Happy Fall!

Hello BIMA writers!

I hope everyone is having a lovely school year.

Keep on writing!

xo,

Jessie

5 Ways to Look At at a Tree

A beautiful creation that can be discussed in ten pages,
Or paper to be created and made into wages.

An object for hufflelumps to run into.
Trees can be really annoying, who knew?

A plant that creates air for me to breath.
More useful than a wreath.

Something to look at and say, "Please don't kill it!
There are living creatures within it!"

A creation to just look at.
One might even notice a cat.

Why I Write

I write because it makes my family proud. I write because it's a hobby colleges will be impressed with. I write because it's the only activity I can beat my siblings at. I write because it can help me make friends. I write because I want to entertain people. I write because a few people have said I'm good at it. I write to see if anyone will listen to me. I write because I can be sassy without getting in trouble or being afraid of being in trouble. I write because it gives me something to talk about. I write because I've been inspired to. I write because I get to create someone new. I write because I get to dream of a new world. I write because it is fun. I write because it's something I've always done. I write because it's practical. I write because it allows me to vent. I write because, though I already have much to do, it gives me more. I write because it's something I can do forever. I write because I'll be able to when I get old. I write because I want to tell a story. I write because anything can happen. I write because I want to tell my strange dreams like they're real but it can only be that way in fantasy. I write because then I can live on forever any way I want. I write because I want to remember what I've thought. I write because I can do it anywhere. I write because there's so much you can do with it. I write because I can. I write because, well, why not?

My Children

At night I walk the streets

To find my children

 

The ones without homes

Or families

Or places to go

 

I find a different one each night

And leave a gift for them

 

Hope

Desire for a new life

The seeds of happiness wedged in their brains

Or simply the will to change

 

My children are stubborn and afflicted

So I walk the streets and change them one by one

But there are so many of them

 

I come across a young man

Sleeping on a stoop

Only a thin raggedy sheet around his thin and sickly shoulders

He’s shaking

 

I rest my hand upon his quivering shoulder

All his memories flood me

            A nice family

            A beautiful home

            A good college

 

            Drugs

            Alcohol

            Aids

            This stoop

 

And I whisper

            My child

            Have the hope and the will and the desire for a new life, your old life

            You can change

 

As I take my hand slowly from his bony back

He stirs

            Why?

            He asks

            Why are you helping me?

 

Because

You are my child             

Jocks

We're Jocks.
We rock.

Say dude.
Like food.

Lettermans.
Girlfriends.

Smoke pot.
She's hot.

Stay up late.
Graduate.

We've peaked.
We're weak.

Catharsis

I notice you in the corners of my movement
You think you are so stealthy
Steeling little glances of my life
Infiltrating my content

You think you go unnoticed
Slowly stealing the me from me
Gathering it up in your black sack of failures
As if i wouldn't see the gaps you left behind

I almost caught you once, I had planned
In all the moments I had dreamed
About that day
To beat you to a pulp

But I made the mistake, I make so many mistakes
Of listenting to your familiar slander
And my ears were lost
To impossible standards

I still see your footprints everywhere
Even with no tracks
So pronounced
They don'te even need snow to crunch

I see you gather up my pride
Like jewels
Atleast it makes you happy
Atleast someone is happy

Perfection, you are my immortal stalker
I try to see you in my thoughts
To recognize those moments when you skip out my ears
And Land in my life

But mostly, I can only see
What you want me to
The imperfection of my world
Against yours

Eight Ways of Looking at Myself

I can't get perspective
On myself
There are no different ways
To see what is the
Same
There is no eight, no seven,
Just a mirror
On all sides
On eight sides
Showing me
The same self
Too many times