Poetry

I honestly have a very, very limited grasp on poetry. I can name a few poets but I can't say I'm particularly enamored with their work. Like, once I came home from the library with a Leaves of Grass  in one hand and this collection of Edgar Allan Poe determined to start this poetry notebook and write down poetic smart shit and become this well-read, well-bred high class girl. I ended up just reading Poe's stories and like the first poem of Leaves. Wait wait, I found the notebook. The only poem I wrote down was One's- Self I Sin. Hey, it's actually a pretty good poem. But anyway, so far there's only like 3 poems that I actually love and they are Annabelle Lee, Oranges and The Highwayman. If you're familiar with these poems you'll know why I love them so much. It's actually a super shallow reason and that's because they're all about sweet, pure love. *Hides in shame* You know how books these days are all about some pretty girl and a nerd boy obsessed with her? Well these are usually American but I hate those kind of books.

I like sweet, pure love when like the guy's so sweet khbfa. That's why I like Asian movies and dramas so much because the love is so damn sweet! Like omg have you watched Byakuyako??? And Genya? And god do I love Little Manhattan and and and requiem for a dream but they don't really belong just saying though the love is so sweet! Art of Getting By love!!!!!!!!!!

Okay tangent. Umm, so basically I was looking at writing prompts just now and one of them said use the last line of a poem you like as the first you make.

So here goes. I'm using Oranges (mad love springboard for intro-ing me)

i was making a Fire in my hands

the Winter wind was biting

Actually, you were making the fire

your Hand, in my Hand

my body was wrapped in Layers and Layers of wool, cotton, coats

i felt like a sheep in those clothes

my feet were covered by mismatched furry socks that boasted 100% polyester from china

and damn were they Warm

my head in hair and hoods and a panda hat you gave me for valentines

despite all that compared to the temperature in my hands it was as if i was

swathed in layers and sheets and blocks of Ice

not pure ice like the nail polish which btw sucks shit

but Ice like the slushie we shared

my uncovered, unmittened hands were the hottest part of my body

random kinetic movement of particles wise not attractiveness

i liked holding your hand

walking down Dirty streets

like we owned them