aditi's simple thoughts (original)

A poem that has been sitting in my Google Docs for quite a while now. Written fro a prompt given to the class by my fifth grade teacher: What is your most treasured item and why? It was originally a piece of prose, but I turned it into poetry instead. Pencil Long, Hard, Easily broken. Grows shorter As it's used. Expressing Freely, Making its mark. Never ending color Gracing each sheet. Line by line, Shape by shape, Word by word, A pencil that can change the world.

A PTA/PTO funded annual project, called Reflections, was presented at my school. I decided to take part in it, submitting a drawing and a poem for this year's theme: Within Reach . Here is the poem, titled Almost . Almost Aditi Bhattamishra So close. So very close. So tantalizingly close. A couple more inches. A couple more steps. A couple more hopes. A couple more dreams. A few more falls. A few more burns. A few more hurdles. A few more tears. I see it. I see the light. Almost there. I’m almost there. Almost.

Written for a prompt given to me by my mother. though the intended writing should have been more specific and biographical. The Life of A Chair The chair. A simple, basic object used daily without much thought. Defined by the importance of the sitter, and how hard said sitter’s tush is. The chair’s humble beginnings start in a factory, as most other objects do. Each chair has its own unique story, each boasting a different experience. Some have gone through the careful polishing and painting of wood, while others recall of the molds that formed there brightly colored, spinning bodies. Either way, all chairs have the same fate. All chairs leave the factory not knowing what they are in for. Each is excited to finally have a purpose, whether it be to add comfort at the dining table, or to seat the president in the Oval Office. Of course, us oblivious humans wouldn’t notice a thing, because they are, after all, inanimate objects. We would just fall gracefully (