Shouldn't be doing this
Super hungry
Won't have lunch
Until I go home
In two hours
My hands a pruny and withered
Like raisins
From doing the dishes
And praying for those
Desperate enough
To come into my mjnd

There is a pattern to this
Poems are the soul of the poets who
Write on the paper, not on the
Fabric, blue and pink I'll take one of
Each other looked at one another and
Knew that I was a fool in
Love that dessert, the tang and the
Sweet pea doesn't cry on your
Pillow and sheets I pulled of my
Bed head that's me
And my name is iris and
I see patterns

My voice is throttling
And it seems unusual for a
Voice to throttle
But here am I
Speaking loud and soft in one
Phrase of the sound vibrating from
My vocal chords and
I hope that it won't throttle again
Just like I have been throttled and
Floored by the actions of my fellow
Human beings are what live on this
Planet is called earth and it is full of
Water rushing over my head and I
Scream fills the air as someone lays
Shot but missed the swishing of the
Basket on the front of my bike with
Wheels spinning in my head
And I would love to speak the words of my mind
If my voice didn't throttle

By myself
Feeling sick writing a poem
Hearing out and backto pump and
Feeling sick

Who always seems to be busy
When I sit behind two other kids in line
For the person with the beginning of the alphabet
Why does he have so many letters?

I combat my urge to run from math
Class by being poetic
I let the words flow out of my mouth
Like a waterfall and my
Friend laughs as I attempt
To make poetry out of thin air
It's easier to make it out of thick air
You have more to work with.
I tell her I'm figuring out the
Meaning of life is life
Because I don't get what I'm
Saying I just don't want to realize
I can't count to three
As my friend pointed out
During a card game
In which I lied and they called me out
I'm not superman you know
And I can't even figure out
What the cosine is of 23
Without my calculator
And I want to punch
The people who say English
***** because it's hard
They don't see what I see
If English *****
It ***** like a vaccum
Or a straw
A good *****.
And I remember falling asleep with a
Book on my head in the hallway
Hoping for tomorrow
When I get to slam poetry

Hello again to the words
On a blank page of my
Heart that got crushed
Under the rotating tires of your
Rejection
Because I'm not good enough to
Be seen as anything other
Than a human being
Not an artist or an imagination
But numbers and a name
An address and a telephone number
And haven't even told you what my favorite color is.
It's purple.
So hello again to the life I once wanted
To be a diva
Because I thought I was such a star
In the universe
Next to Ursa Major
She's not my mother
No I'm an orphan
Alone.
Hello again to the sound of the discord
Of the out of tune piano
I've been playing my whole life and
My name is not Chopin