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L5D poem Tornielli

Five ways to destroy a girl’s spirit

by Gaia Tornielli

 There are many convoluted ways to destroy a girl’s spirit, as long as you find the crack in her soul, and count on other manageable friends

and figures of authority that look the other way.

Yo can find a label that makes her feel your disdain, your hatred and your disrespect

It does not need to have a speck of truth

but you can start by calling her names until you find one that makes her hurt

and once you find it comes the tough job of making it stick with the crowd

And for that you need a lot of pliable minds

that will mindlessly and heartlessly repeat the word as a verbal knife

Better if the label haunts her and pursues her whole life

Or you can go the old fashioned way

And spread juicy gossip and dodgy rumors, the spicy kind are the best,

But for that you need to find a shameful story, a scandal to exploit or go about creating one based on half truths to make it believable enough

For that to stick and break her spirit you need a bunch of gossip spreaders, certain amount of gossip believers and a whole lot of entitled people that feel right judging and condemning the shortcomings of others

Or you can go the passive way, and make her feel so unimportant that she is not even there

It seems the easy way but it is not, as you need to make others want to treat her as a ghost

If she talks she goes unheard, or talked over, or left by herself

Her needs should not be taken into account, nor her dreams, her screams, her desires, or her claims

The indifference needs to go on, so people that get near her must be taught a great lesson if they dare to break the invisibility spell

If silence is not for you, you can train your brain finding the wittiest insults to make her break

You will have to commit to make it a regular thing, better if surrounded by people that laugh at what you say

It is a time consuming endevour, and you must really think she is a threat, or somehow worth all that time and effort, to crack your brain and make your words a weapon, your gestures a slap in the face, your laugh not an act of joy but a sound of hate

Or if she would not break, you can isolate her by convincing all her friends she criticizes them or breaks their trust by telling others what she should have kept

But for that you need to dig out some secret she might have shared, either by guessing it or by finding another untrustworthy source.

Or you could take time and observe her friends

and say she said whatever would hurt them best.

I know it is a lot of work, but soon enough you’ll find her broken and alone.

These are as I said, the convoluted ways to break the spirit of a girl.

But you could go the easy way, and open your heart to her, make her care for you, love you, or be your friend, and share with her your putrid heart, your envious self, the nasty vile of your rotten values, let her learn from you all that, and finally have her drown with you, in the depths of your despair.

L5B poem Ortiz

Five ways to like a boy

by Catalina Ortiz

There are many cumbersome ways to like a boy.

You can make him go to a party,

And get a pretty dress which you think, he will adore.

Play good music, and dance all along.

Maybe he won`t notice you`re in the party.

And that will make you sad. And will make you think,

Is it me, or is it him?

Next time you will try to wear a shorter skirt,

And maybe he`ll look at you, cause everyone likes

Short skirts. (I wonder whether they like hearts. I wonder

If he`ll look at mine.)

But obviosuly if that doesn`t work,

Maybe you should try to drink Vodka as if it were water,

Because that is cool. And maybe he`ll think you are cute,

Just becuase you could almost pass out, deadly drunk

Retching and straggering as if you were a child.

Before giving up on prince charming, you might try something out.

Turn into those girls, who are desperate, and will even think

They`re ugly.

Or fat.

They`ll get skinny, and wear makeup everyday.

Just to feel beautiful.

Just to feel not themselves.

Indeed, there are cumbersome ways to like a boy.

In real life,

Or in fantasy, you decide,

You can talk to him, about the things you like,

And give him a smile. And look at him,

With your open heart, being just who you are.

And, I promise, he will not only like you, it will be love,

The real love.

L5C poem Gomez Cora

Our home 

by Bautista Gomez Cora

Watching smoke choking the sky,

Makes me want to cry.

The water was classy and smelled so clean,

There hasn’t been anything more beautiful that I have seen.

Everywhere we saw there was green,

No matter where we looked there was always gonna be a tree.

The factories won’t even try,

To pollute less I don’t know why.

Now the water is dirty and smells vile,

This just happened in a while.

If we don’t have fresh air,

We will die and it will be fair.

Come and see the future with me,

We are all responsible for what you can see,

And we cannot go back to change what we have been.

We don’t have to lose our hope,

Because our future, our tomorrow, isn’t already gone.

Anywhere we are, anywhere we go,

We just need to take care of the planet, Our Home.

Five ways to like a boy

by Catalina Ortiz

There are many cumbersome ways to like a boy.

You can make him go to a party,

And get a pretty dress which you think, he will adore.

Play good music, and dance all along.

Maybe he won`t notice you`re in the party.

And that will make you sad. And will make you think,

Is it me, or is it him?

Next time you will try to wear a shorter skirt,

And maybe he`ll look at you, cause everyone likes

Short skirts. (I wonder whether they like hearts. I wonder

If he`ll look at mine.)

But obviosuly if that doesn`t work,

Maybe you should try to drink Vodka as if it were water,

Because that is cool. And maybe he`ll think you are cute,

Just becuase you could almost pass out, deadly drunk

Retching and straggering as if you were a child.

Before giving up on prince charming, you might try something out.

Turn into those girls, who are desperate, and will even think

They`re ugly.

Or fat.

They`ll get skinny, and wear makeup everyday.

Just to feel beautiful.

Just to feel not themselves.

Indeed, there are cumbersome ways to like a boy.

In real life,

Or in fantasy, you decide,

You can talk to him, about the things you like,

And give him a smile. And look at him,

With your open heart, being just who you are.

And, I promise, he will not only like you, it will be love,

The real love.

L5 C poem Marangoni

Five Ways to Kill a Planet by Mercedes Marangoni

There are many unlikely ways to kill a planet.

Asteroids could attack Earth And cause a massive extinction

as it happened 66 millions years ago

when dinosaurs were wiped out of the face of the planet.

For this to happen all we need is for our ozone layer to work incorrectly.

Our planet could be swallowed by a black hole

causing it to split in two due to the difference in gravity.

All that is required for this is a large star to go supernova

and for it to stray near our solar system.

The Sun could die as stars normally do

and when this happens it will expand

and even reach Mars, destroying our planet.

All we need is to wait 4,5 billion years.

The Earth could crash into another planet

causing a catastrophic explosion.

For this to be successful, we need Mars to slightly change its orbit

and wait for our paths to cross.

However, these are unlikely scenarios.

Much easier it is to let humans keep control.

Thus, it would not require billions of years,

just wait a couple of decades

and dare to come back

and check if this “green” planet you call Earth is still there.

I wrote this poem using the same form as the poem I chose to pastiche called “Five Ways to Kill a Man”, by Edwin Brock. As Brock, I chose to enumerate the reasons/ways for the readers to be shocked. I also chose for the last paragraph to be more shocking for the readers to understand what is important and for them to remember the last message. Moreover, I made my poem  free verse as I thought that the rhyme would make readers more distracted. In addition, I used visual images as Edwin Bock for the readers to be able to imagine and to feel. For example, the concept of light which is portrayed by the Sun, and the darkness by a black hole. And is the Sun dies, our hope dies too as the Sun is our light and hope. Furthermore, I chose the line length to be be very similar to Edwin Brock’s. While I wrote 2 with 6 and 3 with 4, he wrote 3 with 7, 1 with 6, and 1 with 4. The purpose of this poem was to show we are deeply harming our planet and we are getting closer to a point of no-return. In the past century human emissions have increased and year after year it is becoming worse. We are responsible for damaging our planet and that is what I tried to reflect throughout my poem.

L5A story Posse: My First Period

My First Period 

A coming of age story by Clara Posse

Life is short. I know that now. Today is my 10th birthday. And it might be my last.

People say death strikes unexpectedly. Grandpa, for example died from a heart attack. But I

knew I was going to die since this morning.

I woke up at 7, because I was so excited about my birthday, that I wanted it to start

fast. I know that birthdays start when you wake up. Mom was still sleeping. I decided I

should wake her up too, so she could sing me the happy birthday and give me my presents.

However, she told me I had to wait for dinner, when dad would be with us. She wanted to

give me the presents with him. She said the two of them had bought them together. I know he

didn’t. He is too sad about grandpa. But, this didn’t stop me from having my

birthday-breakfast. Do you know what happens after a lot of birthday-breakfast? You have to

rush to the nearest toilet as fast as you can.

And that’s when it happened. I looked down, and there was a huge drop of blood

staring back at me.

And that’s when I knew it. I was going to die. I felt myself drowning in the blood. It

was like the air couldn’t reach my lungs. I could hear my heart beating fast. Maybe I was

going to have a heart attack, like grandpa. I pushed all that away and ordered my body to

fight against death. Presents would be given at dinner. I couldn’t miss the presents. So I did

what any normal person would do: I pretended everything was okay, and went to school. I

saw dad doing that after grandpa’s death. He thought I didn’t notice. I wonder if he is dying

like me too.

I tried not to think about my death at school. But it was too hard. I didn’t want to

go out at break time, because if I moved from my chair, everyone would see the blood stains

in it. And when I was alone, in the classroom, while everyone was out during break I couldn’t

retain my thoughts.

I came to a conclusion. There possibly was a monster coming out of me. A big,

bloody monster that smelled like onions. And his name would probably be something like

Edwin. I once saw it in a movie. And when the monster comes out, I would probably die. But

all that would happen after the presents. I was sure of that; when my tummy started to hurt.

The monster was trying to come out of me! I didn’t want to die! I felt tiny drops of water

making a salty path in my face. I tried to retain them like I did in grandpa’s funeral. But I

couldn’t.

Miss Sophie took me out of the class. I asked her to call mom. I like Miss Sophie. I

hope she doesn’t die like grandpa did.

When mom arrived, I hugged her tightly. And I sobbed harder. It would probably be

our last hug. My tummy and my head were hurting. Very much. I knew the monster was

trying to come out of me. So I told her the truth. I told her I was dying.

But mom just laughed and hugged me tighter.

“Honey, don’t worry” she said to me smiling “you’re just having your first period. Welcome

to adulthood”

And that was way worse that anything I could have imagined. But I couldn’t

understand one thing. I knew that I was not dying. So then, why could I still feel the monster

trying to come out of me? Why was I resisting it? Why couldn’t I just let it out? Maybe that

thing that was killing me from the inside had to go out. Maybe I had to let it out. Maybe it

will make me feel better. Maybe I had to tell mom. Maybe. I had to let it out.

And I let it out.

And I cried.

And I told mom how I miss grandpa.

Over and over again.

L5B Perazo story: A Dim Spark

STORIES

A Dim Spark 

A tale of horror and imagination by Mathias Perazo

 Something! Something was there! I’m telling you that out my window it looked at me, and when I turned it quickly and swiftly ran away. But not quickly or swiftly enough for me not to see the shadowy figure flee. Not one night passed without it coming. As much as I feared it, I could not hold in my desire to see it. I wanted to know what it was.  No creature could, in their right mind, show such dedication over some person’s quiet time reading and smoking by the fireplace. What could possibly drive it to this precise routine?

And a precise routine it was, for every night at eleven I would feel its piercing gaze on my neck only for it to flee once again were I to look. From that night onwards, I would stop my reading at five to eleven, to stare at the window, at the dark of night, and sparing some blinking so not to lose its appearance. And it appeared. That night I didn’t light a fire and didn’t light the living room.

It was small, a small black creature that went into and out of my sight instantly when it realized I managed to catch a glimpse of it. As if it feared me! I laughed to myself for thinking so highly of a creature that feared me. As far as I knew it could have been a cat! I focused so much on the expectance of the creature’s emergence that I didn’t notice my thirst. I put down my cigarette and looked for a glass of water in the darkness of my kitchen -the lights there hadn’t worked for years, but my good eyesight usually was enough to see so I never thought of fixing them-, and it was there. It stared right at me from the kitchen’s window. But this time it was different; it didn’t flee. No, it didn’t just stay and look at me; it did so with a menacing aura, almost as if it was threatening me.

That was exactly when it dawned on me: it was hunting me, examining me for days and not letting me clearly see it, as a fox would a hare.

I began breathing as if there was not enough air for my lungs, I clutched my empty glass and threw it at the black lump. In my fear, I missed. The empty recipient resisted the bang against the wall, but was smashed into pieces after bouncing into the propane tank that I had yet to install in my oven. Its shards flew across the room. I checked on the tank, my eyes still locked onto the creature. It didn’t move. It kept so still during that ruckus that I became confident enough to check visually the propane tank -which I had bought for a bargain price on a second hand store (since it was a bit used)-. I feared it could have broken. And the torn handle lying next to it, instead of on top of it, led me to believe so. I noticed the gas’ smell started to fill the kitchen.

I heard a noise from the main entrance. As fast as I could, I checked on the now-empty space outside the kitchen window. My heart’s beating could be felt from the tips of my fingers and my breathing became even more irregular. It would make a move soon.

It became much noisier after that. I could hear it everywhere around me; inside the house. The scratching, the steps... The smell. Oh, the damned smell of propane gas was unbearable. I stayed in the kitchen. Sat down in the corner. My hands shaking, I reached my pockets and slowly took out its sole, metallic content. I did so clumsily, enough for the thing to fall off my hand, its shriek when colliding with the ground marking a finale to the creature’s teasing. Silence followed. The dim light coming from the living room made it very hard to make out my surroundings, but it was enough to let me see its shadowy figure peeking once again, this time from outside the kitchen door.

My trembling stopped; I now smiled while holding the lighter. I opened it. I could barely breathe, but I still managed to gather enough strength to speak.

“In what darkness are you going to hide now, Motherf-”

My words rudely interrupted by the anxious thumb that rolled the spark wheel.

For a split second, I’d swear I could see it in the newly made light. But then it became hot. It was hot, and then dark.