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On the day right before my seventeenth birthday, i was given a small paperback colored book bound by a leather strap- inscribed on the cover was the word, "Dream". Opened, one page stood alone with blank ink- sketched across were the words, "The world in these pages are yours and yours alone"....

Beyond the page etched forever in its message, laid hundreds of blank whiteness itching for the touch of black ink. Yet, what was i to write? How would i express myself? What words would help obtain the goal in which the book itself was given? Words of love and hope...courage? Lonliness and depair? Would it hold my dreams or would it hold reality as i saw it...the downward spiral of my world...

when i was seven...santa gave my an emerald fountain pen, sparkling and oozing with the ink that would eventually drench itself across my journal...i held it now above the pure whiteness of the page in my new book...

and so i wrote...

randomness

the skies were dark...dotted with the twinkling diamonds that grew brighter as the moon drew closer to the top of the world. And i was happy...or so it seems... the crickets broke out in song, and the tingling warmth of hot cocoa slipped down my throat. i exhaled and inhaled, and the cool air brought smoke to my hot breathe ...And i was happy...or so it seems

goobyes are always funny, i use to think, when mom use to take her drink and tell the kids goodbye, she'll come back when the sun has rised...but that was never true. The sun never shined anymore for us, the world was stuck in this messed up gloom. then one day she didnt come home...happy birthday to me, my mommy is dead...

i use to believe in that fairytale love, where the prince always saved the poor girl, who though she was sweet, was not the girl he was intended to be with. However that never stopped him...not social status, not race...not even beauty kept him from her...it wasnt her beauty he fell in love with it was...beauty didnt matter because she wasnt even...o that's right...she was always beautiful...

i went out in the pouring rain and looked for you again...you promised you'd come back to me, and yet today you didnt come. the streets were tainted with lonliness and fear and there i stood patiently waiting...why didnt you come? There was a rose on the doorstep outside my house, it had been stepped on, probably by someone who didnt see...there was note by it, i didnt bother to read...i knew you were coming, i baked you you're favorite pie, but you didnt show- i just dont understand why, you told me you loved me, and told me you cared....what happened to your feelings...i think then the rains came again

morning peered into my window today, the sun shone its light onto me- the birds were chirping as always. i stretched out across my bed, the sheets shifted and slid of the side of the bed...i yawned and sat up...reality sat in...and i wasnt dreaming anymore