Poetry

I came to school Monday morning, forcing a smile on my face, a fake tone of happiness in my voice. I felt like a porcelain doll about to crack from the inside, a scream begging to be let out. And then a disaster came leaving my painted on face shattered in a million pieces. It was three words. WE'RE DOING POETRY. My heart stopped. My eyes widened. My blood grew cold in my veins. Poetry. The word was vile. It was like poison on my tongue. Poetry will be the death of me. I hate poetry. How do you even write it? A cheesy rhyme scheme? How can you put the words together and make it sound beautiful. There is no format, no way to write it, you just do. My blood began to flow again, pumping faster and faster. Finally, a thought came. I've got it: "Poetry, poetry, is no fun. Poetry makes me hate everyone." Not good enough. The sound is childlike, pathetic. Again, I though. Rhyme, rhythm, alliteration, all these words raced through my head. "The big black bear ate the big black bug." So if thats poetry, its really bad. I kept thinking, trying to find something and it hit me... poetry comes from the depths of your soul. It is a volcano erupting; The idea begins to move and heat up and evolve inside of you until it bursts out leaving the inside of you showing to the world, all your thoughts and feelings exposed. It is like an IV, the words dripping down until it becomes a part of who you are. Poetry has no form, no way it must be, because poetry is you, it is the music inside your soul.