No this is not a poem, though I promise to post one soon as it is this week’s assignment.

16 years ago I could write poetry. I wrote some awesome things. I was in such a dark place in my life and the emotions would flow from me. I could artistically articulate deep thoughts. Now I wake up, go to work, eat sometimes, go home, snuggle my kid, go to bed, rinse and repeat. Marriages fail because we don’t have time for emotion. Shit’s gotta get done. “Happy” is now my baseline because I know if I am not happy, shit doesn’t get done. I simply do not have time for deep thoughtful emotion. Sure I will binge watch Hunger Games and cry like a baby through the whole thing, but I hit pause and call my gynecologist and make an appointment I have been putting off. I am not a sad person. I cannot write poetry.

FICTION! This is my stomping ground. I am a creative person. I can write happy things and sad things and anything because it.is.not.real. Maybe I can try to turn one of my short stories into a poem.

The text book I’m reading in regards to poetry makes me want to bash my head against the wall. Writing a play was fine. I had to make up a story and decide what people were going to say. Easy. The structures, rules, and elements of poetry are too much for me. I am reading some of these examples and being asked to pick out the rhythm. Half of everything I read is broken up so strange that I can hardly tell where a sentence stops and a new one begins. There is no rhythm!!! This isn’t entertaining or thought provoking. It is stressful! Like being in an emotional person’s brain. Nope.

Rant over. Back to homework.


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