CAUTION: This piece is meant to be a speech. Therefore I have labeled certain parts for you as to who is speaking. The only reason why I'm labeling them and not writing in my piece who is who, is because when I act out my speech they will all have different voices so it should be clear. Thanks again!:)
As the colorful interpretations of readers walk in they kindly seat themselves. Looking up each one sees a projection of someone they only knew through parchment.
"The way you walked in
you made it look like your flavor was sizzling
like you were the new improved hot topic
you swayed, maybe even sashayed on over to me
when you looked at me with those nerdy glasses,
your shirt neatly tucked in,
your socks pulled up to your chest,
and your Superman belt well, let's just say when you asked me out
you were a nervous mess
but there was no need for that because I melted into a cool pool of It's-about-damn-time."
My name is Chrissy, and I was Kaylyn's best friend. It takes a lot for a writer to be recognized, especially after they have died. So thank you, for being the fellow supporters of Kaylyn's work, because today is the day she will recieve her award. Kaylyn was captivating. She wanted to go somewhere, be someone. Kaylyn had hope. Hope that someday she wouldn't keep being told "Give up the dream, dreamer." That poem was the first one she ever performed on the street. She said: "The first time people are going to see me they're going to see a smile on my face because when you meet someone you don't meet them cryin', you meet them with warm hands and happy hellos." She "swayed and sashayed" down those streets and that was what got her started. Soon she had people crowding at her street corner. They saw what everyone else saw: that she enjoyed what she was doing. However, when she tried to publish her work, people kept telling her to just stop. That she wasn't print-worthy. So she created work that showed them she was more than printed paper.
"I have been told one too many times
that in between the scattered thoughts and rhymes my work isn't worthy.
But who are they to tell me that when I write my feelings people don't deserve to know.
Quit telling me to stop dreaming dreamer because I am the queen of dreamland
And you are but a citizen on a cloud.
I can dream, hope, and wish.
So stop trying to be my nightmare.
Stop trying to tell me I am a fish
And you are the god of the sea.
'where's your trident Poseidon?'"
I'm Kaylyn's mother, and I just want to say that my daughter was amazing. So amazing in fact, she fought her demons alone. The first poem I ever heard her read was when she was 19, fresh out of high school raring to go. Yet I didn't realize how stressed she was until I heard her through the cracks in the walls.
"I never thought my books could get so heavy
heavy in the sense that it's difficult for my mind to comprehend how many pages I need to study.
Or to get to college I need to pass all my exams with flying colors
because apparently in order to move up in life I need to sprout wings and fly
