Farewell

A year has gone by

through fingertips time slipped

Sand that had seemed to trickle slowly

now lies in the past

A trail for some to trace me by

I had wanted to leave a legacy

a physical remembrance by all

but perhaps all that is needed

are my memories given

I have read that

to the world you are just one person

but to just one person

you could mean

the world

Perhaps it needs to stay that way

An empty detachment 

as I pull myself away

I convince myself I'll see you again

but that will be different

and we know

One can change completely

over a summer

I can not promise

what will happen to me

how I will change

when I become a freshman

So I guess this is goodbye

this may be the last time

we meet

as these persons--these minds

For now we start

afresh

--Megan

(A poem for my friends as the school year ends.)

A Letter to an English Teacher

Please, nobody take offence from this poem.  I wrote it a couple years ago, and it is not to a specific teacher.  Actually, it was written to the stereotype "English Teacher" that most of us think of when we think of teachers.  It was simply a fun poem to write.

A Letter to an English Teacher

From a rebellious student

I’m going to put this bluntly.

YOU

Have

DESTROYED

My writing.

To be honest,

The only thing I've

Learned

In your class,

Is how to

Cage

Up

My

Words,

And set them in

ORDERLY ROWS,

In sturdy stacks called

P---A---R---A---G---

R---A---P---H---S.

But don’t worry.

If my writing were a

Marathon,

You wouldn't have made me

Take a

Step

Back.

You have thrown me

Into a car,

Shoved the gear stick into

Reverse

And have

Floored

The gas pedal.

Let’s face it.

It could have been

Partly

My fault.

A smidge.

A tidbit.

I should have struggled more.

I mean,

Seriously,

What’s the difference between an

“A”

And an

“F”?

Let’s see…

Five letters.

Four,

If you are going

Grade-wise,

And are skipping

“E”.

My point is,

You have shoved

All

Of my words into

Sturdy,

Confined

Cages,

And every one that has

Escaped

Has been

Tazered,

Its limp letters

Swept

Off the ground and

Tossed

Into the trashcan.

But this,

This letter,

This poem,

Is how I will

Rebel.

I am

Popping

All of the latches

That have

Confined

My words

For ever so long,

So they will be

Free.

And by free,

I mean that they can

Scatter

All

Over

                                                                        This

Page,

And there’s not a

Thing

That you can do about it.

Give me an “F”.

An “A” isn't in the word

Freedom.

In fact,

An “F” is the

First

Letter.


By Megan