Potlucks
Hi friends! Welcome to one of my recent poems, Potlucks. I’m really excited because in about a week and a half or so I’ll start my 3rd university course on Poetry! I can’t wait to get back into the creative form and start pumping out some more work. Who knows, maybe the workshop will transform my writing and I’ll become the next Shel Silverstein. (My favorite poet!) One could dream!
On another note, I really do feel like the more I write, the more I get to know myself. I also feel like the more I write, the better my writing becomes. So then by proxy, I’m getting better at knowing myself then too- right? I think that’s a good thing.
If you’ve read my poem Puppeteer, you know I’m not really one to talk about inspirations, but I have a feeling Potlucks is pretty visual. I’d love to read your interpretations below in the comments. Thanks for stopping by!
yours, Belle
Potlucks
butter suede boots munching on gravel, I smile
as I glide onto the compound
guppies in uniforms same as mine- we are NOT
but, I’ll go with it
sticky punch bowls and putrid chip bags infested from unwashed hands
I don’t eat and that makes me a bitch
mayonnaise on mouth corners, insinuations ooze
the yuppies cackle in tune, in leaders we never trust
in this world you can’t forget the bottom is always up
suddenly I’m in a field of land mines
skipping across thawing lakes
I refuse to look down, no, I will scour as I scamp
the things you know that can’t be proven
the things you hear that are not spoken
eyes like grendels, teeth suckled in yearn
damsels drowning one another, hurdling through terms
shackles and ropes and bullets and bits
the hogs wrestle for girdles
before they’re even synched
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