Poems -- 5/13

Hey everybody! This is Alexa. Happy Mother's Day! I am so sorry that I have not posted in such a long time. Today I will be posting some poems that I have written throughout the weeks:

The Soil
The soil is rich
with seeds
all waiting to grow into trees
or flowers
or weeds.

Some seeds die;
they don’t get to see the sun shine
or the green grass
or their brothers and sisters grow tall
and strong.

Some seeds survive;
but these aren’t kind.
they choke the soil
the plants around them
and bother the people
that have to deal with them.

Other seeds that survive are kind:
their beauty shines
brighter than any star;
their kindness
gentle
never leaving a scar;
the good in them
nicer
than any other seed
on the planet.
These are the people
the world should have.
not the weeds
not the vines
not the poison ivy.

Only the trees --
our leaders.

Only the flowers --
our beauty.

Only the bushes --
our defense
against evil.

Only the dandelions --
our hope.

The world
needs these seeds
these flowers
and these trees.

The world
will become
brighter
than any star;
gentle and kind
never leaving a scar;
good and nice
with millions of seeds
all working together
in harmony and peace.

Mistake
I was a
mistake.
You had told me so.

You made me
burn
till I was scorched.

You told me no one
loved
me.

You were a
monster
living in the
darkest
of corners.

I had not
seen
you coming.

I had not
prepared
myself for what was to come.

You had
attacked
me.

You had
changed
me.

But I was too
strong.

I had
defeated
you.

But
fighting
back was still a

Mistake.

Your Face

Your face
is scarred
but still beautiful.

My face
is pure
but the ugliest in the world.

Your back
is straight
but has many deformities.

My back
is curved
but is perfect.

Your shoulders
are held back
but are too weak to hold the weights of your life.

My shoulders
are rolled forwards
but can support the pressure that is put onto me.

Your mouth
is dirty
but the nicest.

My mouth
is clean
but the meanest.

Your eyes
are daggers
but can shine like the sun.

My eyes
are flowers
but can be as dark as shadow.

Your ears
are plugs
but can hear everyone’s conversations.

My ears
are open holes
but can’t hear a word anyone is saying.

Your hair
is short
but clean.

My hair
is long
but disgusting.

Your skin
is pale
but shines.

My skin
is bronze
but swallows the light.

Your cheekbones
are sharp
but you are so kind.

My ckeekbones
are round
but I am such a jerk.

Your hair
is fire
but you are water.

My hair
is bright
but I am darkness.

You
are the rainbow.

I
am the thunderstorm.

Written by Alexa Gantt

Title unknown- Preview

Hi, Marizo here! So this is a story that I got the idea for in a dream, I'm not sure if I should start writing it so this is a little preview. If you guys think I should continue writing it pls comment below or like.

3/21
My father is a nice man. A nice but strict man. He governs this country with fairness. He just signed an act this morning giving every family that needs help food. our country is in the middle of an economic crisis, one that my father is slowly but steadily pulling us out of. 

I set down my frayed diary on the worn and beaten desk in front of me. I had written that over a year ago when my father decided to start moving throughout the country, to look at the daily lives of his subjects. Every time we moved the conditions became direr. But this town was one of the better ones. My bedroom would be barely a closet in the royal palace. The walls are brown, the paint chipping off in the corners where the doors close. I walked over to the door of my room. I looked at the bare hallway in front of me, picturing how I would paint it, the sunlight falling on the floor. The village we were visiting this time was by the coast, so we had a pretty view.
I walked forward to the lone window in the hallway to peer at the waves that crashed against the cliffs underneath our house. The waves were stubborn as hell, continuously hitting the cliffs, slowly but steadily eating them away. I pulled out a small sketchbook and hopelessly tried to copy the way the waves crashed in and out. With the melancholy absence of sound, sight, smell, and touch had mostly taken over. I put my sketchbook back in my pocket and leaned out of the window breathing in the salty air.

Young - Ch. 1.0

I stood up from my bed and walked to the mirror hung in the corner of the room, next to the door. What looked back at me surprised me. I was expecting an elderly woman, but instead, I was young. I looked to be around sixteen. They placed me in the wrong person.
"No no no no. This is wrong," I muttered to myself. They were going to put me in the Dictator. Then I was supposed to... Unless if they placed me in the younger her. Then I could just alter her life path. I looked to the right of me and into the hallway. A middle-aged woman was walking towards me.
"What is my name?" I asked her. She paused and chuckled.
"You really must have hit your head darlin'. Maria Nestlin. Sound familiar?" she responded.
"Yes."

Maria Nestlin

By Marizo Bheh

Queen of Light

According to Rowan, we were going to arrive in Terrassen tomorrow afternoon. Azriel still had not returned when the sun set, and the stars and night sky took its place. Everyone went to bed, all tired from all the talking that we did. Halfway through the conversation I had with Rhysand, Rayen had appeared, extremely grateful that I was alive and well.

I walked into my bedroom, closed the door, and turned on one of the lamps that was hanging from the wall close to my bed. I changed into my nightgown, and didn’t notice the note sitting on my small dresser until I was all ready for bed. I picked up the note. It said:

Meet me in the meeting room on the deck of the ship tonight, once everyone is asleep. 
Rowan

I quietly opened my bedroom door, and stepped into the dark hallway. I could hear someone snoring. Other than that, everything seemed quiet.

Rayen went out to swim in the sea, and find something to eat earlier. I did not expect her to be back anytime soon.

I slowly -- so slowly -- crept up the stairs, and across the deck of the ship to the meeting room. I cracked open the meeting room door, and poked my head inside the room. It was pitch black. “Rowan?” I whispered. I opened the door even more, and stepped inside the room. “Rowan?” I whispered again.

In a blink, the meeting room door shut closed, and candles placed around the perimeter of the meeting room lit. Seated at the head of the table -- feet up on the table, hands folded in his lap -- was a man. He had short, gold hair, and gold eyes. Exactly like Manon’s. He grinned at me.

I started to panic. I whipped towards the door, my wings and muscles both hurting in protest to the fast movement. Two guards guarded the door. They each sneered at me. I faced the man again. I forced my face to be neutral as he stood from his chair and walked towards me, his grin growing with each step he took.

“Such a pretty thing,” he said as he circled me. He touched my hair, and I flinched at the touch.

“Don’t touch me,” I growled at him. His grin only grew in response. “Who are you.”

“Aelin hasn’t told you anything about me?” he purred, still circling me.

“No,” was all I said. I scanned the room, looking for any places to escape.

“There is no way to escape, my darling sweet Aiyana,” he said, reading my mind. He moved closer to me. I stepped back. Once. Twice. Thrice.

I backed up into his guards. He quickly glanced at them, and then nodded. I didn’t have time to move before his guards grabbed my arms and hauled me over to the table. I started thrashing. “Let me go!” I demanded. “What are you doing? Let me go!” My body was hurting with the fast movements I was making. I couldn’t feel my legs. I have to get out I have to get out I have to get out --

More of his guards appeared, and grabbed my legs, lifting me up. My wings were being crushed against me. “Let go of me!” I spat. “Let go!” His guards did nothing. They placed me on the table, instantly tying my wrists and ankles, with metal chains that burned, onto the table. I forced my wings to vanish before the could do anything to them.

The man walked over to me, and pulled up my nightgown, revealing my wrapped torso and bare legs. I bared my teeth at him and growled. “Do. Not. Touch. Me,” I spat in his face. He slowly took off the healing cloth from my torso, and looked at the wound I got from the ilken.

He grinned. “My ilken did quite a nice job of giving you a brutal scar,” he said with wicked delight. My stomach turned. I was going to throw up.

He then walked to the front of the room, his guards moving out of his way. They each watched me, pleasure masking their faces. I sneered at them. The man returned. My heart stopped beating. He walked towards me, polishing a long, pointed knife. He grinned.

At a point I couldn’t remember, I started to cry.

“Don’t cry, sweet Aiyana; this will only last a minute,” he purred.

Rayen Rayen Rayen I called through the bond.

“There is no use in calling your animal-friend, since I sound-proofed this room. I also made it so that you can’t get out, and no one can get in. Bring the stone,” the man said, turning to face one of his guards. He then turned back to me, a small stone, the size of a penny, lying in his palm.

Bile rose in my throat.

“Don’t worry, sweet child,” he said as he leaned over my belly with the knife, and cut. I screamed. The metal on the knife was burning my skin. Blood trickled down my belly and onto the wooden floor. He cut again, but deeper this time. I screeched and sobbed at the same time. He then took the stone, and began to place it inside the wound he made --

The door to the room burst open. Darkness, in great big swirls, moved into the room, forming a barrier around me. The guards -- including the man -- cursed.

I looked at the doorway, and found Azriel standing there, hands balled into fists, feral rage radiating off him.

The man and his guards instantly disappeared. I sobbed in relief as Azriel walked towards me, his barrier now disappearing. He carefully picked me up, and walked out onto the deck of the ship. Apparently, the chains they used to pin me to the table were gone; they must have disappeared with the man and his guards. 

Azriel laid me down on the steps that were on the deck of the ship, close to the very front of the ship. He quickly looked at me and said, “I have to take the stone out. This may hurt.”

I nodded.

He reached down into the wound, and took the stone out. I had to bide down on my lips from screaming in pain. He set the bloody stone on the deck of the ship. “I have to stitch this wound together. I can heal it with some of my magic, but will have to stitch most of it. I will be right back,” he said as he rose. “I am going to get the tools I need --”

They had already appeared on the deck -- I had summoned them.

“Thank you,” was all he said before he got to work. After a period of silence, Azriel asked me, “What was he trying to do to you?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. I silently cried as the images of what the man was trying to do to me flashed through my mind.

“Do you know who he is?”

“No. I will ask Aelin, though. He apparently knew who she was, and who I was.”

“How?”

“I . . . don’t know.” My words started to slur; I was getting tired.

“Sleep, Aiyana,” Azriel softly told me.

And so I did.

Written by Alexa Gantt

Queen of Light

The roaring and crashing of the waves filled the darkness that surrounded me. Covered me. Enveloped me.

I slept, and slept, and slept, falling deeper into the darkness. It whispered to me, calling my name. Aiyana. Aiyana. Aiyana. My soul felt light, empty. Foreign.

A small ball of light formed in the darkness. The light grew, chasing away the darkness that called to me. The light rushed faster and faster towards me, to the point where that was all there was: light. Light to put out the darkness. Light that made me feel heavier. Light that put a weight on my shoulders. Light that shone like a thousand suns.

Darkness, different than the one that wrapped around me earlier, replaced the light. The night sky appeared, stars twinkling in the distance. Light purple, black, dark blue, and dark purple colored the sky. It was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen.

I started to shoot up through the night sky, stars whizzing past me. The crashing of the waves got louder. I started to feel heavy. I could feel a light breeze passing over my face. I could feel my fingers, toes, and body -- each twitching and thrashing. I kept soaring through the night sky. A blinding white light then replaced the night sky. The light roared at me, demanding I hold on. I held.

I started feeling my chest rise and fall, could feel the crisp air entering my lungs, then being expelled out. I could feel my heartbeat, a thunderous beat blocking out the roaring of the waves. I felt my soul enter into my body again with a click.

I gasped with the impact. My eyes fluttered open. My hands were sweaty, bunched up into fists as I grasped the wet sheets I was lying on.

The first thing my eyes registered was the brown, wooden ceiling of my bedroom. Then the bed I was lying on. Then the door that was across from me, open. Then my wings, spread open beside me, wrapped in a white healing cloth. Then the open window to my left. Then the man sleeping in the chair beside my bed. Rowan.

Rowan was slumped in the dark-blue comfy chair beside my bed, sleeping. He had purple crescents under his eyes. His hair was disheveled, sticking up in different directions. He wore the same clothes that he had worn when the ilken attacked. There were dried blood splotches that covered his black fighting leathers, and crusted blood was on the rims of his fingernails.

As I slowly started to sit up, he jolted awake. He stared at me, his face paler than it had been when the ilken had attacked. His face showed such emotion that I blushed. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his face crumpled as tears started streaming down his face. He knelt down beside the bed, taking my hand. He placed his forehead on it. He shuddered as he continued to cry. Tears started rolling down my face, too.

“Rowan,” I whispered, looking down at him. “What’s wrong?”

He looked up at me, his face shining with tears. “You’re my --” he said as someone flew into my bedroom with such great force, the walls seemed to groan. I looked at the open doorway, finding Aelin there, her eyes red, breathing hard. Rowan looked up from my hand, and stood up. He was looking at me with sadness in his eyes. He was still holding my hand. I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

“Aelin --” I said.

She had already bolted to my side -- opposite the one where Rowan was standing beside me. She sat down onto the bed, careful not to touch my wings, and leaned down towards me. She caressed my cheek. “I thought you were dead,” she cried. “I thought you were dead.” Aelin put her head onto the bed, right beside my wrapped torso.

“It’s okay, Aelin. I’m here -- I’m fine,” I whispered, patting her head. “Rowan, did you have to tell me something?” I turned my head to look at him.

He shook his head. “We can talk later,” was his only reply.

I then faced Aelin. “What about you? Are you okay?” I asked her.

She lifted her head and looked me in the eyes. She pulled up her loose white shirt to show me the scar that was left. The scar was deep; it was still red. It took up a third of her torso, and was about a couple of centimeters wide. I gaped at it. “How long did it take for you to heal?”

“Rowan helped with the major healing,” Aelin glanced at Rowan. “I slept for a couple of days. Since I am demi-Fae, I can heal fast, but not as fast as regular Fae.”

“You said you slept for a couple of days,” I slowly said, “so I must have slept . . .” I looked at Rowan for an answer.

“You slept for four days.”

How much did I miss? “Rayen. Is she alright?” I asked, quickly lifting my head off the pillow.

“She’s fine,” Aelin said, putting a hand on my head to put it back on the pillow.

“Azriel?” I asked.

“He’s fine, too,” Rowan responded.

“I need to thank him --”

“Sit down Aiyana,” Aelin said as she put my head back on the pillow -- again.

“Am I allowed to get out of bed?”

“You may, but you just have to be careful,” Rowan answered. He was still holding my hand.

I slowly sat up into a sitting position on my bed. “How far away from Terrassen are we?” I asked while trying to stand up. I failed.

“Let me help you,” Aelin softly said, rising from the bed. I let go of Rowan’s hand. Aelin grabbed both my arms, and helped me climb off the bed. All of my muscles barked with the movement. I felt extremely stiff; I was barely able to walk.

“We will probably arrive there this afternoon,” Rowan said from behind me.

I was able to face him, Aelin helping me move. My wings were extremely heavy; it felt like big, heavy rocks were dangling from them. “Good,” I said as I slowly -- step by step -- walked towards my closet, Aelin holding my arms to help guide me. She opened my closet door, and took out a pair of blue, loose pants and a white shirt.

“Out,” she told Rowan. He was gone in a flash, closing the door.

Aelin helped me undress, and put on the clothes she had picked for me. She put my hair back in a ponytail. She cursed.

“What?” I asked, turning to face her.

“You’re Fae,” she whispered.

“So?”

“So?” she demanded.

I raised my eyebrows in question. “With all my powers and abilities, you didn’t think I was Fae?”

She looked at me for a minute. Then she spoke. “No.”

I laughed. “Wow, Aelin. I thought at least you would be able to tell.”

She stuck her tongue out at me. I returned the gesture.

We both walked through the hallway, and up the stairs that led to the deck of the ship. Aelin helped me the whole way.

Sunlight warmed my wings and body as I walked onto the deck of the ship. Rhysand and his court members were talking to some of my friends. Good, I thought, at least they are talking. The people on the deck turned to face me as they heard Aelin and my footsteps.

Rhysand, his court, and all of my friends looked at me, worried. “I’m okay,” I told them. They all seemed to relax after hearing the words. I scanned the group for Azriel, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Azriel?” I asked Rhysand.

“He went out for a while,” he responded.

“Will he be back soon?”

“Yes, he will.” As I opened my mouth to ask another question, Rhysand added, “You can thank him when he gets back.”

I nodded my thanks. “What did you guys do while I was sleeping?”

“We just got to talk -- nothing special,” Feyre said.

“That sounds nice,” I said. “Did you all get to know each other better?”

My friends and Rhysand’s court each looked at one another.

“Sure,” Cassian replied, shrugging.

I laughed. “Thanks for being sincere, Cassian. We all may need to work on getting to know each other better.” I smiled as everyone grunted in annoyance.

This was going to be a long day.

By Alexa Gantt