this week i started packing to move to a new apartment later this month, and i rediscovered an old legal pad containing some prose i wrote sometime in college. i remember writing it. i was feeling frustrated because i hadn't been able to write in awhile and wanted to rekindle the ability. i remember being totally unsatisfied with it, but now i kind of like it. without further ado, i present an untitled work of angst:
this is my belated attempt
a tentative pouring out
no one here to judge
but feeling scorned all the same
where have the rhymes gone?
where is my meter?
stilted now, but extravagant still
these words that live within.
surely each observation is deserving
worthy of fleeting consideration
between each sluggish flutter of my lashes
the scenes of the world pour in
and begin to filter
over the sieves of my eyes
through my paradigms
so easily distorted, perceptions
like potter's clay on an unseen wheel
forming the world to my own hands.
