Writing with Detail

 

                Weightless. That’s the first thing I feel when I hear the voice over the intercom state that “the grade 11 provincial exam will now begin boarding students into the gym.” I feel nothing at first, hear nothing. I only see the doors rushing open before me and the crowd squeezing in to find their seats first. I hesitate to move forward until someone pulls me towards the big, open, metal doors, and I automatically find my assigned seat. I can see the principal standing at the podium at the front of the gym, arranging some papers and then clearing the phlegm from his throat. I shut everyone, everything, out, focusing on my breathing and setting myself up for failure. I think the fact that I’m not sitting next to my friends scares me most because I won’t get their reassuring glances. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m completely un-prepared for this exam. My senses kick in once the principal has finished telling of the same rules that everyone knows, so I flip the booklet that lay before me, open. The page is cold, brittle, untouched, and holds questions with answers unknown to myself.  I feel a single drop of sweat beading down my face; feel my heartbeat thumping way past a desirable pace, so I just breathe. My hands start to perspire and my heart is out of place; this is what nervousness is like, and it is all too familiar. I know, and can already tell that these next few hours, will feel more like the next few decades, and that time will slow down to an almost-stop, as will my breathing, with it.  But in the meantime I pick up a pencil and not some cheap wooden kind, but the sort that is mechanized. It’s cold, bare and foreign to my skin, which snaps me out of this haze of indulgence. I hear pages turning and it occurs to me that only a few moments have passed, but some students are well on their way through the exam, and I have yet to start. I procrastinated studying, and now I’m faced with delaying this, gut wrenching, 40 page version of a test. I fear the worst, and hope for the best as I embark on this mission to complete my exam.

Spoken Word Poetry

Trolls- Shane Koyczan

The poem “Trolls” by Shane Koyczan is a poem that compares trolls to cyberbullying by showing that “your keyboards [turn into] catapults” and they’re “turning freedom of speech into freedom of cruelty.” This means that instead of writing through a content mood, the person is writing out of anger towards someone, something, saying awful and hurtful things and saying that there’s freedom of speech.

I liked the use of imagery, personification and metaphors that were placed throughout this poem, because it gave the story a dark mood, and created visualization for anyone reading or listening to it.

This poem craves attention to a malignant cyber world, where bullies feed on the deaths of others, and have only one motive; to “talk strangers into death, and [laugh.]”

I like this poem because it shows two sides to the cyberbullying world. It shows what darkness the criminal must go through to wish death upon someone, and it also shows the black hole that the victim falls into, when bullied by this online person.

 

Remember How We Forgot?- Shane Koyczan

This poem describes how when we were younger we always wished to be older, and now that we are, we have forgotten the little things we were told throughout life. “Our parents told us never to look directly into the sun”, but we blatantly ignored it, and remembering now why we shouldn’t have done that, brings swirling memories that make us crave youth again.

I enjoyed the use of imagery distributed throughout this poem because it brings memories to the surface, vividly and literally makes you wish you could be young again. You wouldn’t have to worry about what challenges you might face because the only challenge you would have faced back then was spilling chocolate pudding on your white shirt.

Almost anyone can connect with this poem which is why I like it, because it brings a generalization of youth, and how now (being older) we can only cherish the memories and challenges that have lead us to be who we are today.

 

Meet Yourself in the Mirror- Ashley Wylde

The poem “Meet Yourself in the Mirror” by Ashley Wylde describes how society deems love as something as simple as “[loving] your boyfriend, your mom, your brother” but in reality, you can’t love other things, until you love yourself first. She asks how long you can go on and on saying you love other things, but how long would it take you to say “I love myself”?

I enjoyed the sense of reality the poet brings into this, it’s a narrative type of poem which shows two sides to it.

I can connect with this poem very well, which is why I like it because I’m able to understand why she says “How long do you think you could go on and on before you said, “I love myself.”’ People can list so many items and possessions that they claim to love, but they can’t say that they love themselves. Society has an idea that the more possessions you have, the more well liked you will be, but that only goes skin deep. When you truly love yourself, it opens up opportunities for others to love you back.

Homework Blues

       As I shuffled into the classroom, I knew that Mr. Van Camp would never believe me. I looked at my scuffed shoes and mumbled, " My homework is not done, Sir. I do have a good excuse though."

       " This is not the first time your homework has not been completed. Perhaps," Mr. Van Camp suggested, "it's time to speak with your parents."

       "Please, you have no idea what will happen to me if you phone my home," I moaned. It looked as if he was going to fall for my story.

      "Well, let's hear your excuse. It better be good."
    
      I hesitated, then sauntered into a story of how my grandmother passed away. And being an emotional teenage girl I was able to pull the wonder tears.

      Mr. Van Camp spoke in a caring tone, "I'm so sorry to hear that."

     "It's okay," I paused "it's just the circle of life, a cliche, but quite a true one"

      "It seems that I have decided, to allow you one more day to complete your assignment" spoke Mr.

Van Camp in a sympathetic tone.

     "Thank you for understanding, and giving me one extra day to conclude my homework."

     I hurried out of the room, and began to work as soon as I could.

The Motivation Behind his Mendacious Mind

If you have ever been lied to, than you immediately understand how much your heart drops when you find out the cold truth.

         In the short story "Bluffing" by Gail Helgason, a seemingly normal relationship takes a turn for the worst when a couple goes hiking and encounters a grizzly bear. During this head on collision, Gabriella and Liam are faced with two choices: run, or play dead. In this instant, Gabriella orders Liam to "try backing off slowly" but he refuses by taking a moment and then hurriedly "running away as fast as he [can]." The aftermath of Liam’s poor choice of movement resulted in him being hospitalized, leaving Gabriella wondering why he chose to flee. In the beginning of the story, we learn that Liam is a predominant character who has the potential to lie as seamlessly as possible. But, there is one question left unanswered; is Liam really lying to Gabriella? Yes. Throughout this short story Liam is very controlling and seems to lie when he tells the hikers near the lake that it "might not be such a good idea" because they saw an "Elk carcass... and they always come back to the kill." This shows that Liam is a potential, pathological liar, which may push Gabriella further and further away as she notices it more and more. In the end, Liam states that he "wasn't trying to run away" but rather, that he was trying to get "the bear to come after [him] instead of [her]." While Gabriella would like to believe this, she can not because she knows that he has a recent past of avoiding the truth and that pushes Gabriella over the edge. 

The Blatant Release

She smokes because it's the only way to exhale the demons that consume her lungs. A blatant release, though temporary, it remains effective. The stress that was capable of over throwing her right mind, now creases and engulfs her once youthful being. Filled with many tales to tell, there is one, more important that pertains to her decision to fill her lungs with a thick, foreign marinade. As your eyes take a promenade down every deteriorating hill that is etched into her face, you will notice a pair of puckered lips pressing out the steamy remains of the tar that will soon devour her lungs. The sweet smoke curls like fingers which beckon to come closer. And as the ashes drifted from the cigarette, she could feel the weight of a ghost occupying the once empty space between her fingertips. Though aged and dignified, the youth still remains as it courses through the rings placed upon her fingers and pulses outward in a scatter across her brain.