's so light + soft, with whimsy and energy! Gah, I'm practically jealous.
Your so cool :) and nice! A great poly friend too ;)
You guys should all check her out. She's so awesome :)
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/profile?id=1037539
Her style's so light + soft, with whimsy and energy! Gah, I'm practically jealous.
10 comments 64 likes
snowflurries on the subway ride
i was walking to the train
and the snow was bitter ice
it was cold, but sweet.
the newspapers were stale and moist
just to breath in that new york made you sneeze
it was cloudy too, and very white
coffee warmed your hands, but not your soul.
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There's a park at my apartment. I swear you can hear nasty kids playing, waving their stolen 50's at you. It's loud. It's fresh. Those kids think they're everything.
They wear their cheap purses from the drug store like it's the new Chanel. I once found one at the gates and kicked at it. It felt very velvety. I felt like a kid kicking it. And whenever I'm typing up a new, cool thought, like right now, they have to use their voices to scream, which scares my thoughts away.
One day, it was a fall day, when the air was crisp, and you know those kids are back from school. They called me a dork for wearing a dress, while they wore flare jeans that almost revealed their cracks.
I know this is regular kids, regular things kids should be able to do, but it's just the thought they want to act like TEENS. I mean, I see some tweens that haven't gotten to 9th grade yet to know at least one algebra equation. Those little 10-year-olds walking around with their new red Blackberries.
One thing to ask, may I? Where have all the young kids gone?
i was walking to the train
and the snow was bitter ice
it was cold, but sweet.
the newspapers were stale and moist
just to breath in that new york made you sneeze
it was cloudy too, and very white
coffee warmed your hands, but not your soul.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
There's a park at my apartment. I swear you can hear nasty kids playing, waving their stolen 50's at you. It's loud. It's fresh. Those kids think they're everything.
They wear their cheap purses from the drug store like it's the new Chanel. I once found one at the gates and kicked at it. It felt very velvety. I felt like a kid kicking it. And whenever I'm typing up a new, cool thought, like right now, they have to use their voices to scream, which scares my thoughts away.
One day, it was a fall day, when the air was crisp, and you know those kids are back from school. They called me a dork for wearing a dress, while they wore flare jeans that almost revealed their cracks.
I know this is regular kids, regular things kids should be able to do, but it's just the thought they want to act like TEENS. I mean, I see some tweens that haven't gotten to 9th grade yet to know at least one algebra equation. Those little 10-year-olds walking around with their new red Blackberries.
One thing to ask, may I? Where have all the young kids gone?
17 comments 65 likes
warandpeace
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