How Poetry Saved Me?

Like many children, I learned to read and write around the age of five at both home and school. I learned to read by reading Dick and Jane. The writing was simple, but I loved the stories. That was always my favorite part

I also started reading at home, then got into writing. I would finish a book by the end of the day or the next day. I finished a Junie B. Jones book a day. I finished a lot of books throughout elementary school, reading was probably my favorite thing to do with my free

In 2014 of October I moved to Georgia from Florida. I was leaving a place I had been living in my entire life. It was a tough situation as I knew moving to a different state and school could be difficult. I was very nervous as it was a new environment with different people and new types of school work. I was worried about not making friends or getting bad grades. That morning of school my heart raced. When I arrived at school I met new people and my teachers, I also figured out which teachers were bad and what teachers would be good. I left school that day very happy knowing I would have a great year. Later that week I started to become more familiar with the grading systems, behavior system and connections. at my old school they were called

Like many people I went through high school with the same group of friends from middle school. We were all extremely close and acted like family. Upon graduating, we all realized that we wouldn’t see each other as much, especially the people that went to LSU, ULL and Emory and even LA Tech. We had lost those close-knits relationships we formed for over 7 years. Many people would be upset over this but it showed me who my real friends were and they are my new-found sisters in the sorority I joined and my best friend from sixth grade.

It was all downhill from elementary school. No, my grades didn’t drop and I didn’t become a street rat, but socially, junior high single handedly ruined my social life. But from before I even stepped foot on the premises, I was destined to an awkward, mute, and sidelined three years: seventh grade, eighth grade, and freshman year. My elementary school, Central Road, was made up of two groups of kids, those who would go to Carl Sandburg, and those who would go to Plum Grove; and my tight knit group of friends would be cut in half when it came time for the split. Although there was more than 100 students who would be moving on to one of these schools, I was one of only 20 who would be attending Plum Grove starting in the fall. Of course, my

Towards the end of my 8th grade year my mom told me that we would be moving again, but this time to a whole other state. Once again my heart dropped and I was devastated. I told my closest friends and they all cried with me. They threw me a little going away party and I hung out with my best friend from my old school before I left. I didn’t want to relive being the new kid again but I didn’t have much of a choice since I didn’t want to live with my

When I reached our destination, the geographical differences were just a tiny part of my life’s hurdle. Unlike, my previous assumption of the evergreen state, this was the complete opposite. Tumbleweeds replaced evergreen bushes, rivers replaced lakes and quail replaced red cardinals. My physical surroundings were the easiest to adjust to. Nevertheless, a new school was probably the most difficult part of moving. I grew up in a school where I was the only one in my grade out of a school population of eight. So when I walked into my sixth grade classroom filled with at least twenty-six boisterous children, you could say I was a bit overwhelmed. The lifestyle in eastern Washington contrasted sharply with my comfort zone. People in this area were constantly with a filled schedule including, sports, music competitions and recitals, and school activities, unlike the life filled with daily visits to the lake. School was definitely harder than my previous school, constant homework and tests were a foreign language to me. All the friends I’ve had up till then, have known me ever since I learned how to read, so making new friends was a new thing for me, as well. From the start, making friends was arduous, I’m not a very outgoing person and small talk isn’t my forte. I would be introduced to some people, most of the time neither one of us had a

Being in a small neighborhood is rather helpful for making friends, as you are almost forced to talk with those around you until school starts. Living in New Palestine was not all that great, however. The people were not the nicest, and it seemed that everyone was too focused on playing the game of faces, always trying to seem cool and outdo each other. From the start, I never really fit in. I did not care about playing the game with everyone else, I would rather be completely frank with everyone. I have always felt that honesty is the best policy, even when it comes to trying to be cool in front of everyone. I had trouble making friends because of this, but those friends that I had made at that time have stuck with me to this day. I guess that dealing with all the falsehood during that time has made me slightly cynical. One of the best things that has happened in my life was the move from Indiana to Sunnyvale, Texas. Sunnyvale is a nice, somewhat small town where everyone knows everyone. The community in Sunnyvale is much more close-knit than New Palestine was, for better or worse. Coming into the school in the eighth grade was the perfect time for me. Nobody knew me, I knew

My sense of belonging at Marquette High has changed drastically throughout my four years here. I spent the majority of my freshman year getting to know as many people as I possibly could and I bounced between several friend groups throughout the year. However, I completely cut off ties with middle school friends and never spoke with them. I believed that Marquette was a new chapter in my life and chose to forget about my time in middle school, but this choice came back to bite me my first summer as a high schooler. I realized that I never invested my time in anyone else, and found myself knowing hundreds of kids without having any real friends. This made my summer extremely sad and boring, and while I wanted to leave, my parents pushed me towards another year at Marquette. I

Being made to go through the whole process of becoming friends was not what I wanted. I had a lot of friends at Galena and had been friends with these kids since kindergarten. We had grown up together and I didn’t want to leave them so soon. My mom told me Baxter was only about 10 minutes away so that took the ease off a little. I had two really good friends who I did everything with. I remember wondering if they would be sad, or if I would get to see them anymore. The feeling of going to a new place and possibly not making any new friends frightened me. How long would it take me to make new friends, if I made any? All the worrying was for nothing though. I remember exactly what happened when I made my first friend at Baxter. I call to mind being anxious as I walked into my new classroom, feeling the glances of all my classmates. Thinking how uncomfortable I felt as all the kids talked about their summers with their friends and all the fun they had, when suddenly I heard someone say hi. I turned towards the voice and saw a small brown haired girl, who I would soon learn was Mallory. After learning each other’s names, she then asked me “Do you want to be friends?” and that’s how my first friendship started. I made many new friends that day and felt all my worries soon drift away. Though I didn’t know how well making new friends would go, at the time it was a frightening thought for me. With

Almost everyone remembers there first book, just as much as they would remember there first car. Everyone starts somewhere, it could be a late start of an early start. I started reading when I was five years old, my first book was a Dictionary. People find it odd that the Dictionary was my first book because, it was the center point in which people could find almost every word in the English language. Knowing that made me want to read it, or at least attempt to read it. My first time picking it up I was able to feel how heavy all the knowledge the book had, turning that pages felt light and fragile easily ripped when mistreated. I could only read the small words of coarse but that didn't stop me from asking my parents or the kinder garden teachers to pronounce and define that words I wanted to know. Looking back now I wonder what made me stop reading, and why I don't own another Dictionary.

I have always cared too much of what others thought of me. With all that said, moving again did not sound like it was going to be fun. Moving was interrupting my sophomore year. High school kids can be brutal to new kids without ever getting to know them first. I even had a hard time making friends when I was in fifth grade when my family and I moved the first time to New Jersey. Before we even started packing up the house I was getting anxiety about not having any friends or anyone liking me at the new school. I told my parents time after time that I didn’t want to go anymore and that I wanted to stay here but of course all I was hearing from them was that I was going to be perfectly fine. How could they just assume that? I was also told the place we were moving to which was also a family farm my dad’s side of the family owned had no malls close. I really loved the fact I lived about 5 minutes from shopping centers and malls but now I was moving out in the middle of nowhere. The closest store were Meijer and family farm and home, not really my go to places to

Unlike most kids, I could not be eager to see my old friends again. I was starting secondary school at a high school where I was far away from my grade school friends. This proved to be quite difficult and nerve-wracking because it meant starting all over again. Ever since I was a kid, I have had unusual school transitions. To be more specific, I moved from a school

I started writing in preschool and started typing in the 2nd grade. I have always been good at writing or telling stories. And making up tall tales.

Poetry allowed me to love without getting rejected or hurt on many occasions time after time.