I have to read a packet of poems for my poetry class. They were all written by my classmates, and we’re supposed to give constructive critism, but, really, all I want to write is, “Just fucking start over.”
This is one gem:
As our summer fades,
Our memories will not.
This summer will always be engraved in my head.
And I will never forget it.
Or this:
But they told me I wasn’t ready to love.
Love is too simple.
I guess.
Edit: just discovered this lovely piece of art
“If you asked for love, I would have
lived inside my head. Was it just a fantastical photograph?”
I…What.
