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by Talia M., 7th Grade

Identity is the mask we plaster on our faces, the words we speak, the clothing we wear. It is what we bind to ourselves, to other people’s memories. What we are remembered by, the things small or big that define us.

Eventually those things will fade away, as do our identity, our legacies. New people and new ideas will come along, and then all of our marks will blend and smudge together. These blending, smudges, the markings, will all become a massive tapestry of history. This tapestry will rub away until it is beaten and weathered to dust, the many stories to great a weight, causing a collapse.

Although soon the tapestry will rise again, born again with new things to tell. And every little mark on that tapestry will be so small and seemly insignificant that you might not even notice it. But within that tiny, tiny little space is generations of families, friends, of life. People that have lived, dreamed, died. That long for their story to transcend time.

File:TapestryPalacioCV2.JPGAnd it does, because the tapestry would not be as large and colorful for not the thousands of markings.  Some of these may shine brighter than most when they became somebody. A president, author, poet, dancer, actor, actress. Maybe yours will shine like that, or it will be so inexplicitly normal that it would seem to never exist. But every little part is important, because although the world may not see you, friends, parents, mentors will. Your legacy will live on through that.

It might seem impossible, that out of so many people you are important. But you have to dream so big it seems impossible, and then go do it. You have to push yourself to the brink of your darkest moments. You have to make your life count, because you only get one chance to live. Make yourself shine so bright that the whole world cannot ignore you. And with time, we all will become something magnificent. A tapestry so rich, vibrant and beautiful.

We will be remembered.

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Ice

Photo Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Photo Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

A Poetic Response to Nature’s Classroom

by Talia M., 7th Grade

 

Tiny stories

Embedded in ice

Memories

Lying in wait

Begging to resurface again

They call to me

Showing

My reflection

Playing tricks

Things dancing

In the ice

Telling me stories

Of seasons past

Maybe

Someday

The ice will tell mine.

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