Poetry has taught me that the more I put on my page,
The less chaos I have in my brain,
There’s a class of 900-some-odd kindergarteners-who each ate a sheet
cake with buttercream frosting on, under and in it for breakfast, living inside my head,
The furniture is flipped,
And there is writing on the walls,
Scribbles saying “Why are we here?” and “More cake!” in bright blue crayon.
Ever since I started school,
Even when I was a hyperactive sugar beast myself,
I found release in my writing,
Life became a twine rope someone had wrapped around both my hands,
Double knotted like my shoe laces,
It played an unfair game of tug-of-war,
But my pencil was the knife that cut me free.
In math, fractions were unhappy couples,
I wondered why that sat on opposite sides of the table
and why they wanted to divide, when not so long ago they were longing so badly to multiply,
Science was a big game of “because it just is” when I asked my questions,
“Why is it so dark on the poles all the time?”
“Because it just is.”
Science really taught me one thing:
That if you hate your job, you’re probably not very good at it.
In social studies I questioned why I needed to know all of the countries in the world,
when I thought I was bound to little old Lincoln, Nebraska.
But in english, oh my…
But in english I excelled,
I used similes as strong as instinct,
And my metaphors were fires in forests of setbacks,
My words began to remind me of toothpaste,
As in once they were out, they were out for good,
Now that i’m older,
I know all 50 states in order,
I realize that CHEM-really-IS-TRY,
And I decided that next year, i’m going to Paris,
Writing became my best subject that created an art throughout all of my worst ones,
Poetry, though, will remain the door I knock on in a storm of anxiety and difficulties in my life,
Because poetry alone,
Is a whole different story.