2014 was not as exciting as I thought.
As much as I was a sophomore, I just roughed it out, saying “what now” in the end. But at least I got through it. I mean, at first, I thought I’d be fine, but then the new semester kicked me. In the head. I did feel overwhelmed with these classes where I was all alone in. But then my Junior year in, and my confidence came back stronger. Of course, the school year isn’t over yet, but I know I have come back stronger. 2015 will help me prevail. I will win.
Sleep is where our desires come to life, but then we wake up. We are in an endless battle inside our own hopes. Whether or not we want them to exist in our lives of doubt and closure. Can something from your dreams become reality if we really want them to exist in a dark world? Where anything you want will take years just to get close to it? They all look into you, see your goals and dreams and wishes them to a graveyard of unwanted ideals. To them, Any kind of happiness must be made by blood, not from sleep. Only then will they be satisfied. Because those who do nothing are the example of parasites in a modern world. My dreams, for instance, are to act on a stage, to have my words in someone else’s hands. But there are some people who think that is a waste of time. Well, they’re all wrong. This is my passion, my dream. Nothing will take it down, except for my own doubts, but even those will not defeat me. I will be victorious.
I was a freshman, but at a different school. Most of my friends were at Westlake, and only a few remained at this other school. I had a friend who lived next to me I’ve known for about eight years. Even though his parents were very strict, we still had some of the best times together. We had talked about how I’d join him at Westlake once I became a sophomore, but before the end of the school year, he moved. In my neighborhood, I had no “real” friends. They all seemed so fake to me, showing a different side of them at church than at school or just outside of these activities. School was okay, but one of my other friends there switched to Westlake. Although I respected her decision, I felt very alone, like no one really wanted to help me. I always did my best for others, but when it came down to my desires, I was closed off. I was unwanted, but was an option for those who struggled. I was only a liability.
At the lowest point, perhaps in all of my life, it was time to start my first, official year at a high school. Even though some may say it is a prison from hell, it was almost is an escape for me. All of my friends were there. I made more by interacting with others. In no time at all, I felt like a part of something, not just a speck in a landscape of particles, but a gear in a mechanical wonder. And, perhaps the best part of all, this doesn’t even have an ending. Even now I struggle with these problems, but I realize there are some peers out there that do care, even if they appear to only fit in with the popular. I’m not an impurity. And I’m not alone.
-Millen Xavier
A creeping silence, and a doubtful beginning,
Descending the steps to the door.
The light switch will ease the pain,
Of what is on the other side.
I’ll be fine.
The archway is lit, my worries fall from the trees.
But a flicker in the orbs of light fright me, but
My brother has shut the door,
The door to save me from my demons of guilt.
Where am I?
My saving grace is cut, I plummet into darkness.
Suddenly, my loneliness is gone,
I feel them tracking their new prey
And I shake as the doorknob falls in my hand.
The darkness won’t reveal my captors,
But I don’t need their appearance to know
Its over. My darkness is darker and blacker then
Anything else. Its no use waking me up.
It’s over now.
Words are Power. They can destroy or build civilizations. They can save lives, or utterly break them into pieces. They can portray those who have lived, or those who live inside us. They change in an instant, becoming something people love, or hate. We are made of words, words that describe us, fit us, put us down, lift us up. Words that share our life story, or conceal it in a metropolis of confusion. We are words, and words are our finishing details. Details that show who we really are.
Millen Xavier 