Poetry On Odyssey: Am I The Problem?

Poetry On Odyssey: Am I The Problem?

For all of those who felt disoriented from their past. This one's dedicated to you.

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We sat on the red velvet carpet to be read a story. I was going to sit down next to my friends when two girls pushed me aside and I sat behind by myself. Am I the problem?

I raised my hand to answer a problem in the first grade. My teacher looked over and yelled, "Put your hand down, you talk too much." A teacher passing by pulled me out into the hallway to hug and comfort me because she told me I did nothing wrong. I replied, "Am I the problem?"

A teacher told us to stop talking in class. A classmate tried talking to me and terrified I'd get caught, I wrote a note saying I didn't want to talk because I don't want us to get in trouble. I crumpled the note up afterward to discard later, but it wound up on the floor. A student took notice and the teacher yelled, "Who wrote that?" I got pulled out into the hallway to later be screamed at relentlessly. I began to explain myself but she cut me off to tell me I am a bad person who deserves to go to detention for not following rules. She later told me to not tell my parents about what she had said to me and that she'll be nice and not punish me. At home crying to my parents, I asked, "Am I the problem?"

Text messages came and went on my new slider phone with a keyboard. New attention I was not used to began to soften my heart. Conversations began to play in person and I started to smile wider. However, a few girls didn't like that there was attention not being paid to them. So they intervened. Newer, better, and prettier came into play, and I was pushed to the back of the stage. No new notifications on my phone to be seen. I whispered to myself staring at the blank screen, "Am I the problem?"

While drawing in my notebook, I began to plug in my earphones to listen to new songs on my iPod nano in my history class. "Katie, why are you so short?" "Have you always had buck teeth like that?" "You are like a midget, let's call you midge." "Your feet are freakishly tiny, what size are you?" "You know, you should wear a bigger bra than that. It's noticeable and even _______ is talking about it." I turned around and stared until their noise got dimmer. A tear fell onto the page where I was writing the words, "Am I the problem?"

*Kick, kick, kick.*
"You're eavesdropping aren't you?" "You don't talk much, but I know you do talk huh." "She's probably telling all her friends our conversations." "You still can hear us with those earphone on, don't you?" "Guys, have you seen her chest? She has HUGE tits." I whipped my head around to be shown laughter in my face. I glared around the room, seeing if anyone would speak up. Everyone lowered their head and I swung myself back around, choking back tears brimming my eyes. I replugged in my earphones. I lowered my head and listen to the song that sang, "Am I the problem?"

Furious typing is exchanged with instantaneous beeping and buzzing. We were fighting again and my patience began to wear thin. A blue bubble of text showed up that along the lines read, "If it wasn't for me, none of those friends would have invited you anywhere or liked you. I'm the only reason you have friends in the first place."


But wait, that isn't true

...am I really the problem?


"Katie, were you invited to the party?" No, I didn't hear of one." "Oh, I assumed you were. Everyone your friends with is going so I guess you're the only one."

"We knew she'd be sad because you'd be there. So we didn't invite you. Sorry. Find somewhere else."

"Sorry, there's someone else."

"You're not as great as I thought you'd be. I paid for dinner and this is the return I get?"

"You have massive tits omg what size are you?! That looks insane."

"You're not a good person."

"If you'd only lose that weight of yours. You'd be perfect. You have a pretty face, but I saw how you were eating back there. You need to cut back and try to lose weight. Then, guys would like you."


morphed into


"Would you recommend surgery? I want to get it done and I want your advice."

"You have buck teeth" morphed into "I love your smile."

"You are so freakishly short" morphed into "You are the cutest height, I love it."

"Wow, I really like your outfit" wasn't a joking compliment to ridicule or make fun. It morphed into genuinity.

"You are the someone I want to talk to."

"Katie, I want to invite you to the party and I really hope you can make it."

"Katie you look really good, wear that outfit."

"You look healthy."


From grade school, middle school, and high school.

The answer to the questions I have been asking myself throughout my whole life.

"Am I the problem?"

Is "no." I wasn't the problem.


They were.

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Professional Athletes Are Paid Too Much

Are pro-athletes really deserving of the monetary commission they receive?
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For generations, children have aspired to become professional athletes. In the 1920's children wanted to be Babe Ruth; in 2012 children wanted to be Derek Jeter. The list of pro-athletes that influence the younger generation can go on and on. Looking back on elementary school yearbooks, the most common profession for youths has (and will continue to be) a professional athlete. Whether it involves the MLB, the NFL, the NHL, or any other professional league, children tend to pick this profession out of love for the specific sport. Yet, these innocent and uninformed children seem to strike gold by choosing one of the most economically successful jobs in the world.

While professional athletes dedicate most of their life to their respected sport, the amount they are paid to simply play games is absurd. For example, the average salary for a professional football player in the NFL is $1.9 million per year. Keep in mind that that is average, without external endorsements. Therefore, some athletes make much more than that. The crowd favorite Peyton Manning averages $19 million a year. Sports other than football also have averages that are incredibly generous. In the world of golf, the popular Tiger Woods makes more than $45 million a year. These pro-athletes make millions of dollars, most of whom have not received an outstanding education. In fact, some have not even received a college diploma.

Zooming out from the glamorous and indulgent world of professional athletics, taking a look at other professions seems to be much less appealing. How is it that jobs that are vital to the success of the public receive much less commission than jobs that revolve around running to catch a ball? The average pediatrician makes $173,000 a year. The average teacher salary is $50,000 a year. This does not mean that a professional athlete is any less of a hard-working, devoted, deserving professional. This also does not mean that the athletes have not pushed themselves and worked incredibly hard throughout the years to get where they are, but it does mean that there is a line where inequity takes over. Fame and fortune are showered upon athletes. Is it truly necessary to average out millions of dollars per year when people spend massive amounts of time researching and developing new policies, cures, or other ways to improve the condition of the world? The salary and status of professional athletes seems to be a major power imbalance in the world of careers.

Cover Image Credit: i.ytimg.com

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4 Ways To Combat Writer's Block

Lol I have it right now

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Ah, writer's block, makes me wonder why I love writing so much when it can get SO. FRUSTRATING

1. Research, research, research

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Sometimes all it takes is a quick internet search to jog your mind. Don't know what to write about? Why not politics? Why not some celebrity gossip? The world is your oyster, just appreciate the technology we have and search for it

2. Look at your surroundings

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I was going to write about these YouTubers, considering I'm watching YouTube. However, I may do that another time.

3. Start writing, and then delete everything

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Also what I did to make this article, I couldn't bring myself to stick with one topic.

4. Think about someone specific

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They say home is sometimes two eyes and a heartbeat, instead of four walls and a door. Maybe write about that person.

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