Maybe my writing Will improve When strewn over Blue lined graph paper, Tiny boxes, Coaxing out order, Perhaps even Clarifying boundaries Between crazed truth, And detrimental lies.
The grid putting Poem in context, Poem like graph, Displaying Levels of THC Depression Number of Kisses Tears Cried Outliers of secrets uttered. Box and whisker plot Displaying anxiety, Skewed data toward extremes.
No. Linear writing would Reveal the chaos inside. I can't fit the poems To the squares. A graph can't really cry The way a person can. There's a losing feeling Etched in pen On a harshly graded Parcel of mathematical quizzing That a poem has no place to Instill in me.
And no one would Be able to read my work The way they tell you to show it. My poems have no color coding. Definition between data Becomes hazy as Layers of black are added In empty, All encompassing anger. And I smoke while I write tonight, Haze growing, Lines wobbled, And I may have put a poem On a piece of graph paper But it's nothing like the math homework That stays in my backpack.