Nonfiction

My tired eyes and racing mind are up and running, 7:05 feeling strong beneath my feet as they snake their way out from the covers, and sink to the carpet.

You are weaving a beautiful fabric that you will be able to wear. Your loom can weave with any substances you want. Anything. The sneeze of an ant, the roar of a river, the fog of london. What would you include in your fabric and why?

Isn't it wonderful when a story springs and spins and is spun until it spans out all around you? Midnight searching for a life to be lived in the even breaths between words and lulled into a sunshine haze.

Besides each writer answering the question “What is it that makes a human life worth living?”  I also wanted each writer’s answer to represent a facet of Romanticism in some way while still being true to their character, which proved to be one o

                                                                      &nbsp

I have always loved words. I read a lot of books in elementary school like The Chronicles Of Narnia and The Magic Treehouse Series. It wasn’t until a unit on poetry in middle school that I realized I loved to write too.

I just sit all day in alternate reality bored out of my mind all I do is read and thats not enough I havn't seen my best friend in four months and I see her tommorrow the only thing I do is sit I'm so bored-

Invisibility.
The child known as former me always wanted that as her super power.
But now,
I just feel,
Invisible.
They're all to busy,
And I get it.
I'm almost all grown up,
I don't need as much attention.

Although individuals in America like to say that this country treats everyone as equals, it doesn’t. In the mid 1900s, there stood a strong man. His name was Martin Luther King Jr. and he had a goal. He wanted equality.

What do I write about
when 
people are dying
people are mistreated
people are misguided
people are screaming
people are crying
people are morning
people are shouting
people are angry

I say "people"