Again with the Crappy High School Poetry

Lord help us, they just keep coming! That’s right, just when you dared to hope that the parade of execrable verse would end… “She #4″ rears its ugly head to give you an open-handed literary slap to your metaphorical mouth.

Now that’s some wicked awesome wordsmithing. Oh yeah… I still got it.

Okay, we’ve put this off long enough. To the crappy poem I wrote in high school, ol’ chum!

let’s see… there’s gotta be a reference to the “soul” in there somewhere… 

She #4

Through a night ever reaching
For an unattainable day
I found myself weeping, held captive by
The thoughts that fell slowly from my mind
To fill my empty heart with her.

In a faintly bitter morning
Of an indistinguishable day
I found myself walking, one with
The unfeeling streets, the hidden sun
Reminding me of her

In a hazy dusk, softly descending,
Of an imperceptible day
I found myself wondering, my continuous daydreams
Replaying shared feelings of both
Love and pain, a monument to her.

Through a night swiftly moving
Towards the next inevitable day
I found myself wishing, a slave
To memory, crying for an end to my world.
A world without her.

Thoughts and comments:

  • As you can see, this was a valiant attempt at… something or other. I was apparently trying to impose some kind of structure on the thing, but the structure is completely arbitrary, adds nothing to the meaning, and relies on adjectives that end with -able.
  • Just like all the best poetry!
  • My description of the next day as “unattainable” clearly doesn’t hold water, as the very next stanza takes place in an obviously attained morning.
  • Thoughts falling from the mind to heart… Not an anatomical genius, was young Price. 
  • Shall I compare thee to a depressing, cloudy day? Apparently so, since “the hidden sun” reminds me of her.
  • “Imperceptible” day? Imperceptible? Okay, it’s pretty obvious that I’m reaching here, just trying to shoe-horn in a word that kind of sounds like words I’ve used before. But… not only does the word “imperceptible” not make a lick of sense–how can you fail to perceive a day?–but it also breaks from the ironclad -able rule to run with the simliar but inarguably inferior -ible suffix. Bad form, sir. Bad form.
  • Did I just walk around and pine all day? ALL DAY? No school, no job? I’ve just got all the time in the world to wander aimlessly and mope. What a life!
  • To be fair, maybe it was the weekend.
  • At the end of this latest outing, I’m “crying for an end to my world, a world without her.” If you weren’t clued in before that this was a crappy high school poem, you are now. It’s just a fancy way of saying, “Oh, she’s gone… somewhere… and I wish I was dead.” So far, this has been the general subject of… hmm, let me check the numbers… approximately 104.6% of my high school poems.
  • I may have allowed a rounding error into my figuring.
  • I’m weeping, I’m walking, I’m wondering, I’m wishing. If I could encapsulate the whole lame cycle into a single w-word, it would have to be whining.
  • So is she dead? Sure. Why not? I mean, who knows what I was thinking when I penned this drivel? I don’t think it was about any one girl in particular. Maybe it’s about a girl that just wouldn’t go out with me… in which case, it could conceivably be about every single girl at my high school.

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