The Interesting Lego House Tribe

The Black Box

I was nervous. Very Nervous. Tonight was the last reading of the week at Longfellow and the readers would all be campers. Tonight was the night we would all stand up in the black box theater, bright lights blinding us, and read the stories and poems we've worked so hard on all week. Sure I'm used to speaking in front of people, and sure I'm used to the lights and people, but never have I ever read my own work aloud in this kind of setting. I'd been practicing different ways of reading my two poems all week, and even though my friends told me they were good, I just didn't believe them. I didn't even think I was good enough to come to this camp in the first pace. I mean I ended up being a better writer than I thought I was, but my work still paled in comparison with these amazing writers. Everyone was so talented I was was just so, so......me.

I sat there listening to author after author as the nerves built up inside me. They were all so good. Eventually it was my turn to read. I got up from my seat and shuffled my way up to podium. After a brief and slightly stuttering explanation of what I had written, I took a deep breath and began to read.

Defined By Cross

What we carry determines who we are.

It is our own cross to bear.

It represents what we value,

what we hold most dear.

We carry stress,

like the heavy snow on a roof, waiting to cave in.

Long nights studying, paying bills, trying not to disappoint,

Always struggling toward the impossible idea of perfection.

We carry hope,

like the warm glow of an orange sunrise as is sparkles on the calm blue water.

Hope is the light of the future,

making even our darkest nights seem just a bit brighter.

We carry determination;

it propels us forward like a speed boat jumping choppily over the waves.

Determination pushes us

to work harder, to be better.

To be better version of others,

Better versions of ourselves.

We carry friendships,

like a crane pulling up out of the rubble.

Friends catch you before you even realize you're falling.

They are always there to lean on.

Friends come and go,

but those who last make you strong.

We carry family,

like the stars we can not always see them,

but they are there.

The dead and the distant

Family is forever

They love you unconditionally.

We carry memories,

like a rolling film,

a sepia-toned reminder of what once was.

The happy and sad,

the good and bad,

We want our memories to never be forgotten with time.

We carry fear,

like an impending battle.

We fear what we know,

We fear what we don't.

Fear makes us cautious,

It keeps us from ever living.

We carry secrets.

Hushed whispers spoken in private,

like the wind blowing through the trees in a dull roar.

Secrets are powerful.

They have the power to build a relationship,

or ruin one.

We carry lessons,

like physical therapy,

they teach our muscles to correct their mistakes.

Lessons insure that we are not always doomed to repeat the past

We carry dreams,

the ultimate endgame.

Dreams make us want to climb high into the treetops and look back down at the ground below.

They always seem to be just out of reach.

These things we carry are our own cross.

A blessing and a curse.

They are our salvation.

They are our downfall.

They make us who we are.

The Night of Smoke and Ashes

Never shall I forget that night,

the night it all began.

They sorted, killed and beat us,

as we walked hand in hand.

Never shall I forget that night,

the night I lost my faith.

They murdered my God,

and threw my dreams into the flames.

Never shall I forget that night,

the sirens wailing loud,

I dragged my feet and stood up tall,

trying to survive the crowd.

Never shall I forget that night,

my father gripped my hand.

Hungry, dirty and disheveled,

we had to work on demand.

Never shall I forget that night,

a violin rang out in the dark.

No sound, no prayer or comfort,

could ease my heavy heart.

Never shall I forget that night,

Father are you there?

My dreams have been turned to ashes,

as smoke now fills the air.

When I had finished if felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Everyone clapped, while some whispered in shock from the last line I had spoken. Somehow I had gone from standing up on stage speaking the words of others to standing in a black box speaking my own. While I was still unsure of my work, I felt a new sense of pride in it. From that day on writing has become a part of me.

That was our last night together, we stayed up talking until the sun began to rise over the creative writing house. Our bags were packed with not only new books and new writing, but new friendships. We all cried and hugged each other goodbye as we drove off through clouds of dirty smoke. Leaving Longfellow behind one by one. We knew we'd created something special and we would never lose each other. We were a tribe which would never be broken.