first works.

If you look to the right of this post you'll see a photo of me (it's a bit dated, so don't look too hard) and under it a blurb describing the path I took to get to this blog. I left out a small part of the story: I was also very much an aspiring poet and songwriter in my youth. Every single day of 11th grade I would write a few poems and then a friend would read them out loud at lunch. The Reg trashed about 300 of those poems sometime into my senior year in high school, but while being at home this past weekend my grandmother presented me with my 7th grade poetry project she found while cleaning.

Behold the birth of genius...

Miracles

Miracles are love,

miracles are peace,

miracles are freedom,

miracles are life-savers,

miracles are whatever is amazing.

I find this to be especially interesting because I'm not sure why in the world I would write a poem about miracles unless prompted. I'm pretty sure in 7th grade I had never witnessed, nor been a part of a miracle before (unless you count the Razorbacks 1994 NCAA Final Four victory).

Untitled

My home is a dome over me,

it is very quiet.

I rest,

in my domed home.

In the middle of a small sea,

me.

I am very quiet,

sleeping.

The dome cracks,

the sea waves (I think, I can't read my cursive),

I wake,

cheaping (again, I can't read my cursive).

First off, my home is not a dome. It wasn't then and it isn't now. I live nowhere near a sea and in 7th grade the only water I had ever seen was Lake Ouachita. And why was I sleeping in the middle of a small sea?