SOL #28 I AM PROBLEM SOLVER

I am problem solver
I am march through the halls problem solver

I am problem solver
I am tough as nails problem solver

I am problem solver
I am knees deep in issues problem solver

I am problem solver
I am up to my eyes in defiance problem solver

I am problem solver
I am Don’t let them get you down! problem solver

I am problem solver
I am speak up, use your voice problem solver

I am problem solver
I am passion-ignited problem solver

I am problem solver
I am do not settle for less problem solver

I am problem solver
I am stand strong, sturdy soul problem solver

I am problem solver
I am queen of NO problem solver

I am problem solver
I am bend the rules, make it work, flexible problem solver

I am problem solver
I am grind your teeth, get ready for the fight problem solver

I am problem solver
I am tears don’t hold me back problem solver

I am problem solver
I am beyond the box, mind-stretching problem solver

I am problem solver
I am heart-to-heart, care about you problem solver

I am problem solver
Because

I

SOLVE

THE PROBLEMS

SOL #3 A Note, A Change

This note found it’s way into my hands from a student in the other Third Grade.

There have been struggles.
There have been mean girl fights.
There has been, “I don’t want to do that.”
There has been sassing back.
There has been lack of support at home.
There has been, “But she said this…!”
There has been sticking out tongues and evil glares.
There has been lying and manipulating.
There has been, “You’re not my friend.”

Now it’s, “Tell her how you feel.”
Now it’s, “I’m glad you’re here today!”
Now it’s sharing hugs in the hallway.
Now it’s, “Hello there! How was your day?!”
Now it’s following teacher directions.
Now it’s apologizing when wrong.
Now it’s kind, genuine words.
Now it’s, “I forgive you, Miss Kriegl.”
Now it’s playing games with others.
Now it’s letting someone else have another turn.

 

And now it’s this note.
These feelings.
Her happiness.

 

Student writing is power too.

Old Coat Memories

I put on my old coat.

I thought about playing in the snow

and chewing salty, right-by-zipper fabric.

I transformed into a giant purple marshmallow

stuffed with down feathers.

I cringed at the washed-out dirt marks

lining the sleeves

and laughed at the moments that a created them.

I played zipper races up and down my forearm

faster, fast, faster.

I had to hold the sleeve.

I flipped up my halo of warmth

and leaned back to welcome the security-

but still missed the slightly itchy fur rim.

I snuggled into the warmth of memories.

I nearly fell asleep on the couch.

My Writing Journey

btbc16.jpg

My story of writing begins sweetly at a young age, where I was encouraged to develop my ABC’s. But if we’re being honest, it really took off when I was an angry, lonely, hopeful pre-teen. Ah, yes, you remember the term well, those horrid middle-school years. Those are the years that my writing began to flourish, and not in quality, mind you, in quantity. But hey, as most writers claim, the first step advancement is to write and write often; and that, I did. I wrote about my anger. I wrote about my desperation and longing for something more. And then I wrote of love, of a certain fellow that I’m still writing about.

High school years were a little kinder, but the true “POET” in me, as I claimed, continued writing. My anguish and loneliness wavered, but my love for the boy did not. Both allowed me to write without end. Academically, I was often known as an over-achiever, particularly in my English classes. One teacher even told the class, “Don’t write an Amanda Kriegl length essay this time. I only want 3 pages.” See? There’s that quantity again. 😛

In college, my writing was stifled by judgmental poetry club members that determined I did not have a sense or structure to my emotional, poetic scribbles. My writing was further smashed upon realizing my once praised, detailed essays were picked apart and left for the “writing tutors” to help me mend them. Needless to say, my writing came to a screeching halt. All that fervor was extinguished like a flame put out for night. I believed I had no such talent and I left my poetry books in the dust.

Toward the end of college, flickers in the night appeared and began to remind me WHY I wrote in the first place. I wrote to inspire, to share, to express, to remember, to forget. My writing was strengthened by those tutors, and my poetic capacity was increased by experience alone. However, this wasn’t enough to rekindle the flame for writing. Not until I met Jennie and Michelle.

These past two years have been my saving grace, in terms of writing. By example and passion, both Jennie and Michelle have reminded me of the persuasion, the power, the emotion, the inspiration, the knowledge that words bring. In their personal lives and in their professional teaching careers, they have demonstrated the value of writing and the beauty of words. Following in their footsteps, I have become Writing Core Facilitator, lead Family Writing Project, followed and fell in love with Lucy Calkins Writing Units of Study, participated in SOL by myself and as a class, created this blog, and continue to write my own poetry.

Words are the vessel into one another’s mind. They are the white flag on a sinking ship when someone needs guidance. They are the bandage on a wounded heart. Words are the love that a friend carries. Words are my life.

So, whether I am blogging, scribbling on a sticky note, or writing in my journal, I am always writing with the heart of a teenager and the knowledge of an adult.

write your heart out.jpeg

 

 

SOL #14 I hope that someone sits with you

I hope that someone sits with you
when you’re feeling lonely or sad
when you’re angry or mad.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you feel like there’s nothing left
and emptiness is your best friend.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you’re too young to make a decision
and too old to start new.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you don’t feel like trying
but you won’t quit.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you feel like time’s up
and you’ve got nothing left to give.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when your eyes are leaking
and your brow’s furrowing.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you blink a new tomorrow
and gaze beyond the dark.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when light creeps in
and your heart rises with hope.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you have fresh eyes
and an anxious heart.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you’re ready to start over
and need a guiding hand.
I hope that someone sits with you.

I hope that someone sits with you
when you need that final push
to remember who you are.
I hope that someone sits with you.

 

I hope that someone sits with you
like you sat with me.

 

For my dear friend, Gissel Escobedo.