Spoken Poem

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This

Here we are again. New semester, new classes, new teachers. Same faces. And with only a semester of school left, this will be it. No more new classes. No posting schedules on Instagram or Facebook with the caption of "Any classes anyone???" This is it. For all the Dallin Ferrels, Jake Ervings, and Ben Clarks. It's time to fight on and reach our peak. Or so we have been told for the last three years of our lives. And for the first two years, I have just been getting by. I do not know what would have happened if I hadn't taken Mr. Nelson's class in 10th grade. That class was where I felt alive in one of the deadest places in all of Utah valley from 7:45 to 2:15 on Mondays to Fridays. If I hadn't taken that class, I probably wouldn't have been in Creative Writing and not have been in this class. If I were to map out my high school life for you all, you all would see things that may make some of you cry. But then again, maybe not. I was never a football or ...
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Drifting

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I guess I am supposed to write about my heart. But I'm afraid of what my heart has to say. I'm fearful to write this post because I truly do mean the words I am typing on the screen. I do not know exactly what my heart wants to say. Not this week. Not any week. I feel like I do the exact same thing every week. But I don't know any other way. I sit at my computer and stare at the screen for a few hours because I want to make my writing good. I want people to comment and tell me its really good and I want Nelson to put it in the top five. I have been told a few times that my writing is good. And I do truly believe that there are some people who think my writing is good. But overall, I feel like it is my heart I try to impress most often. I write and write and write and I feel like the more I write, the more unimpressed I am with myself. I don't feel adequate enough for myself. And because of that, I don't feel adequate enough for the class or for Nelson o...
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