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

The Man

In the metallic darkness see myself. My reflection is hunched over; this illusion allurs me... like the rain to the earth below my feet.
I suddenly wonder if he thinks I am trying to join eyes with him. I feel self-conscious, he must think I'm desperate. For attention. For a smile. For a glace over the sholder.
Why am I so focused on his sunglasses, or what he thinks of me? I should get home, my hair is soaked. I'm shivering in the cold, but he doesn't offer me his umbrella.
His strides are swift and precise. Admiring. I don't find the courage in myself to look up from my miserable, beat-up Converse. Will he even acknowledge the pathetic teenage girl leaning against a craftfully grafittied brick wall that I call "Me"? He's a man.
Obviously, he has places to be, people to see. I wish one of those people could be me. He's a wonder. I wonder if he is smart, I bet so. I wonder what color his eyes are. He's beautiful. I wonder if he's married. Oh God, there's a ring on his finger. A wave of mixed emotions rush over me. I feel guilty, sorry for his wife, but also jittery. The butterfly's wings erupt into a patter, I feel h-a-p-p-y.... and light enough to walk on clouds.

Little did I know this man would play a huge role in my life.

Picture and short story by Sophia Manco
Song for this post is Love Would Do by Jason Mraz

Math Class

I was extremely bored in Alegbra class last Friday, so I pulled out a notebook and started writing down things I heard. If you are even interested, here ya go!

"X^2 times x^2.  Isn't that right here? Properties of exponents. Okay, problem number nineteen. But again, if you're confused, use the F.O.I.L. method. 2 times the first term times the second term. 4y^2+4y^2. Any other questions on that side?"
"Can you do problem 21?"
"Multiply the numerators, multiply the denominators. 2 times the two terms multiplied together. Or in other words: 2 times 2 equals 4. 4 times 4 equals 16. Put in descenting order, and see that the second term in a negative?"
"The middle terms will ALWAYS cancel out. x times x, y times y. So finally, I get x squared+4x+-4x+-16. The middle two cancel out because a negative plus a positive is a ZERO! That's the answer. Product, you're going to multiply. -1 times a positive 1. There's the next answer. Again, I'm just picking certain ones."

Side conversations:
"Have you ever tried melting Starbursts in a microwave?"
"No, but I've put a cactus in a blender before!"
"Are you gonna turn that in Alex?"
"Oh yeah, sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
"Eli, QUIT!"

Yeah, so basically, it's my least favorite part of the day. Blah, blah, blah, poor Sophia, right? Well, whatever. Skip you. (: Hey, Mr. Gatson can turn any kid from this:

to this:
 I wish I could just tell him how bad his class is. His Jamacian accent is so annoying, he rambles on..and on..and on.., AND HE HATES ANSWERING QUESTIONS! What a great teacher! *In case the sarcasm didn't come across the screen, it is intended to be inserted here.*
Anyways, if you have had any bad teacher experiences, share them below. Spring Break is really making me appreciate my home life..... aaaaahhhh. *That was a sigh of relief, not a poorly capatalized scream, by the way*
Song for this post is Lollipop by MIKA

He and I

I saw us. He and I, spread out near the rumbling waters. We were laughing, hearts reflecting the sun.
I remember what happens next.
She, with her dark, tumbling hair and cotton dress sat on the other side hiding behind a spindly tree...gilded eyes bore into me.
I felt her stare, he did as well. We didn't know who she was... or so I thought.
His face became solemn, he called out her name. She started to rise from her place.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she began to flit away. Her ran after her, screaming to her, pleading for her to return. They disappeared into the forest, and I was left behind.
 Intensity rolled down my face.
Short story and picture by Sophia Manco
Song for this post is I Will Follow You Into the Dark by DCFC