Ho. Ho. Ho.
Can you feel the holiday spirit? No? Then you need to drink more. Anyways, to kick off my latest blog post, I just wanted to share some of my mediocre poetry with the rest of the world. Please refrain from gouging out your eyes if you find it less than satisfactory as poetry isn’t something I often dabble in.
Here’s one heavy with alliteration:
SYNTHESIS OF STREWN STITCHES
My characteristically chaotic chemistry is
A synthesis of strewn stitches
Rough rims, rimples and ridges,
Too big for one’s britches.
It ignites, igneous and incandescent
Never needing nor nagging nor gnawing nor clawing.
Raging, reposing, regarding or responding
Each emotion expresses efferent expectations
Encompassing elements of everyday events.
Don’t dig dangerously deep—it’s just the sound of my name.
I sprouted into privilege, to a pair of green money trees
But all other kids glared and scorned, burning me
And I shriveled up
Into a dry, disfigured leaf.
Attempting to smile white
My teeth quickly rotted and it got easier to frown brown
And so I found happiness in winter’s grey.
While growing up frozen and lonely
I discovered the warmth of a true friend
Who then died—drug overdose.
After I stumbled I started using too
But then I discovered and recovered
And now I find myself healthy and free.
I started off heavy
And I think I’ll end up light
But should this flight crash early
I’ll rest six feet under. Me and my plight.
I explode towards the blue sky
Stretching my right arm up.
The shiny red rim gets ever so close,
My callused fingers wiggle higher
But my wild hair stops fluttering
And gravity says no.
The dull concrete below catches up,
My faded Nike Air Max’s crash,
Bursting in shame,
The deflated orange ball bounces away.
Stained with the numerous marks of my soles,
The floor declares itself king.
Visual poem with four syllables per line:
I march ahead—
Ready to strike
At your command.
I break blockades—
North, south, east, west
Keeping keen watch.
I carve a path—
Guarding your crown.
I tread biased—
Up, down, crisscross
For you, my love.
I sit and wait—
This heavy crown
Marks my checkmate.
**Unfortunately, the top poem can’t be displayed as it’s meant to be viewed thanks to formatting inconsistencies with WordPress. It’s like driving a Lamborghini with a rev limiter set to 40 mph. Talk about annoying. Trust me, though, the poem was meant to be all visual, with the shape and arrangements of the words taking on the chess pieces move patterns.
TL;DR: This poem was awesomer in its original form.