Positively Rebellious™

I am a total, self-confessed rebel. I love going against the grain and, of course, I love my rock hands 🤘, but recently I’ve been thinking…how can I put that spirit to good use? How can I use it to really make a difference?  In our society there are so many negative things that we can rebel against and so much that we should do differently.

 

I’ve come up with this list of things both you and I can do to be Positively Rebellious™. If you’re up for a challenge, have a go and let me know how you get on!

  • Dance in the street (or wherever you like really…supermarkets are also pretty good)💃
  • Just forget about what other people think of you for awhile. Prepare to be liberated!
  • Tell someone that you love their smile 😄
  • Speak your mind and be honest. It will get you so much further than faking it and if people don’t like it…well…tough 😂
  • Stand up for something you believe in 💪
  • Turn your music up, up, up 🎧
  • Stop dwelling on the problems and put your energy into coming up with solutions.
  • Do something you’ve always been too scared to do before. You’ll be fine! ☺️
  • Commit a random act of kindness ❤️
  • Use something you’re passionate about to help someone else.
  • Let go, laugh 😊
  • Take crazy photos 📸
  • Consciously put someone else before yourself 👍
  • Tell people you care about that you love them 💕
  • Share whatever you can in whatever ways you can 🤝
  • Be a pirate (or whatever else you feel like being) for the day ☠️
  • Don’t just follow the crowd, always make the decision to do the right thing 👍
  • Swim in the sea – it will be cold, but I can promise you it’s worth it 🌊
  • Don’t walk – run! Or hop! Or skip! Or jump! Or sail 😏😏
  • Forgive someone for their mistakes ❤️
  • Wake up early and watch the sunrise 🌇
  • Send someone an encouraging text 🤛
  • Most importantly, think for yourself! Act upon what you believe in, do something about what you care about and dare to be different ✌️

If you have anything to add, don’t hesitate to comment down below! Also, I would absolutely love to hear how you get on being Positively Rebellious™ so be sure to let me know. I hope this inspired you and made you smile 😊 so, what are you waiting for, Positive Rebels?! Get out there and go!

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Playground Swings

 

Playground Swings – a poem

**all photo credits to my sister**

silence
a child’s cry
they both call me to this place of familiarity
at different times
I think it’s
the security of a soft landing
the comfort of children playing
the simplicity of just saying
or
or it’s the lonely poeticness of a playground when it’s empty,
the cold, quiet paradox of a place like this in silence.
and something about the way
I can always smile here

thinking out loud on playground swings,
these creaking chains are the only ones that will ever set me free,
and yet still I’m trapped,
torn back down to earth
by the limits of my wings,
I want to fly higher
and I will
never quite knowing
stomach lurching
you will catch me when I’m falling
right?

Hood up
pulled over my face like a shadow
legs stretched to the sky
lips and mind searching for the ‘why’
in everything

my fingers are getting cold
kinda slipping
letting go
I’ve been here too long
nostalgia
memories burn holes
in your pocket
matches set fire to the past
then watch as flames destroy souls
and poetry is composed
and the future is all they leave us
covered in ash
so close and yet so far away

the wind blows in my face
just reminding me of its power
I rise and fall like the waves
and I can do nothing
yet I still strike out for the shore
and swim
but sometimes I am torn between
the devil and the deep blue sea
and sometimes
the mystery of the horizon
is too beautiful
and I fill the ocean with my tears
whilst the tide takes me
and I have to decide whether to fight
or to let go.

but I am stronger
I am stronger
than anyone knows
and I will sing a song
my song
and people will hear me
and they will lean over the fence and listen
and I will be a child on a playground swing again

{Messin’ With A Camera and Some Words}

I’ve taken some kinda aesthetic photos recently. Not a photographer, but I like messing around with my phone camera so yeah, guys, enjoy…

I tell the sunset that I miss you. I tell it how my heart aches and how, if the blue of the sky was a little deeper, it could be an upside-down ocean.

 

~sparkler wizard in his element~

What the mirror sees is what I forget – wild hair and cowgirl jeans. Bracelets up one arm, a metallic road spanning bruised skin stretched over muscle, swimmer’s muscle. Swimmer’s bruises. This is me. 

Fire and noise call me from afar. The drums feel like a revolution. There are crowds, but all I see are hands, tucked in pockets, reaching for the sky, for the fireworks that explode above their heads, just out of reach. Beautiful, but fleeting and no one’s to keep. There’s smoke, but all I see are flames, leaping through the air towards me. They call me, set my soul on fire. There’s sparks that burn my heart and it….it makes me feel alive.

Cars pass like moments, seconds even. Things we wanted to say, but….never did. Times when we turned our unspoken words into sighs….wrote the text message, but deleted it before we pressed send. Talked to the stars. Hid our feelings in metaphors and rhymes. I’m guilty. Another car past.

Stop! Don’t run into the fire, don’t burn, don’t follow the crowd, don’t be hypnotised by the flames, listen to my warning in the dark. Please.

“Mummy, the sky’s on fire.” 

I like talking to the sky. I tell it how I feel and then that I don’t know what to feel. I tell it that I don’t know what to say and it listens. I sing in the car because it makes me feel powerful. Just like when I’m in the water, I feel like I’m on top of the world, but I’m not. I feel the light above me and I fight my way up. 

Words That Burn + Poems About Identity And Two Big Announcements!

As part of my home school curriculum, I am doing a project called Words That Burn. It was launched by Amnesty International and is aimed at teaching young people about human rights, whilst encouraging them in their creative writing, mainly poetry. Learning at its best, in my view.

So, today I wanted to share a poem that we had to analyse in my project. It’s a really powerful and beautiful piece by spoken word artist Dean Atta, on the topic of identity. After that, we had to write our own poem, about our identity.

However, before we go into all of that exciting stuff, I have an important announcement to make! 🙂 You can now go vote for the nominees in Megan’s Part 1 of the Best Of 2017 Blogging Awards! I am literally jumping up and down right now because I WAS NOMINATED IN TWO CATEGORIES! Wow, I never expected that.  Anyway, go vote! And good luck! *proceeds to dance around the room*

Okay, so coming back to the poem. I present, I Come From by Dean Atta.

I come from shepherd’s pie and Sunday roast
Jerk chicken and stuffed vine leaves
I come from travelling through my taste buds but loving where I live

I come from a home that some would call broken
I come from D.I.Y. that never got done
I come from waiting by the phone for him to call

I come from waving the white flag to loneliness
I come from the rainbow flag and the union jack
I come from a British passport and an ever-ready suitcase

I come from jet fuel and fresh coconut water
I come from crossing oceans to find myself
I come from deep issues and shallow solutions

I come from a limited vocabulary but an unrestricted imagination
I come from a decent education and a marvellous mother
I come from being given permission to dream but choosing to wake up instead

I come from wherever I lay my head
I come from unanswered questions and unread books
Unnoticed effort and undelivered apologies and thanks

I come from who I trust and who I have left
I come from last year and last year and I don’t notice how I’ve changed
I come from looking in the mirror and looking online to find myself

I come from stories, myths, legends and folk tales
I come from lullabies and pop songs, Hip Hop and poetry
I come from griots, grandmothers and her-story tellers

I come from published words and strangers’ smiles
I come from my own pen but I see people torn apart like paper
Each a story or poem that never made it into a book.

I just love love love some of the lines in this, they’re so poignant. “waving the white flag to loneliness” “crossing oceans to find myself” “being given permission to dream, but choosing to wake up instead” I could go on and on and on. Seriously

Now comes the challenging part. I had to write a poem like his: an I come from….. poem. So I sat down and made a list of the things that have shaped my identity and then crafted them into this poem.

I Come From by Gracie Chick

I come from words springing from emptiness,

I come from the pages of a book, 

I come from misty mornings in my mind and conversations long into the night,

I come from the flames of a candle and the glowing embers of a campfire

I come from struggles and determination and an overwhelming desire for true friendship. 

I come from missing the sunrise and waiting all day for it to set.

I come from craving beauty in a world I want to change, 

I come from tears and discontentment, 

I come from dreaming big

I come from two amazing hearts that never lose faith. 

I come from wanting more than black and white

I come from music that no one else hears and stories that no one else sees,

or writes.

I come from a river of ink and a land of where the honey is too sticky and sweet and the milk soured long ago.

Hope that made sense to you guys! Now, the big question is……

Where do you come from???

Please answer in the comments, debating is more than welcome!

And now, time for the second big announcement. Some of you might remember reading my discussion post on makeup a few weeks ago. If so, you’ll probably recall that I included a section detailing the thoughts of many different teens throughout the blogosphere. The result was amazing and everyone really got into the discussion element of it. So, I was thinking I’d make this a regular thing. If you’re interested in contributing your opinions to these future discussion posts, please drop me an email at graciechick29@gmail.com

Then, whenever I need your thoughts, I’ll send out an email (probably monthly) and you can reply with your contributions. This is aimed mainly at teens, but if you’re older or younger and would still like to participate, feel free. Also, if you sign up, you don’t have to participate very time. If you’re ever too busy or just don’t want to contribute that’s totally fine.  Hoping to see lots of interest in this!

What did you think of Dean Atta’s Poem? What about mine? Complete this sentence: I come from…

Are you going to sign up to give your opinions in my future discussion posts?

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Light In The Darkness Part 6: The Ambassador’s Name

Demons haunted my sleep. “You have seen us and so you will die.” they hissed. I tried to wake up, but there was something about this slumber that was different. It felt like I was in a prison, trapped in the darkness and unable to free myself. I struggled for every minute of the seemingly endless sleep to wake up and find my way out.

Finally I broke through, gasping and sweating. My fingers closed around my cloak, it was covered in dried, crimson blood. I eased myself back down and stared up through at the canopy of leaves. Sunlight seeped through the gaps between the branches and touched my skin. It was so bright! I never knew how good the light was until that moment. I glanced around me.

I was laying on a sort of mossy bank and I could hear what sounded like a brook, bubbling somewhere nearby. I reached up to touch my head, it was pounding in a most peculiar and painful manner. My hand brushed a ragged cloth, again I could tell that it was crusted with blood.

“Faith.” my voice came out like a croak. “My name is Faith.” This made me laugh, despite myself. I don’t know why I was so deliriously happy. Perhaps it was because I knew I didn’t have Amnesia. I remembered the Ambassador and his strange behaviour in the moments before my accident. I even remembered the force of his hand pushing me hard to the floor.

Salty tears run down my cheeks. I trusted him. I thought he was good and kind and wanting to be my friend. I was so naive and now I had paid. I struggled to my knees and gritted my teeth against the searing, throbbing pain that plagued my head. “Ah!” I used the tiny incy bit of strength I had to heave myself to my feet and stumble off into the trees.

I had only walked a couple a steps when I began to feel extremely dizzy. I tried so hard to hold myself up, but it was no use.

I fell.

I don’t know how long I laid there, half conscious and moaning. It could have been minutes, even seconds, or it could have been hours. I only recollect two familiar arms folding themselves around my body and lifting me gently up.

Up, up, up.

High.

I was on top of the world.

All I could see was a deep, never-ending blackness, and I felt lost. “What if I’ve gone blind?” Stupid thoughts filled my barely conscious mind. Then I heard his voice and I didn’t care either way. “It’s ok.” he soothed, sitting me back down on the moss, I could feel its comforting springiness. I couldn’t see his eyes so I had no idea how he was feeling.

“I can’t see your eyes.” I whimpered. “Try opening your own.” he laughed. I did and was so overjoyed that I forgot to feel silly for not thinking of it before.

“Phoenix.” I spoke the word slowly, cocking my head to one side. An understanding passed between us.  “The bird that rose from the darkness in a glorious burst of flames and lit up the world with its light.”

This was so different to the way I had imagined telling him the name I’d chosen, but it seemed like the perfect moment. “I’m sorry, Faith.” he whispered. “You will forgive me, won’t you?”

“Of course!” I cried. “But why did you do it?”

His answer distressed me even further. “Because you’re my friend.”

“Then why did you push me?” My head started pounding again.

“I didn’t want you to leave. I knew they’d come to take you away from me and I, being the selfish person I am, wanted you to stay. I’m sorry, Faith. It wasn’t your fault. I was just hurt, and angry that you had to be taken away from me so soon.” he hung his head “Now I’ve ruined every chance I ever had of changing. I can never change, the dark side has crept into my mind and is poisoning me. I understand if you don’t trust me any more.”

I began to laugh and he glared at me. “Phoenix-” “Call me Ambassador.” He was angry with himself, I think he was on the edge of absolute despair. I had to make him understand.

“But I was never going to go with them! I decided that long before you found me!”

“What!? Don’t be stupid, Faith. They’re your friends.” he smiled ruefully. “So are you.” I said softly, turning sadly away.

“Huh?”

“I said you’re my friend too!”

He hugged me then, tightly like he’d never let me go. “Are you sure?” he asked, doubtfully. “Yes!” I exclaimed. “Phoenix, no one has ever been a better friend to me. No one has ever shown me so much, inspired me more, trusted me with their very identity. Honestly, please believe me.”

He gave a slight nod of his head, too overcome with emotion to speak. I nodded back happily and then sank, exhausted, back onto the mossy bank to sleep.

Da da da! All has been revealed! I find character’s motives in stories quite fascinating, don’t you? What did you think of The Ambassador’s name? I decided to stick with the original one that I chose. I think it suits him. Do you like the sort of prose-y vibe that I snuck into this installment? I hoped it would compliment the drama of this part of the storyline. Please leave me all your thoughts, questions and ideas in the comments below! It’s much appreciated, guys. 

See ya….😉

Gracie

Xxx

 

Let The Audience Look to Their Eyes!

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Titania, queen of the fairies, in the spectacular A Midsummer Nights Dream Live from the Globe.

I’ve been watching Midsummer Nights Dream by William Shakespeare Live from the Globe on Iplayer this morning. It’s so good! It incorporates music, dance, comedy and, of course, the wonderful, enigmatic, meaningful language of Shakespeare.

The title is a quote from Nick Bottom, the comic part in this play, when he is describing how good an actor he thinks he is. He wants to play all the parts in the play, the hero, the villain, the lady and the animals. He is saying, in this quote, that when he kills himself (as the hero) he will need to produce some tears so he says: Let the audience look to their eyes! Which is silly really as you can’t exactly look to your own eyes, can you? Shakespeare’s good like that.

I love, love, love Shakespeare. I’ve already read all of his 37 plays, I can quote whole passages, translate them into modern English, I’ve written a few adaptions of many of his plays, completed in depth study guides,  I just love the language. It draws me in, makes me think.

Anyhow, A Midsummer  Nights Dream is two and a half hours long, so I’m watching it in half hour parts.

Here is a quote that I particularly like: “My soul consents not to give in to sovereignty.” Hermia. sovereignty means supreme power and authority, in my own words. I like Hermia a lot because she stands up for what she believes and she isn’t afraid of anything. She even tells the Duke of her land what she thinks is right and sticks to it even when he threatens her with death.

 

Here’s my favourite dialog from the first part, between Hermia and Helena. If you don’t know the storyline, I would go look it up now. Not only is it intriguing, it will help you understand this next passage.

Basically, this is Helena complaining about how Demetrius doesn’t love her to Hermia, who Demetrius does love.

Helena: Teach me how you look and how you sway the motion of Demetrius heart. 

Hermia: I frown upon him yet he loves me still.

Helena: Then your frowns could teach my smiles some skill! 

Hermia: I give him curses yet he gives me love.

Helena: Then my prayers could such affection move!

Hermia: The more I hate, the more he follows me.

Helena: The more I love, the more he hates me.

Hermia: His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

Helena: Except your beauty! I wish that were mine!

Hermia: Take comfort, he shall no longer see my face. Lysander and myself will fly this place! 

Helena: No!? 

Note: Lysander is Hermia’s love.

Quotes

Seeing as I wrote a post about inspiration a few days ago. I thought I’d put on some inspirational quotes today. *smiles* I love quotes, to me they’re a sort of poetry. I think quotes are a brilliant way of using words.

q4

 

q1

q

q3

Inspiration

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Sometimes I’m out and about and I have a brilliantly creative idea. I kick myself ’cause my pencil and pad is at home. Then it’s gone. The idea flickers, burns and dies within just a few seconds. I still remember it sometimes, but somehow it doesn’t seem so good.

Then I go home and pick up my pad and pencil. The blank, white sheet stares at me, the lines that run across it are like prison bars. Like the words inside my mind are trapped. Someone who isn’t  writer wouldn’t understand this, but it’s sort of depressing. Seeing that blank sheet and not having any words to decorate it. This is my struggle.

I’m sure all writers go through this. But the thing is you must push through it. You must just write and let inspiration guide you when it can. Stephen King said: Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us just get up and go to work. Sometimes you have to go out and look for things, it’s like everything in life, it won’t always come to you.

inspire1

Perfectly sums up what I’m trying to say about finding inspiration.

But still spontaneous inspiration is wonderful. It shows the absolute beauty of your mind.

Inspiration strikes at unexpected times. Roald Dhal admitted that sometimes he used lipstick and a sweet wrapper to record some idea he’d had. I think a decent writer has to find the balance between using spontaneous inspiration and finding inspiration themselves.

What are your thoughts on inspiration? Please let me know.

Inspiration concept crumpled paper light bulb metaphor for good

Love this.

Me, A Shortlistee?

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Remember the poem I wrote to enter into the Amnesty International Youth Awards?
Well, it was shortlisted for the top ten! I felt so excited, I just couldn’t stop laughing and jumping up and down.This was a national competition and  thousands of people had entered.  I rung everyone, telling them the great news. I was thrilled. The feeling was amazing.

I had to wait a few weeks to find out if I had made it into the top three, unfortunately I didn’t, but I wasn’t disappointed. I didn’t expect even to get into the top ten.

A couple of days ago I received my certificate, which is very grand, and a small prize: an Amnesty International book. It is the Human Rights Act in sketches and it is by the children’s laureate, Chris Riddel.
If you haven’t read my poem you can read it here at:https://graciechicksblog.wordpress.com/2016/02/26/the-candle/

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Four Birds

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I hope you like this short story that I wrote. I’m working on my story writing and I do believe it’s slowly improving. This story is like a fable, it has a moral, and the moral is that your parents may make you work hard and learn lots, but they’re doing it because they want to prepare you for life. And they want the best for you, because they love you. Dad and Mum talk to us about this all the time. They are always teaching us things and it’s because they care.

FOUR BIRDS

There once was a family that lived peacefully up in the High Hills. They lived a simple life, in a simple little cottage, on a simple little farm. The children never knew anything about the outside world, but the parents did. Every evening they would sit by the crackling fire, the littlest on the Father’s knee, the other three curled up on the rug. The Father would tell stories of big cities, millions of people, great palaces, schools, brightly coloured markets, beautiful sunsets not blocked out by hills, mountains that touch the sky, majestic forests and exotic animals and oceans that stretch further than the eye can see.

The children listened in awe and one by one they decided that one day they too would see all these wonders. They spoke to their Father about this and he nodded, smiling. “My children,” he began ” I would like nothing more than for you to go out and explore the world, follow your dreams, settle down and help our world to grow.” The children’s eyes grew wide with anticipation. “But,” their Father continued, “but first you must be ready. The world is not just wonderful, it is dangerous too. You must be able to think for yourselves. At the moment you are fully reliant on your Mother and I. Before you go, you must learn and put the effort in. If you do not work hard, you will not be able to go out and adventure.”

The four children walked away, their wise Father’s words resounding in their ears ” You must be able to think for yourselves.”

That night, as the children lay asleep in their warm cosy beds, their Mother and Father sat talking. “Must we make them think for themselves?”, asked their Mother, “Can we not think for them?” ” My dear, the time has come. We cannot think for them always and forever. They must begin now otherwise they will be adults who have no idea how to live. They will always have to rely on someone else, they will never live their lives to the full. Surely that is not what you want for them?” “No,” sniffed the Mother, “I want them to spread their wings and fly.” “Good” smiled the Father “I’m just giving them a little push. That is my job as a Father, to help my children be the best they can be.”

At first the children worked extremely hard, watching and learning from their parents and trying to think for themselves at every opportunity they got. But their Father knew it wouldn’t last long. Slowly, they grew tired and less motivated. Their Father took them aside and reminded them. “Children! How many times have I told you the importance of thinking for yourselves?! You mustn’t keep relying on me and your Mother. It is my role to guide you , but I can’t do everything for you. If you want to go, you must do it for yourself.”

The children felt refreshed and inspired after their Father’s speech and they set about it once again. This time they stuck to it. They learnt more and more and they began to do things for themselves ever oftener.

Their Mother watched them with tears in her eyes, but also pride and joy. Their Father just looked on, content. He rarely had to say anything nowadays.

Eventually the time came when the children were ready to leave. Their parents stood on the hilltop, outside the little cottage, and watched them go. Four birds, flying free.

The Father put his arm around the Mother’s shoulder. “My dear,” he said “our children are off to live their lives the best they can and we have helped them the best we can. They are part of the future and, because we love them, we have made them as ready for it as they possibly could be. They will contribute to a bright and hopeful world.”

THE END

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