Someday Someone.

Tossing and turning, a private ballet of blankets and sheets. My breaths are silent and so is the world. I look at the stars draped over me like a veil and I feel like I'm the only one awake to see them, there's something so peaceful about feeling that alone. My thoughts turn to forever, as thoughts often do. I can almost see his face, almost taste his lips, almost feel what it's like to love a person as I'll someday love him. Is he hidden right beneath my nose, like a four leafed clover among a familiar field of green? Or perhaps he is like those stars hanging above me. Far away, occasionally twinkling me sweet promises of a someday. It's funny how you can miss someone so desperately without knowing who they are. I play make believe movies in my head until I wonder myself into sleep.

Bones.

Bones,
By Jessy Iris.

She walks on a wave of wind
And leaves charm in every step
But behind her perfect curtain
A remote secrets barely kept
Dying to fit a twisted mold
Eating calories she won't keep
She has no hands left to fold
A special brand of weak
Praises foster a porcelain prison
Drunk in a symphony of bones
An audacious madness has arisen
Sinking faster than a stone
Rare to see beyond a lipstick smile
She's still breathing, but has been dead awhile.

America.

America,
By Jessy Iris.

Today I saw a group of flowers growing furiously towards the sunshine. They were each so unique from one another. Some had reds, others yellows or pink, even purple petals graced the group. They contrasted so intensely from the deep green grass around them that one couldn't help but stop to smell the roses. As I sat down beside them to get a closer look I noticed how many different textures there were. These flowers reminded me of my Country, these flowers were America. My Nation is a melting pot, we are made up of different colors and textures. We are made up of different religions, cultures, and races. The American people have different dreams, longings, hopes, different prayers. There are so many differences from American to American, it leads people to doubt our Country, for how can a tower made up of such different shapes and sizes of brick survive time? That's the thing, America isn't like a tower, it's like these flowers. Deeply rooted in rich soil, just as each American is rooted in their ancestors, their cultures, beliefs, and who they are. Like the flowers reaching for the sun, each one of us can reach for the American dream. If we are willing to work hard and persist we can overcome obstacles and reach the sky.

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"

I am an American, and I am proud to be.