Childhood
Peter Pan
Yes, I feel lonely. Yes, I have feelings too. In fact, my feelings tend to be what others care the least about. After all the kindness I've shown, and the fun adventures I take them on, they still tend to want to leave. Why? Because they miss their parents? Because they miss home?
Ayra MirzaPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsMY TEENAGE MUSIC ESCAPE AWAY FROM LIES
In my early childhood years spent on candies and video games, I had a thing for music. I always have. Still do even now. It was as much as my ears could bear the rhythms and the musical instruments used to create a masterpiece that made me escape harsh reality of obliterating truths. A mental escape somehow. A way to take a heavenly path towards a dream to become more powerful than the eating disorder chubby fellow I was that could barely slam a fly down because of a sense of injustice. Why would I end the life of a buzzing bug if I could not believe myself of how to change mine?
Audric L FredricsonPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsA Kid Growing up in the 70's
A Kid Growing Up In The 70” s - What a Shit Show What the Hell were you thinking? It is believed that the stars and heavens predetermine your life path by the time and date you are born. I agree this might be true. I also think that life experiences can and do contribute to what we say, do and how we act. Unfortunately, destiny, karma and maybe even hormones play a part in disorientating our thought process. Hence creating moments in your life, you would rather forget. I look back and see one cringe worthy moment after another in my early adolescence. It crept about just waiting to pounce as it conjured in my mind abstract truths and distorted realities. The aftermath engulfed by a common theme; I am going to haunt you until your last breath. It is quite possible that in truth, “shit happens.” Somewhat proven by the following follies.
Amber D. CoughlinPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsHitch hiking
Hitchhiking: Part 2. Summer 1983 From 2625 Jerseyville road west, to C.H. Bray elementary school, Ancaster On. Yes, by the following summer, hitch hiking along Jerseyville road, was well established by ‘me’ and myself alone. I never, ever, saw anyone else hitch hiking on the road. Saw a few people walking, or riding bikes though. One of the few people I’d often see walking along the road was Richard Klimowski. He was the guy that if you’d honk at him driving by, he’d stop walking, grin and point at you as you’d drive past. His finger following your car. Always made me laugh as a passenger...still does, just thinking about it! He romantically, brought my mother a hand picked bouquet of flowers one early summer’s eve...sweet, but he knew damn well my mother was married.
Jim E. Beer - Story writer of fact and fiction.Published 3 years ago in ConfessionsDear Noah
Dear Noah – (Letter number one) Hey, This feels weird. We’ve never met. And I don’t even know if you exist...but...I think I miss you. Up until recently, I’ve been fine. Completely unaffected and uninterested by romance or relationships. I’ve never had the desire to be with someone or to be intimate. I honestly thought there was something wrong with me. Everyone did. Everyone does. But recently, I feel You. I feel the warmth of your arms around me, randomly, and all of a sudden. I feel the shadow of your kisses on my back, or your fingers interlacing mine, and my heart stops a moment. I have never met you, but I think I miss you.
BloomPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsThe Quiet Child
I am the quiet one. The one who is seen and never heard. The one who never gets to speak first and consistently gets cut off. I am the disregarded, overlooked, underestimated child. I may have been born first but I am always the last to be thought of.
Adaline ArcherPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsThe quiet little girl
When I was just a little girl, 12 yrs old, filled with wonder, braids in my hair that trailed down my bad, eyes wide open, strong enough to challenge the world, so I felt, Id wander off alone in my neighborhood, in a daydream like state of mind, believing I was the star of my movie. I had such a creative mind, in that world, I was a lone wolf, an adventurer, the hero, lol anyone I wanted to be. I lived in a broken neighborhood, where the foundations were built off survival, and tough love, but a love that made you feel like you were a part of a community nonetheless. The aromas of soul food and barbeques still leave a sense of nostalgia when I smell them today. the laughter of adults whom sat outside, filling their lives with small talks and entertainment as the kids played in the streets, racing feet patting against the pavement. the sound of police sirens and helicopters, that remind us why we stick together, and also of the deep brokenness no one was prepared within our community to speak of. As I ventured through this place we called home, through people that called me family, id wave and smile, but my voice was always quiet. I always held my voice, maybe I was too shy, or maybe I was afraid that the many thoughts I had in my head would come flowing out like the sea when it rushes in after a high tide. in my little body, I had so much emotion, so many thoughts, so much energy, and secretly lied a strength and braveness nobody knew. I continued thru the hello's and laughter, till id meet the gate of the community, and step out into what I called another world. I walked until I reach this wooded area of our neighborhood, that had trails and proceed through, I had a favorite little spot where id sit, where a tree had begun to slump over as if it was tired from always remaining strong. I'd lay across this tree smell the cedar and the mixture of freshly cut grass, noticing the caterpillars and birds and other life in these woods, mesmerized by the light casting through the trees, it always felt like I was in another world when I was there. despite the nearby streets, and people walking by. I learned how to shut out the noise and enjoy the silence, maybe I was good at that because I already knew what it felt like to be silent. I started to drift more into this world, and the peace and less into the other, closing my eyes, pretending I was far away from everything, yet still being so close in reality. I opened my eyes startled but the sound of my name being called. my stepdad had been looking for me, I arose silently, inhaled a deep breath of fresh air realizing I was leaving back to reality. I arrived home to the stern Voice of my mothers telling me about going off on my own, and the heavy worry in her voice with the hint of frustration and confusion, for always having to remind me, I stood there silent, wanted to scream my feelings, but not being able too, I felt so misunderstood, my eyes moving side to side as tears filled my eyes, and she continues to scold me till there was nothing left to say, she looked at me, possibly frustrated by my silence, she disliked that I was so quiet, she walked away and I retreated to my room, the only other place where I could be alone with my thoughts, I had some much I wanted to say yet I just couldn't find my voice, more tears came down my cheek, why was I like this, nonmatter the confrontation, or situation, I was just so quiet and reserved. how can someone be so fierce, brave, and not have a voice? I hated it sometimes, I felt prisoner to my mind, as I've watched other kids speak, and were popular and respected because of their outspokenness, whereas I was silent and always challenged. I saw it as their strength but my weakness, at least that's what I thought, I craved for a voice, like them, like my mother who never bit her tongue, maybe that's why I escaped from everyone so much because I was surrounded by people who had a voice while mine was imprisoned in my mind, in in the places I went there was only peace, and there I didn't have to have a voice, but amongst the community most did, and so to them I became known as the quiet girl. To Be Continued...
kieshaPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsThe mystery of the missing shoe.
The thunder and lightning raged above my aunt's house in Cape Girardeau, Missouri as I stepped out of the vehicle, looking scared out of my wits at my aunt's house down the driveway. My other three siblings and I were dropped off there, ready to spend a few days so my parents could attend a funeral.
N.J. FolsomPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsDestructive thoughts
I am angry. I am angry with myself. I could have and I should have had enough courage to tell someone. I should have been more brave. I should have better protected my siblings.
Kirsten Wills-AshlockPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsOld pants for new styles.
These are the confessions of a tomboy; a girl who enjoys activities and most especially clothes associated with boys. For several reasons such as comfortability, affordability, and did I mention, they’re comfortable?
Busi NkosiPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsThe Christmas Cards
I was on fire that night. There wasn’t a thing I could do wrong, not a thing I could say that wouldn’t be exactly what she wanted to hear.
Biff MitchellPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsThe Tales of a Flustering Valentina
Born on January 29th, in a small city in Mexico our heroine burst out from her mother’s womb, 6 hours into labor, ready to face the world. The nurse, overworked and tired, runs out “It’s a boy!” she shouts and returns to clean the baby as the family waiting outside erupts in shouts of joy. Exactly 10 minutes later the attending doctor walks out with a baby girl. With all the corruption in Mexico the family is skeptical and demands to know why they were told the baby was a boy but bring out a girl. The doctors are quick to reassure the family that there were no other babies born on the same day and upon further investigation they arrive to the conclusion that when they picked up the baby she had a bit of poo stuck to her bottom, not to mention she was a little hairy thing, and therefore the tired nurse got confused. Relieved and happy the family decide to name her Valentina, a name meaning bravery and strength, a name for a brave soldier. She has always felt this name was an oxymoron, and that it cursed her to be faced with many embarrassing tales.
Magdaleno JaimesPublished 3 years ago in Confessions