To that end, I have recently begun attempting to compile a list of all of those moments from my own life. It is my intention to draw inspiration from this list of memories, to use it as a source of writing material in between the less interesting parts of my life. The poems drawn from this list will also serve as a sort of quasi-autobiography. They will act, much like this blog, as a means of preserving my experiences for future reflection, which is something I enjoy greatly.
As I was writing the following account, I realized that it had a kind of poetic sound, which was not my original intention, however, I liked it and decided to stick with it. Enjoy!
One time in second grade, upon returning from recess, I
stood before some classmates – whose names I can’t recall – telling jokes and
poking fun at a kid much larger than myself.
He shoved me as if to say, “Back off!”, and as I fell away I tipped his
cap onto the floor. And in my laughter I
barely noticed him recoil in anger and punch me in the stomach.
Bent over, smaller than I’d ever been before, I stood
grasping at the air as if to say, “Come back!”, and my cheeks drew warm,
unwanted tears like a damp mattress. The
audience crept near and whispered a maternal, “Are you ok?”, as the echo of a
fist rang even further in my belly.
In a moment I stood up, and all the nets of reason fell away
and no one could be heard to say, “Stop.
Think.” With one crude swing of
balled up flesh, I laid him down beside his cap as though he were asleep. I didn’t stay to count the seconds that
elapsed; I knew it wouldn’t last. I
grabbed my damp, discolored books and hurried out of class.
Minutes later, standing on a toilet in a bathroom stall,
quiet as a mouse, I heard my fellow classmates talking of my act, a tale much
taller than I felt, having pissed all of my words away, and replaced them with
fists.
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