Poetry, My Demise

 How I feel today... ↓

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 Hey dearest readers, I come to you a broken, tired writer. For the past 2 months, I've been typing away at a portfolio of poetry. On this cloudy day, at 3 in the morning, all gazillion pages were printed, and finalized. Right now, lack of sleep isn't equaling a happy Rachel, but I'm sure I will feel overwhelming accomplished later. Here's a taste of some of my poetry:

Ode To My High School Planner

Bound together by navy swirls,
You hold more than crinkled paper
Within your tidy realm.

Colorful tattoos by artists
Named Bic and Paper mate,
Always turn my stare into a trance.

Like an obedient retriever, you sit,
And stay,
By my side from the sun rise of English,
Till the wee hours of Physics.

Sometimes I know you feel used,
Don’t worry your little pages.
Come June, I’ll unlock your chains
Letting you hide safely
Inside my fire pit.

Your mortal enemy, sleep,
Has never gotten the best of you
That sly stranger has pelted
You into bedroom walls,
Once, or maybe six times.
Always coming away intact.

Shoved between the Goliath,
Glencoe,
And the protruding,
Pearson,
Textbooks are not competition.
Math and Science will have never owned my heart,
Just you, and your
“Commitment to Excellence.”

Stunning on the outside,
With a vintage yellow sheen,
I’d give you an A+.
No one can pull off 1970’s
Couch patterns quite like planner.

You may not spell “F-I-T-E” right,
Or recognize any Jewish Holidays,
But illiteracy, and ignorance,
Are the new, educated and aware.
Way to be a trendsetter.

Oh planner,
Do not cry for me.
Frustration, anxiety, and stress
Will never last forever.
Our non-decomposable bond will
Last until page 176.


  If you are years out of high school, maybe this poem wasn't the clearest. Luckily, you aren't the one grading it. Don't get me wrong, I did it for me, but the grade is also high on my list of priorities. In pursuit to prove I'm more than mediocre, I'll give you another taste of my delicious pieces.

Alcoholics Anonymous

Looking into a bottle of Jack,
Is like peering into a barrel of
A semi automatic.
Curiosity is the downfall of man,
When he yearns to feel alive.

Your misery and pain
Get drowned in a foul liquid.
Coughing hard,
Your eyes are wide.
With every shot you feel alive.

Memories become a foggy haze,
A mere whisper in the wind.
Every time they called you
Mediocre,
Greedy,
Incompetent,
Is cured with every swig.

Demons rage war in your head,
All you manage is surrender.
Verbally abusive inanimate objects,
Animate hallucinations of childhood
nightmares from sharp tongues.

In the morning, you’re alive.
Bile surrounding you on
Cold bathroom stucco.
You’d pound a fist in acrimony,
yet your head can’t even raise.

Drinking your life away,
Pulling the trigger,
Isn’t as effortless as it appears.



Note that I am not an alcoholic. Nor will I ever be, but I've seen tons of lives destroyed over binge drinking. My grandmother, struggled with addiction all her life, and it ended up being the ailment that took her home to heaven. I'm not jumping on the bandwagon of my parents to think it was a suicide, but more so like how I described the barrel of a gun. You can drink your life away with out meaning to.
Here's my final piece for you:

Mid Summers Night Camp


Dimming light, I drove,
Shifting pebbles under bald tires.
Swerve, break, gas, slow.

The lowland meadow,
Destination of seclusion.
Cat tails, crab grass, mossy elms.
Fog off murky ponds crept,
Like a predator waking from hibernation.

Flying nuisances buzz,
Drawing blood like Dracula.
Itchy, swollen, bumpy rash.
Musky tents, with patchwork holes,
Unzipped windows, with gentle breezes.

Pockets full of salmon colored lures,
Cooler packed with Coors Light.
Settled on a rotten log,
Bark scratches tender thighs.
Fire popped, and heat caressed warn souls..

Sharing toasts of years past,
Red Solo cups
Sloshing. Dripping. Spilling.
Our potent elixir causing giggles galore.
Drunks can’t remember,
    But I’ll never forget.
That steamy July evening,
Under the moon hazed sky.
  

Well, there you go! These were some of my master works... so to speak :) I may not get a "good" grade, but it sure made for a thoughtful first quarter. Boom.