So my writing as of late has mostly been due to classes. I haven't really sat down and opened my notebook and wrote like I used to. That is something I intend to change this week. Maybe without the instrument of music in my ear, I will once again feel the need to feel the pen against the paper.
Here is the thing. I don't write for others. I don't write what I am supposed to. I can't write a poem because you wave some magic wand. I am not your student anymore than you have taught. And by handing me a topic, you haven't taught me anything.
I have poems that could work for your class. I could take that low road. I could take that part away. But what would be the point? to pass? I'd rather fail. I took this class to push the envelope of my thought and to burn down the box that I have created. If you don't help me ignite it and control it. Then assume anarchy is on its way, the ring leader? The one holding the lighter. Me.
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