D;< Will

Well, I will soon die from too much homework, so here's my will! I trust all you fine people to find the people in it and give them what they deserve!

These are the last and final request of myself, Savannah Heavenly Carr. Since I know for sure that I'm going to die of exhaustion and too much work within the next 48 hours, I would just like to say a few things and tell you what goes to who, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, and all that junk.
So first off, I would like to say that I will haunt all of my teachers for giving me so much homework, not to mention I will also be hoping to go somewhere where there is no homework, and if there is, maybe I can upgrade my package? I also hope that all my friends know they love me, no matter what I do and do not give them. So....let's skip all the gushy stuff and move on to touchable items.
To Jenna:
You get first call on any of my possessions. Just because I said so, and I know you actually like the stuff in my room. Plus, on my nightstand there's a journal. Read it. It's for you anyway. (Oh and my mom has my friendship ring, so feel free to steal that.)
To Beca:
You can have all of my bowling ball, I'm sure you'd like more of those! Plus, there's a whole bunch and odds-n-ends from our various adventures in Vegas and the likes. You get second dibs.
To...
......
.....
ummmm.....
To Everyone Else:
Do you guys really want any of my stuff? I mean there's just a bunch of junk.
hahaha I'm already tired of my will
Just take whatever.

Signed,
Savannah C

AIMS: The Memior of a Student Who Really Didn't Want to Do It.... (Expressive Piece)

I correct myself, it's not a Memior it's just my opinion. Same thing right? .... Well, no, but Memior sounded better than Complaints of a Students!

I'm tired - exhausted really.  They say some people come out of experiences years wiser and “changed.”  Aims wasn't one of those experiences, however.  Instead, it unnecessarily stressed me out and made me miss classes that have left the rest of my week, and now my weekend, hectic.

I’ve barely slept the past few nights. Teachers packed work on us because of the horrid timing of AIMS; with midterms next week, just for missing one day of school, our teachers poured on the work.  I have a midterm project due on Monday that I stayed up until midnight doing; I'm still not finished.  I have pages of math work, and even English, and I know that within the coming week or so until math AIMS, it will get even worse.

Not only the side effects of the testing were horrible either; the test itself was grueling.  You had to go over your essay over and over and over again; if you make one grammar or spelling mistake say good-bye to that six you want; say good-bye to that free ride to college; say good-bye to the tile up on the wall and your name being always remembered. I’m sure you can understand why it’s so stressful, to think of losing all you had hoped to get from the testing - gone in the blind of an eye. Not only that, but why do they keep us in the room after testing? They never tell us why we have to be there, they just keep you there and if you don’t have a book you’re stuck there staring at the ceiling and wishing that ceiling lights didn’t make that annoying buzzing sound that makes you think of the blue caged lights they use to kill mosquitoes.
              AIMs in my opinion has no point, but to stress students unnecessarily. The prep for it does make you better at certain things, but that could easily be done without having to pressure us so much.  Why do we have to stress?  Lose sleep for nothing?

21 Little Poetry Projects (from the Class webite) [Expressive Poetry to show a different format of writing]

* Imaged not owned by me

The hard door was velvet under my finger tips,

Its key hold spoke to me, its metal moving curiously, as if it was talking to a friend,

“I smell something precious. It’s bit musty and rake, much like rooting word, I suppose.”

My nose caught sight of it, in that moments, making my face scrunch up in disgust.

I was too timorous of Frank’s feelings to tell him it was him,

The smell was magically beautiful if you thought about it.

Frank was in the middle of nowhere.

Somethin’ like a blank slant, not exactly off the hinges.

Every door had a bad day; it was Frank’s bad day.

“That’s as cool as a dog in circus outfit.”

The velvet door of knowledge told me that.

He was soft like a pillow, that door.

He walked with the confidence and swagger of a top cat.

Savannah was all impressed.

The door would walk down that road and never come back.

Obscene Frank walked the alley with pride.

It amazingly true how he stood, with no accessories to cover his hard polished wood, his polished knocker and walking he stood.

I think the French call it demarche.

“Why are you still here, my dear?”

The door stood on the corner of Hershey Street and Main,

It had not been opened in years,

And it longed for affection.

Bellwork: February 1st (Writing to the Picture)

A piece of shrivled up nothing; hopeless, pitiful, and full of mournful thoughts. Reachig for something, anything, to grab hold of, to pull myself out. My fingers clutch nothing, only thin air, and slowly I see the clouds layer more, get darker and lower than I've ever seen. I start to feel myself pull away, deeper within myself, where I swore I wouldn't go again. Old habits die hard, though, and I just sink lower into this hole. This hole of misery and pain  few other experience, yet I can't do anything about it. I have to be strong, bottle up those fears and feelings, be strong for those around me. I paste on asmile, act as if nothing is going wrong and when others need me, I'm there. The hug, the smile, the everlasting strong place to hold onto. I can't find anything to hold onto though, like everyone else is finding in me. Maybe it's just pride, or fear, or a need not to share. I'm never totally sure.
My fingers clutch at thin air, while I'm the strong one for others. Reaching for something, anything to grab hold of, to pull myself out; yet everything feels like it's pushing me down.

(I don't feel this way constantly, but there have been so tough times in my life. Who hasn't had them?)

I dare you to be more random...

This is all of my "orinigal examples" from the vocab:

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I’m having a bad day,

How about you?

The Madder the Hatter,

The more the fun.

I’m so hungry,

I could eat a 10 lb. chicken.

She wore a bright red dress,

But the color was gray in her eyes.

We all need to find ourselves,

Loss everything else.

The fries’ grease and smell,

Floated through the air.

To love,

To hate.

Love is amazing too.

To find love is…

She sits alone,

in her own little world.

Dialogue

            “Hey, twin,” I mumbled softly under my breath, daring not to look my best friend in the eyes.

            “Hey! Oh my god I’m so excited! You know how much I’ve always wanted to go out of the country and I’ll have to bring my camera of course,” Jenna said, barely breathing and moving her hands with extreme vigor.  “We’ll have to go see some of the lakes. I wonder if you can hug pandas in Japan?! That would be so cool! I mean I know China definitely does, but that’s only if you pay a lot. I’m sure I can use my Asian persuasion to let us in, though-”

            “Twin, the thing is…,” I mumbled again, hoping she would hear me, but realizing she wouldn’t when she talked right over my words like road kill.

            “- but does Asian persuasion ever work on other Asians? I wonder, it’s something I will have to add to our bucket list to find out. This is so exciting! I can’t believe you’re parents are letting us go! Ahhhh,” she shrilled, something she didn’t do often, jumping up and down. “This. Is. The. Coolest. Thing. EVER!”

            “Twin,” I said louder and with a no nonsense tone in my voice this time.

            She stopped and blinked at me before tilting her head slightly to the side. “Yessss?”

            “I feel horrible to say this, but you aren’t going,” I said, biting my cheek as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

            “What?! Why,” Jenna said, her once excited voice becoming quiet and I felt like crying. She looked like a vulnerable little 6 year-old.

            “I’m taking Beca,” I grumbled, my voice turning into a soft, almost inaudible and incomprehensible, jumble of words that half the time only she could understand. “She’s leaving me, twin, I have to spend more time with her before she leaves me for all her college buddies and ceases to remember me.”

            “Savannah Heavenly…,” she trailed off and hit me extremely hard in my shoulder with her thick math binder. Then taking a deep breath she said, “Fine.”

            “You’re mad aren’t you,” I asked, feeling even worse than before. I hated when people were mad at me.

            “Of course I am,” she said giving me that look that Hannah gave Blake every time he said something stupid. “However, you’re my twin, so I have to forgive you or else Twinworld would fall apart, hell would rein on Earth – not that we would have issues with that of course – and I would die of loneliness, so I demand that you Skype me every day, and taking pictures and video of everything and if you don’t, you can just go crawl into your emo corner and cry.”

            I chuckled and questioned, “And you plan to do what with that time?”

            “Curse you and make fun of the fact that you love to use words like horrid, of course.”

            “First off, horrid is not a weird word, and I don’t see how it could be. I mean-”

            “Who says horrid, Twin? People with fake British accents? It has to be one of the least commonly used words in the English language next to conundrum!”

            “No, it is not…wait, what’s a conundrum,” I asked suddenly confused.

            “Exactly!”

Second Poster For Friends of Maiti Nepal

Fundraising Poster To Prevent Human Trafficking

Misguided Ghosts by Paramore

The Lyrics

{Verse 1}
I am going away for a while
But I'll be back, don't try and follow me
'Cause I'll return as soon as possible
See I'm trying to find my place
But it might not be here where I feel safe
We all learn to make mistakes

{Chorus}
And run
From them, from them
With no direction
We'll run from them, from them
With no conviction

'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts
Traveling endlessly
Don't need no roads
In fact they follow me

And we just go in circles

{Verse 2}
Well Now I'm told that this is life
And pain is just a simple compromise
So we can get what we want out of it
Would someone care to classify,
Of broken hearts and twisted minds
So I can find someone to rely on

{Chorus}
And run
To them, to them
Full speed ahead
Oh you are not useless
We are just

Misguided ghosts
Traveling endlessly
The ones we trusted the most
Pushed us far away
And there's no one road
We should not be the same
But I'm just a ghost
And still they echo me

They echo me in circles

The Meaning
I have always loved this song since the first moment I heard it, and have known the words ever since. To me, it reminds us all that we all make mistakes and a lot of the time we run from those mistakes, but that's only human. We're all trying to find our place in this world and most of the time it seems like we never will until that moment of nirvana when we realize who we are. We all choose our own path, but on our way there, we need people we can turn to when times get tough and we can't keep running anymore because life is hard and we need a solid person through it, someone who may or may not be able to help us all the time. Life is a thing that is full of everything, pain, love, and sometimes compomises, but we have to learn to make the best out of all of it. We shouldn't all be the same and we should learn to live on our own, even if we need a little help along the way, that to me is the meaning of this song.

Expressive Piece #2 [homework]

The City

(Dedicated to my twin)

                Smells wafted from every street corner a potpourri of hot dogs, burgers, grease, and fries coming from every small food stand.  Calls from vendors determined to convince everyone on the street that their food was better than that of every other vendor boomed, jumbling into the sound of one droning voice talking about one food or another.  In every direction, people rushed, caught up in the high-speed movement of the never sleeping city life.  Like little worker ants, they went to and fro, on cell phones, carrying bags, rushing for trains, pushing for front runner in the struggle for a taxi.  Never a second to stop, not unless they had somehow been convinced otherwise by the vendors that never seemed to stop yelling, their voices trained to never get horse or dry from years of experience.

The streets were no better, gridlocked in the morning from rush hour, and speeding along at high rates in the slower afternoons.  Continuously honking of horns, shrieking of tires and the yelling of taxi drivers were something to be expected and normally overlooked.  They were responsible for the cough one might experience while first coming to the city, unused to the higher concentration of gasoline in the air.  The only stops were for the unloading and loading of passengers and the exchanging of money likewise.

That was the way of the city was it not constant moving never stopping never sleep just keep going and going with the exchange and giving of money like some useless thing and the pattern just kept going and going and  going…

The movement was home to me, but at the same time foreign, it was where I longed to be but at the same time did not want to return to because while the city was fast pace and you could have the time of your life, it seemed like the little things were taken out.  The city, a place full of noise, which left the taste of freedom on the tip of the tongue.

There’s something missing something no quite right but I’m not sure exactly what it could be or who could find it because maybe its lost and can’t be found because maybe I can’t find it here…

Then, everything stops, like an ice cube on your skin bringing goosebumps.  No longer on a city block, no longer consumed but the constant speed, sitting on a bench in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  Lights from the small shops light the sidewalks while people stroll by.  They aren’t in a hurry.  People taking their time, in a rush to go nowhere.  The cars make the vroom sound that is as familiar as tires churn against the street, but the horns don’t honk and the tires don’t slam to a stop.  Everything is slow and gives one time to appreciate the little things.

This is what I miss this feeling that I never have to hurry because if I’m a little behind I can just make it up later and for now I can just relax and feel the nice breeze on my check and breathe deeply in with the cool, fresh air because this is what it’s all about isn’t it…

Then with a blink and shove to the shoulder, the world comes rushing back.  The city comes rushing back and we’re not in Kansas anymore, are we?  Fast pace kicks in again and must move forward and not regret what we have lost or what we want.  We have to move with the crowd, or be run over by it.

Smells wafted from every street corner…

Expressive Piece [bellwork]

   The half drawn curtain moved slightly from the harsh wind whistling through the part way open window. The sound was almost harsh, seeming to make everything else in the room stir -
    What is that, I swore I just saw something moved I'm not crazy maybe it was the wind hopefully because I'm starting to -
    -and papers that had long since been forgotten stirred as if in hopes that fingers would lightly brush over them again and ink would seep into their close knitted fibers. Dust that had accumulated into layers, like that of thickening glaciers, over the years and was kicked up by the wind.
    It should sting my eyes the duct that is it should make me cough and gasp for clean air I should smell the rake oder of an old house -
   Old spider webs, which had long since been left behind by their occupants tore easily from the walls and glistened in the air as their silk moved like a graceful butterfly finally finding its wings.
    Surely, I should've felt as it brushed me won't it have chilled me would've had me wipping at my arms continously because of it sticky and webbish feeling what is going on how could this possibly not be-
    The entire victorian palor seemed to have long since been vacated. Its owners mysteriously leaving everything behind, even a small rag doll that was worn from the use of small hands.
    The fear should be a bitter taste in my mouth unable to change I should be choking on it screaming to leave to run I should run out the door but I can't leave why can't I leave the door is right there why aren't I leaving
    If someone would've been in the room at that moment, they would've felt something move then. Not the wind. It was a chilling movement, yes, but the wind had since died, the room going still.
   I can't leave the mirror then I need to see the look on my...I CAN'T SEE MYSELF! but I'm real I'm alive aren't I I mean I'm moving I'm real -
    The house at the end of the road had been abandoned for years. All its contents unmoved and untouched. Devoid of any living person. The owners had left, claiming their daughter - whom had died of a fierce, blazig fever and sickness - was haunting them. The towns people had never believed them, but never had the courage to prove them wrong.
    I'm real...
    The half drawn curtain moved slightly from the harsh wind whistling through the part way open window...

Everyday Hero Poem

Bowling with a superman ball,

My everyday hero he is,

His hard schedule it is not,

Better than anything else he is at helping others,

A large chunk of money he donates,

hundreds of kids he gives the chance to win scholarship,

the college, making it possible for students to go,

He has enemies, like any good hero,

Not with harsh words, he fights them,

But more than that he does,

among heros he is a hero,

Mentor my ,

coach my life,

other my dad,

An everyday hero who could possibly be?

Amazing what some people are doing, it is.

What makes people want to help others, I wonder.

They're great people, I realize.

It's quite possible to help.