Yesterday, I began sorting boxes my parents delivered over a year ago after Jacob and I moved into the house. One of these boxes was a mix of school papers, including some of my earliest poetry. These are the poems I’d forgotten about.
Based on the folder, they were written sometime between 2000 and 2005, so I was between ages 10 and 16. As I go through these some will be hilarious and worth keeping for that reason alone. Some are insights into the mind of an adolescent alive during that time period and the observations they chose to write down.
I’m started with a series of four untitled poems, four lines each. Now, enjoy some childish, painful forced rhyme.
Sometimes I’m jealous Of those who win All the things That might have been
We tend to love What time we waste The past is delicious; Time? An acquired taste.
Oh Glory Be! In times we say As all hope drifts far away It is the clouded sea she took And my heart – a little brook
Sometimes the world just passes by A shock so sudden we can’t cry With each candle on birthday cake Comes regret with decisions we make
Thank you for taking the time to read these today! Without you these posts don’t carry the same meaning. Have you ever found any of your old writing? What did you think of it? What do you think of these? I’d love to hear in the comments!
If you’d like to see more of my forgotten poetry, please like, comment, and/or share this post. It helps me know what content my readers are most interested in seeing, so I can better know what to share here.
This is an experimental piece I’ve played around with since its first draft in 2015. Since then it morphed into what it is now and I decided that it was time to throw it out into the world for some feedback. My editor didn’t have much to provide, so maybe others can help?
The initial idea:
How can I tell a story from the perspective of something that would normally not be given the benefit of thought and perception?
How would a house try to communicate with its occupants?
I had to make certain decisions that frustrated me, such as the house being able to read and understand English. This introduced a supernatural element that, while I am already pushing things by talking about a house capable of thought and perception, seemed a bit too farfetched.
Another thing that frustrated me about this piece: the house’s existential crisis.
What are your thoughts on the piece? Do you have feedback?
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!
Cultured like roadkill On a hot summer’s day Drive by high speed 18 wheeler fly by Accents rolling off tongues Cleaner than a sailors With the artificial faiths Of political bumper stickers The cults of dental insurance Filtering through Eisenhower’s veins With flashbulb cameras And Hollywood trends They choke on their implosion Exposed maggots chewing away The rotten insides Of the country we mowed down On our way to a National Park
Thank you so much for reading my new poem today! If you found connection to its words, please consider liking, commenting, and/or sharing it with others. Truly, I am grateful for the time you spent reading my work.