So I was a little behind in my challenge (see last post) so I worked up 3 while my students were taking their test. :) They're a little weird and depressing, but I guess that is the vibe of a test day coming at you. heh. If you're new to the challenge you'll know I don't revise these. I might make a few minor changes as I type them up here, but they're written and posted the same day. I know they're not all great or even as good as they potentially could be, but the point of the challenge is to write and I have done that :) Anyway, here we go:
NPM2:
"Desk Top"
I can hear you breathing
your heart churning
feel the heat that radiates off your back
but you are cold
nothing but wires and calculations
programmed to react
when I hit the right button
NPM3:
"Writer's Limbo"
I think I need to rip away
from all that is expected
maybe skip a line or two or even a break and just keep going, going, going, going
the pressure is on it seems
but from who
from where
ideas should flow out they think
"they" yes "they" who say IF, say IF I was a writer I could sit and write and always have ideas
they say this and I sigh and laugh and groan and shake my head and say it's not that simple
maybe if there was more time and less pressure and more numerous outlets
maybe if the world was magical and everyone was who everyone thought they were
how interesting that would be and how boring
how expected
I need to break away from the expected but I don't know why
and maybe I could if I was what they think I am
and yet I wouldn't because me being what they think I am is what they expected
what kind of world allows for such nonsense
what kind of world allows us to believe that such a world could exist
I need to break
away from structure, expectation, long windedness, nonsense, cliches
from the reader
from you
NPM4:
At the Funeral
They think my story is just a strange way of saying I failed
But it isn't
When the car skid and the glass cracked I knew
It wasn't surrender
It was acceptance
Their tears pave way across their flesh and linger
momentarily at the curve of their chins
They touch my crusted forehead, leaving powder on their finger tips
they wipe it away against their dark clothes, leaving marks
They should know the amount of foundation there, yet they keep touching
wearing it away, removing the false beauty
I hear them whisper 'why' and 'if only'
but what is at the back of their minds is
I could have held on longer
But what good is a few more minutes or an hour if the result is the same
if no one even knew you were at the hospital
they are doing now what they have always done
but who will they blame for all their misery
once the shock of my exit has worn in
NPM2:
"Desk Top"
I can hear you breathing
your heart churning
feel the heat that radiates off your back
but you are cold
nothing but wires and calculations
programmed to react
when I hit the right button
NPM3:
"Writer's Limbo"
I think I need to rip away
from all that is expected
maybe skip a line or two or even a break and just keep going, going, going, going
the pressure is on it seems
but from who
from where
ideas should flow out they think
"they" yes "they" who say IF, say IF I was a writer I could sit and write and always have ideas
they say this and I sigh and laugh and groan and shake my head and say it's not that simple
maybe if there was more time and less pressure and more numerous outlets
maybe if the world was magical and everyone was who everyone thought they were
how interesting that would be and how boring
how expected
I need to break away from the expected but I don't know why
and maybe I could if I was what they think I am
and yet I wouldn't because me being what they think I am is what they expected
what kind of world allows for such nonsense
what kind of world allows us to believe that such a world could exist
I need to break
away from structure, expectation, long windedness, nonsense, cliches
from the reader
from you
NPM4:
At the Funeral
They think my story is just a strange way of saying I failed
But it isn't
When the car skid and the glass cracked I knew
It wasn't surrender
It was acceptance
Their tears pave way across their flesh and linger
momentarily at the curve of their chins
They touch my crusted forehead, leaving powder on their finger tips
they wipe it away against their dark clothes, leaving marks
They should know the amount of foundation there, yet they keep touching
wearing it away, removing the false beauty
I hear them whisper 'why' and 'if only'
but what is at the back of their minds is
I could have held on longer
But what good is a few more minutes or an hour if the result is the same
if no one even knew you were at the hospital
they are doing now what they have always done
but who will they blame for all their misery
once the shock of my exit has worn in
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