Night by Allison C.

In the night
Strange things can happen
If you don't pay attention
Your life could change forever
For night does have a way
Of messing with your mind
Bringing out all your fear
The longer you stay in its reign
For strange things do tend to happen
In the night

Anger by Otto R.

Anger is my worst enemy in this world of ours. I easily get angry over stupid things. It has driven me to a point where I don't feel like talking to friends. It is eating away at the very center of the way I feel. I don't understand where this anger comes from. The only thing I can think that it comes from is my parents' anger. The anger I hold is just unbearable. Too much for me to contain. I just want to violently rip things apart tearing and shredding, down to pits and pieces, screaming and hollering at the top of my lungs, shattering the perception of my very soul. One thing I know I draw my anger from is feeling I accomplished something. Like I did something that no one has done yet. I feel delighted, and happy. Then I see some other average person did what I had. My whole feeling of doing something is gone. Broken. Into the millions of pieces that can never be picked up. Gone. Forever. It leaves me internally scared and angry. For eternity. Always.

Mama by Kaitlin B.

Mama, Mama I can’t find you. Always whenever you come to see me, you tell me these people aren’t my mom’s; they are just people and that I need to respect them, these people. But they aren’t my mother, you are, you tell me that you will come back soon. How soon is soon? Mama, where do you go? Where are you? These people, Mama, they're mean, haggy and old, no one really cares about me. Do you even care, Mama?

I remember Mommy; she is young and pretty, with dark hair and pretty green eyes. The picture, the only picture of my mama is the one that I have saved in my head. My only memory. Mama, she was the kindest lady you’d ever met, she had a wonderful personality that Mama did. These ladies that were my foster moms never had anything on Mama, sleeping in the tiny attic of the rickety old house, just like that stupid old wrinkly lady. Lovely pretty Mama who doesn’t know me. Who never comes to visit me. Who never cares about me. Who will never ever love me.  My mama won’t.

Even after all this time Mama doesn’t love me. I thought that maybe someday she would remember me and come to save me. But no, Mama leaves me all alone. I have never had any people who have ever loved or  cared about me. Nor will any other people will look at me with loving eyes or caring eyes and not even sympathetic eyes. Eyes of nothingness. 

Disposable Heroes by Visaya P.

We all have heroes in our lives
As we look upon them we see the torch being passed
One to another
And so when once the hero of the day has passed on his dreams, wishes and legacy, the hero is disposed of.
The hero marches to the front of the line and gets ready for the death of all his processions.
The heroes say their last words then crumble to the ground
And the process repeats.
But usually after the mourning and the funeral of the hero. They're off to find a new hero, a hero of the day,
One that shall see hope and prosperity and the road of his life has been laid down in front of him.

Depression by Otto R.

The very cold and bitter feeling of depression is a nasty thing. People get depressed because they are either lonel, or just had a bad life. Usually it's someone dealing with death, or family murder, or sights they cannot un-see. Despair is the worst emotional feeling you can have.  It's a chilling place and state of mind where your internal organs are just black clumps of coal, and all you want to do is fall into the spiraling black-hole to end all of your misery. In Hemingway's story, "A Clean, Well Lighted Place," the old man portrayed this type of despair very well.

Imagine what this old man was going through. He attempted to end his own life. A permanent solution to a temporary situation. Depression is something you can control. It’s a choice whether or not you are depressed. You may sit around at first and then end up spending your nights at a café drinking. The solution is to get out and do something and just let yourself live. If the old man had attempted to make conversation with the waiters, the older waiter and the old man could have conversed with similar outlooks and he could have gone home with a more positive attitude and a successful acquaintance.

Depression is a never-ending hallway; it reaches its hands out to grab your soul into its realm for eternity. At that moment you have to decide which route to take. Either let the cold wrinkly hands take you so you can spend your days cooped up clutching a bottle or crying. The other route? Endless possibilities to push the cold hands back from whence they came.