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Poetry Isn’t Hard

By @forhigher

Reason 1

I hate being in class

Knowing I’m wasting my time,

Seconds go by, hauntingly.

I hate sitting at this desk

Aware of the damage being done,

By playing along, idly.

I hate following these rules

Against my better judgement,

Learning the lesson, angrily.

I loved reading poetry

With an imagination limitless,

Opening my mind, hungrily.

I loved that my thoughts

Would paint words on an easel,

Colorful plots emerging, easily.

I loved the freedom that came

Without needing a meaning,

But this would change, undoubtedly.

I hate the cells they created

Among classrooms and hallways,

Which look harmless before us, deceivingly.

I hate that these schools

Are nothing but assembly lines,

Forming us all into boxes, uniformly.

I hate the system now in place

Capping our mental exploration,

Forcing us to see in sepia, dully.

I wish that my classes

Would have emphasized that,

In poetry, there is no understanding, singularly.

I wish my teachers would have seen

There’s no need for mathematical rules in literature,

And that their lessons missed the point, entirely.

I wish they could have seen

That they ripped away entire worlds of possibility,

Within our own heads, they emerged, mortally.

I wish they knew they should’ve stopped

And looked at what they spewed,

Poetry isn’t hard, and they knew this, unfortunately,

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