In my freshman year of high school, my language arts class had to create a poetry portfolio based of off William Blake's "Songs of Innocence and Experience." I remember penning these poems, anxiously waiting to receive praise for my creative genius that was hidden all along. I remember reading them over, all puffed up with pride over my poetic gems. I remember thinking, "Well if the whole international relations thing doesn't work out, at least I can be a poet and make millions because I am
just that damn good."
I was suffering from Teen Angst, a common disorder that afflicts most teens and thankfully recedes after those teens learn to "suck it up and grow a pair." Some don't. Rereading these poems, I am a little bit proud of the extreme level of deception that I managed to plunge myself into concerning my creative genius. However I am a lot more ashamed of mis estrofas terribles. I fully recognize the x-treme bullshit that I poured my heart and soul into.
Here is one for your mocking pleasure.
This Could Be Heaven or This Could Be Hell (recently dedicated to well-dressed boy in mine and Mallory's gym class. Mallory and I's gym class? Mallory and mine's gym class? wtf)
Our eyes lock
In the midst of our friends,
A half-smile already on my face,
A perfect mirror image of yours.
Suns rise, moons set;
Flowers bud, bloom, wilt, die.
Simultaneously we look away
As a thought flutters, unbidden,
Into my stunned, shaken heart,
And I can do nothing as it settles there,
Firmly making its home there.
But just as quickly,
Another thought creeps into my mind.
"This could be heaven or this could be hell."
-DP, 2004
More to come, oh so much more to come.
