I hate poetry. I write it anyway. This is why my poetry is pretty bad.

--

“I just
just hate poetry,”

she says (her eyes bright
and her hair twistycurled)

“It’s so
so so so fake,
you know?”

she eyes me

“And you, you little
retard”

you’re not supposed to say that word
my brother was retarded
so i should know

“you’re writing all of this down, aren’t
you,
to turn into your stupid”

dreamy fizzy soda-pop skies
cirrus ice sparkling crystalline

“poetry?”

“no,” i say

which is patently untrue because here i am
fingers twitching
(‘uselessly, might I add’)

“You are, you are!” she says
delighted
and she rips this notebook

this forty cent worthnothing

wortheverything

notebook away from
me.