Biography of Chanyn Fuller
Chanyn Fuller started her life in 1994. She was very playful, fun loving, and a semi rebellious child. Chanyn never wanted to watch blue clues, but instead would go and investigate something in her backyard. Without her adventurous attitude she wouldn’t have found those baby kittens which inspire her to this day. Jump ahead to where Chanyn is now ten years old, Chanyn’s grandmother is sick and Chanyn visits her as much as possible but knows nothing good will come of her sickly state. As if Chanyn was psychic she refused to go to the hospital the day her grandmother passed. It would have torn her up to see her nanny on the brink of death. However she was still devastated. She refused to talk for two months, but instead she wrote poetry and short stories. All were dedicated to her grandmother.
Now Chanyn has preformed at “Voices” as a creative writing major. She is proud of herself and how far she has come in writing and also in life skills. she still thanks her grandmother, kittens, and friends for inspiring her.
Chanyn mostly wants to thank her teacher Dr. Wilkinson for her prompts, workshops, and inspiring words. Chanyn might of stopped writing if she wasn’t in the creative writing program.
Chanyn Fuller's Works:
None yet but by senior year I will have a poetry book out.
Chanyn Fuller Poems
No Title Yet
This casket lays open, waiting for an occupant A soulless figure to weigh it down Mortician waits for this special case Stun is his first emotion, and then change
You Are Its Master
An invader Covered in protection Sucking up Anything it finds
Cuteness cant hide that evil Ripping flesh With claws and teeth
The helmet fell off my head Brain washing never worked Typewriters clicking away This place frightens me
This love starts here Soaring so high Your face lingers in my mind
Screeching motors Racing laps In a murky brown lake
Glass jars hold our tears Forcing us to think about them They are unsafe All they hear
Wind nipping at my skin Chilling my soul I have to run, leave Hand prints, shoe marks
Dedicated to Chris Bock Thoughts race, their minds
Like my tears The blood of this wound rolls down me My heart beats harder and harder You say you'll never leave
Two As One
A kiss So genuine Passionate loving Yet so full of need
Again I ask
'Shut up! '
Have to tell
Leave this hell