Every year, in English class, we have a poetry unit.
I rarely pay attention.
I get a low A on every vocab quiz and
I can ******* my way through essays

I like poetry, though. I love it, in fact.
I don’t like analyzing it.

Poetry isn’t made for English class.
It isn’t made for stuffy classrooms in ancient buildings full of kids who would rather be anywhere else.

Poetry is made for reading at three in the morning
When the world is crashing down
When it feels like my insides are my outsides
And nothing will ever be okay
Poetry is there for me then
Poetry is made to hold up the sky
Or at least a blanket fort in my bedroom
Poetry is made for laying me softly down to sleep
And for waking me up to the bright, beautiful daylight
And reminding me that everything will be okay