Goodbye.

Thank you.
Thank you for two years of incredible memories.

Of skilled rap battles.
Of snuggie debates.
Of thought provoking Big Questions.
Of speculations concerning 'The Moffat Man'.
Of a duel over 'Clueless' and 'Tommy Boy'.

Of hilarious anecdotes.
Of personal stories.
Of shared confessions.
Of honest opinions.

Of "horrible" music.
Of "I didn't write on topic"'s.
Of too many swear words.
Of so many creative minds.

Of tears.
Of laughter.
Of friends.
Of family.

Haskalicious, Room 33, Creative Writing classes of 2009-2011,
I love you.
And I will never forget you or the impact you have had on my writing.
On my life.
On me.

Thank you, for everything.

Bri :)

Stunned.

When I walked back into room 33 this year, I too believed it would be just like last year.
A family.
A home away from home.
I was naive.

Very few people took this class for genuine reasons. For most it was all fake.
An easy A.
A place to talk with their friends.
Purely selfish reasons.

Room 33 has turned into just another class.
A place for people to do the minimum amount of work,
share their writing, and kick back and ignore everyone else.

It literally makes me cringe to see the 'don't give a shit' attitude that some people plaster on their faces like a mask.
They don't care about this class, or the people in it.
Their text, is more important.
Their topic, is easier to write on.
Their conversation, is dire.

Everyone in this class deserves respect. They deserve to be listened to.
I always listen to the stories someone takes the time to write.
I always clap after people are done sharing, even if that means pushing aside my own writing and putting my pen down.
Because that's what families do.

But, then again, we aren't a family.
We're a class.
An easy A.
A cop out.
A disappointment.

Bri.

Prom.

Dear asshole at prom,

Thanks for leaving your super pointy and sharp lollipop stick on the ground. It totally didn't stab the side of my foot. And my foot totally doesn't hurt now thanks to you.

                                                                                    Sincerely,
                                                                                             Bri.


*Other than that prom was okay. The music they played wasn't really my taste, but overall I'm glad that I went :)

Graduation.

Thirteen years.
Thirteen years of memories, of laughter, of tears, of hard work.
Thirteen years of broken pencils, of school projects, of lost assignments.
Thirteen years of first kisses, of crushes, of breakups.
Thirteen years of best friends, of enemies, of favorite teachers.
Thirteen years of learning, living, and growing up.

I will never forget those thirteen years.
Of crying silently the first day of kindergarten.
Of meeting my best friend in sixth grade.
Of driving around with my brothers and best friends, listening to 'Jet'.
Of saying goodbye to elementary school on May 29th, 2007.
Of entering high school, expecting it to be more than it turned out to be.
Of abandoning my morals and values when I was a sophomore.
Of losing two important people in my life when I was a junior
Of finding out who I am as a senior.

In one month, these last thirteen years, will be over.
I'll say goodbye to my tidy locker.
To my family in room 33.
To life as I know it.

These thirteen years will be a thing of the past, but I will never forget.

List No. 3

1. I hate watching sports, mostly because I feel bad for the team that loses.
2. I love makeup (specifically MAC cosmetics) but I hate getting up to put it on for school.
3. I ALWAYS have at least one book with me, there are currently 3 in my purse.
4. I have a bad habit of pursing and licking my lips.
5. I rarely drink soda, pretty much all I drink is water.
6. I hate plain milk and orange juice.
7. When I was little, I used to hide behind the couch at "scary" parts in movies. Like in Matilda when Trunchbull jumped from the second floor to the first floor. Scary!
8. I cry at pretty much any movie: Toy Story 3, Moulin Rouge!, Titanic, even some of the Harry Potter movies.
9. My role models are my parents, Sarra Manning, and J.K. Rowling.
10. I eat cough drops like candy.
11. I love Christmas lights a little too much.
12. I have eight miniature tea sets that belonged to my grandmother.
13. Most of the jewelry I own was once my grandmother's.
14. I loved Billy Gilman songs when I was little. I don't listen to him anymore, but I could probably still sing along with him if you played any of his songs for me.
15. I desperately want my own apartment.
16. I'm very outspoken once you get to know me well enough.
17. I have 5,621 pictures saved on my computer.

Your turn :)

Bri.

Blank.

I honestly can't think of anything much to blog about.
I'm sleepy and I want to read, so I'm going to post some pictures that I like, I'm becoming obsessed with Tumblr ;)











Now I'm off to read :)

Bri.

Monster.

You are the big bad wolf.
And I'm clearly little red riding hood.
The dumb, stupid, naive fool who continues to bolt straight to you.
No matter the circumstances.
No matter the consequences.
I skip along, oblivious to the world around me.
You crouch, your sharp claws and ferocious teeth bared.
You're ready to eat me whole.

And I'm letting you.

Bri.

Me.

1. I sometimes put makeup on at 3 in the morning, even though I'm not going anywhere.
2. Very few people have seen me when my hair is natural and not straightened.
3. I LOVE cleaning my room
4. I quote movies a little bit too often.
5. I've never been camping, but am finally going this Summer :)
6. I dislike meat, but I'm not a vegetarian
7. I'm hardly shy, I'm actually really loud and obnoxious.
8. I consider myself an insomniac... that or a vampire.
9. I spend A LOT of time with my family.
10. My bestest friend is Nicole Leanne Coburn.
11. I feel bad giving away stuffed animals.
12. I recently learned to sew and am now learning to crochet.
13. I desperately want to learn French.
14. My favorite movies are Moulin Rouge, Marie Antoinette, Burlesque, Sucker Punch, and Amelie.
15. My favorite tv shows are Gilmore Girls, Degrassi, Sex and the City, Golden Girls, My Fair Wedding, and Gossip Girl.
16. My favorite author is Sarra Manning.
17. I have a wall in my room dedicated to Audrey Hepburn.
18. I enjoy spending my weekends singing, dancing, and watching movies.
19. My phone is hardly EVER turned on.
20. I prefer older music to new music.
21. I like lists.

Your turn. :)

Bri.

Courage.

You can knock me down.
You can crush my dreams.
You can taunt and tease.
You can pretend you're the winner.

But you're not.
And I am not your victim.

I will get right back up.
I will venture forward boldly.
I will ignore harsh criticisms.
I will not lose.

I can't.
I refuse to be your victim.

Slam.

I honestly just love being taken advantage of.
And I love being ignored.
And I love being told to 'Shut up!'
And I love having people bail on me.
And I love going out of my way to be nice to you.
And I love getting my hopes up only to be let down.
And I love getting hurt over and over again.
And I love being a doormat to everyone, even people who don't know me.
And I love making plans only to have them canceled on me.
And I love the fact that you constantly:

Insult,
Harass,
Tease,
Yell,
and,
Hurt me.

But y'know what I love even more than all of that?
The fact that I can choose how to react.
I love screaming until I'm heard.
And I love spitting back, 'No, you shut up!'
And I love putting you in your place.
And I love being a bitch to you when you deserve it.
And I love having the ability to move on.
And I love letting you know exactly how much you've hurt me.
And I love slamming the door in your face, and not being something you can stomp on.
And I love making new plans, ones that don't involve you.
And I love the fact that I will always be:

Stronger,
Kinder,
Sweeter,
Nicer,
and,
Better...

Than you could ever even hope to be.

Bri.

Magic.

Ever since I can remember, I've been head over heels in love with one place.
Disneyland.
Frequenting it since I was three, I now consider it a second home.
I can spurt out random facts about every ride.
I can show secrets you didn't know existed.
I can spend forever there and never get bored.

Everything about Disneyland, is magical.
Lights sparkle, music swells, souls soar.
Life doesn't seem so complicated when you wander down Main Street.
Balloons sway in the breeze. Sweet aromas fill the air. Smiles and giggles echo everywhere.
You can forget about your worries and your strife and just be happy.

Tomorrow, after school, I'm going home.
Then and there I will:
"Leave today, and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy."
And once again, I'll be a part of the magic.

Bri.

Everything I'm Not.

Maybe I am a loner.
Maybe I don't have many friends.
Maybe I am boring and
annoying and
weird.

But it sure is a lot better than what you are.
Which is shallow.
Conceited.
Narcissistic.
Cruel.
Rude.
Inconsiderate.
And so much more.

Maybe I am a "nobody" as you call it.
Maybe I do spend too much time at home and with my family.
Maybe I do prefer books and writing and sewing.
Maybe I am everything you're not.

But I'd rather be a nobody than
A slut.
A party-goer.
A drunk.
A stoner.
A complete and utter mess.

I'd rather be single than fool around with boys who use me for sex.
I'd rather be with my family who loves me than with friends who only like me.
I'd rather be anonymous than someone who people only know because of rumors.
And I'd definitely rather be the person I am than someone like you.

Because you're cold.
And mean.
And hard to be around.

So, go ahead.
Call me whatever you want.
Try and make yourself feel better.

But while I'm off being happy with who I am.
You'll be alone.

Loathing the person you are.

Bri.

Head vs. Heart

My head knows that this is wrong.
The little voice in the back of my head is constantly there.
Nagging me, warning me, convincing me.
"Don't do this, this is practically suicide. You're just asking for trouble."
And yet, I ignore it.
Every. Single. Time.

My heart wants this more than anything.
The hummingbird heartbeat pounding behind my ribs is constantly there.
Exciting me, worrying me, tricking me.
"You want this, it's worth the pain. You won't regret this."
And my heart wins.
Every. Single. Time.

Bri.

Melancholy.

I've hated high school from the very first day.
Days were too long, classmates too loud.
All I wanted was to escape, finish as fast as I could & get out.
That's true.

But I can't say that I regret these 4 years here.
Because I don't.
4 years is a long time.
And in those 4 years, growth is inevitable.

I am not the same girl who entered through those green double doors.
4 years ago, I was naive, lost, scared.
I had absolutely no idea who I was or what I wanted.
I was clueless.

Freshmen year taught me not to waste my time on high school boys, they just break your heart.
Sophomore year taught me that it's okay to break rules, just as long as you don't break your beliefs in the process.
Junior year taught me to work hard, and never settle for less than what I deserve.
Senior year is teaching me to accept the past, learn from it, and continue onwards.

I've waited for high school to end from the very first day.
And in 3 more months, it will.
And when it does, I'll have to say goodbye.

To friends.
To favorite teachers.
To crowded school hallways.
To life's simplicity.
To my former self.

Because once I walk through those green double doors for the last time,
my life here, and my life as her.
Will end.

Bri.

Dreams.

Escape from this dimension and venture into another.
One so mysterious, so enigmatic, so captivating...
That you never want to wake from it.
Dreams.

In dreams, nothing is impossible.
You can fly high above clouds.
You can sink below the depths of the sea.
You can discover your soul mate.
You can bring back the dead.

I dreamt of you.
Out of 6 billion people, I dreamt, of you.
That smile, that laugh, those warm arms.
And for once, everything fit.
Everything fell into place.
You made me feel more alive than I do even when awake.

I was happy, blissfully so.
Surrounded by people I know and love.
Surrounded by you.

My eyes fluttered open.
My ceiling fan's blades circled round and round.
My heart raced with a feeling I've never had.
My mouth was upturned in a euphoric, girlish smile.

It may have only been a dream.
It may have not been true.
It may well be that we will never meet again.
But at least I'll always have this memory.

Bri.

Crushed.

Don't do this to yourself.
Don't slip now.
Not when you're so close.

Don't fall for it.
Don't let those eyes fool you.
Not this time.

Don't let this one in.
Don't let it get out of control.
Not when you've been hurt so many times before.

I recognize that old familiar feeling.
I remember those butterflies.
I remember that skipping heart.
I remember that uncontrollable smile.
I remember those wishful thoughts.

And all those will do...
Is get your hopes up,
hurt you,
disappoint you.

Don't do this yourself.
I've been down this road before.
And it's a dead end.

Bri.

Lies.

Your voice: Scratchy like sandpaper, calloused.
That's what is etched in my brain.
Hooked to each dark cavern of memories.
It's the most noticeable.

More shocking than any sight.
More repulsive than any taste.
More poignant than any smell.
More hurtful than any touch.
Anything I've ever experienced.

Because your voice tells the truth.
Even when your words don't.
And I know... that you're lying.
Just like you like always have.

Just like you always will.

Bri.

Paris.

I've flipped through those crisp white pages.
Allowing the intoxicating imagery to satisfy me.
The scent of fresh baguettes, the feel of cobblestone streets.
The special sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower.

I've surrounded myself in its art.
My room full to its brim.
A vintage Parisian picture, a metal Eiffel Tower statue.
A black and white photo of the Moulin Rouge.

I've dreamt of my inevitable, someday journey there.
Those hopes, wishes, and dreams quickly becoming goals  I must fulfill.
To take dozens of artsy pictures, to see the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
To live and experience.

France.
The Eiffel Tower.
The Moulin Rouge.
The Seine River.
The Louvre.
Montmartre.
Notre Dame.

Paris.
The city of lights.
The city of love.
The city of me.

Bri.

Writer.

"You know you’re a writer if your work clothes are mostly sweat pants and pajamas."-Kathryn Smith


"You know you are a writer if everyone has told you that you’ll never get published and you keep writing."-Julian Padowicz

"You know you’re a writer if you can’t remember some of the plot details of the book you just released because you’re so engrossed in writing the next one."-Chris Knopf

"You know you’re a writer when you walk around in the zone, open to believing that every person is a potential character, and every object suggests a metaphor."-Pegi Deitz Shea

"You know you’re a writer when you are not writing with pen to paper or with fingers to keys, you are writing twenty-four /seven in your brain because everything around you becomes a story."-Donna-Marie Cooper O’Boyle

"You know you’re a writer if your friend tells you a heartbreaking story and your first reaction is – wow, that would make an incredible plot for a novel. You know you’re a smart writer if you manage to keep that reaction to yourself."-MJ Rose

"You know you’re a writer when every moment of every day you turn whatever you are facing at the moment into a short spurt of prose or poetry in your head, including your dreams, and it has become so commonplace that you have stopped writing things down and bemoan the loss of them later as the story or poem idea that would have wowed your readership, as if you had a readership because you are, after all, a writer."-Faith Vicinanza

"You know you are a writer if every overheard remark becomes a beginning of a story, if  what you glimpse from the corner of your eye triggers a vignette, if you awake in the morning wondering what the characters in your novel are going to do today, if something you read  evokes a memory you can use in your writing, if all of life is about making connections that help you understand who you are, well then, indeed you are a writer!"-Claire Vreeland

Bri.

Insecurities.

   Impure. Tainted by filthy hands. By harsh words. By the world.
                        You're not you anymore.

   Molded into this clay creation. Shape shifter of body & mind.
                    Porcelain doll threatening to crack.
                
   Insecurities running deep in you like a river.
                Wild, strong, never faltering.

   All the way down to the roots.
           The very core of you.

   That's where you're trapped, stuck.
      Asleep inside this tomb of  a life.

   Wake up from this fantasy.
         Wake up...



Bri.