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The Freshman Poet
The writer sits at the table,
Wanting again to be able
Of the works she once gushed
But her brain seems entirely flushed
The boy that charmed her, seemed so confident
Is the paper under her nose that will never be sent
The green murky eyes that left her with the unusual sweet note
But just like her stomach the paper will float.
The pen is the senior that innocently gave her pain
Permanent just like blotch of an ink stain
After being stabbed with the point and accepting the hurt
These words will be her new beginning and her comfort
And the junior, well he sits in the middle
He himself is his own little riddle
Giving the shy their own mad temptation
A wrong type of high born from shared aggravation
If that misguided addiction is faced
The influence erased
The freshman herself, is the controller of them all
Because she’s learning what it is to fall
The freshman boy, not yet ready to be mature
The junior and senior too careless to give her a cure
Words like her weapons in a fight
This is just why she continues to write.
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