One of my poems.

I told you I would try to post some of my poems, and here one is. I know it's not perfect, but it's alright for now. I just had to write something about Mr. Spaniel, although I also started writing a poem about Mama's feet. I should finish that one, because I like it too.

This is the first draft of the poem, so any commentary is welcome, even if that includes, "Jessie- just write another poem."

Monster Party

I met him at my brother’s monster party.
Me ironically showing up as a party monster-
Black heels, skin-tight 80s, glittery,
Jazz dance outfit that I found at Goodwill,
Hugging all the sexy and awkward curves
On my body. Feeling naked and silly,
I had nothing to hide. The lampshade
Strapped on my head, along with my giraffe
Legs, brought me close to seven feet tall.

He was a just-got-off-from-waiting-tables
Monster. Plaid shirt, wheat skin,
Intelligent, Dominican head,
And those orange old-school Nikes
Made him just under 5 feet, six inches tall.

Hearts on my fingers,
Hearts in my morning oatmeal,
Hearts on my Anatomy Lab notes-
I started tracing them everywhere.
Somehow I had turned into a Middle-School
Girl with a lovely crush on a boy.

Laughs, kisses, movies, and wet eyes,
I’m still finding his hairs embedded
In my carpet. I wake up knowing the head
(Or chest) from which these hairs came
Is no longer around for me to touch.

I didn’t want it to end,
But with him saying he was afraid
Of being in love (again),
And me saying I just want
To love and be loved,
There was only one lonely answer
We both didn’t want to hear.


So now I’ve learned that I shouldn’t go
For the short monster afraid of love,
And also,
I need to vacuum the carpet more.

This is not a poem.

My first poem for my fancy college poetry class is due tomorrow. Truth be told, the class isn't really fancy, nor does it feel like a college class. My teacher is twenty-four years old, and curses like he's one of my family members. What's up with that? The odd thing is, he's probably going to be one of the best teachers I have at FSU. He's enthusiastic about teaching, he wants to hear what his students have to say, and he gets us involved. What more could I want?
Well, what I would like is some direction is this freaking poem that I have to write and read out load to my fellow classmates tomorrow. I thought it would be quite simple and easy to write a poem about this time last year (or any other year around this time), but when I started writing, I realized that I've never written a poem without a structure outline or rules. That makes me feel a little sad about myself. I've never even finished writing a whole song, even though I've started many. I pretend to be an artist, but not for anybody but myself. The urge to be an artist is there, oh yes it certainly is, but I have never felt very successful.
I know I have my music, and for that I am very grateful, but I don't feel like I own it, if you know what I mean. In my family, I really have the least knowledge about it, it seems to effect me the least, and the truth is, I'm not a good listener. I don't even know the words to songs I've heard millions of times. Sometimes I'll be "singing" along to a song I know, and I realize I have never actually listened to the words. It really makes me sad, but then when I try to listen, I end up forgetting to listen and my mind wanders and I think about other things. And not important things, just stuff like, "What am I going to eat later? Man my lips are chapped. Why is that? I wish I didn't always have chapped lips. I should be thinking about other things. Gosh, I wish I was a deeper person..." And other silly, self-critizing crap.
Anyway, it's late and I really should get some sleep. Not to mention write that poem. Hah. I'm excited about tomorrow morning because I have to get up early for my first microbiology lab-we're going to be working with flames and Escherichia coli! That last statement was ment to be sarcastic, but now that I think about it, I really am kind of interested and excited. I like that hands-on stuff.
Wish me luck! I hope everyone that reads this, (meaning Mama, and maybe Hank and May) are all having very nice days.