I chose 6 journal entrees, that was from the middle and beginning of the school year. They are mainly form the book Freedom writers, that was my favorite book this year. These journal entrees are true and very expressive, I think you all would enjoy these.
I write because writing is am addiction. I’m
addicted to the way the pen makes music too the paper. The way it balances
between two lines. The way my soul and thoughts just fall out of the pen. It
tells all of your inner thoughts, the intertwine between the paper, pen, and
your soul is a match made in heaven. I fein for the way the pen races across
the line paper, it never gets tired. I don’t write because a teacher told me or
because it is an assignment. I do writing freely, just the way my small
chocolate hand grabs a pen and my soul just opens up though the pen. It’s
almost like I’m conversing with someone. I don’t need a clinic or hospital, but
with out writing I would be sick. I love my addiction.
They say I’m cocky, I will never be anything.
Coming from the deep dirty streets of south Philly, I’m just another black
girl. Trouble only come from girls like me, well at least that’s what they
think. Their looks cut me; I can hear their thoughts screaming so loud. She
going be pregnant by the age of 16, she going be addicted to boys. Only if you
really knew me, no question is do you really know me? I’m the girl who had to
grow up to help her mother. I’m the girl who smiles to make others happy. I
work my fingers to the bone to have a great education and to try to satisfy my
insatiable appetite to learn. I’m the girl who’s scared to step her foot out
side her door, or to even watch a movie with shooting in it. I’m that girl you
people think so bad of that helps her sick dad. The girl who doesn’t believe
she is conceited but confidant enough to walk with her head held high, never
looking down. That same girl who loves her family. Yes, I’m a black girl and
from south Philadelphia, but also this girl if not a whore, and I’ll not be
pregnant by 16. I’m glad you don’t know me, because frankly I do not want to
I feel sorry for you. They spit in you face and
treat you like dirt. They look at you like you’re a piece of dross. They look
at you like you’re a piece of gum on the bottom of shoe. They spit on you when
you’re down; you slice your arm and the red pain leak from your skin. You will
have sex for attention. You are insecure and feel your self-esteem is at a low.
Now you wear tight clothes, and show off the little you have on your body.
Suicide won’t be the answer. Show people you are a human just like them. I
never thought we would hate people for what they like. Race, creed, nationality
yeah maybe, but not for what they like. You hide who you are for friend’s
bullies, and families. You cry at night, because you don’t want to like what
your heat like. Be proud of your self; be proud to be gay and who you are.
The S sounds funny when people say it; it rolls
off there tongue in a stumble. They spell it so wrong; my family says it means
something special. People joke about it all the time, but I still yet to see
what’s so funny. My name seems so sudden and scary, like the
color grey. Grey is not to dark and not to bright, but dull and unfriendly.
My name is a mixture of my aunt and grand mom name. My aunt name
is Trina, my mother youngest sibling. My grand mom name is Sarah my mom’s
mother. She feels I remind her of them in some way, but I don’t think so. My
grandmother is so loud and rambunctious. Her attitude frightens people, and she
has a problem with listening to stuff people has to say. My aunt on the other
hand has attitude that people walks away from. She thinks she is still a young
girl, and her character seems like it should be forbidden off this earth. She
feels that she is better than every one; she doesn’t help with our family most
of the time. She takes responsibility for stuff that’s her, but not others. She
fun to be around and has the ability to relate teens.
My grand mom appearance seems so young and
sassy; her hair color is a shimmery gold. Moles on her face, and perfect square
bright teeth. I love knowing my grandmother she is spontaneous and full
character. My aunt dressy fun and sexy, her butt attracts much attention.
I have a mixture of two names that has two personalities. That’s
probably why I act the way I do, I don’t know weather to be shy or jus have
outburst. Does my name say anything about me? Does it even mean anything
special? These the questions I think of, like why did my mother think of this
name? But I know the answer to that question it’s because I’m special to her,
just like my grandmother and aunt.
When I get home my real name is never said, its always Re or Re
Re. At Home it’s like my name doesn’t exist, unless it’s a serious occasion.
They throw Re around but its only two letters from my name, the two letters smack
dab in the middle. I don’t love my name but I like my name sort of. Does it
define me? Watch when I try to say it, Sarena the S rolled off my tongue in a
I’m scared; I’m
afraid, and petrified. They do it but not me; I got a mind of my own. When it
comes to this one specific topic, my skin, and tummy, does a cartwheel. I’m on
my own as I walk with a straight posture; they stare and can smell the virgin
on me. Girls got gaps between their legs you can tell they been poked before. We
are so young in high school, and me having the attitude I have. I know for a
fact that Sex, won’t be for along time. I hope my scent lingers. But sometimes
I wonder does my mature ways and strong personality cause me to be different. I
hope the smell of my virginity makes them insecure and jealous.
I would gravel on
the ground and eat dirt. I was in my own unknown world, fresh meat. I seen this
one group, they were it. They seemed special, amazing, I would love to be part
of that group. I realized being fresh meat, means you are not ready to be