Today, right now actually, I wrote poem in class. My cohort has seen little of my writing, but when challenged with a writing prompt, I write. I am not put into a box. Aside from DESPISING the writing structure, I came up with something fairly decent. Below is the result:
I couldn’t find my nylons
So I wrapped my legs in brown
Stubble, rough, veined with white streaks
Of dried mud,
Or what I thought to be mud,
I run my rakish fingers through my hair,
Making curls of the Medusa’s mane of green that stands
Nearly as high as my first height.
I never left home, so where did I go last night?