I’m a poet now,
But the interest will fade.
No one will see
The cool things I made.
The rhythm fits,
But I’m new to this.
I can’t go on,
Most lines seem wrong.

The history class
Is always cool.
But the students
Never play by the rules.
The teacher is great, calm and collected,
Until she finds the bell.

One, two, three
one, two, three,
the music
goes on.

The music goes on,
but my role here is wrong.

Starting on right,
when I should be left.
"Back," no, forward
Can I go? "Not yet"

"Ladies, ladies, one more time"
Why?
I don't want to dance,
It just isn’t working.

I am recalcitrant,
obsolete and apprehensive.
Animosity overpowered
by apathy.

They don't know me,
and deride those like me.
Yet I'm
too tired to argue,
too hurt to not care.

Oh faithful Horsey,
so soft and sweet.
Yet old and faded
and battered and beat.
But every night you fall,
from my bed where you lay.
I have to go get you,
and tell you to stay.

A storm is brewing, as you can see,
The smell before a shower,
And a soft and cooling breeze.
A dark and cloudy sky,
Tells of the coming waters.
Maybe go inside,
To escape the dreary weather

The snowflakes fall
Special, unique.
They see people staring,
They think they are freaks.