I had to make this poem for my english class is it good I think back to when it happened,
think back to that awful day.
The day when it all happened,
the day he took "it" away.

Fighting. Yelling. Crying.
It didn't matter how loud I screamed.
Nobody came to help me.
Nobody came to set me free.

I still dream of running,
of trying to break away.
Of feeling him catch me,
every dam day.

I see him in the shadows,
even while I'm at home.
I close my eyes and pray he's gone,
only then I can't help but feel him.

To this day I feel him,
his tight grip on my wrists,
The pressure of his body
as I tried to resist.

He continued to thrust away,
as I fought and yelled and cried.
It didn't matter how loud I screamed,
Nobody came to help me.
Nobody came to set me free.

Need asap ! use the drop-down menus to identify the type of error in each sentence or mark the sentence correct as written. 1. one psychological effect of constantly seeking revenge is always feeling that life is unfair. 2. if you do not seek revenge, people will take advantage of you. 3. you can allow yourself to feel angry at first, you should forgive as soon as you can. 4. sammy didn’t try to even the score, so luke knew that he would take advantage of him again. options for all for: - ambiguous pronoun - comma splice - spelling error - correct as written

The gift of the magi analyze the various characters in the story. list which character types—dynamic, round, static, and flat—you observed in the story. cite evidence to support your response.

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream