force my hand to speak words I don't mean
I cannot surrender feeling to a cause I do not care for
paragraphs fade my enthusiasm
like impatience for another's child
a minimum of respectful observance
an obligation with the refusal of commitment
appreciation does not equal replication
I fear my knowledge deteriorates
any remaining interest rots away
even as you recite new lines
my eyes are reading not receiving
auto-erasing traces of empathy
reciting simile upon simile
my heart does not care for sonnets or haikus
I want to feel raw like words written
but my ecstasy of another's emotion
holds no feeling when dissected
the sacred art of expression
picked apart and prodded
like my disinterested answers
my brain groans at your analytical stare
feel my speech not the technique
I know your motives as I know mine
I see value in soul you see value in rhyme
hi yes for some reason I hate English but love the act of writing and poetry; this is not to say English is unimportant or unuseful, this is more of a musing towards how I feel about the way it is taught in said lessons. As selfish as my thoughts are, all I wish you take from this is to teach others with emotion as opposed to cold stiffness and clinical questions.