365 days 365 poems, adolescence, American Horror Story, art, aspirations, Butter, Creativity, daily poetry, depression, discipline, lessons, Love Poems, Teaching, Teaching Adolescents, Teaching Writing, Writing
Exhilaration. That’s what this is. My kids are in bed, and I am exhilarated to be here. This space has become my home. The time is its own freedom.
My job is awesome. I know I bitch about it nearly all the time, but my biggest inspirations are there. Granted, that is where we spend most of our hours, but really, I feel that inspiration in your job is a boon. “Boon” is a vocab word this week.
One of my greatest inspirations is my creative writing class. I have the biggest, most beautiful weirdos in there! This trimester, though, I have this girl who is simply powerful. She is smart and exuberant and weird and depressed, and I am jealous of the power of her words. And she’s young. Fifteen or sixteen young. It’s astonishing. And, she’s dark. She’s major depression, plus teen angst, plus smartiepants, plus too much American Horror Story dark.
Today I want to write something dark so she and her coven will enjoy it. This comes from that, and from other stuff:
He found the snake piercing the sickening dove,
and saw a reckoning in those dyed eyelids.
He grabbed just behind the head so the only way the teeth could go was front.
The body and tail took his arm, with the rattle close up to his ear.
The gentlemen’s warning, it’s called.
Knowing he had to grip more dearly than ever,
he felt the skin on his hands begin to sting.
It had been a hunch, to take the thing,
so he ran into the classroom with the snake and bird in hand, hoping for help.
Trained in lockdown, she instructed the child closest to the door to lead the rest outside,
while all the time instructing to boy
to hold on as strong as possible.
Today in my creative writing class they asked to workshop my own poems, so I let them. GADZOOKS that is scary. We should all try being students. It is not nearly as fun as we imagine. Happy Thursday, you friends 🙂