Category Archives: Creative Writing

POETRY CORNER: Different

by Trajan D. Fields

The eyes are on

Me.

As I make my path

To that place my teacher told me to sit.

My Mommy

Told men that I was special,

Beautiful.

There’s a pretty girl in my class,

But even though I hope her eyes will meet with mine

They fall on my shortcomings.

Trapped in a chair with wheels,

That’s what they see in me.

There’s always my big brother

Who helps me get to class.

As he pushes me to the one room

Where I have friends that understand or don’t enough to call me a retard.

I’m slow,

But fast.

I can spell my name.

Like the other kids that pass by me

As they dare not speak to me even though I wave and say “Hello.”

I love my teachers,

Because they ask me how’s my day.

In that moment I fell

Normal.

Like Mommy,

I cry

Not on the outside but on the inside

Because I can’t play the games I watch others play

As they Laugh, and I sit and clap.

But I live and breathe

Like everyone else.

I have a dream,

It comes and goes but never changes.

I walk and read without

Anyone’s help

I Fly,

I’ll make the others want to be me,

Like I long to be them.

I play football and the crowd cheers

For me,

As I make the final touchdown.

Then I get the pretty girl.

But dreams are

For people who can make them possible.

I can do it.

They just won’t give me the chance to try.

I don’t want to cry

I’m a person

Not a prisoner.

I have a heart

Unlike those who don’t want me near them.

I’m Different

Or am I?

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Poetry

Escape is something we all aspire to,

Knowingly or not, we all trap ourselves,

Into that endless box of strife and grief.

Grief. The one word describes all.

Righteous rage and wants denied

Seeded pasts and rage, no peace.

Peace is a word so familiar, yet so unknown,

A word, a paradox, within itself. One man’s peace

Leads to another, sudden death.

Death. Let me tell you all I know about death.

A reaper, a scythe, and things feared. Darkness and

Pain, yet also, the loving embrace of an escape.

Escape, a return to the beginning,

To the sound of laughter and gentle singing

To wings and halos and the voices of angels.

Angels, that I know about. Angels save, and hearts release.

Yet entrap and souls devour.

In a filthy carnage of a disillusioned freedom.

Freedom, that word alone inspires men,

Into reckless slaughter and bloodied hands,

Books written, on the hero’s justice.

Justice. A mockery of the mind, of things.

People choose to be right. One embraces such

Wickedness – why? To search for an escape.

Escape. So again we return, to the beginning, the middle,

And a means to an end. A conclusion you may call it,

Yet a beginning to those who dare.

by Chinelo Anyadiegwu

If you would like to submit your own poetry, personal narratives, short stories, art or photography, contact the Blueprint staff in Room N-22.