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Poetry Excuse me while I "BWAH!" Okay.... so I took this quiz a few weeks back about poetry, just to test how much I knew about it, and all; how artsy fartsy I could be. Well, the last question was for me to write my own poem, and send it in for evaluation and such. Yeah, well, I put in this slightly depressing poem I wrote in Speech class when I was in a real whiny mood and everyone wouldn't shut up, and my heart was freaking me out, and all that fun stuff... So, um... yeah. Dark, depressing, sounds like I might should have some therapy, that kind of poem. Totally not really serious. I mean, it was at the time when I wrote it, but hey... you know what PMS does to girls. Anywho, yeah... sent it in, just wanting to get the other results in... and, um...apparently they liked my poem. Apparently I'm entered into the final round of a Poetry Competition, for a Grand Prize of $1000! Or the Annual Grand Prize of $10,000! Or other prizes! Yeesh. They also want to put me in their book. Um. So... I'm certainly not proud of myself. I'm getting published though. If I had known that it was going to be published in a book, I would've made this poem a lot less...um...ahngsty. Ah, art-farts. I knew how to work the system. I knew that they loved deep dramatic symbolism and woe and pain, and they love shortened sentences... they also love things that cry out for attention... See... not proud of myself. I worked the system, and it worked me back. That's okay, but it's not how I like to function. I work with people. And poetry just isn't my thing. Unless it's "roses are red" or just silly rhymes. I rhyme. I don't write angst. If I did, I'd suffer from more depression than I already do. So no thanks! <-Ghost-> |
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