THE REAL ME
UNDERNEATH THIS MASKLIES A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN AWATING FOR MY LOVE TO COME RESCUE ME
UNDERNEATH THIS MASK IS A LOVING CARING PERSON AWAITING TO SHOW HER TRUE PERSONALITY
BUT ALL THE PEOPLE SEE IS THE OUTSIDE OF THIS MASKON THE OUTSIDE THEY SEE A SHREW
ON THE OUTSIDE THEY SEE A BITTER AND ANGRY WOMAN
WHY IS IT SO HARD TO SEE THE TRUE SIDE OF ME?
WHY IS IT SO HARD FOR ME TO REVEAL IT?
I GUESS IT’S TIME TO GIVE UP MY MASK AND REVEAL THE REAL ME
PLEASE LISTEN TO THE TRACKS WHEN YOU READ THIS [=
HERES THE LINK :
http://deewassshurrr08.muxtape.com/
Unwritten
Unwritten; not written or recorded, having authority based on custom, tradition, or usage rather than documentation, not written on; or blank, says the Merriam-Webster dictionary. But I seem to think different. I think that if you look up the word “unwritten” up in the dictionary, you would see my name there in the biggest and boldest font there is! Being unwritten is when something, well in my case someone is undefined, spontaneous, or even uncertain. But a good way of saying it, from the mouth of Natasha Bedingfield is just a new beginning. Listening to this song gives so much hope that I can do whatever I want to do with my life, and no one can dictate it. In addition, she lets people know that everyone has flaws and without them, then you wouldn’t be human. Live life with all the obstacles that come along with it without looking back. Making mistakes will always lead to something good. You won’t know because of course, the rest is still unwritten.
Being a teenager is such a battle. One day can go so well, and all of sudden it can change at the blink of an eye. It always seems like when you do something right, everyone loves you. But the second you do something wrong, the finger is always pointed at you. I’m me. I make mistakes; I have flaws, so take it or leave it. I love myself and I’m not going to change who I am for anybody. In fact I think there should be more Dianna’s in this place they call
America. You can call it being cocky, but it’s okay. I guess I’m just misunderstood. Who isn’t? Especially, living in America today.
Living in America, you basically get brainwashed. Just because something is “in”, you just have to get it. Just because everybody’s wearing Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister, I have to wear it to? I guess so, or I would be classified lame. We should be able to wear whatever I want to school without being criticized. It shouldn’t matter what brand you wear, what it on the inside is what you should care about. Because it might seem we’re living “the American dream”, but the people highest up got the lowest self esteem. Some of the prettiest people do the ugliest things, for the road to riches and diamond rings. Society is so stereotypical it’s not even funny. Their way of living is so crazy, almost driving me wild.
With all of these distractions going on, you’re probably wondering how I get my school work done. Good question. Yes, of course I do my class work and homework, but I can’t seem to demonstrate that work onto my test and quizzes. I tried so hard and after I will I just gave up. I needed someone to push me, and that person was my mom. When she used to tell me things, I would just ignore her because I thought that she didn’t know what she was talking about. But after a while I started to take into consideration what she was saying, and believed what she said. But now that I think that I have grown so much and I’m ready to grown up and take responsibilities for my own actions. There are so many things I could say to my mom, because I never got to give her a formal thank you. Hey Mama, I want to scream so loud for you, ’cause I’m so proud of you. Let me tell you what I’m about to do. I know I act a fool but, I promise you I’ll do better in school and I appreciate what you allowed for me, I just want you to be proud of me. Now I feel like its things I got to get, things I got to do, just to prove to you. You was getting through, can the choir please. Give me a verse of “You, Are So Beautiful to Me”, can’t you see? You’re like a book of poetry Maya Angelou, Nicky Giovanni, turn one page and there’s my mommy. See you’re, unbreakable, unmistakable, highly capable, lady that’s making loot. A living legend too, just look at what heaven do. Sent us an angel and I thank you.
Throughout all the good and bad I have learned and have been inspired by so many people. Everyone that I met, I try to see all of the beautiful things about them and add them to my character to become a better person. Now all I have to do is put all the qualities that I have, and put them to use. Who knows what life may bring. This is just chapter one of my life, the rest is still unwritten.
Shaped like L’s, well maybe bigger
As long as a girrafe’s neck, well maybe longer
Used to walk with, or sometimes run
Always used to win basketaball games with
Makes me taller, much taller than most people put together
I actually am one of the first people to know the weather
Being blessed with these things, are always are
To some, being tall is wierd, but who are they to care?
The definition of boredom. Boredom, biting your nails until your cuticles fall off. Boredom, tapping your feel until they are numb. Boredom, walking in circles until you get dizzy. Well that’s how I feel during art demonstrations. The sound of water dripping every two seconds. The sound of children holding their own conversations. It all aggravates me. As much as I try to pay attention it never works out. As soon as the teacher calls the children over to her table, I automatically get angry. It seems like she finds so many different things to demonstrate. She does everything in slow motion. And even when we try to give her the hint that we don’t want to watch or listen to her instruct the class she basically blows us off. I actually think it makes her talk even longer.
I could be doing so many other things besides this as I listen to the teacher babble. I could be going over some math problems, which I badly need. I could be playing basketball, which I love. So many other things. Anything besides those stupid demonstrations. I would even take care of my sister, something that I dread so much. ANYTHING, besides those demonstrations.
Sometimes I wonder if she really knows if she is that boring. Maybe she secretly hates our class. Maybe she thinks of different ways to torture us. Maybe she just wants to torture me. Maybe she doesn’t like her job. Maybe she just hates me! Who knows?
I try to pay attention, really I do but it never succeeds. My art teacher is one of the nicest teachers I’ve had so far this year, but her teaching techniques are VERY close to HORRIBLE. She always gives us breaks, she always helps us in need, but gosh her demonstrations are boring.
After I’ve bitten my nails until my cuticles fell off, tapped my feet until the were numb and walked in circles until I got dizzy, I have definitely defined the definition of boredom in my art class.
In the story there weren’t many sensory details. The author, Jane Austen doesn’t really do into detail as to what she is talking about. Her book so far is bascilly filled with lots of dialouge and up front passages because of the way the story line is conducted. The story would probaly be better if Jane Austen had more senory details in it becaue it would liven it up some more, since the book is so boring.
As I was looking at the variety of pictures at the juried art show, the only display that caught my attention was the one entitled “Waiting to Say Goodbye.” It was a photo album of an elderly couple that looked as if it was almost there time to go. As I was flipping through the pages, I started to reminisce about my deceased grand mom. She was very loving, caring and joyous throughout her entire life. She always puts somebody else before herself. Although I haven’t known her for my entire life but for the few years I did, I grew a tight bond and a lot of love for her.
As I recall, when I was about five or six my grand mom became very sick. At first she wasn’t able to do some of the things she used to do, and then she got so ill that she was on bed rest. At that age I didn’t know why she was sick everyday and we couldn’t spend anytime together anymore. A couple of months went by and I remember clearly a phone call that my mom, grand mom [mom’s side], and I got. My dad told us that my grand mom passed away from cancer. When my mom told me I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was question over and over again, as to why she passed away and why God had to take away my grandmom out of all the grandmoms in the world.
I also experienced a new thing in my life, funerals. When I was younger I can remember my family going to them but I never knew exactly what they were. When I went to my grand mom’s funeral, all I saw was people mourning and sorrow on everyone’s faces. My dad and uncle, two people that I thought were the toughest people in the world were crying hysterically, and all I could do was cry because I didn’t know what else to do. This was one of the worst experiences ever.
Losing my grand mom was one of my worst experiences in my life and it took me a long time to get over it. She fought as long and hard as she could, but I guess God told her that its time for her to stop waiting to say goodbye.
