Reading with Rex – Poem

 

The cold winter air hits my skin

Though I’ve been outside for so long

That I barely can even feel it anymore.

The shadow of the statue above me

Is shading the book in my lap.

 

Despite the fact that the lights are

Blinding me each and every time I look up.

I’m content as I lean against the cold material,

I don’t even know what he’s made of.

 

All I know is that my voice is echoing

In the empty night,

The only one to hear me is Rex,

The statue who listens to me read.

 

I’m not sure why I feel content,

Maybe it’s the air that I can’t even feel.

Perhaps even the book in my lap

Or my voice as I am overly aware of it.

 

It’s not my bed that I feel most at home

Not even that house I barely know

But moments like these,

When Rex is the only one to hear

My thoughts, it’s almost as though he is my family.

 

Despite the fact that you can walk passed the colorful wall,

Through the alleyway between the buildings,

And directly in front to the building that I call my room.

It is not my home, despite everything.

Instead it is a spot underneath the statue,

Being protected by his strength

And invisible to all those who do not listen to his roar.

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Live a Life You Want to Recount

So I was talking with one of my friends, he was telling me this story behind a birthday present that was giving me (a little late but whatever) and I realized that it was the stories, the little moments in life that you tell your children, the ones that make up your life.

You’re not going to tell your children about multi-tasking between writing and watching Netflix (which is what I primarily do), those stories are boring. You’re going to tell the story of getting out of your car in broad day light, stealing an entire street sign and coloring it simply because he thought their friend would enjoy the gift.

Those are those stories that you lovingly tell to your friends and family, those are the stories that mean something in the end. The stories that prove that you have actually lived and I don’t want to live a life that forces me to be in my bedroom all the time.

That is why I want to travel, I want to travel before I ever have kids and I want to be able to tell them about that random musician who sang a song about the Presidential Election of 2016, the embarrassing ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’ experience with my Aunt and Uncle.

The story of meeting one of my best friends because she wanted to hug me, the stories of going up a tree house that apparently no one had gone in years and falling down the 20 foot tree (resulting in a mobile mittendorf dot in my right eye.)

I am going to tell them of my eighth grade field trip to the Outer Banks that resulted in a seven hour ferry ride and how that was my favorite memory throughout all of middle school. The only time where everyone was friends and everyone was having fun and talking together.

So I have decided, I want a life that is worth being in stories. I want a life that when someone talks happily about me, they can recall the many mini stories that make up my life. The time I got banned from wearing flip flops in school or the fact that in the seventh grade, my teacher had me sing a song to her anytime she got upset or stressed.

It is not the stories of sitting down on your bed or the stories of watching Netflix that stick in your head but the ones that cause you to laugh, the ones that actually genuinely mean something to people and the ones that while it might not seem like it, will stick in your head forever.

There are some things that I look back fondly on in my life and some stories that I will tell a million times more as time goes on and I am glad to say that while I do have my many stories of binge watching stories on Netflix, I have my amazing stories that have the chance to be recounted over and over.

I can say that I wasn’t always at my lap top, I can say that I have my horror stories, my embarrassing stories, my stories of love and friendship, and even my stories of laughter.

All of these things, the moments where I was horrified or laughing are the stories that make up my life and I couldn’t be more happier about my life. The bad, the good, the better.

There is a quote by Kurt Vonnegut, a famous American author who once said, “Enjoy the little things in life for one day, you’ll look back and realize they were the big things.” This is something I genuinely believe in and I wanted to share my thoughts on this with all of you.

I hope you guys have an amazing day and please, create stories worthy of telling others.

Destiny

 

So eleven chapters into Vampirian Tragedy and the topic of fate came up which got me thinking. Is fate a deciding factor? Is it real?

Is there such a thing as fate that it decides everything that is happening and everything that is going to happen to me in the future?

Does this fate take away all of my choices because no matter, there is the same endgame?

I don’t want to believe that, I don’t want to believe that there is no point in making choices because a thing such as fate or destiny has already decided everything for me. That before I was ever created, these things were going to happen to me.

Before I was born it was decided that :

  • I would overcome dyslexia.
  • I would go to Early College.
  • I would fall in love with X.
  • I would suck at Math.
  • X and I would break up.
  • I would fall in love with writing.
  • I would write a book (multiple in fact!)
  • I would become friends with B.

Thinking about your life and all of the things that you overcame yourself, you learned how to fix, you felt the way you felt. You feel proud of your accomplishments.

You overcame dyslexia? Congratulations! You did it all by yourself.

I think believing in destiny (or fate) takes away your ability in being proud of yourself and even takes away that feeling of accomplishment. How can you be proud of yourself or feel like you had an accomplishment if feel as though “if it was meant to happen, it would happen.”

I don’t believe in that saying. If you want it to happen, make it happen.

There is no third party causing it happen, there is no third party that has already decided your entire life. It has all happened and it was all meant to happen. That is bullshit.

You decide what your life is.

You decide that you are going to pick up that pen and start writing.

It is your accomplishment to overcome dyslexia.

It is your choice that you fell in love with X.

Everything that happens to you was not predetermined.

Do NOT let something take away your right to feel proud of yourself.

So yeah, I am going to live the life that I want to live and nothing such as fate or destiny is going to stop me. That is something that I can promise you.

Live the life you want,

Sabrina Ingram.

Our Brains Were Re-Arranged – Poem

My friends all want to fast forward.

They want their ID and they want to go dancing and forget their nights.

As I am watching them talk about growing up.

I want to rewind to before we cared about what others thought.

Before our opinions were created by looks.

Before we heard of devastation and of the bad people.

Some days, I’d like to rewind to the innocence of the past

to the popping of the bubbles that passed.

Some days, I think of going back to our childhood and innocence before our hearts were broken,

our brains were rearranged,

and before the judgements.

To the days of only caring about whether or not you were being forced to eat greens

or being able to stay up late.

It feels as though we went forward so quickly

Just wanting to grow up that we missed the amazing parts of our lives.

We missed those bubbles that needed to be popped,

those children books that needed to be read,

and the boys that were only ever meant to be just friends.

But we never did those things because we never understood why Peter Pan didn’t want to grow up.

We wanted to be treated like adults, even though we had no idea what that truly entailed.

Soon we will be going through taxes, paying for bills,

and most of us will be working at a job that we despise.

We will complain that we don’t get enough sleep and that we want to go back to before.

Before our innocence was lost, our hearts were broken, and before our brains were rearranged.

But before we lose our chance, I want to go pop one last bubble.

I want to read one more children’s book.

I want to run blindly into the sun and I want to be a child again.

Before there was devastation, before the bad people.

Before our eyes were uncovered by the metaphorical hands of innocence.

Some days I want to rewind, even when I am watching my friends go fast forward.