Note to self: The word “erotic” is not interchangeable with “beautiful.”
It was a lesson learned the hard way when I wrote my first horror story – and wanted to describe the lead female character –
in eighth grade. Since then, I like to think I've gained a bit more experience
in writing through personal journals, research papers and magazines.
Unfortunately, at no point in time did I ever stop to acquire
a love for poetry.
Partly, this is thanks to my inability to critically analyze any lines past “Roses are red, violets are blue.” During high school, interpreting
the works of Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost was as difficult as AP Calculus!
But just as I have attempted to understand partial derivatives
for the Lagrange multiplier, I am trying my hand at writing art. So, here is a short
poem. It may not win the next Pulitzer Prize, but you have to start somewhere,
yeah?
Just One Memory
So if you could know
just one friend, who would you love?
And if you could love
just one home, where would you dream?
And if you could dream
just one moment, when would you see?
And if you could see
just one memory, why would it be?
Let me know how you read it. And if you enjoy writing your own
verses, please do share them!
Footnote: This poem was actually written many months ago,
which means it’s been some time since I've tried poetry. I will have to get
back into it!
