What Makes The Rhythm Unique In Poems By Doctor Seuss?

"Part OneTracie Hill thought she’d died and gone to heaven when she discovered the stranger who showed up at her office after hours and engaged her in a night of hot sex was none other than her new boss, J. P. ”Pete” Montgomery. Not only that, but he set some very specific rules for her office attire – skirts only and no underwear.Part TwoFor Zane the storm was a reflection of his emotions and the messy condition of his life. He relished the isolation until he had to rescue Zara from the stormy sea. Then the storm reached full level in the cabin.Part ThreeZana and Dara settle into the beginnings of a permanent relationship and she thinks she’s finally found happiness and security. Then her past comes back to smack her in the face. Part FourDealing with a messy and humiliating breakup with her Dom, Bree Donovan welcomed the invitation to leave Chicago for meeting with a potential client in Texas. An impulsive attendance at a private BDSM gathering wiped all other thoughts from her mind the moment Rafe Morales claimed her as his for the evening. The Pleasure Principle is created by Desiree Holt, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author."

When two broken hearts meet, they find their missing part in each other. Two people carrying different tragic stories met each other by fate. One who wants to cage herself in her memories, and the other one who wants to be free and bury his memories. What happens when fate starts to play with them? In a midst of chaos, Cassidy Amber found herself captivated through the beat of his drums. With every beat and every thump; she follows its rhythm. Together, they synchronized with each creating a song from their heartbeats.

The 100th time Dexter Carrington ditches me to help my best friend with her lab work, I write the final line in my diary and break up with him. Dexter is exasperated, to say the least. "I genuinely don't know how your amygdala is wired. Your emotions have completely bulldozed your rational thinking." My best friend, Brianna Holt, laughs. "That's cruel. You're insulting her intelligence in words she can't even understand." She's right. I don't understand. The two of them dominate the biology department rankings every year, taking first and second place, and are the kind of prodigies even their professors defer to. I'm just an ordinary student at the music school next door. When they talk about how cells have their own rhythms, the only thing I can think to ask is what time signature those rhythms are in. Dexter always hates that. "If you don't understand, don't chime in." So now I listen. I don't chime in anymore. Because the first page of this diary reads, "Today is my birthday, but Dexter chose to go over data with Brianna. "By the time this diary is full, I'm leaving him for good."

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

Alena Sabine Florence, now an aspiring drummer, was originally inspired by the young prodigy of a guitarist boy when she was a kid. Driven by the desire to play music with him someday, she chose to take on the path of a complex lifestyle and thrived hard to be as good as she could with the drums. She had never stopped hoping to meet the boy again. She thought, that as long as she kept working hard to make a name for herself, they will eventually meet again. So, when an opportunity has risen; a way to challenge her skills came, she joined her friend’s indie band. However, fate seemed to work way more twisted than she expected, because when her greatest wish came true, it didn’t bring her joy as she imagined. The boy she considered an unreachable star, was stuck in a nameless local indie band. Furthermore, his sound doesn’t resonate the joy of making music, or love for music anymore. He just sounded bland, flat, and boring. Just another typical story of a bright, hopeful girl, and the lackluster, musical genius boy. Except, it ain’t typical. Hear thy heart’s rhythm; a search for a melodious love.

*Not fully edited* Dance was an hobby and everything to Brianna until she had to start doing it for money after she suddenly became an orphan with a huge pile of debt from her late mother and an extra baggage of three siblings that she had to take care of at age 22. Tristan is an arrogant billionaire who would do anything to get what he wants. He doesn't take no for an answer. What happens when the stubborn dancer and the arrogant billionaire cross path . Find out in Feel The Redeem