building terrarium

the other day after a long walk to my house (4 blocks) i was ready for homework time. NOPE, mom had a new idea, make a terrarium! exciting! (sorta) i didn't exactly know what to do after my mom stole the whole, "forest theme" ( well good for her :6) so i just took what i had to work with. beach crap. wooo hoo. i didn't really like it at all. but well its art, and as understood, art is confusing, and not always good to the creator. so... here it is. plz do not comment on this piece of... (word i am not allowed to say.)

dear diary,

dear diary,
every daughter knows going up will be hard and that you'll make some terrable mistakes. i've come to understand the pain of becoming something im not. . like a broose the more and more its pushed the easier it is for me to break. i know its known of my business to run over other peoples lives, but when you think there is no way that you and your family will ever be the same after that one incident, think again, as much as your heart ache and your eyes burn theres always that one special someone who will make the move in saying, "im sorry".


So here is my "im sorry" moment.
My father as red as ever, angrer then i wanted, standing i front of me, piercing his lips trying not to break out the most snodd comment yet to me. He gives me one more chance. But as known, i do not take it, instead i fight back. word after word, not knowing how the damage will come too. But yet there is a snap in the string connecting our relation. HE fights back, a scream, a threat. A new place of perspective. And a new view of him.