Permission to Suck

I am giving myself permission to suck. I never write poetry because, go figure, I hate doing things I'm not good at. Maybe it's an English Major thing. Maybe it's a Kate thing. Maybe it's a human thing. I don't know. But the point is, I'm forcing myself to do something that makes me uncomfortable so it will become more comfortable. And that requires giving myself permission to suck. Permission has been granted, and so here is my poem. (I'm not sure it even counts as a poem.) I don't have a title (leave suggestions in the comments please).

I'm awake

I'm awake

The teacher begins

Droning

I'm awake

I must be

My pen slows

The fog of boredom settles between my ears

But I am awake

Pen falls from my sluggish fingers

My chin dips and

gently touches the surface

of the deep pool of sleep.

But no!

I'm

awake

I must be.

Head up

Pen ready

I'm awake.

The fog invades again.

Eyelids sink.

I'll just

rest them

for a minute.

My head droops

The textbook

on my desk

makes a pillow for my heavy brain.

Teacher drones

He won't notice

I'm awake

I'm awake

I'm

awake

I'm

I know essentially nothing about poetry, but what the heck. Last night I googled "short love poems" and the results were so incredibly, hilariously, awful that I feel much better about my own writing now.

Did you write a poem this week? If so, please share.

This week's prompt is Summer. It's been below zero for the past three days, and I need to think about warm weather.

DFTBA