Friday, November 11, 2011

Flashback Friday: The Bad Poet

Remember last Friday when I talked about how awesome I was?
I'm starting to re-think that a little bit. I found an old poetry notebook from my senior year of high school. I'll describe what I read in three words or less:


Here it is:

Seriously, its painfully cheesy - but kind of awesome at the same time. It hurts me to think about how "mature" I thought I was. I was born on a "Sunday in November," so I titled my poetry book after myself. Soooooooo emo.

In high school, I secretly wanted to be a poet. I'm grateful I didn't choose that path because everyone knows the only kind of poems I can write HAVE to rhyme. You could say I've got a way with rhythm, but you've all seen me dance, so I guess that would be a lie.
And we like to keep it honest here on Flashback Friday.

IE: Rhyming poem

Too Many Boyfriends

Abraham is poor and dirty, but honest as can be,
He always gives six cents for my treats at Dollar Tree.

Thomas likes to pitch in, but he needs to loose some pounds,
I usually ask for Frankie D's help when making my grocery rounds.

George is the most popular, but those guys get around,
I prefer dates with Alex, when I'm out on the town.

Ulysses didn't loose the war and currently has my favor,
The weekends he knocks on my door I'm always sure to savor.

Andrew is a player always disappearing fast,
Maybe someday he'll treat me right and our love will last.

Benjamin is a jerk he hardly ever comes my way,
And if I get a glimpse of him, I know its Christmas day.

William, the High Roller, has never asked me out,
Maybe he will pity me with perfectly needy pout.

And though he's long gone, I'd never date poor Grover,
Even with all that cash, his legacy is over.

The other Bettys laugh at me calling me a joke,
For wishing, desperately hoping for one to be my bloke.
Yet I sit here complaining, saying none of them is right,
Only dramatizing, over thinking my silly lover's plight.

And now that I think about it, I'm not such a prude.
And silver-stocking Grover might be my kind of dude.

Who am I to think that I'm not William's crush?
And its doubtful that Ben thinks I'm anything but lush.

Ulysses would be lucky to spend loads of money on me,
Even if he's war-like and obsessed with strategy.

George's popularité would be a compliment,
To my almost designer wardrobe - I'd be heaven sent.

And poor chubby Thomas still has much to offer,
If I'm at the Nickelcade he can help me prosper.

But not I'm back thinking about my poor friend Abe,
Who needs lots of boyfriends when all I do is save?

All those other Bettys can laugh and talk all night,
I'll find my Sir Gold Mine, my hunky Mr. Right.
But first I'll stop the drama and ditch all my suitors,
Then everyone will quit calling me a selfish looter.

Sure I'll be poor, only saving dime after penny.
But no boyfriends is better than having way too many.
-Sydney Smart

I don't mind sharing my rhyming poems because they don't bare my soul. It always gets a little uncomfortable when the closet emo in you is released through delicate high school-aged poetry.
For example:

Marie Antoinette

I am sitting on my duvet cover
reading a biography about the
Last Queen of France, discovering
what it must have been like
to walk
among those famous gardens
in Versailles.
But I am not jealous of Maria Antonia
because I have my own Eden to govern,
full of color and surrounded by
smooth stone, ivy, and Greek pillars.
3,000 Tulips of mango, mauve, and strawberry
bow their heads reverently
paying tribute to their majesty,
as I sit upon my throne.
Up high in my tower, and through
my open window
lilies offer sweet perfumes
to show their devotion.
The Iris grants me a soft melody
as it whisper through the breeze
it's desire for my mercy.
And the white rose,
stubborn and pampered,
watches peacefully in silence.
I am the Queen of my garden,
my Versailles.
And with my room as my palace, I reign graciously,
thanking my loyal subjects for returning,
without fail,
every Spring.
-Sydney Smart

It gets worse, I promise. You'll just have to trust me though.
This is me in Europe right before my senior year of high school. This trip "inspired" my cheesy Marie Antoinette poem.

And me, at my senior prom.

After reading my poetry, you probably thought I looked more like this in high school:

Luckily, I only "inspired" nightmares for small children during middle school and junior high.
Ahhhhh, a good dose of humility is good for everyone.

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