By Will Caraccio
I’m feeling senioritis.
I don’t want to write this.
A poem in itself should grip the reader’s mind,
But as I sit and write, empty words are all I find.
A noun, a verb, an adjective here and there,
It doesn’t really matter and I don’t really care.
To take up the page is my primary goal
Already halfway there, man I’m on a roll.
For many other poems, at this point your heart is bleeding,
For this unique creation, instead you wonder: what the hell am I reading?
The answer to your question, of course is not so base,
Just kidding, it is, I just wanted to take up space.
Looks like our time is up, now the poems is ending,
I could say I was sad, but I would surely be pretending.
imagine a profound conclusion, something happy, something neat,
I won’t write one of course, you’re welcome for this treat.