I try to tell myself

those creatures aren’t real

that it only lives in stories,

but in life, I’ve seen                                                        monsters,


and it feels like they are

everywhere. I try to calm

myself, convince myself

that all monsters                                                             are

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In this time, at this day and age, people seem to have less and less time for things they want to do. And even for things they need to do.

Sleeping at twelve, waking up at six, going out to the hospital every other day, attending classes, staying late till seven at school about twice a month, getting home late about three times a week, starving myself without enough food, gorging on food in the weekend – everything in my life is just a simple blur.

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A Sick World

I remember the last time I was sick.

I realized it when I was on an elliptical. I had been trying to exercise every day, increasing my time on the elliptical to the max of an hour nonstop. The elliptical was placed in a room with a large TV since only my grandparents used the room to watch TV, and my sister and I and our friends would sometimes use the TV and computers there to play games or watch movies. In other terms, it was a room barely used, and since the elliptical was also barely used, it seemed fitting to put it there – out of sight, out of mind.

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I feel like I can write for an eternity. the feeling of writing with pencil, pen, marker – anything – on paper is something I feel I can do for the rest of my life.

I want to have an endless notebook, a notebook that never runs out of pages.

To write, for me, is life. To hear the sound of writing. To see my own handwriting. To see the words in my mind on plain paper.

To see a world on pages.

I live in my own world, I know. But to live in that world is a magic only I can do.

By writing.


School. It’s weird. They prep you in a building since you were four – sometimes three – for what? A future?

They get you ready for the future by teaching you how to read. How to write. How to pee. How to socialize. They command and dictate every small thing you do. You have no freedom to choose what to learn: you will learn the alphabet; you will learn algebra; you will learn to deconstruct and analyze a piece of rhetoric; you will learn to write a research paper.

And when you ask them, “Why?” They will stare at you like you’re a moron and repeat – “Why?” – to mock you. They will say you must learn because you must prepare for the future.

You have no choice.

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The sound of shattering glass. The sound of tears hitting the floor. The sound of fists meeting faces, of swords meeting flesh. The sound of wrath in all its power and glory is a loud, disharmonious sound that I can never forget.

Because wrath can end peace. Because wrath can start fights. Wrath can end friendships. Wrath can start enmity. Wrath can end love. Wrath can start hate. Can end life. Can start wars. End happiness. Start disunity.

Because wrath is fearful, scary, and unavoidable.


She wore a golden chain locket. He had a silver ring. They had suits on. She had a fancy car. He had a laptop. They had everything and anything they could get.

Envy sat next to me, saying, “Those people have better things than you do.”

“I don’t need it,” I whispered.

Envy leaned closer, mimicking my whisper, adding to my sentence: “But you want it.”

I shake Envy off, but Envy does not leave. Envy never leaves. Looking across, at the large pond, I see a couple on a boat shaped like a swan.

“You like that boat,” Envy thought for me.

“I think it’s stupid,” I corrected.

“True,” Envy agreed, “but you want love, like them. The boat doesn’t matter. As long as it’s someone to be with you all the time.”

“Shut up,” I said as I got up from the bench and walked towards the swings.

When the children saw me walking towards them, they ran off, moving towards the slides and monkey bars. But they still watched, wondering what I, a person who was not a kid, was doing on a swing, just sitting, not even moving.

They watched me speak to the air.

They were children. They didn’t recognize Envy sitting next to me.

“There is no real way to shut me up,” Envy argued.

“I believe in miracles,” I said.

Envy laughed, a guttural sound that shocked me.

“Do you really?” Envy asked. “What makes you think you can escape something that’s affects every human being in the world?”