Sixth Grade Essays: Part 3, Poem

I'm only three parts into this mini series and I'm already breaking the rules. Instead of sharing a sixth grade essay, tonight I'm sharing a sixth grade poem. Close enough!

Highlights: "Fears...hatred" HA! Very David Brent.

Cheers,
Margaret

THE JOURN

Today I found the journal my friends and I shared in junior high.

We would keep it for about a week before passing it on to the next person. Inside it are anecdotes from the halls of KJH, lots of talk about The Sims, a list of people we hate and regular updates on everyone's crushes.

I thought about sharing an excerpt here in a 'From the Archives' post, but it just didn't feel right. 'The Journ', as we called it, is sacred. Its hallowed pages contain rare, raw insight into the mind of a middle school girl. To share it here would be to betray my 14-year-old self. I just can't do it.

Plus, someone wrote and then highlighted in pink highlighter, "From now on, NO Arrowheadian boys can read this—we can't trust them!"

On the slim chance that an Arrowheadian boy reads my blog (Arrowheadian being our term for people who went to Arrowhead Elementary School), it seems I must honor The Journ's code of secrecy.

The good news is that I also found a poem I wrote around the same time. I read it and was AMAZED at how good it is.

Of course, it's actually terrible. But it's not that terrible. It's far less terrible that I would have expected. If I sat down to write a poem today, I sincerely doubt I'd be able to match it.

Let this be a lesson to us all: there are certain skills we never progress in beyond a junior high level. For most of us, poetry is among them.

Others include:

• Choreographing group dances
• Cursive (fun fact: Brits aren't familiar with the term "cursive". They call it "joined-up writing")
• Summoning the dead via a Ouija board

TGIF tomorrow,
Margaret

Another poem. Sorry.

Scotland v. England

Scotland versus England football tonight

Watch it on the telly? 

I think I just might!

And while I watch, I'll think about blogging

Uh oh. 

No ideas. 

My brain pipes are clogging.

It's gonna have to be a poem post, written in a flash

Because, let's be honest

I only work for cash.

Blogging is fun, but I'll make this quite clear:

Right now I want to watch men kick a sphere.

Love, 

Margaret

Bananas on a window sill

Bananas on a window sill 

What a sight to behold

We'll eat at least three

But the others will get old

Brown spots, mushy guts, fruit flies and a ripe stench

Ageing bananas on their window sill bench

Admire them now before it's too late

For soon they will meet their garbage can fate

OK, so blogging didn't go as planned tonight. Poems are what happens when life gets in the way. I'll be back here tomorrow with a post on the things they should be teaching in school. Hmm...sounds intriguing. I'd tune in if I were you. 

Peace be with you, 

Margaret