Secrets of Your Life - Other (Song Lyrics)

Secrets of Your Life

Where do you hold the secrets of your life?

Are they hidden deep in the shadows of the night?

Who do you cry to when everything’s gone wrong?

Who will be the one to listen to your song?

What will you do when he asks you to let him go?

How will you discover the things that you don’t know?

The fairy dust is fading and you feel you cannot fly;

The tears want to fall but you just can’t seem to cry.

The secrets of your life are anchoring you down,

Drowning you in the gossamer fabric of your gown,

Suffocating you in the waters of your strife.

Where do you hide the secrets of your life?

You don’t have a Superman to catch you when you fall.

You have to pick yourself back up and keep on walking tall.

Break the chains that hold you back and find out who you are,

Mend the wounds and live for now but don’t forget the scars.

What happened to those simpler days that you used to know?

The dark times, they came to stay and refuse to let you go,

But you fight and you try and you break out of their hold.

Although things are better now, you still feel the cold.

The secrets of your life are anchoring you down,

Drowning you in the gossamer fabric of your gown,

Suffocating you in the waters of your strife.

Where do you hide the secrets of your life?

You can’t return to Neverland where things were just so free.

No matter how hard you try things won’t go back the way they used to be.

So you try to forget and stifle your memories,

But they come crashing back to you like waves on stormy seas.

The secrets of your life are anchoring you down,

Drowning you in the gossamer fabric of your gown,

Suffocating you in the waters of your strife.

Where do you hide the secrets of your life?

All rights reserved. All written work on this page is the sole copyright of the author, username Dani, and may not be reprinted or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. I certify that all work written here is original unless otherwise cited (such as in reference lists, etc.), and is my own. Any questions, comments, concerns, or requests for reprinting can be submitted to bookendreviews@gmail.com for review.

A Meeting of Genius - Poetry

A Meeting of Genius

High in a building, up on the fourth floor

Frost strides in through a wide open door.

“Good evening, my friends!” he calls quite aloud.

“I apologize for my lateness – I met such a crowd

While stopping by the woods this snowy evening.

That road not taken is truly deceiving!

I used it as a shortcut to get here nice and quick

But my horse was delayed for the snow was so thick.”

“Well, that’s quite all right,” Mr. Poe replies.

“Simmer down! Simmer down!” Wordsworth cries.

“Can’t we just enjoy our solitary bliss

For just another moment for something is amiss?”

“What are you speaking of?” asks Emily as the phone rings.

“Aha! I know why the caged bird sings,”

Pipes up Maya Angelou.

“Yes, and in all of my sympathy, I do too,”

Says Paul Laurence Dunbar, quick as a whip

“Hush now! Be nice! I’ll have none of your lip!”

They all quiet down and hear neighs from the stable

Then the great poets gather at Alfred’s round table.

The Wonders of the Word - Other (College Admission Essay)

The Wonders of the Word

I recently found a word that describes me perfectly: logophile. A logophile is classified as a lover of words, and that could not be truer in my case. I love to read, I love to write, I love to play word games, and I just love words in general. I can say words backwards, I often make anagrams of words, and I sometimes play word games to help me fall asleep if I am particularly stressed out. Words have always been my thing, not solely on a word-to-word basis but in how they are combined to convey a message as a whole.

            I wrote my first story when I was five years old. It was about two girls who fight, do not speak for two weeks, and then make up because they both realize they were wrong in their anger. Needless to say, it was not very original. But I wrote it. The words made their way from my brain down my arm and hand and out of my pencil onto the paper, like an electrical wire transmitting a current. My bond with words was, at the time, a baby bird, just waiting and needing to be nourished so it could one day soar.

             Not much longer after I wrote my first story, my older sister received the game Boggle for Christmas. I begged to be included in the game, and my parents explained the rules to me. I was only six years old and really could not play Boggle well. So my parents gave me a handicap: I could jump over letters and all over the board to formulate words. And, instead of the normal one point per four-letter word, they gave me two points. Because of this, my scores were pretty impressive, especially for a six-year-old. My sister would be annoyed if not angry with me for constantly beating her. It did not matter to her that my parents would beat her – my dad especially, as no one could touch him when it came to Boggle – but for her little sister to beat her, well, that was a problem. As I got older, though, I played by the rules. Even now my sister (who is five years older than I) still cannot beat me. Neither can my mother and, very rarely, can my father.

By the time I was ten, I had written countless poems, short stories, and I had even begun to write a novel. I love the look of blank white paper, just waiting to be written on. I love its emptiness, its vastness, and its limitless space that I can fill up with words, my words. Writing is a part of me, and I need it because I have so many ideas upon which I feel the urge to expand.

But it is not the words themselves or the combinations of letter that form the words that mesmerizes me; it is the underlying power of those words. Words are extremely influential. They can incite people to violence, to protest, to stand up for what they believe. And I love the thought that my words too can hold that promise of power. I have the potential to make a difference with what I write, and that causes me to strive all the more to deliver my ideas to people. Even if I do not know them, even if they live across the country, or even in a different country, I can still make a difference in their lives. I can touch their eyes with my words even if I cannot see them. And I think that is an incredible concept: to influence or even to change what people think by sharing my ideas. I can make a difference.

Across a Midnight Ballroom - Poetry

Across a Midnight Ballroom

She wonders if true love truly exists,

If there’s such a thing as love at first sight,

As she searches for a love to hold and to miss,

Looking in fleeting glances stolen through the night.

If there’s such a thing as love at first sight,

He hopes that he’ll find her as he stares around,

Looking in fleeting glances stolen through the night,

Yearning that someone here is the person to be found.

He hopes that he’ll find her as he stares around,

She glimpses at him as quick as a kiss

Yearning that someone here is the person to be found.

Could it be him? She can only wish.

She glimpses at him as quick as a kiss.

He looks back at her, twirling another in desperate plight.

Could it be him? She can only wish.

For the woman’s he with surely cannot be right.

He looks back at her, twirling another in desperate plight.

Dying to dance with her, determination clenches his fists

For the woman’s he with surely cannot be right.

He gazes at her, mesmerized in sheer bliss.

Dying to dance with her, determination clenches his fists,

As she searches for a love to hold and to miss.

He gazes at her, mesmerized in sheer bliss.

She wonders if true love really exists.

All rights reserved. All written work on this page is the sole copyright of the author, username Dani, and may not be reprinted or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. I certify that all work written here is original unless otherwise cited (such as in reference lists, etc.), and is my own. Any questions, comments, concerns, or requests for reprinting can be submitted to bookendreviews@gmail.com for review.

Neverland - Poetry

Neverland

Fly off to Neverland,

Where hearts grow old and dreams stay young.

Adventure into the spirit of childhood,

Dare to do what you wished you had before

Innocence was snatched away

With only a trace of the fairy dust of youth.

Lie down in the land where fairies dwell,

Greedily suckling at the bosom of time.

Forget not what you have learned,

But learn to forget the way you learned it.

Is it a discovery of something new,

Or a loss of something hidden within?

Fly away to Neverland, but never land

Where souls are hidden away and left to wither

In solitude

While the façade of happiness lingers

On a sting of gossamer spells

And fairies’ false enchantments.

All rights reserved. All written work on this page is the sole copyright of the author, username Dani, and may not be reprinted or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. I certify that all work written here is original unless otherwise cited (such as in reference lists, etc.), and is my own. Any questions, comments, concerns, or requests for reprinting can be submitted to bookendreviews@gmail.com for review.

Mocking the Mockumentary - Academic Paper

Mocking the Mockumentary

Christopher Guest has become a living legend and auteur through his humorous documentary-styled fiction films, more commonly known as “mockumentaries.” His list of award-winning pictures includes: Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show, A Mighty Wind, and For Your Consideration. He also starred in and co-wrote This is Spinal Tap. Each film follows a colorful cast of characters as they generally prepare for a final performance and the twists and turns life takes them on along the way. Various actors have parts in more than one of Guest’s mockumentaries, such as Catherine O’Hara, Fred Willard, Eugene Levy, Parker Posey, John Michael Higgins, Bob Balaban, Larry Miller, and several others. Michael Patrick Jann has also tried his hand at mockumentaries with his 1999 film Drop Dead Gorgeous, which follows the antics of the small town citizens of Mount Rose, Minnesota and the quest to win the town’s annual beauty pageant. But someone is out to get the other contestants as several suspiciously die or are injured. The main stars of the film are Kirstie Alley, Kirsten Dunst, Brittany Murphy, Amy Adams, Allison Janney, and Denise Richards. Guest’s overall presentation of the film from scripting to shooting to upholding a true “documentary feel” and the love of his characters make for a far better film, especially in A Mighty Wind,  than Jann’s conspicuous mockery of small-town pageant life.

In the Mirror - Creative Non-Fiction

In The Mirror 

          Have you ever realized that you will never actually know what you look like until you see a picture of yourself? A mirror reflects back an opposite image, not what you really look like. It’s like listening to a recording of yourself. Few people like the sound of their voices, but the way others hear them is not dislikable at all.

            As I stare at the girl in my mirror, I see two bluish orbs encased in white spheres. There is a ring of green gently circling each iris that seems to change with the lighting and what I’m wearing. My eyes are drawn now to the patch of skin between my eyebrows. I’m going to need to tweeze again soon. If there’s one thing that I hate, it’s tweezing.

            My eyes run down my nose. The freckles I developed over the summer are fading. I can’t see the bump that makes my schnoz protrude a bit too far for my liking. I look at my lips. People have told me I have perfect lips. I always thank them, but I’m not quite sure what they mean. I’m not complaining, though.

            I catch my own eye again. I find myself wondering what I look like with my eyes closed. I tilt my head back and lower my lids when I see the few stray, alien eyelashes that always decide to grow out of my eyelids. My mom says I should pluck those, too, but I don’t think I have the patience to do it. I kind of like them, anyway. It adds an extra bit of character.

            My face is pale and heart-shaped. I often joke that I’m the whitest white person you’ll ever meet, that I’m part albino or something. I’m Italian, but I either burn or stay ghostly. I’d rather be a ghost than a fried tomato or a heart that’s too red.

            I notice a few pimples but try not to focus on them. I don’t need to be more self-conscious than I already am. I close my eyes. As I write this, I notice I always come back to my eyes. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, you know. I like my eyes. I love all the little jags and zigzags of different colors in them. In The Princess Bride, Buttercup says that Wesley had “eyes like the sea after a storm.” I’d like to meet somebody with eyes like those. But I digress.

            There is a rare smudge of mascara beneath my right eye. I rub it away. I blink. Smile. See my teeth, straight and white, but not pale like my face. I blink again and stop staring. It’s just me.

All rights reserved. All written work on this page is the sole copyright of the author, username Dani, and may not be reprinted or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. I certify that all work written here is original unless otherwise cited (such as in reference lists, etc.), and is my own. Any questions, comments, concerns, or requests for reprinting can be submitted to bookendreviews@gmail.com for review.

Modern Times for Charlie Chaplin - Academic Paper

Modern Times for Charlie Chaplin

Picture courtesy of Google Images and http://explore.bfi.org.uk/4ce2b9efe2680.

Charlie Chaplin has long been regarded as one of film’s greats, as a person who changed cinema and redefined it by his own means. Many of his movies reflect his exceptional filmmaking in which he is frequently the director, writer, composer, and lead actor. Charlie Chaplin’s comedy Modern Times is no different. In Modern Times, Chaplin provides a poignant social commentary about the socioeconomic conditions many Americans faced during the Depression era presented through the “Little Tramp’s” humorous, sometimes sad, yet always insightful antics. The film also criticizes the upcoming “talkie” movement of film in which dialogue was incorporated into cinema. Chaplin seamlessly combines his criticisms and satire with pure comedy, leaving his unforgettable contributions and mark on the film industry.

Howdy!

Welcome to What's Write For Me, my latest blog filled with my original work. I figured this is as good a time as any to try to get my name and my work out there, and I hope you enjoy! As mentioned in the copyright tab, this work is solely mine and I retain all copyright information of it. If you would like to use my work, please email me at bookendreviews@gmail.com with your request.

Hope you enjoy, and happy readings!