Okay not “Ok.”
Dreams and dedication are a powerful combination. ~ William Longgood
Ballgowns and dancers.
Blue and silver sequins.
The clock strikes twelve.
It’s a dream with a time limit.
I’m tired and I’m scared.
All good things can be tainted.
I think I’ll keep my distance.
I don’t dance.
I’m not five
Playing dress up
In my mothers shoes.
Cinderella was a fairytale:
A dream I could never afford.
And they lived
Happily Ever After.
A childhood that I somehow missed,
Because I couldn’t decide what to dress my barbie in.
I’m not five,
But I want to be,
If only I can dance with the prince.
Finding lost imagination is never easy.
(Neither is learning to dance.)
1. “It was a time
where when people talked about one another.”
‘Time’ is not a place. It cannot be a ‘where’ it must be a ‘when.’
2. “It’s a situation
where in which no solution seems possible.”
For this second example, ‘where’ is a little more acceptable, but for it to be absolutely correct ‘in which’ is the way to go.
“Piece of dialogue.” He said.
** Okay, honestly, if you do this in your writing, don’t. Just stop. For your sake as a writer and for all of your readers, avoid it.
The correct way to write that sentence is: “Piece of dialogue,” he said.
Replace your period inside the quotations with a comma and make the capital ‘H’ a lowercase ‘h.’
The sun falls, glowing red.
Red sun, Pink Sky.
The clouds like fire glow
After the rain everything is peaceful*.
*彩虹 means rainbow. I wanted to say it was all peaceful, however, to make it rhyme, my professor changed it to rainbow to make a peaceful setting without actually saying it.
She is the type of girl who puts feathers and flowers in between the leaves of her Bible. Her own skin is ink pressed and crinkled with age. A cigarette hangs between her calloused fingers. Girl or woman, I can’t tell the difference. Her body shows signs of age, but the way she talks is as if she’s back in middle school experiencing her first love.
She is the type of girl who knows she is dirt, but “start dust” is what she calls herself. She will smile and show her crooked, nicotine, yellow stained teeth. Although, nothing about her shines gold. Actually, she is rather bronze. Maybe back in the day she wore a gold medal, but I can’t tell. To me she is more like a sticky penny from 1988.
She is the type of girl who sits on a whicker basket behind a blanket full of timeless wares. She clasps a necklace around me, and tells me that the pendant was once home to a genie. For a second I think she is the genie. She tells me stories about all of these things, wounds from her past, that she is avidly trying to get rid of.
She is the type of girl who bled gold once, but it tarnished overtime as she slowly forgot her worth, and here she is trying to earn it back; and here I am, dragging knives across my skin, paying in blood, creating wounds, that I too will sell in the future.
At least I get a genie pendant out of it.