journalism
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‘Build a sculpture of what you love'
read the Helvetica font on the frontside
of the rubric.
Silly school project I mused,
Typing was easy --
Writing was hard.
What then was the point of the words
If there lay no meaning behind them?
If no cause stood before them?
If no purpose guided them?
And then a demagogue,
Hi!
I’m a fan.
Or should I say,
I am a breathing sex toy,
screaming ATM machine,
teeny-bopper obsessive drama queen?
I am nothing!
What’s funny is talking about celebrity culture—
Welcome to my Newsroom
Welcome to my newsroom.
Where my problems seem to melt away.
Where there’s an inspirational quote on colored cardstock
On every inch of the wall.
Is journalism right for me?
I have thought for so long that it’s true.
Any time so one would ask me what I wanted to do I had the answer ready to
Spring out out, quick as a whip.
Ready with a quip
I yell to the stars but only the clouds hear me
I stomp my feet but the ants dont fear me
I cry but no tears fall
I reach out for help but noones there
Crying out help but the people just stare
I need a job that could change whole life
And maybe then will shit start going right
I wouldn't have to be worried about my moms
Or my sisters and brothers crying about the lights going off
The water and the cable
She Will
The woman leaps across the continent:
Bern, Paris, Munich, Prague,
the green sloping fields of Switzerland.
She is moving forward,
moving towards
I dream of having a voice
traveling the world to see the ways of people in other countries live
to write about what I come across and the observations I have made
Traveling
Meeting new people
Speaking a different language every week
This could be my reality
With my dream job
Always on the move
Constantly learning
Constantly questioning
And best of all
Speaking, we take it for granted
Speaking, it connects us all
Speaking, it could raise us up
Speaking, it could be our downfall
To speak or not to speak, that could be the question
A journalist at heart
A product of creativity,
A journalist at heart,
My canvas is the TV.
No one can pull us apart.
An earpiece and a microphone,
My other kinds of friends,
It's just one job, I promise, just one. I have a dream, a great dream, to live under the sun.To see the ocean gleam,to be wild and free.Ah, yes, a traveling journalist,that's what I'll be!
This job will not only change my life.
It will change the world.
Words can stab like a knife
But without them would anything change?
In a world so corupt
With problems that can widely range
Let me write for you.
Absorb my words and remember my name.
Search for me through the pages of the black and white print.
Adopt what you like of mine,
Compliment my style.
I meant to tell you
that I wrote the other day,
but I kept silent
because I wrote about my fears.
And it’s all the words
I never can say.
I knew if I told you,
I’d like to say I grew up in the “happy medium:”
Between marches, riots, and fights in the pursuit of Civil Rights,
And the fall of those two towers when the plane went right through them
Anticipation sets in now that its Tuesday morning.
Forecast expects turbulent headlines.
Over 60 stacks of The Reporter flood into the newsroom.
Peers, writers, and delivery men all lend themselves to help;
This book will bleed no blood
Only the shrieks of my inner ambition and concept
Raw vision.
I am a conceptualist and a realist
with a superficial story behind my self esteem.
when I was in high school learning to take the tenets
of journalism like the sacraments of Christ
we learned a wealth of rules;
some matter more than others
but
I must have missed the day
