I really hate having a cold

This sniffing is getting quite old

With my aching head

I’ll get out of bed

Cause calling in sick is too bold

In the crazy world in which we live

Achievement’s all in what we give

It’s all a matter of how much stress

You will endure to get success



The bar is rising more and more

For no one wants to take the floor

The hardest worker takes the top

But for one to rise, two more must drop



We will get out what we put in

The lengths some go, it’s quite a sin

And as we take our leaps and bounds

We might forget about the ground



We must recall for what we strive

We make the cash to live our lives

We all should take some time to breathe

Sit back, relax, and sip some tea



Bring out your saucers, cups, and crop

The ones for which you work non-stop

We slave, day in and out, for perks

We do not slave to do more work



For some, it won’t come in a cup,

The things in life that lift us up

Whatever may be your luxury,

Take time to sip your cup of tea

Free verse.

It’s not an easy thing for me

To just let the words flow (free)

And not to worry about the structure,

The meter,

The intervals in time,

And making it rh—



…I need control

It’s hard for me

To express myself freely

Don’t you see?

It’s what I need

But I plead

To speak free



If you have to ask,

It’s a mask

So that I can unwind

With some sort of structure to hide behind



Structure.

That’s easy…



But free verse.

It’s not an easy thing for me

The rhymes coach me on what to say

But to come up with this all on my own…

I’m stuck.

Right now, as I am writing this, I am stuck.

I’m only telling you this because I truly and honestly can’t think of something fitting to say

That line was way too long.

Should I break it up? NO

It’s free verse! Just say what you feel

But I feel like this isn’t good enough



New stanza.

Because poems need stanzas

Good poems have stanzas

Good poems have structure

But this isn’t really about the poem…



Am I good enough?

A silly and unlikely scenario… but if just a couple words were changed, would it still sound preposterous?*



From a very young age

I knew I was a little different from the other kids:



They all wrote with their right hands,

But I always felt compelled

To pick up that crayon

With my left hand.



But I was terrified that all the other kids

Would make fun of me for being different

And that my family

Would shut me out…



I later found out that there is a name for this

And that I was not alone:

I learned that I was “left-handed,”

And that this is true for roughly 10% of the world



I spent a lot of time building the courage

To come out about my

Preference.

Then one day I couldn’t bear to keep my secret any longer…



I told everyone that I was left-handed

And you know what?

My family said that they would love me

No matter what hand i wrote with.

Some of my friends thought it was a little weird

But for the most part, they were okay with it..

Some weren’t. But hey,

They weren’t my true friends anyway



It’s tough being a south paw

In a right-handed world

But I have faith

That one day

It will be fully accepted and normal

And that lefties will one day be able

To proudly show their true selves

Without being made to feel strange

You’re striving to inspire

The world with what you do

In turn do not forget to let

The world inspire you

Let’s imagine for a minute

That life is a loaf of bread:

Soft, warm, and inviting

When you first come out of the oven



In time, however

It gets a little stale

Not so fluffy as it was in the beginning

It gets a little rough around the edges



It can get a little blue here and there

And in time, if you let it sit too long

Those little parasites will grow

Until there is nothing good left



But let’s not be too rash

Don’t toss it in the trash

No, not just yet

There’s something you can do, so don’t you fret



You have a chance

To make your loaf

Something amazing

What can your loaf bring?



Break it down

Into tiny little bits

Toss away your blues

But keep the misfits



Everything that is good

Is what makes it yours

The crust, the heal,

The unique little pores



Spread it all out

Within your pan

Draw it out

As long as you can



Don’t forget

To add some spice

Make it taste

The way you like



Pop it in the oven

And let them bask

Make them warm and toasty

Make them last



What was once a dull mass

Is now a bunch

Of quirky little bits

With lots of crunch



Why waste away

As a stale loaf of bread

When you could be croutons

Everybody likes croutons

I understand

You feel radically for your cause

But your shouts may bring forth,

To your message, a loss



I can’t help but feel

With your radical acts

You suffocate people

With your so-called facts



Be your cause wrong

Or be your cause right,

It’s quite hard to see

When you blind them with light



With politeness and reason,

They will then hear you out

With nurture and care

Your branches will sprout