Thanks Nelson

Another poem with Lauren Wright, a tribute to Nelson, slam team and all things poetry.


L+M I heard my first poem sitting in the back of the classroom, head down, eyes shut, mind on something else.

L This is about passion
M this is about writing about a boy 17 times
L+Mand the stars well, we'er still writing about those.

L+MI've memorized my favorite poem line by line, hoping that one day I will be able to write something just as beautiful.

L since I was four years old i wrote everything I could down, how I felt, how much my brother bothered me, how I loved the ocean.

M i have a dozen journals half full of untold stories only my heart knows how to read.

L There are poems that live in the corners of my mind fighting their way onto paper
L+M but no one that will listen.
L but he was there
M and so were we

L every Tuesday we wore our hearts on our sleeve
M the other day someone asked me what that stain was
L+M we told him Tuesdays were cancelled.


M and we never got out t-shirts

L+M Tuesdays were our
therapy sessions
life lessons
late night confessions

L and my mom can't get that stain out
M and she doesn't understand why we care so much

L+M I wrote poetry on my heart on my heart in permanent marker and it only took 4 days for the dry cleaners to get it out

M we learned to embrace messy handwriting an chaotic thoughts because it meant we had something to say.

L+M my math teacher taught me y=mx=b but words seem to be the only equation that solved nothing but emotions

M thank you to the boy i wrote about 17 times, you gave me a reason to write

L thank you to the boy who told me didn't love me, i figured out i loved writing more than I loved you

M Paris was more than just a metaphor
L more than just a place to go on Tuesdays during lunch
M and more than just blog posts on Sunday nights

L+M we never wrote to get into the top 5

L writing got me through the break up
M writing got me through the divorce
L+M writing got me through high school and we couldn't have done it without you

thanks nelson

It's been a while

For years I picked up my mothers heart off the bathroom floor, promising myself I would never give away mine so easily.
I've convinced myself out of love one too many times.
I told myself lets forget about the stars and the moon and the way he made you feel.
 but one time in the eighth grade I kissed a boy on a bridge, and my friends told me "now that is love."
I've always been the type that sticks around too long and feels uncomfortable when its time to say goodbye.
I don't give away I love you as easily as I say hello, but I told this boy I wanted to love him.
I told this boy I wanted to love him, but he had already met love before.
 He shook her hand and told her
"It's nice to finally meet you, i've heard a lot about you."
I was afraid i'd hid behind metaphors and words for far too long "I love you" sounded a little bit like
" Drive safely"
I promised myself I wouldn't write about love anymore.
but I was born on a waxing crescent moon with 32% visibility and I think that says a lot about who I am today.
I've never been the type to stick around long enough to say " I love you."
68% of my soul was always in hiding
so I think he would be understanding if he knew I paid the moon to hide the night we spent under the stars.
I promised myself I wouldn't write about love anymore but I want to remember this.

I want to remember swallowing I love you and reminding you to drive safely.

Grace Sarah - Underwater | Sofar London

It's nice to meet you

Creative writing 2, I have been waiting for you.
I say this to you with my deepest regrets but i'm just not ready for you.
I think thats because I haven't written anything i've been proud of in a really long time.

but here is to introductions and second chances

My name is Malia and I hate telling people that, no one really understands what I am saying. You would think after 17 years I would have learned how to pronounce my name in a way people could understand.
I like to laugh and smile, and make people laugh and smile.
I like rock climbing and hope to be able to travel all over the world doing it.
I am impressed really easily and say almost everything is my favorite thing.
I feel like I cant write anymore and I have no idea why.
Sorry to disappoint you but I don't really have much to say.

paris syndrome

I think Paris has finally gotten to me. I can't seem to think of what to say anymore. I hope I find you soon Paris.

xoxo Malia

See you soon, Paris

Right now it would take me around 13 hours to fly to paris and $1,228. I'm 5,063 miles away from a place that i've never been too.

 I have to say goodbye to a place I call home, that we call home. I think it is only fair we share some "real talk" before we leave.

Nelson, thank you for not teaching us how to write short stories or whatever. I've learned more in one semester of creative writing, than I did in any math class. Thanks Nelson.

Ive written about the same boy in 7 different poems, he said goodbye long before I did. I can't decide if that is therapeutic or pathetic.

I am really bad at goodbyes, so i'm sorry if I don't know what to say.

Humans are important and what they have to say is important too. I don't always appreciate people and their words,  but I think everyone is good at writing in their own way.

I think everyone deserves an award for surviving high school.

Im tired of love poems, but that is the only thing I can write about.

Sometimes I thought paris was a little too crowded.

I didn't expect anyone to enjoy my blog but to those of you who did, I just want to thank you for inspiring me.
 I want to thank all of creative writing for showing a little piece of who you truly are. We don't see that often around here.
 So here is to Paris, for being there when I needed you, for letting us visit. I hope we can visit soon,

see you around.

I remember this house

I remember this house
with perfectly symmetrical windows and sign out front that said "Best yard of the month."

There was this house
It had walls too big to fill with picture frames and an entry way that saw too many goodbyes.

There was this house
my room was pink and filled with empty promises, the room next to me was blue.
There is a room downstairs filled with nothing but a fireplace thats never been lit, but I can feel the heat.

There was this house
with a sign out front that says "for sale" but gives no detail about why that left window is a little crooked.

There was this house
it gave off the vibe of everything is perfect but there is a sign out front that says "just wait until you see inside"

There was this house
and there were 2,190 days worth of words that bounce off the walls, an everyday reminder of the crack that went right down the middle.



I remember this house
and it feels like home.