A month ago I came to the realization that I am an adult and that it's okay for adults to get rid of boxes of notes from Jr. high, along with collections of stickers, ugly things from the DI, posters, Jones bottles, assignments, foreign objects, etc. This led me to destroy clean my room and get rid of loads and loads of CRAP. While doing this I found my poetry book from Ms. Beans creative writing class. (LOVE THAT WOMAN/CLASS/ECT.)
The idea was to follow the format of already existing works but use our own creativity for the verses. Mostly my collection of poetry is just dramatic and embarrassing because I was emo-- yuck-- ha. But NEWAYS, joys:
My Shirt
So striped is my shirt,
Reminds me of a sailor or painter.
It's baggy, all comfortable like.
The blue is a dark blue, hard to
Match with. And the white
Is bright except for the
Few spots on it. Of their origin I know not.
This shirt came from a community of clothes
Somewhere, maybe a closet or a box.
Dear God
Please God, don't rope me into this common routine of life
Where everything is poetry about trees and lost souls
Almost real, but not quite
Big words.
I want to live original, yet simple.
My life as a person, not as a complicated system of bright colors and exploding ideas.But don't let me conform as much as to say
I don't believe, because I do.
I want to experience...Enjoy...
Feel...
Like an anonymous wanderer
Let me create something different
Let me walk alone.
