Poems
I Have a Dream
I have a dream
That every color,
language,
thought,
and idea
Is treated the same.
There's no discrimination against anyone
Because of their
color,
how they dress,
and their culture.
Where everyone is just a person.
I have a dream
Where people who make art in different
forms aren't shunned.
No picture is turned away
and no composition is left unheard.
Where artists
are considered artists
in any form art is produced.
I have a dream
that no matter how you're dressed,
you're accepted.
Where there's no limit
to expressing yourself with your clothes.
Where everything is in fashion
and nothing is out.
Colors are colors
and no one color has a
negative connotation.
I have a dream
Where people actually forgive
and mean it.
Where there's no wrong
that isn't forgiven,
but isn't forgotten.
Where you make mistakes
that aren't held against you as a reason
to hate the being you are.
Where 'I'm sorry'
still means something
without a speech of reasons
you are sorry and wrong.
I have a dream
of a perfect utopia with unperfect people
that accept their unperfectness and use it to it's best.
Where the unperfectness festers into the perfectness
and ruins it.
Where there's no control over the unperfectness
people have learned to use to it's best.
Where there is violence with selfish reason.
Where you can't come into existence
without being judged.
Where no one's ever really sorry
and no one really forgives them.
Where artists are harshly criticized
for such beautiful work.
Where the style of your clothing somehow matters,
even when they know it's what's on the inside
that counts.
There's one problem with this last dream of mine that's really a nightmare.
The problem with this nightmare
is that it's no dream.
It is reality.
I have a dream
That every color,
language,
thought,
and idea
Is treated the same.
There's no discrimination against anyone
Because of their
color,
how they dress,
and their culture.
Where everyone is just a person.
I have a dream
Where people who make art in different
forms aren't shunned.
No picture is turned away
and no composition is left unheard.
Where artists
are considered artists
in any form art is produced.
I have a dream
that no matter how you're dressed,
you're accepted.
Where there's no limit
to expressing yourself with your clothes.
Where everything is in fashion
and nothing is out.
Colors are colors
and no one color has a
negative connotation.
I have a dream
Where people actually forgive
and mean it.
Where there's no wrong
that isn't forgiven,
but isn't forgotten.
Where you make mistakes
that aren't held against you as a reason
to hate the being you are.
Where 'I'm sorry'
still means something
without a speech of reasons
you are sorry and wrong.
I have a dream
of a perfect utopia with unperfect people
that accept their unperfectness and use it to it's best.
Where the unperfectness festers into the perfectness
and ruins it.
Where there's no control over the unperfectness
people have learned to use to it's best.
Where there is violence with selfish reason.
Where you can't come into existence
without being judged.
Where no one's ever really sorry
and no one really forgives them.
Where artists are harshly criticized
for such beautiful work.
Where the style of your clothing somehow matters,
even when they know it's what's on the inside
that counts.
There's one problem with this last dream of mine that's really a nightmare.
The problem with this nightmare
is that it's no dream.
It is reality.
Stories
The Nazi's All Got Candy- abridged
"I'm TIRED of all you STUPID HONORS KIDS acting like you rule this school. You can't do everything you want anymore! I don't want you to LOOK at my face, or anyone else's. Don't talk, don't laugh, and don't look up. You are going to wear this badge on your upper left arm from now on. Don't you dare take it off. When I call your name you will say, 'Yes sir. You're the best sir. I'm here sir.' "
That is how I was greeted when I walked into Project A on Thursday morning. I was called out of my student council meeting around 7:30. They told us to take up all our books because we wouldn't be coming back. We has no clue this was going to happen and mostly no idea why. After the first shock of being screamed at we were all giggles, but the teacher were all serious. The laughing stopped pretty quickly and soon turned to crying. This is the day we were marked, the day of our Holocaust simulation.
We were split into three groups, the 'good,' the 'stinky,' and the 'neutrals.' We figured out it was holocaust day pretty quickly, btu it didn't deaden the shock of what happened. As we walked down the hall we could hear teachers yelling. Students were crawling, cleaning, scraping, working, counting, standing, holding, shelfing, and crying. The 'stinky' were treated as scum. The teachers went on regular patrols to give the 'good' candy. There were some unmarked people, and they threw in with the 'good' by torturing the 'stinky.' I never saw it, but I heard some unmarked stood up for the 'stinky.' They would've been killed.
In our short, one time, one day, once in a lifetime simulation, there were so many people crying, I was amazed. Crying simply because you have to clean the floor or write an essay seems odd to me. I would NEVER cry over such menial things. Not to mention I wouldn't cry in front of my torturers, it would show them how much it hurt. All it would do is give them satisfaction. When I was tortured, I was mad that they were allowed to do this to my friends and I, but I abided by the rules and hid in the shadows, trying so hard not to be seen.
But then the powers switched. And the power that I was mad at for the others having, was now at my fingertips. I enjoyed it. How could I not enjoy getting lots of candy and not having to clean any of it up? The power was great! But I couldn't stand it inflicted on my friends. I felt bad that they had to work, but I still made them do it. I went along with the flow, but still there was the little person in the back of my mind screaming, "DUDE! THAT IS TOTALLY VISCIOUS! AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY!"
In just one day I learned so much. There are so many weak people in my school who have been raised to easily with no hardships in their way. There are others that are strong and you could tell they had a strong upbringing with many dutire. There are people who love power and want to control everyone's actions. And who am I? Am I weak and pathetic to is basic term? Am I strong and diligent? Or am I powerful and hungry? I am torn in two pieces. I'm strong, unwilling to let anyone else affect how I'm feeling or my ideas of myself. I could be told my whole life that I'm horrible, despicable, unneeded waste of life, and still know deep down I'm not and continue on. I'm not one to be easily pushed around and told what to do. But if I get my hands on even the slightest amount of power, such as the power to make someone get on their knees at my feet and pick up my trash, I'll find the trash for them to pick up in the blink of an eye. When I'm babysitting and the kid refuses to go to bed, I pick them up and lock them in their rooms. With the power to be able to simply tell a kid to go to bed, I abuse it. I believe I would have had the makings of a good Nazi, except for one small thing. Although I love power, I could never enforce it in extremeties on people I don't know. I know what it's like to be bullied because I'm different, and I can't do it.
Mr.Toney's class was the best. It was my first class as a 'good,' a Nazi. I was reunited with my friends who had been taken to work. We talked, ate our candy, and roamed the halls lazily. I was the only one mean enough to throw my trash on the floor when he told us too. During class my friends all stuffed their wrappers in my hands like they were personal notes not to be seen so I could throw them on the floor for them. Someone else could do the deed for them, but they couldn't themselves.
My friends who had worked in other classes were talking about how they were crying and I thought, "What's to cry about? Cleaning the floor? Sitting quietly? Getting yelled at? Getting made fun of and pushed around? " I didn't understand why they would ever cry over something so small, something I'd dealt with my whole life on a nearly day to day situation. I still can't wrap my mind around any reason to cry, to show such a strong emotion about such a small thing. I hadn't seen any reason to cry as Frau put me in front of the class, pointed at me, and told them to insult me in German. I hadn't seen reason to cry when I stood in front of a open window with a fan that pulled the freezing February snow inside onto my bare arms and neck. What I could do, was laugh. I could laugh while Luke's hair was pulled up, while Mr.Helline made Ben, the 6'1'' boy in my class, jump and not be shorter or taller than him, or while Greico did push ups the whole time it took me to go down the hall, go to the bathroom, get a drink, and come back.
As cool and exciting as it was, I don't want to have to go through it again. It wasn't wonderful thing to torture and be tortured, but a one in a life time chance I wanted to keep with me. Tears were shed, lives were changed, perspectives were broadened, and a memory was created that helped us better understand the holocaust. It will never be close to the same thing. I'll never forget those seven short hours and a few otherwise unimportant minutes of my life. It w as the day that everything changed, the day we found our true colors, the day we were marked, the day of our holocaust simulation.
"I'm TIRED of all you STUPID HONORS KIDS acting like you rule this school. You can't do everything you want anymore! I don't want you to LOOK at my face, or anyone else's. Don't talk, don't laugh, and don't look up. You are going to wear this badge on your upper left arm from now on. Don't you dare take it off. When I call your name you will say, 'Yes sir. You're the best sir. I'm here sir.' "
That is how I was greeted when I walked into Project A on Thursday morning. I was called out of my student council meeting around 7:30. They told us to take up all our books because we wouldn't be coming back. We has no clue this was going to happen and mostly no idea why. After the first shock of being screamed at we were all giggles, but the teacher were all serious. The laughing stopped pretty quickly and soon turned to crying. This is the day we were marked, the day of our Holocaust simulation.
We were split into three groups, the 'good,' the 'stinky,' and the 'neutrals.' We figured out it was holocaust day pretty quickly, btu it didn't deaden the shock of what happened. As we walked down the hall we could hear teachers yelling. Students were crawling, cleaning, scraping, working, counting, standing, holding, shelfing, and crying. The 'stinky' were treated as scum. The teachers went on regular patrols to give the 'good' candy. There were some unmarked people, and they threw in with the 'good' by torturing the 'stinky.' I never saw it, but I heard some unmarked stood up for the 'stinky.' They would've been killed.
In our short, one time, one day, once in a lifetime simulation, there were so many people crying, I was amazed. Crying simply because you have to clean the floor or write an essay seems odd to me. I would NEVER cry over such menial things. Not to mention I wouldn't cry in front of my torturers, it would show them how much it hurt. All it would do is give them satisfaction. When I was tortured, I was mad that they were allowed to do this to my friends and I, but I abided by the rules and hid in the shadows, trying so hard not to be seen.
But then the powers switched. And the power that I was mad at for the others having, was now at my fingertips. I enjoyed it. How could I not enjoy getting lots of candy and not having to clean any of it up? The power was great! But I couldn't stand it inflicted on my friends. I felt bad that they had to work, but I still made them do it. I went along with the flow, but still there was the little person in the back of my mind screaming, "DUDE! THAT IS TOTALLY VISCIOUS! AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY!"
In just one day I learned so much. There are so many weak people in my school who have been raised to easily with no hardships in their way. There are others that are strong and you could tell they had a strong upbringing with many dutire. There are people who love power and want to control everyone's actions. And who am I? Am I weak and pathetic to is basic term? Am I strong and diligent? Or am I powerful and hungry? I am torn in two pieces. I'm strong, unwilling to let anyone else affect how I'm feeling or my ideas of myself. I could be told my whole life that I'm horrible, despicable, unneeded waste of life, and still know deep down I'm not and continue on. I'm not one to be easily pushed around and told what to do. But if I get my hands on even the slightest amount of power, such as the power to make someone get on their knees at my feet and pick up my trash, I'll find the trash for them to pick up in the blink of an eye. When I'm babysitting and the kid refuses to go to bed, I pick them up and lock them in their rooms. With the power to be able to simply tell a kid to go to bed, I abuse it. I believe I would have had the makings of a good Nazi, except for one small thing. Although I love power, I could never enforce it in extremeties on people I don't know. I know what it's like to be bullied because I'm different, and I can't do it.
Mr.Toney's class was the best. It was my first class as a 'good,' a Nazi. I was reunited with my friends who had been taken to work. We talked, ate our candy, and roamed the halls lazily. I was the only one mean enough to throw my trash on the floor when he told us too. During class my friends all stuffed their wrappers in my hands like they were personal notes not to be seen so I could throw them on the floor for them. Someone else could do the deed for them, but they couldn't themselves.
My friends who had worked in other classes were talking about how they were crying and I thought, "What's to cry about? Cleaning the floor? Sitting quietly? Getting yelled at? Getting made fun of and pushed around? " I didn't understand why they would ever cry over something so small, something I'd dealt with my whole life on a nearly day to day situation. I still can't wrap my mind around any reason to cry, to show such a strong emotion about such a small thing. I hadn't seen any reason to cry as Frau put me in front of the class, pointed at me, and told them to insult me in German. I hadn't seen reason to cry when I stood in front of a open window with a fan that pulled the freezing February snow inside onto my bare arms and neck. What I could do, was laugh. I could laugh while Luke's hair was pulled up, while Mr.Helline made Ben, the 6'1'' boy in my class, jump and not be shorter or taller than him, or while Greico did push ups the whole time it took me to go down the hall, go to the bathroom, get a drink, and come back.
As cool and exciting as it was, I don't want to have to go through it again. It wasn't wonderful thing to torture and be tortured, but a one in a life time chance I wanted to keep with me. Tears were shed, lives were changed, perspectives were broadened, and a memory was created that helped us better understand the holocaust. It will never be close to the same thing. I'll never forget those seven short hours and a few otherwise unimportant minutes of my life. It w as the day that everything changed, the day we found our true colors, the day we were marked, the day of our holocaust simulation.
