"At" poem
In October, my English Composition 101 professor had an assignment for us to write a Van Jordan (author of 'Macnolia' and other works), definiton poem. What I didnt know is that she submitted the poem for the "First Year Writing Poem" contest (or something like that). Anyway, here it is...
at (->) prep 1. It feels like I am at the dawn of a new beginning, a winning moment in a new reflection. The walk from my dorm to the Caf, at the exact point, the blister on my foot has bleed through my Hanes socks and it doesn’t phase me at all.
2. The tears that harbored my soul, that called me from motivation, at times when I needed inspiration the most, have fallen and found a healthy medium. They don’t see the light of day or find the glances at the ground on a once empty night. 3. At the will of my own ambition and redemption, I see my own light, one that no religion can give me. God never came through, and the hue never changed view, blue was the constant, at all stages of my “phases” 4. Some days will be shorter and some longer, but at the time, they fused at a blur, they scurried beneath and in between, like no had seen or feigned. I thought I reigned supreme, but though their influence was the cane that pulled me up. 5. The girls in the back, lacked all but purity and I sat there with my virginity, the agnostic with a soul, at that moment, the blood was spent. At the moment, I knew the word hypocrisy from my “friends”. 6. I left with wounded pride, they committed worse “sins” at the duplex, and our Prom’s “Best Western.” They took shots of Vodka with Vikadin pills, and at my own demands, I tended to my will, recognizing what had been left unfulfilled.
7. The tent of my repression and the attempted regression at hand, had placed these unwarranted demands, unforeseen plans. The scope of my low bellowed under my skin, at the core, I had to sake my own abhorring. 8. Rewind and divide the pieces, with the sharpest knife, at the pressure point, the terror had ended. The glass had become half-full with new liquid. 9. Spent three years near the crashing point, fled at exactly the right time, to save me and this life.
at (->) prep 1. It feels like I am at the dawn of a new beginning, a winning moment in a new reflection. The walk from my dorm to the Caf, at the exact point, the blister on my foot has bleed through my Hanes socks and it doesn’t phase me at all.
2. The tears that harbored my soul, that called me from motivation, at times when I needed inspiration the most, have fallen and found a healthy medium. They don’t see the light of day or find the glances at the ground on a once empty night. 3. At the will of my own ambition and redemption, I see my own light, one that no religion can give me. God never came through, and the hue never changed view, blue was the constant, at all stages of my “phases” 4. Some days will be shorter and some longer, but at the time, they fused at a blur, they scurried beneath and in between, like no had seen or feigned. I thought I reigned supreme, but though their influence was the cane that pulled me up. 5. The girls in the back, lacked all but purity and I sat there with my virginity, the agnostic with a soul, at that moment, the blood was spent. At the moment, I knew the word hypocrisy from my “friends”. 6. I left with wounded pride, they committed worse “sins” at the duplex, and our Prom’s “Best Western.” They took shots of Vodka with Vikadin pills, and at my own demands, I tended to my will, recognizing what had been left unfulfilled.
7. The tent of my repression and the attempted regression at hand, had placed these unwarranted demands, unforeseen plans. The scope of my low bellowed under my skin, at the core, I had to sake my own abhorring. 8. Rewind and divide the pieces, with the sharpest knife, at the pressure point, the terror had ended. The glass had become half-full with new liquid. 9. Spent three years near the crashing point, fled at exactly the right time, to save me and this life.
posted by Samantha | 9:58 PM
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