I shut down my calculator and begin a post of poetry. How ironic. It’s been long enough since I’ve written one of these. Honestly I’m not writing poetry as much lately as I’m stuck in the world of school and exact answers, but words are still ever so much more important than numbers to me. Maybe I’m rebelling against the exactness with all this free verse. I never used to be able to pull that type off, but these are half decent if I do say so myself. We shall see what ya’ll have to say (and it better be honest.) So, with no further ado I present to you my mini rebellions against rigidity and routine. Enjoy.
Maybe fun is just denial.
Maybe happiness only delays the inevitable.
Maybe playing is worthless because it is ‘ignoring the heart of the matter.’
Maybe laughter is an insubstantial relief for the weak.
Maybe I am the weak because I won’t let go.
Of little moments, small connections, and inconsequential banter,
Of people who—even though they won’t display hurt—pillow fight to the death,
Of days I look forward to filled with sarcasm and temporal pleasure,
Of childlike abandon,
Maybe growing up is overrated.
Infusing lives with meaning,
Expressing feelings for us.
Ascribed to memories–
We pick our favorite groups.
Words plus rhythm equals power.
Voice of rebellion,
The stuff of movements,
Stuff of dreams.
Impossible to forget.
Imperative to the human experience.
Universal: embedded in our genes.