Excuses are all we give for the way we treat them,
Have you ever thought about the way their expression seems broken?
Simplistic lives remain a mystery to our minds,
Wouldn’t theirs be more complicated?

The day that they finally snap, the blame falls on them,
Why can’t anyone see how much it hurts?
It pricks the heart so hard that it draws blood,
How come they don’t know that harsh words are equivalent to stab wounds?

They believe they have nothing to stand up for,
When will someone finally tell them that they matter?
Not everyone has a chance of recovery,
Shouldn’t they be worthy of your strength and respect?

Living becomes difficult for some,
Doesn’t it become our responsibility to guide them?
This is the time where they need,
Why does society shut them out?

Helping them should be our number one priority,
How can we leave them to face the world themselves?
Parents are constantly told that their child has some problems,
But at the end of the day, don’t we all?

Changing one life changes so many with it,
After all, don’t their parents and siblings feel grateful and joyous when that one life changes?
When they return after recovery,
Aren’t you the ones who go after them and ask them to be your friend?

Materialistic wants are all right but what about the phrase “Don’t judge a book by its cover”?
How can you push them around one day and then want them to walk by your side the next?
The day your harsh words get through can send them over the edge,
So don’t you think it’s high time we watch our tongues?

Disappearing into the unknown,
Is a fear of many who are alone.
Although our disappearance is uncontrollable,
It still makes us inconsolable.

However, there is one thing worse than this,
It’s something that we’re all too quick to dismiss.
Scarier than making any big change,
Is regretting all the decisions that sounded strange.

It’ll leave a ghost behind,
Haunting you gives it power to make you restless.
This emotion is the opposite of “living like it’s your last day”
So strong that it keeps you struggling like its prey.

She walks out and he lets her go,
He holds on but she says it was over a long time ago.
We push away but don’t try to stop it,
Eventually we end up falling into a pit of darkness and say we quit.

“What if” at the beginning of every sentence,
At the end of it all calls for repentance.
Fear clouds your mind at every turn,
Keeps making your stomach churn.

Every day you walked by,
My heart started to fly,
If only I would have run into your arms,
When I knew that it was only me for you.

Its jaw is huge, and can rip out one part of your body in one bite. Its teeth are almost bigger than human fingers. The intimidating look on its face sends  fear through you. Its popping-out weird eyes look like they have horrendous demons inside. Its furious and horrifying roar says all for the animal. It’s wild, angry, huge and is demanding leadership.

Of course, I also wonder how it got there and who chopped its head off. That person must be really brave, because he killed a bear while it was roaring. Anyway, this secret will probably never open for me because I am leaving in two and a half weeks.

I grew up on a tree branch far away from other trees, I am an acorn. I am an acorn round and small. I have been swinging on this tree for three years already. The climate always changes from -20 degrees Fahrenheit to 108 degrees Fahrenheit. One day raging wind came rushing towards me. It left me hanging by a little piece of wood. I met an acorn about two and a half years ago and he fell off the tree, he said it felt like they were ripping his skin off. Ever since, I have been afraid to fall off. The next day it was pouring rain and guess what…I fell off. It really did feel as if they were pulling my skin off. I lay on the cold, wet ground. For some reason, the wind shifted me to a school campus. The schools’ name was Phillips Exeter Academy. Everybody steps on me, that is why I am cracked. I am glad I only have a tiny unnoticeable crack, if I were to completely crack, that would mean death. I am always kicked to a corner where no one ever sees me. This is good because it means that a squirrel will not eat me and I will not be stepped on. I always see many students walk by me. They always ignore me; they probably do not even know I exist. One day, a squirrel came up to me sniffed me and tried to eat me. I tried to push myself out but his teeth were too strong. As long as I did not crack more, I was fine. The squirrel gave up so he swallowed me, I am so glad he did this. I eat what the squirrel eats. For example: left overs, it is my favorite! So now, I live in a squirrel. I do not have to struggle on being eaten or cracked anymore. Life is good!

Would it make a difference if they were to remove the flower pots in front of the Phillips Exeter Academy Center? The home feeling will certainly be gone. But why are we accustomed to feeling welcomed with decorations? The idea of capturing nature in a semi-circle, gray pot is quite unique. There are four sections to these decor pieces. The empty space of the flower pot is filled with rich, dark brown soil. The roots lead to the blooming, purple flowers. On top of these are bright yellow flowers. The orange circle within these flowers attracts your eyes. Rows of flowers are the suspenseful music to the long, green leaf sprouting at the top. It takes you to a scene of fresh, cold water sprouting out from a water fountain. Without these decorative flower pots, Phillips Exeter Academy would lose community, comfort, and peace feeling. The nature around campus distinguishes a prison and a beautiful school. All it takes is flowers.

Located in the field across from Moulton House is a rectangular, stone memorial plaque. It reads: “In Memory of David E. Robbins Class of 1978.” A week ago, I was walking back from cross country when I saw it for the first time. I found myself thinking, Who is David E. Robbins? Was he a past headmaster? Was he a past teacher? Was he a donor? The fact that he has a memorial tells me that he was probably an important person to Exeter. I just didn’t know why.

My curiosity got the best of me and I set out to find out who David C. Robbins is. It turns out that after David graduated from Exeter in 1978 he went to Brown University, graduated in 1983, and then became a research assistant at the Institute for East West Security Studies. I also found out that David died from injuries he got in a car accident in October of 1984. His parents, Larry and Diana Robbins, gave an endowment to Exeter to hold symposiums on third world countries and world development in David’s memory. David’s friends also gave funds to give him a memorial tree, which is the plaque in the field. Now every time I walk pass the field and I see the plaque I think about David C. Robbins and the type of person he probably was.

1. A black rock shines from behind a mirrored pane in the back of the science center. Its jagged edges are dipped in amber and the whole stone appears to shine from within. I wonder where it came from. Maybe a generous donor, maybe it was found on campus, but to me, this stone is the heart of a volcano. It seems to beat with energy, and the orange highlights pulse as lights move over them. I wonder what old mountain had to die to let me see this heart of stone
2. I watch from behind a closed window as three workers toil through the rain. They are building something, or renovating something. I am unsure which one. They carry a long tube into the fenced in building. I wonder what is being completed. I wonder if I watch for long enough I would I would notice their project being finished. Would I be able to see the walls forming? Could I tell the difference from one hour to the next? One day to the next? I guess I will never know. All I will be aware of is the green fences, orange vests, and hard workers until their job is done. Then I will see the beauty.

Life is a play within theater itself. The people we meet are just like actors in a specific play, in a specific time of life. The play ends just like how a section of your life ends. Plays comes in all sorts of genres for all sorts of ages, life also has many stages from an infant to the elder and birth to death. Our life is our stage our own space to show the world who we are and why we are who we are from expressions, gestures and experiences. Sometimes we shine, sometimes we are loved but sometimes they dim the lights around us and sometimes we get the spotlight. Life is unpredictable, just like a play to audiences.

It’s a seemingly random poster hung up in the corner. The border is thick and a subtle olive green with the inside featuring a pink and cream coloured woman. Her dainty eyes are almost closed and she has curly, poofy coffee-coloured hair cascading down her shoulder. Her gloved hand is grasping some kind of of cane and she is surrounded by baby pink thorns and roses the same olive green as the border. At the top, written in fat white letters, reads Tosca, an Italian surname, also my mother’s surname. A description at the bottom has something written in Italian, and I believe it is talking about music. What year is this sign from? I wonder. And what is the music that it is advertising? I wonder what series of events led to this poster being here, in the PEA library. Who got this here? I imagine that maybe an Italian student brought it from their home. It’s may be from a long time ago.

You have lost your phone and dial pad too

But you remain, not many people knew

Telephone box empty and still

Telephone box right outside the Grill

What will you do in your days to come

Maybe you’ll just stay there staring at the sun

Without a purpose, you might be taken down

Maybe they’ll throw you in a nearby town

Hopefully they’ll reunite you

So you’ll find your phone and dial pad too