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Memory Lane: 3rd Edition

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Memory Lane: 1st Edition

Memory Lane: 2nd Edition

**disclaimer: I wrote all of these as a teen. Don’t hold it against me. πŸ˜‰ **


Now in the backyard

an ancient chest is buried

inside are pictures of children

struggling for the world to see them

they look as though they’re screaming

in my imagination, I see them crying for help

some may think they’re only playing but I know

they want to go home.

(this doesn’t make sense for a reason. we drew words out of a bowl and for each word we had to have a line, so it’s wierd. I know.)


To Whom It May Concern,

As I am sitting here now, staring out the window, I see change. The land is changing, people are changing, times are changing, but nobody ever said it was for the better.

Years ago the land was full of fields and wild animals. Now buildings are going up in all directions. It used to be that people would do anything for a neighbor, now people don’t even know who their neighbors are. I remember when times were simple, when things could only be done one way, so there was no need to worry.

Dozens of people have sat in me. They’ve handed me down from generation to generation. I remember the first person who sat in me. She was kind and gentle, never was mean. I also remember the last person who sat in me. I’ve never seen anyone so mean or cruel in my life.

It’s amazing what you can learn just by being a chair, sitting by a window, looking out at the world.


The Chair

(okay I feel like that one was slightly retarded. πŸ˜† )


Journals (or blogs as it would be today!)

They absorb so much emotion

pain, fear, love, loss

all of the paths that our lives cross.

They’re our counselors, mentors,

Our teachers, friends

It’s a place for our hearts to

lament and mend.

The dates of every “first time”

Scribbled on the page

the way the words change

as we mature with age.

They hold all our secrets in so much detail

they refresh our minds again and again

and every time

it’s all so real.


The beating sun pierces the skin. The laughing and screaming of children makes the ears bleed. With the kick of a can, death is released. Death has a buzzing sound and feels like a sting. Laughs turn to cries, screams to blood curdling shrieks. A little boy stands by a tree and watches from a distance. A girl runs into the road only to bring an ambulance to a halt. The sound of death still lingers. Buzzing. Buzzing.



7 responses »

  1. i love that you’re posting these!

  2. Thanks bravetoo. (get it, brave-as-well? Ha, I crack me up.)

    Anyways, that chair sounds like a lazy boy.

    An the one that you say doesn’t make any sense I thought was pretty cool. Thanks for being brave.

  3. πŸ˜† every time you post these, I just love you more!

    love it!

  4. saweet! love em all. πŸ™‚

  5. I like the chair one the best!! I have 2 really old chairs and I often wonder what they have seen. If chairs could talk, right?

  6. See! You get it! πŸ˜†

  7. thanks Wanita! πŸ˜€


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