My Poetry

I write it

It’s compiled of papers

Scattered from all different places

Equations from math are etched in the back

George Washington and other president’s timelines cover the sides

But at least I wrote it down

All those days of not paying attention in class

Maybe they are finally paying off

Maybe this is me finding my calling in life

Maybe, probably not

I hide it from most people

Afraid of what they might say if they actually saw it

No I don’t spill my secrets

But I say what I feel

I have no inhibitions

I don’t care what others have to say

Maybe that is the scariest part

But if they actually saw it what would I do

It might be too late to transfer schools

But maybe not

Oh but it just isn’t fair

So what if I stated my mind

It’s my poetry after all right

Or is it for you?

Did I write it so just in case someone saw it I wouldn’t be mortified?

I hope not

I really thought that it was for me.

I really thought that it was mine

That no one could take that outlet away from me

Subconsciously what if I still follow all the rules

Those stupid, confining rules of literacy

They say that I can’t end a sentence in the middle of . . .

Hmm. Look at that, I just did.

So there

Nope it’s for me

That proves it

It’s still my outlet

But it’s not for you to see

It’s mine

My poetry.

~Elle Woods