Renovating my Blog

I've decided that I... am going to retire this blog for another. It will be called Strung Hearts to the Young. I want to gear towards a teen-based audience this time around. I am also going to feature good books I read, writing tips, some of my work, and other good junk ^-^ I hope you enjoy my new blog. Sophia

In The End, You'll Still Have a Best Friend

I knew he'd never love me.
Most other's don't.
Now I am pushing forward.
Somehow I can't.... or won't.

Don't let another tear go to waste,
my darling sunshine!
There are brighter stars in the sky whose hearts, to you, they'd gladly sign.

One foot
In front
Of the other

That's the way to go.
I'll hold your hand through it all
Until you're healed by cupid's arrow.

To Alexis Rene, who shines through all of my smiles!

Monster Claws

They are kindled.
                          .
                           .
                            .
                             by a s  i  n  g  l  e     fLiCkErInG     flame.

                          high
Shooting WAY          in the sky.
BURPing colors so untame
it could make the devil cry.

     L     T      R     N
S       I      E      I      G    snakes;

Splurts of ecstasy!;

SPLINTERING stakes;

swirling serenity.

"OOOH's" and "AHHH's"
D
   r
     opped jaws
Patriotism's finest law
They
are
MONSTER CLAWS

A Plate of Sunshine by Sophia Manco

A Plate of Sunshine...
What does it mean?
Captured rays of beauty,
or rather... a glorious gleam.
A Plate of Sunshine...
is there one for me?
Of course there is, child!
Believing is the only way you will ever see.

A Plate of Sunshine,
A Dash of Dew,
A Sprinkle of Love,
One for me,
One for you.

Enchantress

Leathery fingers reach to swipe stray hairs clinging to her moist forehead.
Her knuckles oddly pertrude, like triangles from her hand.
It looks like the skin surrounding them could rip or peel cleanly apart at any given moment.
In the waxy tissue crawls streams of ocean.
They look as cloudless as her eyes.
Her nails are a sour gold.
She has a sagging tattoo of a dainty fairy on her wrist.
The old woman starts to scratch a filmy substance off of her front teeth, and pauses tensly when she sees me darting strange expressions her way.
I sense a strange aura tracing her bulgy body, almost magical.
I imagine she is an enchantress with a dragon spiraling her ankle and viles of unicorn saliva in her purse.
She stays in a cottage made of smooth brown sand stones...
or maybe a cave with gleaming blue goo dripping from the walls.
She has countless reaserch papers among books and samples and poitions and instruction manuals piled... wherever she lives.
The enchantress must hide in this aged avatar(in fear of being seen as a "witch"), wearing the cloth of the enemy:
A purple silk skirt, green cotton cami, and obviously faux leather sandles.
Her figure rises, draging with the weight of age, from the chair, sharply waves to a lady who could be my mother's age, and follows her. She has taken her dragon hoisted onto her leg, her purse with viles of unicorn saliva, her colorful aura... and the enchantress.

Golden Gates (My first attempt at Impressionism)

My dad, an artist, suggested I take a try at impressionism. He described impressionism as giving the reader many details to gradually construct only a frame of the important picture. Inspired, I took a spin at it. I've never read real impressionism, maybe I should, but this is what I believe it to be... What do YOU think I am portraying?

Shadows of antique paper lanterns,

crochet doilies,
dirty fish scales,
bending white lights,
an earthy bead curtain invites the splotchy sun.
More filthy fish,
tails thrashing.
Tons of fish in a cramped tank.
Stained flowers watch customers...
slurping, chewing, pausing.
Warm,
hearty,
humble sensations.
Rice sticks everywhere, even in the clumsy english.
"Truth is more powerful than time."

   Poem and picture by Sophia Manco

Let Me In

You mournfully wait in silence to hang you worries on the crescent moon, but nobody will lend you the silver ribbon.
I 'll never feel what you do, I wish I could relate.
You don't have to hide behind a mask anymore, please...
Let me in.

When you try to hurt yourself, you hurt the people who love you too.

......
One of those people is me.

Would you like a shoulder to cry on?

Here, just let me help you... but

.

Let me in.

It's not your fault.

You don't have to blame anyone,

but if anyone...

blame him.

He hurt you, I hate him for that.

He hurt your mom, too.

Why won't you talk to me about this?

Let me in.

For my dear M.H.
Picture and poem by Sophia Manco
Song for this post is Bottle it Up by Sara Bareilles