In the next installment of crappy poetry week, we have another poem from tenth grade. This one is supposed to look like the thing it’s talking about. (There’s a name for that, but I don’t feel like looking it up.) I wrote mine comparing life to a hurricane.
Life is a hurricane. You are picked up
And thrown in before you suspect a
thing. Things get worse and worse
until you reach the eye. Then
everything is calm, but before
you can notice another
thing, you’re picked up
and thrown back
into that great
Dear past self, you’re not going to win any awards with your poetry anytime soon. Love, present self.