HOW I'VE GROWN AS A WRITER

How i've grown as a writer. Well ill say as writer i grown alot, now when i writer a paper its like everything im going to write is already visualized inside my big brain of mines. The moment i first enter the english class i knew there was going to be alot of work to be done as in writing and other accesory to be worked on.

The first week i enter the class the teacher she had us write a Academic Autobiography which is an essay about our self like who supports us and what we wanted to be in life and did an essay about what grade do we think we deserve in the class and I said I think i deserve an A or an B and now at this moment I have an B beacuse of all the hard work i put in to my eassay and other work we did.

My spelling and vocabulary has went uo and i been writing alot in this class and every since inside i been writing helps me think about the open and alot comes to thought and everything is flowing as i write and i think its a good feeling because depanding on what subject i am writing about everything comes out as i am experssing my self.

The teacher also had us write a stream of consciousness and that is bascilly a free write and when its a free write thats where i express my self more and get deep inside my feeling but basiclly what i wrote about is what school i came from and a lil some about who i am as a person and i wrote about how i want to become sussecssful in life and go to college and got to the NBA.

The benning of the third semester the teacher brought in a guy name fred. he was a producer and act out plays he came and held us write a play and we had to act them in front of the school

found poem

Mama, please let me help you wash the sheet,
for your passion is faded pink, not red.
As sweat drops into aluminum wash pan between tired feet,
your burdened mind weighs heavy as the bedspread.
Discolored from dirty soles and playful bliss,
it lies beneath white bubbled clouds of soap,
marked by children aware of something amiss,
while above the chaos, your mind stays afloat.
Fantasy wishes to replace present with the past,
intermingled with grumbles of discontent for your life;
Distant memories of youth and frivolities that last,
you wanted more than to be a housewife.
You try to console yourself--never mind--hush;
back and forth you scrub with the bristled brush