BC: ABOUT THE AUTHOR Sean Bradley, born on May 28, 1996, is an American High School Student. Given that he is neither famous, nor successful at the moment, there really isn't anything noteworthy to place here. Yes, I am saying that you wasted your time by reading about someone who isn't even that important! So, get off the computer and do something that will benefit you, like read a book by someone who is NOT Sean Bradley.
FC: POETRY | SEAN BRADLEY | COPYRIGHT MARCH 28, 2012: SEAN BRADLEY AND MIXBOOK | BLOCK 5-6
1: CONTENTS | WHERE I'M FROM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 SELF RESPECT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 MOTHER'S KITCHEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
2: I Come From I am from hardcovers and paperbacks, from Windows and iOS. I am from the pseudo-ghetto. I am from the Pine, the Oak. I am from Hunting Island and brains, from Catherine and Tommy and Bradley. I am from the quirky and fun-loving. From "If it can't be cut off, it's fine" and "You'll survive". I am from McKendree United Methodist Church.
3: I'm from Ireland, Lousiana, and Canada, TV Dinners and Home-Cooked. From the Ones who travelled the world due to an Air Force Father, the One who didn't leave Georgia with his parents to marry whom he loved, and the Ones who stayed fast in tragedy. I am from the Mantle, the Shelves, and the golden shine of morals and love.
4: Self Respect Sometimes I laugh, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I won’t. Depend on friends, I might even smile. It really just depends on Who. I’m not your run-of-the-mill nerd.
5: And I ain’t some number crunching dweeb. But I learned accepting your strengths is good. Because I am intelligent and friendly. I’m not dumb, crude and cold. My worth is not determined by my IQ. No matter what they say, I will always be Sean Patrick Bradley.
6: Mother's Kitchen An electronic scream echoed through the house As a young man drunken with sleep arises From his slumber, he slumps along the Hall, to the Kitchen. There was nothing to greet this man, nothing but An electric light, and the dripping of Coffee In the Machine. Soft noises floated through the Kitchen, that Room of Flavour; a hum of a Fridge, the beeps of a microwave, A dull roar of a chair sliding across the Barren Floor.
7: When, a cry of Fear Echoes through the House. "Ants! Bugs! Argh!" Bangs of hand upon countertop fly around like Gusts of the Midnight Wind. Suddenly, a figure appears from the Shadows Of the Living Room, She came. Some say she can kill you with one single stare, Yet there are no survivors to recall this. "Mom! The bugs are back!" "Hush." THUD And silence took control once more, leaving nothing else, but A Boy and his Mother.