♡ my poems and songs ♡

[sanasideup]

damn dude, that hits.

thank you~

 

[sanasideup]

i've been watching a lot of slam poetry lately, so i tried my hand at doing some of my own. i really like it, and i think i prefer this style over the traditional poetry style. i'm also kinda thinking of doing a "if i were..." series like, "if i were a man," "if i were smart," etc), so lmk what you think~

If I Were Straight...
If I were straight, I'd walk with a little less fear of hate.
If I were straight, I'd hold my partner's hand and kiss their lips without the threat of fetishization or the wrong estimation that we are only friends.
If I were straight, I'd be honest with my father that someone else's daughter will be the one to have my hand.
If I were straight, I'd conversate with men and be comfortable in my skin without the fear that because of the body I'm in they think it's okay to touch without permission and follow a secret mission to get inside my pants.
If I were straight, maybe I would've been the golden child, suffered beatings a little more mild instead of them hitting the gay away.
If I were straight, I never would've been outed and fought with adults who pouted because I'm not what they wanted.
If I were straight, I'd have all my right and I wouldn't have to fight to be treated with basic respect instead of being told to forget about any illusion of equality I might've once had.
So if you are straight, you should be thankful.
If you are straight, you should be grateful.
If you are straight, you should praise whatever deity gets you off because you do not have people scoff at you for simply being yourself and loving who you love because that is who you are and how you deny it - yet I am expected to and how is that fair?
If I were straight, I'd walk with a little less fear of hate.
​

 

[X-traGayGirl]

BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!

 

[sanasideup]

BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!

ty~

 

[sanasideup]

wrote this in creative writing. i'm unhinged

"Hello, Cookie Monster," Elmo said. "What are doing today? Elmo is baking cookies."

"Cookies!" Cookie Monster cheered. "I love cookies. What kind?"

"Chocolate chip," Elmo said.

"Ooh, those are my favorite!" Cookie Monster exclaimed.

"Well, you can't have any," Elmo said. "Elmo is baking them for Gina. It's her birthday."

"Oh," Cookie Monster replied sadly. "Maybe I could have just one, or two, or... a dozen?"

"Nuh-uh, no way," Elmo retorted. "These are for Gina."

After arguing for a few minutes, Elmo and Cookie Monster finally agreed that Cookie Monster could have two cookies, and they would give the rest to Gina. Cookie Monster would also mix the dough up, and Elmo would roll the dough into balls and place them on the baking sheet. As they were working, Elmo turned to Cookie Monster and insult him.

"Cookie Monster, Elmo doesn't like your name. No, Elmo thinks it's too long."

Cookie Monster blinked at Elmo. What a rude thing to say.

Elmo, however, did not care. "That's a big name for Elmo. Elmo doesn't wanna say it all the time."

"Well," Cookie Monster said slowly. "You could call me Sid."

"Sid?" Elmo said in disbelief. "Why would anybody call you that? Elmo doesn't think that makes any sense. Sid and Cookie Monster don't sound anything alike. What a silly nickname."

"It's not a nickname," Cookie Monster nearly shouted. "It's my name!"

"Don't be silly, Cookie Monster. Elmo knows that's not your name."

"It is," Cookie Monster insisted. "My name is Sid - well, it used to be before I had a cookie."

Elmo looked at him skeptically. "Are you lying to Elmo?"

"No," Cookie Monster - or rather, Sid, said. "I used to be a normal monster until I tasted a cookie. After that, I went crazy. Now all I think about is cookies, so people call me Cookie Monster." With that, he grabbed a wad of cookie dough and popped it in his mouth.

"Hey!" Elmo yelled. "Don't eat the dough...Sid."

With that, they made the rest of the cookies for Gina and Sid ate his two cookies, begging Elmo for more as they walked to Gina's house.​

 

[Gwacekpop2]

wrote this in creative writing. i'm unhinged

"Hello, Cookie Monster," Elmo said. "What are doing today? Elmo is baking cookies."

"Cookies!" Cookie Monster cheered. "I love cookies. What kind?"

"Chocolate chip," Elmo said.

"Ooh, those are my favorite!" Cookie Monster exclaimed.

"Well, you can't have any," Elmo said. "Elmo is baking them for Gina. It's her birthday."

"Oh," Cookie Monster replied sadly. "Maybe I could have just one, or two, or... a dozen?"

"Nuh-uh, no way," Elmo retorted. "These are for Gina."

After arguing for a few minutes, Elmo and Cookie Monster finally agreed that Cookie Monster could have two cookies, and they would give the rest to Gina. Cookie Monster would also mix the dough up, and Elmo would roll the dough into balls and place them on the baking sheet. As they were working, Elmo turned to Cookie Monster and insult him.

"Cookie Monster, Elmo doesn't like your name. No, Elmo thinks it's too long."

Cookie Monster blinked at Elmo. What a rude thing to say.

Elmo, however, did not care. "That's a big name for Elmo. Elmo doesn't wanna say it all the time."

"Well," Cookie Monster said slowly. "You could call me Sid."

"Sid?" Elmo said in disbelief. "Why would anybody call you that? Elmo doesn't think that makes any sense. Sid and Cookie Monster don't sound anything alike. What a silly nickname."

"It's not a nickname," Cookie Monster nearly shouted. "It's my name!"

"Don't be silly, Cookie Monster. Elmo knows that's not your name."

"It is," Cookie Monster insisted. "My name is Sid - well, it used to be before I had a cookie."

Elmo looked at him skeptically. "Are you lying to Elmo?"

"No," Cookie Monster - or rather, Sid, said. "I used to be a normal monster until I tasted a cookie. After that, I went crazy. Now all I think about is cookies, so people call me Cookie Monster." With that, he grabbed a wad of cookie dough and popped it in his mouth.

"Hey!" Elmo yelled. "Don't eat the dough...Sid."

With that, they made the rest of the cookies for Gina and Sid ate his two cookies, begging Elmo for more as they walked to Gina's house.​

Elmo and Cookie Monster..
This is a masterpiece, I love it~

 

[sanasideup]

Elmo and Cookie Monster..
This is a masterpiece, I love it~

thanks lol

 

[Gwacekpop2]

thanks lol

Np~

 

[sanasideup]

wrote this for creative writing. assignment: write about a significant event in your life based on one of the following prompts. chosen prompt: something i did that took a lot of nerve. i'm being real vulnerable here
note: i mention dolos; he's the greek god of trickery and deception

tw: abuse, mention of death, mention of gun violence
I am strong. I am one of the strongest people I know. I endured years and years of abusive all in the name of "religion" and "love." But did I crack? No. I kept my head up. I kept going forward. I put it to an end. When I was at my breaking point, I took and deep breath and opened my mouth. I told. I told a teacher what was going on and why I didn't feel safe in my own house. She referred me to the guidance counselor, who then contacted Child Protective Services, resulting in my sister and I being removed from the home. I was deathly afraid, but I didn't back down. It took a lot of nerve, but I did it, and it is something I will never, ever regret.

In 2016, my father made one of the worst decisions of his live: he married my stepmother. At first, everything was peaches and cream. They got along, she was nice, and I had a new stepbrother. Then came the red flags. On the day of their wedding, my grandfather, with whom I was very close, died. If one believes in divine signs, surely this was one; a plea from the heavens to end evil before it began. Yet the wedding continued and the honeymoon ensued. It was after the honeymoon that paradise became purgatory.

If Dolos had a human form, then it was my stepmother. In public, she was sweet and sociable. It was because of her that we were molded into a wonderul little postcard family. We took vacations, us children - which had quickly grown from three to six in number - were well-behaved in public, and we were active, so very active, in the church. But at home, it was a house of horrors. We were reminded daily that we would never be good enough, particularly my sister and I. We were beat with wooden boards for the most minor of incidents. We were forced to do housework that went beyond a reasonable amount of chores. We were blamed for the health problems of my sister Jessica, who has always been, and still is, severely developmentally delayed. Every single amount of stress was blamed on us children and taken out on us. There were endless restrictions on what we could and couldn't do: no Disney, no Converse, no horror movies or books, no music that wasn't Christian, no chokers, nothing my stepmother didn't like, and clothes were considered "too tight" and "inappropriate" unless they were at least one size too big. We were forbidden from receiving the COVID vaccine, watching the news, and supporting BLM or LGBTQ+ rights, which especially hurt me, seeing as I am a lesbian and gender apathetic.

However, it all reached a pinnacle the day my father fired a gun out of anger in the presence of all of children, aged sixteen, twelve, nine, three, one, and five months. My father and stepmother fought all the time, for days at a time, always with screaming and my father breaking things, and with us children being forced to choose a side. It was a Sunday, and they had been arguing all morning over whether or not we would be attending church. We were all in the van when my father came out and yanked the keys from the ignition, saying, "What are you all doing? I told you we aren't going to church. Get out! Go inside!" We did as we were told, while my fear grew greater and greater. It was when my stepmother called to my father and called him an ugly name that he snapped. With a roar, he pulled his gun from his hip and fired, as us children were no more than twenty feet behind him, all of us exposed. He flung his gun so hard that it sailed over the top of the house and landed in the backyard. My stepmother took us children and left. But the next day, she sent my sister and I back to our father. Only a few days passed before, with the help of my best friend, I told a teacher.

It is not over. The DHR case is till open and ongoing. I couldn't save my other stepbrother and half-siblings from my soon-to-be-ex stepmother, but I saved my sister and me. We live with our mom, stepfather, and half-sister now. I am learning how to be myself free from the death grip of my stepmother and her endless rules. It took a lot of nerve, but I survived and I broke free.

note: there's a lot of stuff i didn't include, and i promise you: i'm not being dramatic. i did tell it in a formal way bc i'm getting graded on this, but i didn't make up or embellish anything. just a disclaimer. i'm also willing to answer questions; it doesn't upset me. so if something didn't make sense or you just have a question, i'll answer (naming why something was banned is my party trick).

​

 

[sanasideup]

sci-fi unit, ugh. anyway, we had to write a short story abt what life would be like if me and all of my classmates were identical and "equal." i hate sci-fi, so ya'll make be feel better abt my story /hj
​

6:15 am
I open my eyes when the alarm sounds. Just as every other student at West Point High is doing, I lay in the bed for exactly four and a half seconds before rising and shutting off the alarm. I listlessly put on my jeans and plain black t-shirt: the uniform of all high school students. Plain white socks and solid black sneakers with no logos or designs complete the look. If my brain could function properly, I would wear more colors and jewelry. I head to the bathroom and brush my teeth, knowing that I am exactly in sync with all of my classmates. I eat a bowl of plain yogurt and grab my grey backpack before walking at a leisurely pace to the bus stop.

7:25 am
I board the school bus and sit down, head up, back flat against the seat, eyes staring straight ahead. The bus is completely silent as its riders breathe and blink in perfect synchronization. It would be disturbing if I had independent thoughts.

7:45 am
We all arrive at school and calmly exit the buses. We head to class and sit in our desks. We pull out pencils and fill in the blanks on our worksheets. It is not hard to find the answers - with so many brains harmonizing together, it only takes two point seventy-five seconds to think of the answer. At least we all have 100s in all of our classes. If I knew any better, I would demand to do my own work.

12:30 pm
I stand in line alongside every other student at West Point. We grab a tray and fill it with the same food: plain cheeseburger, under seasoned broccoli, and one three ounce scoop of slimy peaches. If I could think for myself, I would remember that I don't like broccoli. We head to our seats and eat in silence, blank eyes staring into space. We chew and swallow together, not really tasting the food we are shoveling in.

3:00 pm
We load up onto the buses. If I wasn't a conforming clone, I would drive myself; the bus smells bad. The ride is a repeat of the morning with nothing special to even mark the event into our minds.

5:00 pm
I walk into the factory where everybody I go to school with also works. We seal boxes shut and do not think, because if we did, we would realize that we're tired of nicking our fingers on the tape dispenser. We all stop for a dinner break at exactly 6:30. We all finish our chicken noodle soup at the same time and go back to working on the line.

9:15 pm
Having gotten off work at exactly 9:00 pm, we all arrive back at our houses at 9:15 pm. We shower in lukewarm water and forget that we prefer hot water. We get out of the shower and put on grey pajama pants with a grey t-shirt, exactly one size too big. We get into the bed and close our eyes. In five minutes and forty-five seconds, we will be asleep. And in the morning, we will do it all again.

 

[X-traGayGirl]

It is awesome. Love it!

 

[sanasideup]

It is awesome. Love it!

thank you!

 

[X-traGayGirl]

thank you!

Just being honest.

 

[X-traGayGirl]

ALways exited to hear your peoms.

 

[sanasideup]

prompt: what would you do if you were the only person left on earth?
​

With a bored sigh, I hurl a rock into the window of a nearby store. The anti-theft system lets out a weak siren sound before it begins to skip. Finally, it dies altogether. I guess that's what happens when there's no maintenance workers to check on it. I wait a few moments before walking through the front door, which was unlocked anyway. I look around at the clothes hanging neatly on the racks. Those are the ones the rodents haven't picked at yet. I run my fingers over the soft fabric and inspect the designs. Ugh. They remind me of the clothes that grandmas used to wear. That is, when people besides me existed.

I'm not sure how it happened. I just woke up one day to discover that everybody else was gone. My whole family was gone, and when I called their phones, I got only a "no-service" message from my own phone. I turned on the TV - nothing. I tried to pull up the Internet, but to no avail. No matter how many times I refreshed, the posts on social media stayed the same. There was nothing new, as if everybody had suddenly disappeared. I slowly came to realize that that was exactly what had happened. Everybody else was gone, and I was left behind.

For a while, it was fun. I was free to act on any and every thought in my head. I did what I wanted, when I wanted without fear of consequences. Why? Because there weren't any. I had no schedule, nowhere to be. But after a week or so of that, I became sad. I missed my friends and family. I was lonely without anybody to talk to or interact with. The only music and movies I had were the ones I had on disks. But I soon grew tired of my music collection; the movies ceased to entertain me. After about a month (I cannot tell you the exact time period, because I lost count of the days), I had read everything in my bookshelf. Eventually, I left my house. Since no one could make me pay for gas, I just stole it. I took clothes, books, CDs, movies, whatever I wanted. I got whatever food I wanted from the grocery store. When the power went out, I stole generators to keep it going.

And now? Now, I am bored out of my mind. I've grown sick of everything. I just want to eat something my mom made, rather than snacking as I please. I am sick of reading; the words just blur together now. I am sick of movies; no plot twist is exciting anymore. I've grown sick of listening to CDs. The fact that there will never be new music saddens me deeply.

I sigh deeply as I stare at the clothes in front of me. I pick my way through the mess made by rodents. Outside, I shake my fist at the bright sun. It seems silly, but I don't know what else to do. I miss people. Maybe the next time I wake up, things will be back to normal. At least, that's what I tell myself.

 

[ec.li.ps.e.138]

prompt: what would you do if you were the only person left on earth?
​

With a bored sigh, I hurl a rock into the window of a nearby store. The anti-theft system lets out a weak siren sound before it begins to skip. Finally, it dies altogether. I guess that's what happens when there's no maintenance workers to check on it. I wait a few moments before walking through the front door, which was unlocked anyway. I look around at the clothes hanging neatly on the racks. Those are the ones the rodents haven't picked at yet. I run my fingers over the soft fabric and inspect the designs. Ugh. They remind me of the clothes that grandmas used to wear. That is, when people besides me existed.

I'm not sure how it happened. I just woke up one day to discover that everybody else was gone. My whole family was gone, and when I called their phones, I got only a "no-service" message from my own phone. I turned on the TV - nothing. I tried to pull up the Internet, but to no avail. No matter how many times I refreshed, the posts on social media stayed the same. There was nothing new, as if everybody had suddenly disappeared. I slowly came to realize that that was exactly what had happened. Everybody else was gone, and I was left behind.

For a while, it was fun. I was free to act on any and every thought in my head. I did what I wanted, when I wanted without fear of consequences. Why? Because there weren't any. I had no schedule, nowhere to be. But after a week or so of that, I became sad. I missed my friends and family. I was lonely without anybody to talk to or interact with. The only music and movies I had were the ones I had on disks. But I soon grew tired of my music collection; the movies ceased to entertain me. After about a month (I cannot tell you the exact time period, because I lost count of the days), I had read everything in my bookshelf. Eventually, I left my house. Since no one could make me pay for gas, I just stole it. I took clothes, books, CDs, movies, whatever I wanted. I got whatever food I wanted from the grocery store. When the power went out, I stole generators to keep it going.

And now? Now, I am bored out of my mind. I've grown sick of everything. I just want to eat something my mom made, rather than snacking as I please. I am sick of reading; the words just blur together now. I am sick of movies; no plot twist is exciting anymore. I've grown sick of listening to CDs. The fact that there will never be new music saddens me deeply.

I sigh deeply as I stare at the clothes in front of me. I pick my way through the mess made by rodents. Outside, I shake my fist at the bright sun. It seems silly, but I don't know what else to do. I miss people. Maybe the next time I wake up, things will be back to normal. At least, that's what I tell myself.

This is very good!

 

[sanasideup]

This is very good!

thank you!

 

[X-traGayGirl]

BEAUTIFUL!

 

[sanasideup]

assignment for creative writing. prompt: describe a crime scene using these words (that's why some are underlined lol)
not my best work, but...
​

As I pick my way through the muddy yard toward the house of one late Marilyn J. Atkins, I shake my head in disgust. Who could have committed such a heinous crime? Walking up the white steps, I notice a strange substance that appears to be jelly. "Reyes!" I call to my partner, who is already inside the house. "Did you see this?"

"See what?" Reyes grumbles as they exit the house, cleaning their glasses with a wet wipe. "I'm mostly focused on the crime scene, not the victim's yard decor."

"What? No!" I huff. "Look at this, speared on the porch. It looks like...grape jelly."

"Grape jelly?" Reyes bends down and pull their mask off of their nose. They sniff at the purple goop for a moment before straightening back up. "Well, it definitely smells like grape jelly. I'll get a sample of it so we can run it at the lab. Maybe there's some DNA traces in it..."

"Maybe," I muse. "I'm gonna head inside and see what I can see while you get a sample."

Reyes, already absorbed in their work, merely grunts in response.

The first thing I noticed when I step inside is the sheer amount of broken things. There are giant rips in the couch, and upon closer inspection, I realize that it is also covered in glass. All the pictures have been knocked off the walls and broken into pieces. Not only are the frames broken and the glass shattered, the pictures themselves have been ripped up. Strangely, more of the jelly is everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, on the couch.

On Mrs. Atkins.

"Reyes, how did you not notice that?" I mumble to myself, shaking my head at my occasionally air-headed partner. After a few more moments of gazing around the scene in horrified wonder, I head over to the kitchen where the victim was discovered by a neighbor who was concerned when they hadn't seen Mrs. Atkins working in her garden that morning as she usually did.

"Oh, god..." I gasp as my eyes fall upon the body of Mrs. Atkins. Being in this line of work, I've had to learn to desensitize myself to these type of things, but wow. Occasionally, one slips through the cracks and affects me. It seems this case is one of those. Perhaps the most disturbing part of this is the silverware. There is a fork stuck in the victim's chest, a knife in her hand. Wait a minute, I think. More of the jelly.

I step back and take in the whole scene. I realize now that there are knives in each of Mrs. Atkins's hands, as well as through her feet. They appear to be stuck into the floor as well. And, drawn in jelly, is a cross. More specifically, a Roman cross. It is only then that I notice that the thing around the victim's head is not, in fact, a headband; rather, it is a poorly constructed crown of thorns. At least, that is what is supposed to be. It is actually made of crudely cut wood fashioned into the likeness of a crown of thorns.

"Reyes!" I shout as I hurry back to the porch where they stand, talking on the phone, presumably to Wilson, our boss. "Reyes! Did you see the symbol drawn behind the victim?""Ah, yes, it's Detective Harris. Give me just a moment, please, sir, she's discovered something...Yes...Okay...Okay, got it. Thanks...Bye." Reyes finally pulls the phone away from their face and hangs up. "What? What is it?"

"The symbol behind Mrs. Atkins!" I yelp. "It's a Roman cross. It looks like whoever killed her was trying to create some version of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ."

Reyes's brow furrows. "That's sick. Do we know if the victim was active at all in a Christian church?"

"Well, I'm not sure," I admit. "However, there was a bible among the wreckage."

Reyes hums in confusion before sighing. "Get ready, Harris. We've got a long case ahead of us."

 

[sanasideup]

ya'll wanna read my essay? probably not, but have it anyway lol
tw: mentions of r@p3 and murd3r and b0mbs and racism and guns
(it's abt criminal profiling)
​

Most people have heard of Ted Bundy, the infamous serial killer who preyed on young women. What most people may not know, however, is that he was caught through a method called criminal profiling. Criminal profiling, also known as behavioral analysis, is a method where a criminal is analyzed using information about the specific crime committed to determine information that could aide in the capture of a criminal, such as employment status, type of job, family status and background, personal tics and preferences, and hobbies and formative experiences.

  Criminal profiling was first used by James Brussel in 1956. George Metesky, now known as the “mad bomber,” had been terrorizing New York City through a series of bombs he had made and set off throughout the city. Frustrated at their inability to catch the criminal, police approached Brussel and requested his help. Among other things, “Brussel insisted that, when arrested, the suspect would be wearing a double- breasted suit…[George Metesky] was wearing a…double-breasted suit when he was arrested.” Because of Brussel’s extreme accuracy in predicting such trivial details regarding Metesky, more and more people became interested in criminal profiling, including law enforcement and psychologists. It was Harvey Schlossberg, however, that began further developing the science of criminal profiling in the late 1960s and 70s. “What I would do,” he says, “is sit down and look through cases where the criminals had been arrested. I listed how old [the perpetrators] were, whether they were male or female, their level of education. Did they come from broken families? Did they have school behavioral problems? I listed as many factors as I could come up with, and then I added them up to see which were the most common.” Even now, Schlossberg, who is a psychologist, says that, “In some ways, [profiling] is really still as much an art as a science.”

However, in contrast to popular TV shows and movies such as Criminals Minds and The Silence of the Lambs, the job of criminal profiling is not at all glamorous. In fact, most profilers will never set foot on a crime scene. Rather, they carefully analyze reports given to them by law enforcement workers, such as detectives and police officers. In order to do their job, profilers must stick to the ABCs of profiling - antecedent, behavior, and consequence. Antecedent is the prompt, or the initial situation, leading to a behavior. In more simple language, the antecedent is the motivation for the crime, the why behind the action. Next up is behavior, or the action in response to the antecedent. This would be the actual crime. For example, when faced with the antecedent of being assaulted, the proceeding behavior could be murder. Finally, there is the consequence, or the reinforcement mechanism associated with the behavior. In other words, this is what the criminal does following the crime. Take the example of Ted Bundy, who was caught via the method of criminal profiling. Following his crimes, Bundy would often go “back to normal” by living as he would had he not brutally raped and murdered a young woman. Another example is Joseph Paul Franklin, also known as The Racist Killer, a white supremacist and serial killer who was caught thanks to criminal profiling. Franklin, a self proclaimed racist and Nazi, would travel the nation seeking out non-white victims, more specifically, African-Americans and Jewish-Americans, whom he would kill using a sniper rifle. It was how he reacted after his crimes, however, that allowed the FBI to create a detailed enough profile to catch him. He would flee the scene of his crimes and begin again in a new city using a new alias. He was also known to dye his hair in order to disguise himself. John Douglas used the previously gathered information to determine where Franklin would show up next. Finally, on October 28, 1980, he was caught and sentenced to death.

But contrary to popular belief, profiling, also known as behavioral analysis, is not just used to aid in capturing criminals. It is also used in autism research and addiction therapy. Other uses include hostage negotiation teams, advising negotiators on how to analyze and manipulate hostage takers based on their background and behaviors. Profilers also work directly with law enforcement officers thanks to the FBI’s Undercover Safeguard Unit by helping them cope with post-traumatic stress and other distressing duties of their jobs. This includes training them to work with victims of violent crimes, preparing them for trauma exposure, assisting them in dealing with disturbing crimes scenes and evidence, and training them to recognize when their fellow officers are in mental distress. Profiles can also be employed by major agencies, some of which include The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms; The Department of Homeland Security; and state police and large metropolitan police agencies.

Though criminal profiling is still relatively new, it is highly helpful in tracking down and prosecuting criminals, as well as work in other, more legal areas of research, including, but not limited to, addiction therapy and autism research. The mixture of psychology and law enforcement is groundbreaking, and will only continue to grow as both an art and a science. As psychologist Stephen Band, chief of the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, said, “There is an incredible value added when applications of professional psychology enter into the mix of what we do.”