<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rdf:RDF xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"><channel rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/BlogRss.aspx/RAG_Works"><title>My Works - Blogit</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/</link><description> My blog contains a short story and whatever novels that I have completed in sections.  I enjoy writing fiction because it allows me to create whatever I want. </description><sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase>2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643628" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643627" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643626" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643603" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643602" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643601" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643600" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643599" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643470" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643464" /></rdf:Seq></items></channel><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643628"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643628</link><description>An Image on Campus This occurrence is almost unseen, but always experienced Hidden from the rest of the campus This is a rare occurrence, for some apartment buildings But for Bldg. 4, it’s almost too common Sometimes it happens at night, sometimes in the day Today it was 7:30 this morning Once...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643627"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643627</link><description>Ad in Newspaper Come one, come all Any young to old man Ages 13 to 45 Caucasian Tired of living a “life of sin” and impurity Tired of having your soul constantly questioned by immoral superiors Well here’s your chance to life a life of righteousness and morality All you have to do is abandon your...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643626"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643626</link><description>3 Poems: Limerick, Elegy, &amp; Parody There is a Hunting Dog Named Emma There is a hunting dog named Emma Who’s the most spoiled rotten al all hella Steals your seat when you get up Goes crazy when someone shows up And goes underneath the covers when you’re asleep Oh, what a bitch is she a To All...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643603"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643603</link><description>Sounds How exciting it is the hear sounds The screech of the car to the bump on the ground The zing of a zang to the ohh and the ahh of an awesome sight How it’s great to hear sounds But some sounds aren’t so pleasant Like the crash of a car to a bzzz of a bug in the house Like the roaring of a...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643602"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643602</link><description>My Inspirations I have two inspirations not one One is an American, the other is a Canadian The world knows who they are In their fields they are superstars Paula Abdul can do the three things Madonna can’t Sing, dance, and act Choreographs truly uniquely She writes songs and was the Nice Judge...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643601"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643601</link><description>My I, Too I am short, not tall I am Irish-Catholic Chicana, not all White I came from Ireland during the Potato Famine I came from the border of Mexico in search of a better life I am a woman who is looked down upon I am considered less important than everyone else I am punished for a sin that is...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643600"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643600</link><description>Last Night Last night I dreamt of my cat again It was the 12 th time since he was put to sleep I never say or do anything to bring the dreams I cried a little, missing him and wanting him back with me A never-ending agony of will-I-or-won’t-I ever since he died I don’t always react, but I do wake...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643599"><title>Poem</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643599</link><description>Fat is Not a Fairy Tale-rewrite description I am thinking of a fairy tale, Cinder Still, Sleeping Silent, Snow Not, Where the princess is not curveless, stick-figured flinging herself down the stairs. I am thinking of a fairy tale, Hansel and Dull, Repunz Dull</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643470"><title>Memoir</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643470</link><description>Granddad Grandfathers have this stereotype that has them sitting in a rocking chair and telling the grandkids about the good ol’ days. Mine wasn’t even to that. You see, mine did sit in a chair, but it wasn’t a rocking chair, and he didn’t tell us stories about the good ol’ days. He just kept...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643464"><title>Fiction</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/RAG_Works/643464</link><description>Elizabeth’s Life Elizabeth looked outside her bedroom window in wonder. Wondering if her dreams would finally come true. Deep in her heart she they would. Letting her strawberry-blonde hair blow in the soft gentle breeze that morning she had found it peaceful and quiet. It was a peace that for...</description></item></rdf:RDF>