The Screw-Ups

Kelsy Araki

when you're happy, you enjoy the music.  but when you're sad, you understand the lyrics.

i wonder what, exactly, went wrong. 

i am an adequate adolescent in general.  sure, i cut one or two classes every now and then.  i have color streaks in my hair and i smoke corresponding to my classmates.  i spray-painted a certain bridge in times past.  but i have exemplary marks and my educators love me.  my parents were amazing.  we fought occasionally, but nothing major.  i never do drugs or drink, and i wanted to stay pure until marriage.  i have an early academic communications scholarship to University of Maryland.

my love for the arts pours out of me; everyone can see it.  i wear my polaroid camera around my neck every day.  if you pass my desk in study hall, you see song lyrics on my notebook.  i aspire to develop into an stunning originator. 

wait, let me make that easier.  i would like to become an author. 

i'm a reticent person, and it has proved difficult in the past to make me aberrant.  i'm a peacemaker;  i do not speak unless i am spoken to, or unless a conflict among my peers needed solving. however, if provided a laptop or paper and pencil i can express and convey my emotions in a way that verbal communication cannot.

please tell me if i am using words incomprehensible to certain audiences. 

i will finish my segment, as i would suspect some of you are becoming impatient.  i was subject to a humiliating and painful experience, the results to which emanated into two infants, masculine and feminine, that i had to give up for adoption and my own parents disowning me. 

in short, i was raped.  i became pregnant and i gave my twins, Adrianna and Anthony, up for adoption and my parents gave me up forever. 

i would like to find them.  but i would not expect a desire from them to hear about me, much less an affiliation with me

sorry, relationship. 

well, the originator is pushing me to "hurry up".  thus i shall converse with you hereafter, dear readers.