Poem: Green-Eyed (Like I)

I envy those with such beautiful eye colors. (My eyes are actually blackish-brown)

So recently in school we were assigned to do Poetry-Out Loud. Again. To be honest I'll admit I wasn't too in-tuned with my poem last year. I barely remember what it was about, something involving silk and butterflies? But this year, I chose a poem that better resonates with me. 

It was finding that poem that actually made me remember I once made a poem about-...well, it should be obvious by reading it. It's about 9 months old, but I think it still holds up, and I think you can guess what I was feeling to make in the first place. (P.S. No offense to people with green or hazel eyes.)

Enjoy!

"Green-Eyed (Like I)"

 

It slowly creeps up your spine

A green, greedy feeling

After taste is like spite

You are green-eyed

Just like I

A desire uncontrollable

Harder to catch than runaway zoo

Desire

Such a desire

Did all that you really could

It just wasn’t enough

It felt like you deserved it all

He-rumph!

How do they do it

You wanna know

Feels like they’ve been putting on a show

“I’ll be fine,” you say as a lie

You are green-eyed

Just like I

Toxic aromas surround yourself

“Just give me it all”

“I deserve more or less”

Furry, green, and overbearing

It bounds your legs

Controls your mood

It’s hands reach for it all, all

But doing it makes you take a big, big fall

You are green-eyed

Just like I

No easy way out

You wanted it all

Yet you already did

You’ve gotten nowhere

It feels like you’re nothing

It really, really is something

When you truly are…

…green eyed…

Just like I

- ninesevenpotatoes, 2025

Aliology: Constructive, not Destructive

11/19/25 - Considering making a sequel where I talk about...receiving and using feedback.

(Quick notice: some censored inappropriate slurs are put in one image.)

So...criticism. We've all dealt with it and we've all given it out. Whether it be for something you enjoy, or something you despise. Maybe it was a really annoying student, or a great friend that messed up. Perhaps you were critiquing your friend's article. It might've just been a minor dispute. You even handle and give criticism when you self-talk.

Criticism can really affect how you feel. Constructive criticism helps you grow as a person, realize you are imperfect and that you can change. Destructive criticism is just rude, often pointless, and affects self-worth. However, sometimes it might not be obvious if you're being constructive with your criticism. So, about 9 months ago, I put this on my wall, on how you can turn mean opinions into fair criticism.

Of course since this was a while ago, there are some sappy things said here, but it is still a good idea to consider how constructive your criticism actually is. My criticism used to be highly destructive, but I have been slowly learning to appreciate the positive things about stuff. After all, if I only focused on what I hate about something I love...do I really love something?

Something also important about criticism is to still try and be honest. Being disingenuous and lying about how something makes you feel, regardless on if you like it overall will mean skills will stay stagnant. 

And when you do mention something you don't like about something, explain why. It's easy to just say "it's boring" or "it's unfunny", but why do you personally think that? Is it a criticism relevant to the person's growth? Is it even necessary to mention?

EXAMPLES

Here's an example of constructive criticism I received about an animation a few months ago:

(This was on my animation "Fruition" btw)

The person highlighted what they liked about my animation and also suggested improving my shading. They also went in depth on said problems with shading. It doesn't get toxic and stays level-headed.

On the other side, here's an example of destructive criticism I once got for making an error in my writing about PBS Kids being defunded.

Who this guy think he is?!

Now, I was incorrect in what I was saying- PBS Kids was not fully defended, and it still receives funding from from other sources. However, not only did the person not fully explain their reasoning, but they said it in a pretentious and rather unwarranted way. "Lol you don't know anything do you"? Excuse me, everyone gets it wrong sometimes.

A better example of nicely explaining to someone they made a mistake would be this:

Discussion on PM photos

If you don't know what we're talking about, it's the postmortem photos of an unidentified decedent, in specific one of the Los Angeles Bus Stop Boys. (I may make a blog post about them in future!)

However, I mistakenly thought one of the images was taken at the crime scene. People casually were able to tell me it was taken at the autopsy by coroners without having to be rude, and they weren't dehumanizing my opinions on the photo either.

As a result, I was able to correct myself confidently and came out knowing more about PM photos.

ENDING

So, overall, remember- use your words politely in order to help others improve. Criticism can only be constructive if you make it so.

Keep on constructing!

- ninesevenpotatoes, 2025

Short Story: Cookie or Not to Cookie

 

COOKIE OR NOT TO COOKIE

Written by A.A.

My alarm clock blared in my face, and my face grinned a wide smile. I opened up my curtains and the sun beamed my eyes like a laser. My eyes readjusted and I looked at the bright sunrise.

“Good morning world,” I said to myself. I knew today would be the day; a perfect Saturday. I rushed through my closet and put on my bright tie-dyed shirt, accompanied with a light unzipped sweater, all while my jovial smile whiter than a sheep kept put. I was so giddy and filled with bright bliss, you would’ve thought I found the cure for cancer.

As I finished dressing, I slowly opened my door into the kitchen. My eyes glittered with joy as I opened the refrigerator. I carefully poured some recently bought milk into a cup. A plastic cup to be safe, as I did not want to ruin this morning. My anticipation was immeasurable.

I precariously placed the milk on the table. I went up to the cupboard, pulled on the knob slowly, preparing myself for an appetizing adventure. My smile was uncontrollable. I put my hand out into the cabinet, ready to grab it.

Hold on.

I put my hand out…and nothing was felt.

My hand touched a bare, brown cupboard bottom with nothing of substance.

I paused, looked at the cupboard, and confirmed there was nothing there.

“It…it can’t be…” my voice started to shake, and I looked around the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary…except the empty cabinet.

Sweaty bullets ran down my face, and I hurried through every cabinet. They were filled the rim with various groceries I bought last night.

I had everything except what I was looking for. I fell to the ground, my hands shaky and jittery.

I screamed, “HOW could this happen to me?!!” all while tugging at my hair. I was on the verge of tears.

“Pull yourself together,” I had to reassure myself. “Maybe I just misplaced them…I do that frequently,” I rushed through the house in what felt like ten seconds. I pulled books from the shelf, opened my old boxes, and went through my desk. 

To no avail did I find them. My desperation increased; I tore up the carpets, shoved every table, and flipped over the couch, as my despair abruptly transitioned to aggravation.

I saw red, and my hand slapped the milk glass. “THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” I shouted like a madman, as the milk splattered, getting all over the kitchen floor.

I looked at the white disaster that was on my floor. It felt like a decade had passed. The disfigured and wet personification of a calm contained day spiraling into disaster. It was runny and pale, just like my face. 

My lungs sucked up as much air as possible and unleashed a loud explosion. “WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?!” My screaming shattered glass and caused an earthquake. I fell to the ground again, dishelved and fuming. The milk stained my recently washed clothes.

I looked at the wreck that used to be my living room, realizing I had turned my entire house upside down. It looked like a tornado went through it. Despite this, I still hadn’t found them. Not even a crumb I came across. It’s like they vanished.

A blue aura arose around me, until I burst into tears, and sobbed for what felt like a year. Only fifteen minutes have passed since I woke up. 

“I just wanted them…” I wailed louder than a siren. “How could they just…disappear?!” Glaring at my stained kitchen floor and the disaster of my house, I continued wallowing.

I sniffed. I whined. I paused. I knew I couldn’t do this anymore. At last, the one drop of hope inside me has dried out. This was not worth it. Was I even hungry anymore? No.

Looking at the back door, I decided on going on a long walk, where I could think of what might’ve been. “I guess it was wishful thinking,” I tried to gaslight myself, but I fail.

It’ll probably take me weeks to get over this, but I muster the courage to start grieving. There’s nothing I can do to solve this, and I shouldn’t spend so much time miserable over it. After all, I can just get it another time. When I come back, I’ll work on cleaning up the mess.

I wipe my tears and slowly opened my door, all while looking down.

Then I looked up.

My eyes saw something, and opened real wide. 

Unbeliavable. Inconceivable. Impossible! 

The thoughts were rushing through my head. I had to rub my eyes multiple times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I stared at the spectacle for what felt like a century.

On my porch…

…was a school of fish…

…which were green with yellow stripes...

…and while levitating…

…they were devouring…

…my cookies.