I guess this is my first.
It's really just a poem.
A few words
Arranged into a few lines
With a few spaces and dots and curly things that split our words into pieces...

Just my first.

No one really likes firsts, do they?
Not for school, at least,
Or for taking out the trash
Or forcing your legs to throw your body into the swelling body of water beneath you.
So, honestly,
I can't blame your for hating it.

Then again, you could love it.
After all, firsts are good for races.
They're also good for test scores.
And, if I'm remembering correctly, I know a set of twins that get into plenty of arguments about who should have come first.

So, yea, firsts can be good.

They're good for the presidents.
And the roosters.

Firsts are also pretty good for travelers.
I mean, if there were no firsts, how would travelers ever have anywhere new to go?

However, I don't really know how people feel about firsts in sickness.
Or death.
That could also be a bad one.

Well, anyway.
Here I am.
With a poem.
My first poem.
And, as we have found out here, firsts are very easy to love.
And they're very easy to hate.
And they're also very easy to ignore.

But I guess it doesn't really matter now, does it?
Because, what'll happen when my second comes along?