the world from far back, up high, looks a lot like a movie set
most of what you see seems artificial
all the little ants have a story to tell
some don’t listen, others just don’t tell
looks a lot more easier to rearrange the things that don’t quite work in our favour
but then you get back down
and see things for what they really are

short story: what you can’t undo

She said she was a listener; that she would listen to the start and finish of anyone’s worries and that she would be their shoulder to cry on or the one to hold when they felt that they were losing everything. She always tried to help a broken one out, because she saw herself in them. She helped them in every which way she would’ve loved to have been helped. She would wish that she would just stumble across someone just like her, someone who could heal her. She crumbled into little pieces every single day. She lost all her own happiness trying to see it in all the rest. Asking a simple, “are you okay?” is never enough. Sorry, it just isn’t. If you could see how sad she was, the way she fled any room when she was to burst into tears, you would’ve been devastated. If you could ask her that question and if you knew she wasn’t ‘okay’, you should have dug deeper. You should have said something along the lines of “no, no you’re not. You couldn’t even look me in the eye when you responded you were fine. Tell me… I’m here to listen, I care about you.” But there was no one of that sort that came her way. No one. But she’s gone now. Forever. You no longer have to ask if she is ‘okay’, because she is no longer there. You can only mourn. Regret. If only you had helped her. If only someone had helped her. She would’ve still been there before your very eyes.

short travel

Sat in the sky train the other day in the longest time, but it felt as though it was the very first time. It felt like a ride at the carnival, minus the long line up and potential for puking. As soon as we came in and sat down, an awfully creepy man was looking our way. Actually, he was staring directly at us with an uncomfortable, creepy grin. Wouldn’t stop until my mom said aloud, “he’s staring at us like a mad man.” A smile to greet is different. This one wasn’t a greet. I noticed afterwards, because he was sitting in front of us, the way he scanned the women that stood before him with a smirk. How he tried to make conversation with them. The way he sat so uncomfortably with a hunchback trying to get a better view of them. It was disgusting. Thankfully, he was the only one of his sort we had to encounter. Other than that, the ride itself was fun. Just sitting there, looking off at the world around us. Lovely trees of green, surrounded by trash filled streets. On the way back, I had to stand because it was so crowded. I could see the outside a lot better. Looks so much more beautiful from a distance, but close up you see all that`s wrong. Things are clear when they are close up. I felt like a kid on Christmas day, excited to open presents. Maybe because it was like the first time on the sky train. No one else really seemed as excited, as the majority had their eyes fixated on the screens of their devices, while others had their heads down, eyes closed. The ride was fairly short, but I guess you could say it was sort of an experience. Of the people that will probably come my way to all the simple things I`ll seek pleasure in. What a day.


To stand in the same place where there once used to be a crowd of happy moments and those who truly matter, is enough to make you cringe and crawl up into a ball and cry as though all has been snatched away from your fingertips. Flashbacks seem like daydreams, making those times feel nonexistent. It becomes difficult to fathom those scenes that show up when you stand in that very spot. Now you stand there all alone. No familiar faces, no voices. Just a song from the 50s playing in the background as you look off staring blankly at the old setting.

Hero of the story

So effective
Words of one who knew all
One can’t simply rid those dialogues
Not if a perception was altered for the better
This is one who can ultimately haunt your every move
However, it’s not for the worst
More so to perfect imperfections
To correct faults and steps
Even when the worst comes about
The light doesn’t just dim
It glows brighter than ever
All as a mere reminder that not all is lost

What Students Really Need to Hear

Originally posted on affectiveliving:

It’s 4 a.m.  I’ve struggled for the last hour to go to sleep.  But, I can’t.  Yet again, I am tossing and turning, unable to shut down my brain.  Why?  Because I am stressed about my students.  Really stressed.  I’m so stressed that I can only think to write down what I really want to say — the real truth I’ve been needing to say — and vow to myself that I will let my students hear what I really think tomorrow.

This is what students really need to hear:

First, you need to know right now that I care about you. In fact, I care about you more than you may care about yourself.  And I care not just about your grades or your test scores, but about you as a person. And, because I care, I need to be honest with you. Do I have permission to be…

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