A Strange Poem
Just so you know I do keep my promises (most of them any way) here is the poem that I wrote the other day at school and typed up. I'm still not sure what to think about it, whether I like it or not, but here it is.
Something
I wrote something today
Not much really just
A few pages
Of an anchorless tale
That may just break off
And float away
Coming to nothing in the end
But I wrote something
While sitting in the library
Looking at a book of
German contemporary photography
The silence
Pipped with muffled laughter
Tapping pencils and
Exasperated scholarly sighs
Drifting through my ears
I wrote something
On a piece of binder paper
That I probably should have
Saved for something more important
If such a thing really exists
I sat and I wrote thoughts
That spilled form my mind
And arranged themselves
In a way that made me
Look away
So I wouldn’t be shocked
By how good or how awful
They might have been
And then as soon as it started
It needed to end
I had to leave the book behind
And walk out into the night
Feeling my own breath
Hot and stinging
Push past my lips
Into the suddenly autumn air
I had to go to my math class
To try to learn
About standard deviation
And sample proportions
But instead
I needed to write something
I’m on a role after all
So I got out another
Piece of binder paper
To sacrifice it to the unknown
Of this something
Like the something that came before
It’s not very special
Not note worthy
But it’s here
And I’m writing this
With a red pen
Leaking little drops
Of bloody ink onto the page
But it’s the only pen
I have right now
And so I don’t even
Mind; not really
When the drops smear
And smudge my hand
Because I need to write this
Just like I’ve done before
It needs to exist
For me, for it
For me
Something
I wrote something today
Not much really just
A few pages
Of an anchorless tale
That may just break off
And float away
Coming to nothing in the end
But I wrote something
While sitting in the library
Looking at a book of
German contemporary photography
The silence
Pipped with muffled laughter
Tapping pencils and
Exasperated scholarly sighs
Drifting through my ears
I wrote something
On a piece of binder paper
That I probably should have
Saved for something more important
If such a thing really exists
I sat and I wrote thoughts
That spilled form my mind
And arranged themselves
In a way that made me
Look away
So I wouldn’t be shocked
By how good or how awful
They might have been
And then as soon as it started
It needed to end
I had to leave the book behind
And walk out into the night
Feeling my own breath
Hot and stinging
Push past my lips
Into the suddenly autumn air
I had to go to my math class
To try to learn
About standard deviation
And sample proportions
But instead
I needed to write something
I’m on a role after all
So I got out another
Piece of binder paper
To sacrifice it to the unknown
Of this something
Like the something that came before
It’s not very special
Not note worthy
But it’s here
And I’m writing this
With a red pen
Leaking little drops
Of bloody ink onto the page
But it’s the only pen
I have right now
And so I don’t even
Mind; not really
When the drops smear
And smudge my hand
Because I need to write this
Just like I’ve done before
It needs to exist
For me, for it
For me