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Poetry Scrapbook

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Poetry Scrapbook - Page Text Content

BC: It's the little things that make life beautiful.

FC: By: Arusha Siddiqa | POETRY SCRAPBOOK

1: 1. Self- Respect 2. Language Arts 3. My Mother;s Kitchen | 4. GSMST 5. Paradise Island | Table of Contents

2: Sometimes I wear my hair up, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I talk too fast, sometimes I won’t. Depends on my mood and how happy I am, I might even scream and shout. It really just depends on me, myself, and I. I’m not (the average) girl who you think I am. And I ain’t some type of beautiful actress. But I learned that however, whatever you look like, you’re beautiful. Because I am the only one of me, Arusha. I’m not a fortune teller, a psychic, or even a poet. My worth is not determined by my looks, but my knowledge. No matter what I will remain the same girl you know, I will always be Arusha.

3: Self- Respect

4: Walking into the classroom, I look around: Posters surrounding every single wall, Vocabulary words plastered along the ceiling, And novels laying on the shelves. The sun shining through the windows creates the mood. The teacher reads the short stories that are to be told. Memories of younger years flash by. Language Arts is the still the same. Only this time, the words are longer. More advanced. The style is greater than any can imagine. Still the same, but so very different. | l

5: A | Language Arts

6: The smell of sweet spices rose into the air. The cake batter was whipped to perfection with care. Topped with a sprinkle of cinnamon as the secret ingredient, The mix was placed into the oven which was very pleasant. Just as relief fills in, a hole is punctured; It slowly empties, breaking the hope that was sculptured. A mess of kitchen items surrounded the countertops: Bowls on the stove, plates in the sink, and whisks at the machine. A gasp fills the sugary smelling area; “What is this clutter? Fix this place up!” said Mother with hysteria. She leaves the muddle looking even crazier than ever. Cleaning looks harder than it was thought to be.

7: My Mother's Kitchen | Looking out the window, a group of birds crowd on the ground. A bright red bird lies still creating no sound. Tears flow down the cheeks of the birds. One last look and they fly away. Distracted by the scene outside, cleaning seems like no big deal. The water runs underneath the dirt with the promise of clean to reveal. One by one, everything is put back to order right as the timer goes off. The cake is pulled out, later to be covered in minty, green frosting. Smiling at the accomplishment, a slice is cut. Tasting the savory bite, a realization occurred; but what? What may be worse may be able to turn out to be nothing when compared. Life is full of ups and downs for everyone, even if it may not appear like it.

8: I remember the first thought that occurred when I first heard GSMST. I remember saying this to myself: “GMTST? GTMST? Wait, what? Ok, it’s Gwinnett School of Mathematics, Science, and Technology.” I remember it took me a while to finally realize it was GSMST. I remember being amazed at the infinite possibilities offered. I remember the walk to the counselor’s office in middle school to get the application. I remember filling out the form, making sure there were no mistakes. I remember my parents driving to the new building to submit the application. I remember that weekend when I was spending time with my family and we decided to drive to the new school. I remember my parent’s happiness when they found out my number had been drawn from the lottery. I remember staying up at night, thinking about my new future at high school. I remember attending all the meetings, seeing all these speeches and lectures. I remember receiving the letter, telling me what materials to buy for STEM.

9: I remember that morning of June 14th. I remember walking through the long hallway to my classroom. I remember the fresh smell of the paint that was newly applied. I remember not knowing anyone, but suddenly making friends. I remember the day of registration and meeting all my teachers. I remember my first day of freshman year. I remember not being used to all this homework. I remember struggling the first few months. I remember taking the initiative to make this year better. I remember recognizing that this school was made to challenge us. I remember working harder each and every day. I remember giving up some freedoms. I remember learning so much in so little time. I remember how much at home I felt here. I remember all the opportunities that were given to me. I remember transforming into a completely different person: a whole different me. | GSMST

10: Lily pads blossom open slowly, revealing their pink and white petals. The river streams down the snowy mountain, down the waterfall when finally it settles. A rainbow touches the bright, blue sky with its beautiful colors. A soft drizzle of rain touches your cheek. Tip tip tip. The meadow is full of daffodils, tulips, and every type of flower except the nettles.. | Slow, melodious songs embrace the air around it. The smells of sweet pastries rise and reach your nose without permit. Taking a succulent bite, you ask for more. Strawberries covered in whipped butter crme with sprinkled chocolate on top. Plates are filled with delicacies until split.

11: Gentle breezes whisper into your ear. The grasses beneath you sing a song of tales of the year. You lay down on a worn-out to perfection blanket. Dusk is soon arriving as the colors of the sky darken. The stars quickly brighten up the area, shining so bright as if it were a world premiere. | Paradise Island

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  • By: Arusha S.
  • Joined: about 7 years ago
  • Published Mixbooks: 2
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About This Mixbook

  • Title: Poetry Scrapbook
  • A collection of original poems by Arusha Siddiqa
  • Tags: None
  • Published: about 7 years ago