we read emily dickinson and edgar allen poe and billy collins
from a bright white packet striped in words
and "ode to family photographs" by gary soto
and i banged my head on the desk, because i
was far too pretentious to like seventh grade, and also
far too shy to act outside the annoyance of being humble.
the teachers like to marvel at alliteration and assonance
it is all about what is intended, and the poet
means everything; surely every word painted is
crossed with a tricky double or
spins the mouth into a faraway concept
surely everything is layered with the rich chapters of life
and anything is expressed
in those metered measured meticulous
stanzas that i hate.
they tell me this is what poetry is
you better Capitalize random Letters like
emily dickinson, or else
write thoughtful little banters
or maybe you like to rhyme
if you're in to keeping time.
they tell me this is what poetry is, but i got one right here
purple for personification, orange caresses alliteration
(see what i did?)
but i don't want my poem highlighted
like a mathematical display
let the words speak for once––we never seem to
so just read my poem and
begone, or maybe leave a like.
kind of a dumb poem but i'm triggered at poetry studies