Prose Prose Prose and… Poetry?????

Ironically, though the url of this site promises poets and prose, I have realized that I have glossed over the initial focus that this url intends. I have posted 31 entries since August, yet here we are, lacking a single entry focusing on poetry. I mean to fix this incongruity.

Spoken, written, thought-poetry’s forms are endless. It can be found in a phrase, in a dream, in a person. There may be poetry that is more refined to a trained eye, but poetry can never be wrong. There is no such thing as bad poetry; it is wrought from raw emotion and emotion cannot be questioned.

I am not as well read as I wish to be in the classical sense regarding poets, though I highly regard Edna St. Vincent Millay as the great American writer many others thought of her as. Still, I enjoy poetry as a personal journalism venture of sorts due to the slight escapist quality it brings-one can express their emotions, stresses, and jubilance without explicitly contacting it and facing it as a concrete being.

In my AP Literature course I took last year, we had to use E.E. Cummings’ style of organization to inspire a poem of our own. My previous poems had taken on more of a spoken-word feel, and this patterned type of poem was a fresh writing experience.






lier than a rose blossom

spreading her petals in

the snow; her




to overcome

greater than the




ing force of the




seasons in their all-

consuming rage.




endless clockwork dance

of from which none can be





When it comes for




th to expire, so shall she,

so why should she




It is a little extreme, I admit. The space between the lines could probably equal that of a small, internet-based sea. If you delve into it, of course, thanks to Cummings, you’ll notice that the wackadoo separation of words isn’t just haphazard. The separations combine to create a sentence: Love will destroy you and save you both. It’s a phrase I discovered as graffiti on the inside of a bathroom stall.

I have strayed away from this type of poetry-I haven’t written one like it since. The poems I write are evolving into a mess of distorted realities-they are becoming dark and surreal; most of them I do not relate to. I like it this way.


I do not support my head with my body – my neck has gone rigid and numb.

I’m a marionette raised by cobwebs – I’m a little boy’s plaything for fun.

He makes me dance to the rhythm of silence, my mouth does not move when I scream,

my ball – and – joint sockets are rotting; not a girl, not a toy, in between.

I am laid on my back when he’s finished, all my limbs lay neglected, askew.

Used to play well with this boy I fell far for – but it’s hard when your toys play with you.

As I prefaced, they are becoming dark. Some are starting to address social issues and change. My current pride and joy, Meninism, is a commentary upon how the antithesis to the feminist movement may actually just be what we need to bring to light the plight of men who feel as though society has placed irrational expectations upon them as well.

I do believe I have a video of yours truly performing it on my channel, so if you’re interested, feel free to check it out. If I find the time soon, I’ll post it myself. Class is out now and I should probably go to lunch, oops.

Much love,

Quinn ❤

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