Last spring I was enrolled in a fiction writing course where I was prompted to write two short stories. Having never actually succeeded in finishing a story, literally ever, I had my doubts. Come to find out, I’m not half bad.
More importantly, I really enjoyed it. Once I had the stomach to share these short stories with the internet, I got a lot of positive feed back from you guys! My love for that particular class and success in it helped me realize why I was so unhappy being a business major. My most dedicated readers have already browsed these posts, but I’ll link them in case you’re out of the loop.
Anyways, before I tell my life story to anyone who will listen, I’d like to bring you to my main point. You guys liked reading my stories, and some of you even asked for more. However, this semester I took a poetry writing class, so that my friends, is exactly what I’m going to give you.
Milk and honey please step aside!! Believe it or not I actually turned these in for a grade. Feel free to tell me how much they suck.
An Ode to my Earlobes
You who I poke holes in your heart to dangle sweet chimes.
You who unwillingly contort yourself to appease my needs.
You who flush bright red, embarrassed by the cold.
You who wiggle without hand’s help.
You who when pulled on twice signals a secret.
You who truly serves no purpose to the quality of my life.
You who without I’d be a lobe-less outcast in a sea of lobe-ers.
I see you there
With your legs crossed
The black shadows flood your face
Your hair smashed like you’d fallen asleep sideways on your pillow
I remember you doing what you did best
Fore playing with words
Major chords played when you spoke
I’d been so used to hearing nothing
I bought it
No receipt necessary
Didn’t care to hear the return policy
The clefs were smudged with ink
Swimming around my pink coral reef
You kept singing your tune
While I pretended I could read music
In the desk suspended in time,
my mind finds every thought but the right one.
At this moment, my hair is growing,
just as it is at every moment.
I only remember now.
Words are juggled between walls.
I can only hear the dirt under my nails.
A craving over comes me to lick my elbow.
I can’t recall if I ever could.
I’m curious about how much money I’ve spent,
on thoughts of damp elbows.
TV Show Haikus
I watched jane die I was there
the peach pit from Pikatus
I call forks food rakes