noellepouzar012 writing portfolio

7/28/2019 NoellePouzar012 Writing Portfolio

1/18

My Friend Death

I saw the light as Death sunk in.Its master made up,

Of my own skin.

I didnt have a reason.I didnt need to cry.

I didnt make small talk,For Death is never shy.

We greeted each other as if we were friends.Though wed never met before.

He took my hand and guided me,As my heart met the pavement floor.

My vision - it turned black.And fear told me to hide.

But run I did not,For my friend Death was by my side.

A loyal companion Death is.For he does as he is told.

The only friend I have,To guide me through the cold.


2/18

Peel back the layers of my skin

Peel back the layers of my skin,Reveal whats hidden,

Deep within.

Listen to the heaving,See it there.

My pathetic, tiny heart,Gasping for air.

It does not yearn for the air within thy lungs,Not the one nurtured by a tree.

Its the air only the heart can feel,The air only my heart can breathe.

It yearns for survival,But I cannot lie.

My heart is suffocating,Shriveled and waiting to die.

But maybe, just maybe,You could find,

The essence to my cure,The vulnerability of mankind.

So peel back the layers of my skin,And reveal whats hidden,

Deep within.


3/18

Letting Go

Here we go,Were going under,

I try to explain,Your voice is like thunder.

I wish I could say Im sorry,But youll only hear my wrong.

I want to say I love you,

But I am no liar that strong.

What can I do to make amends?My thoughts are racing.

I cant stop thinking,Cant stop chasing.

Maybe when we part,Well be two souls,

With whole and happy hearts.

But shatter yours I did,As I spoke the words,

That should never be said.

Bit by bit,My guilt sinks in,But I cant surviveOn a love so thin.

I take a deep breath,I kiss your moist skin.

Let us part,So we can begin.


4/18

Routine

You get up after the third ring,Turn on the lights,Then begin to sing

Sing the tune of sweet lies,Head to the closet,

Pick out your disguise

Everyday a different sweater,But no matter the color,It will never get better

Grab those tools,Take your brush,

Paint the face with your favorite blush

Oh how you fear someone might see,How you wish to be free,

Free from the world of your own,A place where you are and you alone

Look in your eyes,See the tear,

Choke it down,Overridden by that fear

Lock up that inner queen,Never let her reach the stars,

Hide her in the deepest dungeon,Throw the key through the bars

Erase all evidence,Erase all tears,

Go back to the routine,The routine of fears.


5/18

The River

There is a river,Only we can find,

In a valley beyond,The mountains of the mind.

The stream glides through,

The crests of each pile,Only hear the water running,

And the sound of natures smile.

Everything is safe tonight,All is still,

Except the river,Reflecting on the hill.

You and I can rest there,Tonight you wont shiver,For nature is our blanket,

Up by the river.


6/18

JA 10-minute play about the corrupt image of society.Plot:

The scene is the Eating Anonymous (EA) weekly group meeting. All members who want to become a

part of the group must introduce themselves as J. A new member joins the meeting but may not belong

in the particular circle, for she has misinterpreted the meaning of the EA. As the characters introduce their

reasons behind joining and their strange eating behaviors, the new member, Roxi Summers, realizes she

may not want to become another J. This play is supposed to reflect on todays society and the extreme

treatments people will do to their body in order to fit in with society - or, to be another J. The play is ingeneral intended to be sarcastic and more negative than positive.

Character List:

J Host: Enthusiastic, skinny, flamboyant man. Hes very judgmental on people who do not look a certain

way or at least seeming that they are not trying to look that way. He is supposed to represent the medias

treatment of peoples bodies - skeptical, meticulous on every detail, being very blunt about other peoples

body issues, never caring who he damages in the process. Although is he friendly at first to Roxi, he is

almost fake in a way. Hes trying to sugarcoat the corruptness of the group.

Roxi Summers: An insecure 19 year-old wanting to fit into the group. Her motive for becoming a member

was because she has always had issues with accepting her weight and her general image. She doesnt

know where she belongs, and she believes this group in particular is going to help her understand how tolove herself (by becoming skinny).

J1: Perky, young blonde woman who holds food to her nose, not mouth. She smells food in order to gain

the tastiness of a pizza - without actually having to eat a piece. This method is also used by Madonna. It

represents one of the many crazy dieting habits iconic celebrities support and fans try out of inspiration.

J2: Incredibly skinny. Wears skin tight clothes that make him seem very in style. His method of losing

weight is not eating for the longest time until his body breaks down. Literally. He passes out frequently yet

gains joy from the feeling, knowing his body is not gaining any fats by him dieting.

J3: The man sitting against the circle but towards the audience. He is the newest member besides Roxi.

He is facing the other way in order to hide his shameful excess of fat. This is supposed to represent howwe in society try to hide our flaws instead of accepting/embracing them. In his case he has a belly, not

too large (or else he would have not even been considered to be in the group) but enough to not be

considered a J.

J4: Average old lady. She is supposed to be one of the characters to show that the media does not just

affect teenagers, but all ages. J4 is going to be very spunky yet walk with a cane and be very old yet

sassy at the same time. Her action of losing weight is by planting a tapeworm inside her, which allows her

to lose up to 1-2 pounds a week.


7/18

J5: Incredibly awkward red head with very thin hair. She eats her hair instead of food in order to sustain

her body weight, which is below average.

J6: 11 year old average girl. She wears average clothes that mirror her purity - a hot pink butterfly shirt

and a white skirt with her hair behind her ears. She does not explain why she joined the group, because

typically girls in this age or younger who fall into the trap of societys image, dont understand what iswrong with them, but just know that they are not what society/the media depicts as perfect. Her strange

quirk is that she chews her food then spits it into her lunchbox container.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Setting

A plain conference room is designed on stage. There are 7 chairs in the forward middle of the stage lit by

a light just on the circle the chairs create. The play begins with 6 characters already sitting in chairs - from

left to right: J1, J2, J3, J4, J5, J6. The two in the circle directly facing the audience are empty. The one

closest to the audience is faced against them yet the person sitting in the chair is sitting in reverse (facingthe audience). It begins with two characters entering the circle.

J Host

All right people, before we begin this weeks EA session, Id like to introduce our new member. Please sit

down. (points to empty right chair for Roxi to sit) Lets go in a circle and end with you so you can see how

the beginning of these sessions work. Now if you are not comfortable saying your real name, we will just

call you J. Lets start with you, dear (gestures to woman beside J.). Tell us why you joined the Eating

Anonymous group and how youre helping everyone by helping yourself. (smiles brightly, almost in a fake

way)

J1(perky, a bit squeaky voice)

Hello, Im J.

All but J1

Hi, J.

J1

I joined this fabulous group because I want to call myself a J and I will do whatever it takes to keep myself

beautiful. I have been holding food (gasps and judgmental fingers being pointed) but just smelling it. Not

taking a bite (pause for applause). Thank you, its like enjoying a piece of pizza without actually having totouch it with my lips.

J Host:

Bravo J, bravo (claps his hands together twice - by his palms). Next.

J2 (stands because of his twitching - voice is very soft, jittery)


8/18


9/18

(places hand on stomach and pulls on the suction bodysuit he has on underneath his regular attire

**NOTE: this is a significant moment in the play because the host - although he is the leader - does not

have such an extreme tactic for losing weight - but merely seems like he is thinner than he is.**)

J3

Im sorry. Im just very emotional right now.

J Host

That is still no excuse for your language, even if its true. You know what happens to Js who go against

the rules. (points to bag on right stage)

J3 nods head, stands up and turns to JHost. The group gasps at the sight of J3s stomach, the JHost

holding up a hand to cover the sight. J3 walks over sluggishly, head down. He puts on the sweat suit and

immediately becomes red, the suit heating up. His eyes are closed.

J3

I-I cant even look at yo-your faces because I know the look. The loo-look you get when you-youre....

different.

(sighs and sniffs up his nose heavily)

But I wont give up. I-I know there is a J un-underneath this lard. I can do it. I can do it.

J Host

(mildly applauds. passive/annoyed tone)

Yes, yes. Keep trying. Have that sweatsuit on until you know how to speak like a proper J. (waves handlike he is shooing J3 away) NEXT.

J4

Hi, Im J.

Everyone but J4

Hi, J!

J4(very old & crippled yet sassy and upbeat)

I put a tapeworm in my stomach and lost 15 pounds. Im putting another one in tomorrow! (raises arms,

everyone but J4 places hand over their mouths)

J Host

Very impressive, J! Although your commitment to becoming a J has resulted in poor hygiene (group

makes a disgusted face because of the vulgar stench that is a common side effect of tapeworms), I think

we can all learn a thing or two about the positive effects of eating larvae. Brava, brava!


10/18

(Applause)

J5

(twitching and pulling her thin red hair)I eat cat hair instead of fries. After a while they taste the same... If you put ketchup on it.(eyes begin to

twitch uncontrollably)

J6

(very proudly)

I chew my food 37 times, then spit it in my lunchbox.

(Everyone gives a grand round of applause)

J HostI must say this has been a very productive weekend for all of you. Im very proud of you, little Js!

J Host

Ok, newbie. Its your turn! Introduce yourself.

Roxi

Im sorry I think Im in the wrong group.

(Rises, turns against the group. Turns head to look back at J.Host before exiting left stage)

Exit Roxi

J2 (awakes)

Wow. Shes soo not a J.

J3 takes off the sweatstuit and rejoins the group

J.Host

Thats right J. But we are. Now let us all say the J Oath.

All characters stand and make a J with their thumb and index finger. All charcters link their finger with

each other, creating a W.

JHost, J1, J2, J3, J4, J5, J6

I am a J

And I swear to always keep my stomach flat

Or shall I eat and become fat.


11/18

Whisper the last word, look around shamefully. All characters react to saying the word by showing their

severer diet habits one more time - EX. JHost tugging at his bodysuit, J6 showing her lunchbox to J4, J5

plucking a piece of hair from J3 & eating it, etc.)Stage light dims.

FIN


12/18

Returning Home

! It was my first time flying alone and, although I was an expert traveler, emotions were running,

and so were my feet. Planes docked at several fates became a blur as my tempo built. I needed to be

on that plane. The monotonous woman on the overhead began to speak in French something about Gate3C closing the door. I was almost there, almost at that gate. As it came into my sight, I noticed there was

still a line. I exhaled, not just the air in my lungs, but the fear in my mind. I handed the man at the

counter my European passport and ticket to Vienna.

! You are almost home, Ms. Pouzar, he said as he skimmed my passport information.

! I paused. Was I almost home? I didnt have time to share this thought or even say a polite thank

you to him, as an impatient Parisian traveler kicked my heel as an indication I should board the plane.

Though I left my scan ticket at the counter, my questions followed me for the entire two hour flight across

the Alps.

! Was my destination home? Or was it the other way around, that I was flying farther and farther

away from home? After all, I had only lived the first five years of my life in Austria before migrating to

America for the next eleven.

! Legally, I was considered an Austrian citizen and a permanent resident of the United States with a

green card. I squirmed in my economy seat, knowing this did not satisfy the question, but only further

tangle my web of confusion. Although I was an Austrian citizen, I was a visitor in my own country. For the

short days I would be in Vienna, I would be staying at my grandmothers as a family guest. Not at the

house that still belonged to my parents and held the first five years of my childhood memories. It was

leased to another family, which had now become their home. I did not have a physical home in Austria,

like I did back in Louisville. Did the difference of physical houses determine if I was American or

Austrian? It definitely was a factor, I thought.

! By the time I exited the plane, my brain was fried. I had gone in circles torturing myself with the

same thought - who am I? I followed the exit signs and saw four familiar faces I had not seen in over a

year, yet looked exactly as they did before. It was easy to spot them, as their excitement outshone every

fatigued figure in the crowd. I sprinted towards them, wanting to drop it all - my oversized suitcase,

backpack, the airplane stench that covered my body, my confusion with my identity - and be wrapped in

my familys arms.

! I targeted my Oma first, bracing myself for the hug that took the breath out of my lungs. It was

one of the happiest moments of my life. Even though I had traveled all alone for the first time without

missing any flights, I still felt like a child astray that had finally been found. I wanted to stay in her arms

forever, so much it stung. In an instant my heart became heavy with the idea of leaving again in three

days, yet I was still tightly holding on to my Oma. This is how home should feel. Safe. Loving. Secure. I

resisted my bodys temptation of crying, knowing this would only force me to elucidate my overwhelming


13/18

emotions that I did not want to confront at this moment. Instead of letting go to erase all evidence of

sadness, I held on a little longer, almost forgetting there were three others waiting in line to greet me. I

spent the next ten minutes receiving several firm kisses on the the cheek, more hugs, and the regular

inquiries about the eighteen hours I had just spent traveling across the globe.

!The first day back in Austria, I was the perfect outsider. Every day for the pst eleven years I have

become more Americanized. The German accent I once owned as a child has evaporated from my

dialect. Everything from my use of words to my attire to who I am as a consumer has been effected by

American society. Naturally, I felt the tension. Even in my own country, I seemed like a foreigner. When

my grandparents asked me a question, I answered in a mixture of German and English. Feeling like a

fool, I excused myself due to jet lag and said I needed some rest. (A few weeks after being back in the

States I emailed my grandmother the truth, that I had lied and only wanted to be alone so I could cry into

my pillow.)

! Never had I felt this isolated from anything. I had become so accustomed to the American life

that I did not even know how to communicate in my own country. Did that make me an American? If it

did, what did that say about my connection to Austria? The sting in my stomach recurred, shaking as my

insecurity deepened and formed an abyss. My pillow remained damp for the night.

! The next day was a complete shift. After spending half a day back in St. Andr, the village I once

learned how to ride a bike in, I felt nothing but a pang of nostalgia. When I lived here I knew nothing but

the world around me. The small village just outside of Vienna was my bubble, the only home I had ever

known. I was perfectly happy then.

! As I let my index finger wander on the concrete surface that made up the houses walls, I spied a

pair of green eyes lurking near a bush. I nervously stared back. Did she remember me? As the four-

legged beauty began to purr, relief filled my vulnerable heart. Minki, my old cat, licked my outstretched

hand. Instantly, little moments that were once buried at the bottom of my brain rose from the dead.

! I remembered the day she had had her kittens and how I had attempted to hold all four at the

same time. My sister and I had each been given a kitten to take care of, and mine was Moritz. A tiny ball

of ginger fluff, Moritz had always been the cuddlier of the bunch. He would hop onto my bed, and sleep

directly next to my head, purring softly. I remembered saying goodbye before leaving for the airport,

angrily wondering why he was leaving me. In truth, it was the other way around. I had hugged him so

tightly, in that moment no knowing that two years later his life would end after a car accident.

! I kissed Minki on her white-striped forehead, wondering if this was to be ourlast goodbye. The

certainty of when I would return to Austria was as unclear as my understanding with my identity. Was this

our final moment together? I picked her off the ground, taking in her smell, the old scar on her left ear, the

rough heaving of her purr, everything, and noticing how much older she had gotten over the years. I

looked back as I drove away, as I had done the first time I had left. A place that held my perfect childhood


14/18

was in front of me, yet seemed farther away than ever. Now that I knew what lay across the ocean, I did

not know anymore.

! The past seventy-two hours almost seemed unreal, but like from every dream, I had to wake up.

Once again I was present at an airport, preparing for my next flight. This time only three of my

grandparents were there to wish my goodbye. My Oma claimed she could not keep her dog, Lenny,alone for two hours and insisted on staying behind. I pretended to believe her lie, but I knew the real

reason why she could not come. She could not bear the airport, and was only present in one when she

knew she would feel happy there, when I arrived. Now that I was leaving, she could not confront another

goodbye and the constant heartache that came with it. Guilt still pierces through my insides at the

thought of causing pain to my own grandmother. I tightly hugged each of my grandparents once more,

wondering if it would be the last. On the plane, I could still faintly detect the scent of my Opa, who always

smelled of peppermints, on my sweater. I hugged it closely to my body.

! As the titanic distance between plane and earths ground became more prominent, I gazed at

what was below me. Most people look at the minuscule landscape feeling power since they are higher,

but I had never felt more small. Where did I belong on this gameboard? My mind continued to dance

with the questioning of who I was, and somewhere over the Atlantic I came to a stalemate. Can a person

not have one home, but two? Can one truly separate from the place they were born and raised? I will

forever have cultural traits of Austria in my life. Throughout my years, these traits have become altered

as I was introduced to American culture. Maybe when I am older I will have an answer to my question.


15/18

THE BULLET

I held it in my hand, the smooth edges fooling me into thinking it was fragile. I traced it with my

moist skin, its weight getting progressively heavier with each step I took. The bullet was colored gold, the

shimmer perfectly reflecting the essence of its competence. It was so beautiful, so enchanting. How

could such a small, curved object define so much? But thats what it did for me. It defined moments and

feelings in my life that no human would ever correspond to. I felt fear. I felt anger. I felt power.

I was the quiet, troubled kid in the corner whose right hand was glued to its grey pocket sweater.

I liked the way I dressed. It was simple. It was easy, in many ways. No person noticed me, except on

special occasions, such as this one.

Hey, Ethan! Hey! echoed off the hollow lockers and into my direction. I recognized the voice. I

recognized everyones voice, but my own. The Brunette Douche from my second period had hollered

those three words, and he was looking directly at me.

Hey Ethan! he repeated, his gaze remaining on its target.

My name is Etienne.

Instantly my brain began to boil, the sweat on my palms rushed out and my eye refused to stop

its twitching. My name is uncommon and rarely heard in other peoples names, TV scripts, church

seminars, or commercials. Its different. I like that. For someone to call me another name other than my

own, I take as an insult. My name should not be belittled by being substituted for a more general one.

I imagined my reaction to his greeting perfectly. First, I would stare down those red-blotchy eyes of his

and tell him how I felt - how much he bullied me by calling me by my wrong name, or how he ignored my

presence except when he needed something from me. I wanted to tell him how much I loathed him, how

his entire existence ignited a burning hatred in the deepest corner of my soul that I so desperately wanted

to extinguish.

The hand on my side felt empty and quickly reached for the secret object in my right pocket, itscool contrast to my scorching hand soothing me. I felt the power again. Perhaps I could not do much

with a bullet, but if I had its father in my possession, everything would be different. My precious, sweet

bullet never belittles me, but rather gives me personal, ultimate domination on everyone. What I could do

with it is entirely up to the intentions of my own mind, and the reflex in my fingers.

As the Brunette Douche skipped over to my far side of the hallway, I considered expressing how angry I

was. My eyes slowly traveled up from his feet yet dropped down to its initial position when I reached his

shoulders.

Hey Ethan, did you do the homework? Can I see it? Man, I got so shit-faced last night, I

blacked out, the Brunette Douche said, his feet tapping to an inconsistent rhythm. He made an effort as

he showed his million-dollar smile. I did not see it, although the desperate sighs from surrounding

teenage girls made it obvious to me what he had just done.

I wanted to say no and repeat it until he disappeared. Why did no one see the bad, but only

focus on the good? I wanted to kick and scream until someone understood.

Instead I reached for the handwritten paper in my locker and handed him the work I had spent two hours

on; my eyes still counting his off-beat tempo.


16/18

Cool man, see ya. He scurried off before anyone would see who he was talking to.

How typical.

The work I dedicated my night to is in the hands of someone who did not have the decency to say

thank you. How nonchalant did he assume I was? My fingers tapped the tip of the bullet as I contained

my frustration.

I wish he were dead.

As the thought entered my mind, a sadness glazed over my anger. For a moment, I thought of

mother.

Her smile.

Her tender hugs.

The kisses she placed on my bruises father left after he disappeared.

Her smell of cheap, flowery perfume.

Her childish laugh.

Her sobs echoing through the doctors office.

Her naked head constantly reminding her.

The daises she was buried with.

Standing by her grave.

Feeling as though my own lungs had no air.

I stood above, wishing nothing more than to be below the ground with her. Together. Where she

could caress my hair and sing me lullabies. Together. Where I would be away from the silence that had

engrossed my life after her laugh died.

Together.Where we would both be happy.

Together.

I quietly allowed the tears to form as I clutched the gravestone for support, though I did not wipe

them away. The liquid built up and finally poured over, and down my cheek. I left them there, the drying,

sticky substance refreshed as more tears streamed down. To wipe them away would be as if I did not

wish to express my feelings. I felt it rude to not let my mother see how much I hurt, how much guilt and

anguish and heartache consumed me.

I stood there, my vulnerability exposed and my empty heart barely beating. It was then that I saw

it. The beautiful, gold shimmer, calling my name on the ground. My hands picked it up to examine. The

edges were so smooth, so meticulous. It fit perfectly in the middle of my palm, its effortless design

mending the wounds of my damaged heart. My pain progressively transformed into a much stronger

feeling. That feeling rushed through my entire body. It controlled every layer of my skin, the blood in my

arteries. When I held the bullet, I felt power.

I am power.


17/18

I clutched onto my sweet bullet as I stealthily walked into my first class, my mother still lingering

on my mind. How did people like Brunette Douche exist while she did not? Heading straight for the

corner, my eyes remained glued to the floor. I sat down and promptly got out my notebook, when

suddenly a figure sat next to me.

No one ever sits with me.

I recognized the white shoes immediately as the Nike Bastard who sits on the other side of the

classroom. I ignored this, perhaps it was a mistake.

Hey, Etienne, he said, the sympathy blatantly showing in his tone. What did he want? Why not

just say it? At least Brunette Douche did not try to make small talk today. God, I hated him, even if he got

my name right. I hated them all. How are you?

The latter turned the burn inside me into a bonfire. I despised those three words more than

anything else in the world. When mother died, it was the only question that was ever asked. How are

you? Are you feeling ok? Memories of people asking me the exact same thing I buried deep inside my

brain rose from the dead.

My grandmother after I moved in with her.

The counselor calling me in after mothers death.

The condolence notes I received in the mail.

I didnt answer them once and I certainly wasnt going to now.

My bones shook uncontrollably, the desk with it. My blood pulsed in rage, how dare he bring up

those memories. How dare he be so insincere as to force me to relive my past nightmares.

I reached for my savior yet my pocket had gotten stuck between the desk and the wall. I

thrashed my hands, attempting to fix my dilemma. I continued to shake. I needed my bullet. I needed

my bullet. I needed my bullet.

Hey, are you feeling ok?Another flash went through my head: the brief, three-minute phone call I had with father after

mother died.

It was then that I lunged for his throat.

I screamed while I scratched his skin, the blood rushing out as I clawed in deeper.

I screamed while he punched me in self defense.

I screamed as I told him how much I wish he were dead.

I screamed as the teacher pulled me off of him.

I screamed as I was carried to the counselors office.

I screamed until my right hand managed to travel to its cave and was reunited with the bullet.

I squirmed in the counselors seat, my hands still splashed with the dry paint of someone elses

blood. The pair of eyes across me attempted to drill a hole in the concrete pavement that was my head.

No one knew what I was thinking or feeling, and why. No one, except one.

But she died.

I was back to my normal routine - staring at the floor while grasping the one sane thing in my life

that was in my pocket.


18/18

Etienne, tell me. Whats going on with you? Im here to listen. Her soft, sweet tone reminded

me of one a mother would use while talking to her child. It sickened me.

Your grandmother told me you havent talked to her since your mother died. I know this year has

been tough for you. Jane was a great woman. But she would want you to be happy, Etienne.

How dare you mention her. How dare you say her name. How dare you. My hand twitched in my

pocket.

Etienne, what are you doing? Is there something you want to talk to me about? The concern

was now prominent, her attention now at what I was doing in my pocket. I was angry, but I was also tired.

Tired of putting Nike Bastard in his place and finally releasing the built up fire that I had inside me.

I spoke for the first time in a year.

Im just holding something.

Holding what?

I hesitated. Was I really going to show my bullet to this woman? The only other encounters I had

had with her consisted of failed attempts to get me to share my feelings after mother died. She stood and

reached out her hand, insiting I reveal my deepest secret.

I sat across from her and, even though I was in the body that was drooping across the side of the

chair, she was the pathetic one. The twitch of her left eye suggested the uncertainty of what my secret

was made her nervous. I was not afraid of her.

Etienne, holding what? she repeated.

I looked directly into those unnerving eyes and told her the truth.

The thing that keeps me from killing myself.

Can I see it?

I nodded, gently taking the bullet out of my pocket. I stretched out my arm across the table. I

opened my closed palm and revealed my secret.Etienne, theres nothing in here.

noellepouzar012 writing portfolio

Documents