Argh
I'm having Poetry brain farts!
Damn my recent success in poetry, for now I feel the need to match such success with the second assignment... and all my efforts are in vain.
Listening to Joy to the World probably doesn't help...
When I am little
I believe there are wolves in the bathroom
So I do not go to the toilet at night
But that is also because I am afraid
Of tripping and falling down the stairs.
I like to pretend
I have been kidnapped by a witch
And she keeps me imprisoned
By trapping my hands in the headboard
But by morning I have always escaped.
To read at night
Is always an adventure of stealth
To have one hand on the light switch
Ready to shove the book under the pillow
At the sound of an approaching footstep.
-
Sometimes I am very aware of my breasts.
At the occasional glance down at the moderate swell under my shirt
I think: they are so obvious, everyone must be staring at them.
I don’t look at other people’s breasts
Unless they’ve made a point of ensuring that I do
In which case it makes me even more aware of my own breasts,
Which are not, I don’t think, very extraordinary
But merely some extraneous body part I’ve had since I was twelve
Damn my recent success in poetry, for now I feel the need to match such success with the second assignment... and all my efforts are in vain.
Listening to Joy to the World probably doesn't help...
When I am little
I believe there are wolves in the bathroom
So I do not go to the toilet at night
But that is also because I am afraid
Of tripping and falling down the stairs.
I like to pretend
I have been kidnapped by a witch
And she keeps me imprisoned
By trapping my hands in the headboard
But by morning I have always escaped.
To read at night
Is always an adventure of stealth
To have one hand on the light switch
Ready to shove the book under the pillow
At the sound of an approaching footstep.
-
Sometimes I am very aware of my breasts.
At the occasional glance down at the moderate swell under my shirt
I think: they are so obvious, everyone must be staring at them.
I don’t look at other people’s breasts
Unless they’ve made a point of ensuring that I do
In which case it makes me even more aware of my own breasts,
Which are not, I don’t think, very extraordinary
But merely some extraneous body part I’ve had since I was twelve