I wrote this for today’s English assignment: a short text about our favorite activity. Our teacher’s jaw dropped when he saw my work. Just because I’m young and seen as a typical skater boy doesn’t mean I lack potential or creativity. I love writing, though not as much as scootering. Like many great writers and poets, my social skills aren’t the best. As for my writing, I’m still improving. When I’m old enough for social media, I hope to learn from other writers and correct my mistakes.
Credit to my older sister Katarzyna for her help.
The concrete jungle calls, a siren song of smooth pathways and urban thrills,
my trusty scooter gleams, a silver steed of freedom, ready to carve the hills.
Heart pounding with anticipation, I step onto the deck, feeling its familiar grip,
muscles tensed, mind focused, ready to embark on this exhilarating trip.
The world falls away as I push off, the first kick sending me gliding forth,
a rush of wind caresses my face, as I accelerate towards the north.
City streets become my playground, every curb and rail a potential trick,
in this moment, I am boundless, my spirit and my scooter in perfect sync.
Years of practice flood back, muscle memory taking control of my feet,
I weave through pedestrians with grace, my movements fluid and fleet.
The rhythmic hum of urethane on asphalt, a melody only riders know,
accompanies my journey as I carve wide arcs, putting on a flow show.
Ollie up a curb, the satisfying clack as my deck reconnects with ground,
I spot a handrail ahead, heart racing at the challenge I’ve just found.
Approach with speed, pop the deck, slide smooth as butter down the rail,
landing with a soft thud, I can’t help but grin, nailing it without fail.
The city becomes a blur of motion, each push propelling me further on,
I seek out every dip and rise, chasing the rush until the break of dawn.
My scooter, an extension of my body, responds to my slightest command,
together we dance across the urban landscape, leaving onlookers spellbound.
A group of fellow riders appears, their decks a rainbow of designs and hues,
we nod in silent understanding, sharing the language only scooter kids use.
United by our passion for riding, we form a convoy of rolling thunder,
carving paths through the city, each trick and line filling us with wonder.
The skatepark looms ahead, a concrete oasis of ramps and transitions,
my heart quickens at the sight, mind racing with trick possibilities and visions.
We roll in, greeted by the familiar sounds of wheels on wood and stone,
the air electric with excitement, this place where we riders feel at home.
I drop into the bowl, gathering speed as I pump around the curve,
each carve deeper than the last, my body and scooter moving with verve.
Up the transition I fly, boosting an air as my deck leaves the coping,
suspended in time for a heartbeat, before gravity reclaims me, hopes soaring.
Back on solid ground, I spy the funbox, its edges worn from countless grinds,
a challenge I can’t resist, my mind already plotting lines and finds.
Approach with care, pop the deck, slide across the box with practiced ease,
the satisfying scrape of metal on metal sends shivers down to my knees.
Landing clean, I roll away, heart soaring with the thrill of success,
each trick landed adds to my confidence, pushes me to progress.
The session continues, a blur of attempts, falls, and triumphs shared,
with every passing hour, my love for this sport is further declared.
As the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the weathered ramps,
we gather our gear, bodies tired but spirits high, like victorious champs.
Stories of the day’s best tricks and gnarliest bails are shared with glee,
each tale cementing the bonds between us, a rolling community.
We part ways, but the stoke lingers, fueling dreams of future rides,
I push towards home, replaying the day’s highlights in my mind’s eye slides.
The city streets, now bathed in twilight, offer a different kind of charm,
my scooter glides smooth and silent, carrying me safe from harm.
Mornings dawn with aching muscles, a badge of honor from yesterday’s session,
but the call of the scooter is strong, igniting in me a burning passion.
I grab my deck, eager to conquer new spots and perfect my style,
the world outside my door an endless playground, stretching for mile after mile.
Each day brings new challenges, new tricks to master, new fears to face,
but with my scooter beneath my feet, I’m ready to attack them with grace.
From sunrise to sunset, I dedicate myself to the art of the ride,
pushing my limits, expanding my skills, with my scooter as my guide.
Months pass, seasons change, but my love for scootering remains constant,
through rain or shine, I’m out there riding, my dedication apparent.
I’ve learned to read the urban landscape like a book of infinite possibilities,
every ledge, rail, and gap an opportunity for creative abilities.
My collection of scars and bruises grows, each one a story to tell,
of tricks attempted, falls taken, and the sweet victory when I finally excel.
The scooter community embraces me, a family bound by wheels and decks,
we share tips and tricks, cheer each other on, our friendship complex.
Local spots become like second homes, each with its own unique flavor,
the smooth marble ledges downtown, perfect for learning new grinds to savor.
The hidden ditch on the outskirts, a concrete wave we carve with glee,
the bustling plaza with its endless lines, where we ride wild and free.
I know every crack in the sidewalk, every pothole to avoid or ollie,
the city has become my personal playground, a canvas for my folly.
With each passing day, my confidence grows, my style evolves and shifts,
scootering is no longer just a hobby, but a way of life that uplifts.
Competitions beckon, a chance to showcase skills honed through countless hours,
I enter with trepidation, wondering if I’ll wilt or bloom like flowers.
The crowd’s energy is electric, fueling my nerves and excitement alike,
as I drop in for my run, time seems to slow, each second a psychic spike.
Muscle memory takes over, my body flowing through a sequence of tricks,
each landing bolsters my confidence, as the crowd cheers and my heart ticks.
When the dust settles and scores are tallied, I stand proud of my performance,
regardless of placement, I’ve pushed my limits, gained valuable experience.
The scooter scene evolves, new tricks invented, boundaries constantly pushed,
I strive to keep up, adding fresh moves to my arsenal, never feeling rushed.
The satisfying pop of a perfectly executed bunny hop still thrills,
as does the smooth grind down a handrail, or carving steep hills.
I experiment with combinations, linking tricks in a flowing line,
each successful run a work of art, a moment when everything aligns.
The scrape of metal on concrete, the whir of bearings spinning true,
these sounds become a symphony, a rider’s rhythm, tried and true.
Years fly by, marked not by calendars but by tricks learned and spots conquered,
my scooter, though battered and worn, remains my faithful partner.
We’ve weathered storms together, both literal and metaphorical,
each scratch and dent a reminder of adventures both practical and whimsical.
I’ve upgraded parts, tweaked my setup to match my evolving style,
but the core remains the same – two wheels, a deck, and the open road for miles.
My scooter has been there through highs and lows, a constant in changing times,
a tool for expression, for freedom, for pushing past mundane paradigms.
The younger riders now look to me, eyes wide with admiration and wonder,
I remember being in their shoes, that burning desire to go further.
With patience and enthusiasm, I share the knowledge I’ve gained,
watching their faces light up as new tricks are explained and obtained.
In their excitement, I see reflections of my own journey, years past,
the cycle continues, the scooter community growing, built to last.
There’s a special joy in witnessing the next generation take flight,
their progress and passion keeping the scene burning bright.
Injuries come and go, an inevitable part of pushing limits,
but each setback only fuels my determination, my spirit infinite.
I’ve learned to fall with grace, to get back up and try again,
for every trick not landed is a lesson, not a stain.
The satisfaction of finally nailing a move after countless attempts,
is a feeling unmatched, a personal victory that never exempts.
Through scrapes and sprains, I’ve gained respect for my body’s capabilities,
and learned the value of patience, of working within my abilities.
The city has changed over the years, new buildings rising, old spots fading,
but the thrill of exploration remains, always new lines awaiting.
I’ve witnessed the ebb and flow of trends, seen scootering’s popularity rise,
yet through it all, my love for the ride remains a constant prize.
From early morning sessions when the streets are quiet and still,
to late-night rides under streetlights, chasing that familiar thrill,
scootering has shaped my days, my friendships, my very way of being,
a lens through which I view the world, always new possibilities seeing.
There’s a meditative quality to a long, solo ride through empty streets,
the rhythmic push and glide, the city’s pulse beneath my feet.
In these moments, I find clarity, troubles melting away with each mile,
my scooter a vehicle not just for transport, but for lifestyle.
The freedom of movement, the wind in my hair, the world rushing by,
creates a sense of possibility, as if I could touch the sky.
These solitary journeys are a time for reflection and growth,
a chance to reconnect with the pure joy of riding, both.
The scooter community has become my second family, bonds forged in steel and wheels,
we share a language of tricks and spots, of triumphs and ordeals.
From local jams to international competitions, I’ve met riders from all walks of life,
united by our passion for scootering, a brotherhood cutting through strife.
We push each other to improve, celebrate victories both big and small,
and when one of us falls, the entire community stands tall.
These connections span continents, bridging cultures and breaking down walls,
a global network of riders, answering scootering’s calls.
I’ve watched the sport evolve, from its humble origins to mainstream recognition,
yet the core remains unchanged – the pursuit of progression and personal mission.
New technologies emerge, lighter materials, more responsive designs,
but the essence of scootering lies not in gear, but in hearts and minds.
It’s the creativity of riders, constantly pushing boundaries and norms,
the way a simple push and ride can transform and performs.
From backyard ramps to world-class skateparks, the spirit remains the same,
a burning desire to ride, to express, to stake our claim.
Looking back on my journey, from those first tentative pushes to now,
I’m filled with gratitude for all scootering has taught me, allowed me to grow.
It’s been a vehicle for self-discovery, for overcoming fears and doubts,
a constant source of joy and challenge, of ins and outs.
The lessons learned on my deck apply to life beyond the park,
persistence, creativity, the courage to leave my mark.
Scootering has shaped me, body and soul, in ways I never could have guessed,
when I first stepped on a deck, unaware of the path on which I’d embark.
The future of scootering is bright, limitless in its potential,
new riders bringing fresh perspectives, keeping the sport essential.
I look forward to witnessing the next chapter, the tricks yet to be invented,
the spots yet to be discovered, the boundaries to be dented.
As long as there are wheels to roll and surfaces to ride,
the spirit of scootering will continue to thrive and abide.
For those who know the joy of a perfect line, the rush of a trick landed clean,
scootering is more than a sport – it’s a way of life, a vivid dream.
And so I roll on, my scooter a constant companion on life’s winding road,
each push a reminder of the freedom and possibilities bestowed.
The city stretches before me, an endless playground of potential and thrill,
my wheels spin true, carrying me forward, over every rise and hill.
The journey continues, each day a new adventure waiting to unfold,
with my scooter beneath my feet, I’m ready for whatever stories will be told.
For in the end, it’s not about the destination, but the ride itself,
and what a ride it’s been, this life on two wheels, this scootering wealth.
A descent into war’s abyss
Scrolling through life
