poetry

In primary school you’re taught,
Poems either have rhyme
And sound like a song
Or have three lines
And go five, seven, five.
They’re often about an animal
Or a journey,
Or an egg on a wall.

In secondary school you find out that,
Poems have similes and metaphors,
Which don’t mean what they say.
Poems lie and trick you,
But poems also speak about truth.
Poems are often about love,
Or about war.
Poems also have other clever things,
Repetition and alliteration,
Lots of long words that make you sound smart.

Later on you learn that,
Poetry can get your crush to notice you,
It’s more than techniques strung together,
Poetry is your feelings on paper,
With an excuse to be soppy.
Poetry is shameless,
It’s is love letters on sticky notes.

In high school you decide that,
Poetry is for losers
The teacher who is excited about poetry,
She’s stupid, she’s not worth listening to.
Poetry inflicts homework and therefore,
Poetry is not worth the time of day.
It’s about memorising some features,
Themes, authors, quotes
and regurgitating them on exam day.

A few years after high school,
Maybe even a decade or so later you realise,
Poetry is so much more.
It’s a beautiful means of communication,
Where you can convey exactly what you feel,
Without having to admit it and say it out loud.
It’s for those who have more
To do and say and feel in life.

a sea of bodies

A sea of bodies but she can only see him in the back of her mind; the scene, the scene, the scene-

Rappers preach out across the congregation in black and white, holding glasses of crimson as they sway to the beats. Smiles and laughter filling the faces of the party goers and socialites and-

She could see herself in it earlier she was chatting first to the guy who was too drunk to stand then to the one with the fiery head. On and on he went-

The room was bouncing as she meandered from one clique to another, to another, trying to look for him, he was meant to be here an hour ago, but he was always-

She slipped out of the room stuffed full of people to indulge in the cool crisp night air, a shock of ice filling her lungs, freezing her thoughts on pause-

Over the voices and music spilling out of the room she hears a shriek; a crash, a bang, a worst-sound-ever. She sees bright lights from the over by the-

Just ten minutes later and she’s standing in that same place, outside looking in, no longer full of the night air. Her thoughts on fire while her body, crimson and cold. His life, his old life, smeared-

A sea of blood surrounding him; she tried to hold it, to stop it, but it flowed, it flowed, it flowed.