I have a large file folder of mostly unfinished writing I carry around everywhere just in case I ever get motivated or inspired to write. I was organizing it today when I found a poem I wrote in seventh grade. We were supposed to write a poem in the style of one of Poe’s(?) famous poems and because I thought suburban life was the worst punishment possible for someone as worldly as myself, I naturally wrote about the tragedy of non-urban life. And to think how lovingly I regard those same suburbs today. Below you can read some particularly colorful excerpts of this fine work.
In terrible self-loathing, of a life so wrongly lived
Yet clinging so desperately
And so scarcely
To the wicked uniformity they hold so dear.
Oh the fences, fences, fences!
What a tale of sadness and disappoint their ugliness entails!
Of dreams unfulfilled and euphoria never found.
How they fall and break and creak!
What hollowness they shriek
And the eyes can clearly tell
By the dying,
By the crying
A sad and lonely bare existence
Yet the eye distinctly sees
In the long, painful splinters
And melancholy winters,
How pity consumes and pinches
By the growing ugliness of the fences—
Of the fences, fences, fences,
Fences, fences, fences
The wear and tear of the fences!