Sailor Rynni

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Start and End


the lights are too bright

the sounds are too loud

the scents are too strong

everything comes with such ferocity

i just want to ask

“please go slower”

the dizziness

the hurried breaths

the dull buzzing between my ears





i can cope

it’ll never be perfect

but i am able to function

things still go too fast sometimes

but i’m not paralyzed by it

the lights are there

the sounds are there

the scents are there

but i am here.


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Not Like Other Girls

“You’re not like other girls,” he tells her as he not-so-subtly shoves his hand down her pants.

“I’m not like other girls,” she tells them flaunting her bare face and flipping her dirty, unbrushed hair.

Yeah. Okay. But what does that even mean? What are other girls like? And what is wrong with them? Why is it so bad to be like them?

Let’s stop creating unnecessary competition between girls. All girls are great. Girls shouldn’t feel the need to separate themselves from everyone else just because of stereotypes. Being a girl who is like all other girls is fine.

People tend to feel this huge need to differentiate themselves from the crowd. We claim that we’re weird because we wear false lashes to the grocery store or have never had a drop of foundation touch our face, but, newsflash, there are millions of people exactly like you. That does not make you special or unique.

But that’s okay.

Being like everyone else is not always bad. Do what feels right to you even if everyone else is doing that. Be different if that feels right, but stop putting down others to make yourself feel better.

“Differentness” does not automatically make anyone special or better; it just makes them different. They are neither superior nor inferior. These differences also shouldn’t be used to discriminate. Small idiosyncrasies should not be as big a deal as some people make them out to be.

No one is exactly the same. Normal is a fake concept. Most of these differences are social constructs that do not mean anything in the big picture.

What I mean by all this is don’t be ashamed of who you are. Straight teeth or red lipstick won’t make you a good or bad person. Own who you are. Make the qualities that other’s call bad and show them how great they actually are.

Choose what you think is most important to make person worth knowing and work towards that. Don’t change yourself, instead learn how to work with your qualities. And don’t put others down for being basic or being different.

Do the things that you see as admirable in others.

Find your own meaning to life and run with it.

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Here are poems from the chapbook I made for a poetry class.

There is only one building left 

Over 100 stories high and it keeps growing

It’s more of a skyscraper than a building


All the other buildings have been left to waste away

The hotter climate has caused forests to grow 

where they’ve never grown before

Foliage takes over the plains that were once populated

Given time nature can recover,

But time is the thing people always think they are short of

There are no humans though

Only a single robot is left to maintain everything

But more than the building,

It’s what’s inside


Timmy Phillips


Exploration was dead til we came here


Unlimited miles of blue ocean

As many undiscovered islands as can be imagined

So much to see

So much to experience

Magic as reality

Dragons as pets

People with wings

Life is a fairytale

A storybook

Who would ever tire of such a life?

Jordan Wilson

Used to be

I purchased shelter






But currency is unnecessary now

With endless resources, money is worthless

All the work I put in before: worthless

All the work I do now: worthless 

They say to do what makes me happy

To have fun without earning it

Everything is meaningless

Annalise Robertson

Golden locks

Bright blue eyes

Unmarked porcelain skin

Long lean legs

Perfectly proportioned


It does not matter anymore

Anyone can look like that

I can look however I want

I feel free, I guess,

But also confused

What matters anymore?

Genetics are a joke

My beauty is obsolete

After knowingly using it for years

What do I do now?

Robert Anderson







It does not matter anymore

Everyone has enough

I can do what I want

I feel free

But also confused

Everything is different now

Everything is a joke

People are obsolete 

After having no place for years

What do I do now?

Daisies pop up through the cracked sidewalks

Oak trees crack the tiled floors of abandoned hotels

Ivy climbs up skyscrapers

Dragging them back toward the ground

Weeds reclaim their property

Moss breaks down highways

Tall grasses hide guardrails

Billboards covered by flowered tendrils

Berries litter the ground, blown around by the wind

Plants aplenty,

No one to partake

The one building left

Untouched by human hands

It is impossible to tell how tall it has become

Geometric corners separate it from the wilderness 

Tall grass surrounds the building,

But thick concrete walls prevent invasion

The towering structure lacks personality:

There are no windows

There are no doors

There are no colors

There are no textures

There are no people

A sterile inside matches the outside

White walls match white floors

Accented by metal tables,

Kept at a constant 62 degrees fahrenheit

The lower levels are filled with giant metal freezers

Inside the only evidence of humanity’s physical life

Four feet tall

Metallic, blocky body

Sharp sensors for eyes

Small rubber wheels to move

Carefully contracted hands,

able to handle the most fragile objects

A hard drive connected to the building

The ability to know everything that happens 

Security guard,







A single console sits at the heart of the building

Extremities snake out from it in all directions

Tall, metal boxes line the floors above

New metal boxes are added every day 

They are the homes of humanity’s memories 

And its future

The console has one screen

It’s dark 

Because there’s no one to see










Everything… has been done



Nothing left

No… more…



So… tired…

sleep…. now


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I look to it, cocking my head to the side, and it follows the motion with its own head. I lift myself up higher to check its neck. No collar. It’s a stray. As a settle back into a squatting position, I meet its clear, green eyes. Quickly glancing down, I rip my gaze from its. Those eyes saw too much.

Lately, school has been more difficult. Getting out of bed in the morning is impossible when that’s the only reason. Listening to people complain about the unimportant things, his mom wants him to pick up some eggs, her package will come a day late, the internet’s a little slow today, I am confounded. Why are they worried about those things when people are starving and would love to be able to afford some eggs, would love to have the money to order that coat, or have a computer to use at all. How fortunate these people are, yet so ungrateful.

I needed to get home.

I look back at the half-starved creature in front of me. I, too, was selfish. Unable to even see this small creature in front of me who I actually had the power to help. Why try to change world hunger when I can’t even look past myself enough to see the starving neighborhood cats?

Jogging into the convenience store, I buy a small can of Fancy Feast and a paper bowl. I quickly return to the green-eyed feline. It hasn’t moved. It just stays seated on a cardboard box that seems to double as its home. After pulling open the small can of cat-food, I dump the contents into the stiff, cardboard bowl and stand there. I’m not sure how to approach the stray. How used was it to humans? I, a fellow human, was barely able to tolerate other people. Their intentions are never clear. Did they want to hurt or to help?

I slowly stoop down setting the bowl on the ground and backing away. I keep my eyes on the cat the whole time, and it returns my stare with its own distrusting eyes. I understood it. I leave the immobile cat and continue my walk down the street, deciding to return home without checking if the cat ate.

The next day I return to the cat’s small alleyway to see if it had eaten. I slowly turn the corner into the alley and look for the cat. It sits in the same spot at before, still watching me. I look to the spot a few feet in front of it and see the bowl. It is still full.

I can’t blame the cat for not trusting me. Most people don’t, but that’s probably because I don’t trust them either. I’m not the kind of person who needs other people. How unreliable are other humans. We make promises and forget about them. And even if we remembered, sometime we can’t even be bothered to keep promises if they ask for a little to much. Without anything to gain, be that money, rewards, or just reputation, we do nothing. People are so selfish.

Especially me. Why did I feed the cat yesterday? To satisfy my own sick need to feel generous, or maybe I wanted to feel superior to other people who didn’t feed this cat. But I’m not even sure of my own feelings, so why am I assuming so much about other people?

I shake my head, trying to shake out the useless thoughts. Even if people do things with selfish intentions, does that make the action less giving? I guess it wouldn’t take food out of the bellies of the people that are helped with these egotistical motives. Less cautiously than yesterday, I approach the cat. I stop at the bowl and chuck it into the dumpster at the opening of the alley.

“Do you like dry food better?” I pull out the small bag I had slipped into my backpack that morning and shake some of the pellets into another paper bowl. Dropping the food on the ground, I stoop so my eyes are level with the cat’s. The stare is as intimidating as before.

The cat turns its body so light hits the parts of its body that had been hidden by the darkness yesterday. Now, I see the irregularities in the cat’s fur created by raised scars along with its prominent ribcage. Although there is no collar around the neck, I see now that the fur there is matted with blood. Instinctively, I reach for my own throat, but find only smooth skin. It is surprising how effective time is at healing.

I looked back to the cat’s eyes. It jumps down from its perch and takes a couple steps toward  me. I offer a closed fist to it over the new bowl of food. Its accusing eyes watch me for a couple seconds but then slowly it approaches my hand and sniffs it, closing its eyes. Reopening its eyes, it looks back at me and seems to nod. I could stay for now, but I couldn’t touch. I pull back my extended arm and watch as the cat examines the food. Carefully, it selects a piece and eats it. I watch as the cat slowly eats the rest of the food, but when about half the food is gone, it stops and nudges the bowl toward me. Is it offering me the rest? Laughing, I pull out the bag of food again and refill the bowl, pushing it back to the cat. With that I lean back on my heals and follow my momentum out of the alley.

I never saw that cat again. I like to think that someone kind brought it home, although there isn’t anyway for me to know the truth. Maybe it got hit by a car or starved, but somewhere in my mind, inexplicably, I know it is alive and well.

Although I was blind to it before, I see people’s mindless complaints as attempts to talk to me. I guess I was placing myself in the dark corner, no one else had put me there. And although some people have bad intentions for good deeds, their thoughts aren’t malicious, so I guess that can be taken with a grain of salt.

Maybe the world isn’t as bad as I had wanted to think.