A Letter to My Creative Writing Professor
Your class was the worst thing that ever happened to my poetry
Every night my homework was to spill my soul across a page
Telling my class stories and truths I wish I could forget
And every class when I turned in my poem
You ripped out its pulsing heart
Took my favorite part and tore it to shreds
Changing the meaning of the poem
Until the story was something I didn’t even know
You marked me down for telling the truth
Saying “poems are lies masked as art”
Receive a B-minus in telling the truth
B-minus in being creative
So I started to turn in your poetry instead of mine
Poems telling your truths. Your life. Your story
Well, I got an A
But the flags of my creativity are flying at half-mast
Mourning the tragedy of a poet lost
I forgive you for killing a poet to be
But I will never forgive you for telling that girl,
the girl who sat next to me,
to kill herself.
You should have known
Her poems were full of blood and knives
Drawing on wrists
white walls
You should have known
Last day of class and she left crying
You are a teacher
You should have known
This only goes to show
Those who know nothing
Are often in charge
I do not hope you kill yourself.
I hope you live forever
So you can think about that girl
With the violent poems
And think about the poems
You violently killed
And then maybe
Finally
Your poetry will find truth