AN: Here is the 5-day-awaited Sam's Poetry Notebook. Now, I know Sam may seem a bit OOC at the beginning, but you have to remember, this was is four years before the start of the series. She will become the Sam that we are used to in time. On that note, I hope you guys enjoy chapter 1!

DISCLAIMER (this goes for the whole fic): I don't own Danny Phantom.

Sunday August 27th, Summer before 5th grade:

Okay, so I'm not sure exactly how you start a journal like this, so I'll just do my best. I'm going to call you Journal, okay? Okay. May as well start out by saying how I came about writing in you.

I love my parents. Always have, always will. But lately they are starting to get really annoying. Or maybe it's just me, I don't know. Purple has always been my favorite color, and if they ever let me trade out my glasses for contacts, even my eyes will become purple. My parents were always fine with me wearing purple, until about a month ago. They started talking about how girls should wear pink and act ladylike. Newsflash! I'm ten years old, not a lady. Not even close.

So now I'm wearing pink all the time. But that really doesn't explain why I'm writing in you, does it, Journal? Well, I looked up 'I hate pink, and am being forced to wear it by my parents, what do I do?' on google. I found a bunch of links to Goth related websites. Now Goth culture has always interested me, for some absurd reason, so I looked up how one would become a Goth.

The website I was on said all this stuff about wearing black and dying your hair black (mine already is) and wearing black make up (which I have vowed never to use, make up is for idiots.) and a bunch of other stuff I would never get away with. So, after reading through the entire list, I found the most doable thing for me. A journal/diary full of your thoughts and darkish poems.

And here I am now, writing in a black notebook, the day before fifth grade starts. I still haven't written a poem, guess I'm feeling uninspired. What to write about, what to write about…. I've got it! Watch out world, here comes Samantha- Sam if you want to live to see another day (wow, I'm already getting good at this threatening death thing!)- Manson's first poem!

What to write, what to write?
My mind is a blank slate right now.
Find a topic, find a topic,
Something I must first do.
No ideas, no ideas,
My mind is blank.
But I guess a blank slate
Can be considered as beautiful as a filled one.
For while a filled slate has beautiful words and pictures,
A blank slate has potential.
What to write, what to write?
The possibilities are endless.

And you, Journal, with your empty pages upon empty pages, are my blank slate.

The possibilities are endless.

Signed,

Samantha Manson.

oOoOoOo

Monday August 28th, First day of fifth grade

So, I'm writing my second entry on the same page as my previous one. Why? Because paper Is a valuable resource and should not be wasted! Plus, I want this journal to last for a while. I'm going to use all the room on every page front and back until there is no more room.

So today was the first day of fifth grade at Amity Park Elementary Academy, one of the two elementary schools in Amity Park. Bad news? I'm still going to this stupid rich kids school. Good news? There is only one middle school in Amity Park, and it is a public one. Thank goodness.

And the other good news is that all of my classmates don't know how rich I really am. They just assume I'm going to this school because I live closer to here than the other school. Not that anyone has ever asked me about it. People generally don't talk to me here.

Not like I care though. Another Goth page I read this morning said that Goths are apathetic- meaning that they don't show concern or enthusiasm for anything- and are happy as outcasts. Not that I needed much help being an outcast or apathetic for that matter. I already was fairly ignored at this school because of what my apparent anger issues. And I was happy being ignored. After all, if you look in any movie, any TV show, there's always an outcast. At Amity Park Elementary Academy, it may as well be me.

So, all in all, my day was pretty good. Fifth graders get two lockers, so I have enough room in there for my three mini recycling bins. I keep them in there because, for some reason, our school doesn't have a recycling system. So I take it upon myself to recycle as much as I can fit in the bins and take them home every day with me to recycle there… my parents are also ultra recyclo vegetarians, probably one of the only things we have in common. Well other than our last name.

And here I am now, writing in you, Journal. Now all that's left is to write a poem. Here I go!

Life's a play
We all have a part.
Everyone in life must assign
Themselves a role
In this show
This show we call life.

Someone has to be the good girl
Someone has to be the bad dude.
Someone has to be the victim.
Someone has to be the savior.

Someone's got to be the shy guy.
Someone's got to be the queen bee.
Another somebody's got to be the outcast,
And that somebody may as well be me.

The outcast.
The role I've assigned myself.
The one who doesn't want to fit in.
The one who's usually ignored.
The individualist,
The independent one.
Someone's got to play that role.
And it might as well be me.

Not a bad poem, if I do say so myself. Can I say so myself? I don't know…

Either way, signing off,

Samantha Manson.

AN: Hope you liked this! Remember to leave a review, they are greatly appreciated!