Sunday, August 5, 2007

Poetry Sucks

Okay. Isn't that the coolest thing you ever did see? I could literally pimp anything I want to Zelda. Which I'm completely okay with (notice I'm showing all Wii items? I'm currently interested in if these guys have something more than this, like, maybe an original nintendo controller for the PC? Although, one has to say that it's pretty freaking sweet).

I've already got the clock my brother gave me for Christmas. So, now all I need is the DS, some silverware and plates, maybe a mug and, of course, the shower curtains. I'm sure I could come up with some comforters that would be sweet as, and maybe some new glasses or something.

All I know is that I want this, but I don't think I'll want to pay the price they want for it.

In other news, I've realized that I fucking hate poetry. I know, I know, I'm supposed to be this artsy chick who understands all that funk, but I don't like analyzing shit, and I don't like writing it either. I'm a bit more literal, material for novel writing, maybe making a few really beautiful sentences here and there to make something different. But full blown poetry? I don't think I have the stuff.

I ended up uses a few lines from some stories I'd written, and then using a passage in something I'd written as well. I don't feel as if it's cheating because prose is poetry, too, damn it, and just because I'd already written it doesn't mean I can't have people look over it to tell me how sucky it is.

Ones face equals a blank canvas.
Black elixir to embellish.
Enhancing cheeks with pink powder.
Green substance that makes ones eyes glow like a firefly’s bottom,
Attracting the fixation of potential males attention
Who latch to an enticing idea of a perfect face
For the night of exchanging dances.
In conflagration, they circle around, creating oddly formed circles,
Constantly shifting, molding,
Never making the perfect roundness a circle should have
Like the first attempts of a kindergartner.

For a week there after,
Every wrinkle and flaw reflects back
Until my judgemental gaze
Sees the beauty of au naturale.

Time Is Of The Essence

I think of all the impatient people in our line,
Staring at our motto
So long they begin to believe it themselves.
They begin to believe that,
In fact,
If they don’t have their coffee now,
They’re going to miss something.

By just not getting coffee at all,
They would be sure to not miss at least fifteen minutes of the day
By doing something else;
Five minutes in the shower,
Or making a proper breakfast.

And I think of those impatient people waiting in line
As we make their much needed cups of coffee,
But then,
We get their orders wrong,
Making them wait even longer
For their liquid from heaven.

Making our motto completely hypocritical.

The first poem I actually just wrote, but I used more inspiration from a firefly story I'd written and some other thoughts I'd kept written down. It's supposed to be an "ode" to make-up, but I keep thinking it could be otherwise something else? I donno.

The second is actually two paragraphs I'd written for one of my stories, broken up and mutilated to fit perfectly into a frame of a poem. I think I like that one much more, considering I haven't a clue about coffee shops (I like hot cocoa, and I've never worked in one) and it's one of my favorite stories. I have to keep remembering that the class I'm in is a class for a reason, so I can learn. But everyone seems to already know everything about poems and how to write and are amazing at making something out of nothing, whereas I tend to try to pile something that comes out of my ass in hopes that it can at least pale in comparison to what they've created.

Thus, I hate poetry. Reading it can be fun, but it's hard for me to want to create something when people are already doing a fine job. I feel differently about novels and short stories, for some odd reason, though I'm sure someone would say the same about my choice of profession.

As it is, I'm leaving this for the others to show things to the public, while I'll be keeping most of my things hidden within my journal. Ode to the journal.

Random Fact: In Mexico, the Tooth Fairy is known as the 'Tooth Mouse'.

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