Tomorrow I will have written ten poems in twenty minutes for seventy-five days in a row. I will celebrate this occasion by writing rhyming poems. They will not be good, but instead, most likely, will be hilariously bad, enjoy my milestone.
I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes
Quit being short with me, I know you don’t mean to be mean, but you are.
He said, you’re saying I don’t know what I’m talking about.
They were driving.
If you can’t complete simple tasks without argument,
Then one of you is waiting for the other one to die.
She fusses over everything
Does it all in the wrong order
So that everything is made more difficult
Than if she’d just done what she said
She needed to do
Instead of worrying about it.
She’s always her to me
She’ll ask what you meant by that
Till she finds something you’ve been trying to hide.
She takes care of her curls and pins them, fine.
She’ll call you names for teasing her,
But without the guts of shame.
She’ll call to the man who loves her
He’ll do the same.
She tells you a story
And takes an hour,
But she’ll listen and look bored if you try it back.
She’s worked in a store, stocking shelves and candy
But she still looks like her in the shirt uniform.
I’d like to have someone to talk to
Who knew what I meant
And I could hold no boundaries
No barriers in the mind
Nothing to not say
Or be careful about
That person I would love to speak to
I forgot about the static cling of my hair
In the winter that passed the summer
The snap of the coat pulled off a sweater
I missed the cold burn of air in my lungs
The cold all the way through that never comes in summer
And the last of the dead leaves waving brown.
Most of all I forgot the sun can shine cold.
He woke me up this morning
With the shave and a hair cut tap
He thinks it is his way to knock on a door.
He woke me up for school
With cheer and glee
At spreading the misery of awakeness to another
Watch them struggle
Get to see them vulnerable
While you’re awake,
The only time he’s smarter than us
When he wakes us up.
His power comes from his voice, the voice that will wake
And awaken, I get to bring you into the world.
Monday I will pack my things
Spend money, fly, ship, move, live
I can’t stand it here
Half child half me
Mostly a person they no longer know
But who looks like an older version
Of something they always thought they saw.
I cannot be like my mother
Was a mantra of mine.
After she had made a new rule
That meant we couldn’t play that game
Or we had to be quiet.
I thought my brother was a bad person,
Well not bad, but not good.
I had surgery, minor, there was a bone spur in a breathing passage.
I stuck sat on the couch for a week.
And he did nothing to help,
No one told him to,
And he didn’t offer.
He had yet to put himself where someone else looked.
I hoped he’d get better later.
My Mom probably thinks the same about me.
I consider me,
I am a woman who.
I won’t be stuck in by descriptions
Don’t make me one thing.
Don’t make me everything.
I think I know what I’d like to be
An ideal that’s somewhere in here
But I won’t do anything practical to get there
I’ll dream about it,
Whine that I’m not,
And wait for a new adjective tomorrow.