New adventures


I’m coming up on a new

Boat to ride.

I have just one more sea to sail

Before I step on board.

My ship mates will change

My first mates will stay but many others will simply jump

Over board.

I am excited to see new waters,

Fight for new treasures, And redraw some maps…


I’m coming up on a new trail to hike up.

I see the fork in the road,

With many twists and turns.

My party will divide, some walking a new path

Others following me on mine.


There is a new wonder of the world,

Growing in tomorrow lands,

Hiding past the badlands.

I want to be the first to explore it.

The first to become engulfed by its mystery.


On Shakespeare’s

‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow’

A brand new quest, brought by fate, shines

Its light

On new adventures.


Angelina Rosa, diligently writing for you Writingdilegently




Scattered Through The Pages


Looking through my own journals I’m overcome with waves of emotion from the last few years. Hate, love, sorrow, hope and exhaustion plagued the workings of my mind so forcefully and so thoroughly. I feel so much in such a little slice of time that I find myself nearing the self destruct button over and over and over again.

Let’s be honest, some of the entries here, let alone my personal journal frustrate me in their lack of or over absorption of depth. That’s okay though. It’s personal growth. Inner evolution, if you will. I can accept my useless blabber because I understand it differently.

I remember feeling so incredibly down for such a long period of time that I just could not take it. I suffered horribly and mostly silently. It was only through half suppressed tears and scribbles on paper that it showed. If my journals could talk they would probably tell you that my words simply screamed ‘help me’ across each and every page.

Like i said though, it wasn’t all bad. I had moments of hype, moments of absolute bliss. They inevitably came crashing down harshly around me, but they were there.

I’m not sure why I’m saying any of this, or if any of you care, but I just felt like I needed to. I needed to get a few thoughts out there.


Angelina Rosa, writing diligently for you, Writingdilegently

Inner City Kid.


I grew up in a bit of a box that I ‘ll call the inner city. Its not to be confused with a small town in the middle of nowhere, no its far too big. I’ve lived here my whole life, aside from little vacations here and there. If you take it for face value you would rush right out of it and into the actual ‘city’, the part of the state with buildings that eat up the sky. I’ve had the option to go somewhere else, to go anywhere else, but I kinda like being an inner city kid.

Yes, it has its downfalls. Even in the nicest of areas you’re sure to pass by a drugged up homeless man or a toothless old woman. You’re friends will know the name of every type of drug regardless they’ve tried it or not and your teachers will almost certainly be from out of state. The kids are certainly rough around the edges, even the academic ones. Oh, and you can bet on never being able to relate to mainstream high school movies.

In my mind, the perks out weigh all this. The perk is that, when you have friends they will almost always stand by you. The perk is that no matter what you have so many people to learn from. The perk is that the outer city is just a few train stops away if you want to explore somewhere new. The perk is that you become more street smart. The perk is that you get to surprise people when they assume you speak in vernacular expression but you actually have an uninhibited range of brilliant dictation.

The perk is that you have a place that you can call home and you can talk to people with open minds.

The greatest perk of all, is that a day never gets dull.

I’m proud to be an inner city kid.


Angelina Rosa, Diligently Writing for you, WritingDilegently



I have forgiven my sorrows

For burring heated embers

Into the creases and crevices of my happiness.

I have allowed for the pain to

Swiftly ride about within my rib cage.

I have given in to the screams of

The beasts and allowed them to wreck

Havoc upon my world

And I did so quietly.


-Angelina Rosa

Diligently writing for you, WritingDiligently

To That Shady Girl


There we stood: Face to face on that date

Ready to launch attack in this debate.

I had my pros while you felt your cons.

We both tied poems to the facts we lit,

And to catch fire to the words you spit,

You pulled from quotes with power but no relevance,

And so I looked poorly towards your deliverance.

You see, from my mouth flows words not stolen from another

And from that alone you should call me mother-


For, when its needed, I can catch a rhyme

And call my quote all mine every time.


– Angelina Rosa

Diligently Writing for you, WritingDilegently

A dollar for your love


When we indulge ourselves
In the undefined and pre-imagined
World within our technologies
We loose touch with the inner workings
Of the things that fall around us
The contour of the faces familiar
The depth the the seas
The natural blues and purples of the sky
You see the children looking for it
“Hyper active”ly begging for it
A hand to hold
They’ll pay in full
Just a dollar for some love

– Writingdilegently


‘1 in every five kids will die on the train’. As I read the blue and black poster across from me I felt a chill run down my spine. Public transportation was never my first option. Not even before the war broke out. But today just happened to be my lucky day. My car broke down on my way to school and the fliers stopped service months ago. Fliers are- or rather were- the only safe way of transportation. I guess you can say that they are the zip cars of the 31st century. They were clean, engery efficient, and fast. The old rusty car trains like the one I was riding in have long since been forgotten. Until the war broke out. I had to have been 14 at the time. I remembered the sky was a thick foggy mush that morning. The streets were damp with rain from the previous night. Everything was quiet. It seemed as if the world was dead… Completely dead… Then I remember the sirens screeching through the corner speakers. Those are all busted now. People tore the metal apart and sold them for scraps. It was the East country against the West country. It started with some stupid political disagreement that ended up taking lives. Or at least that was what my told me. Both my parents were drafted. Living on the East side meant men and women were equal. In all things. Yes, it meant that we had equal pay and medical benefits, but it also meant that we were all expected to protect our lands in a time of war. My dad left first. He didn’t think it would last that long. He died three days after being deployed. The government doesn’t pay military families anything in life insurance. That was a custom that was dropped many generations ago. They pay for the funeral. And they give the first born a scholarship. That’s as far as it went. A week after my dad died, my mom was drafted. I didn’t see her the next morning when I got up. Some people said that they heard the guards come drag her to the camps. I think that she ran away to the hillside. She always spoke about the grassy plains of her youth…
I wasn’t very close to her anyway, so I didn’t mind being on my own. The scholarship allowed me to stay in the city. Soon, I was able to get a job at a relocation facility. Most people fled the broken down metal yards that we used to call our safe haven home. Now, all that’s left are the students, the poor, and the homeless peace holding hippies. The war will be over soon. That’s what the newscasters said. All our videos are in black and white now. We had to go back to the technology of the 80s so that we could pour more money into the military coups… I saw the lights on the trains flicker. I have just a few more stops. I’m 17 now. Every year that I grow my chance of getting mugged on the trains go down. They want people that they can be persuaded to change sides. That’s what the newscasters said. The lights just flickered again… The doors just opened on the other side of the train… Just have a few more stops. A man just got on with me. He keeps muttering the words “one in every five kids”. I have one more stop.

– Writingdilegently