When I write poems in poetry writing class, am I paying attention or just doodling with words? It feels like what I write is irrelevant, my mind wandering on my experiences. Here’s two short ones I wrote today.
An Elegy for Belly Fat
The gut is gone, security lost;
I slouch in my chair,
with nowhere
to place my hands.
They used to rest
below my chest,
on my lost soft mess of flesh.
Untitled
The coffee’s gone,
my morning’s done;
life is sad,
just like that.
I cannot wait,
until the date
my mug’s refilled,
when
frail happiness
is rebuilt.
States of Praise 