Monday, 19 January 2015
Girl, you must know you are weak
The fragility of your touch
The shiver in your voice
The faint in your posture
Girl, you must know you are ugly
The wrinkles by your eyes
The jutting of your bones
The wideness of your smile
Girl, you must know
That whatever I say you to be
Whatever others believe and see
You're the most beautiful
Most beautiful to me.
Wednesday, 14 January 2015
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
Monday, 3 November 2014
Tomorrow's going to be the first day of my major examinations. It's hard to grasp how after eighteen years, and after these two weeks and a half have passed, I can burn my books in a bonfire and it won't matter anymore.
Introduction to Poetry
By Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a colour slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
I perhaps shouldn't even be writing up this post right now, but I was reading a few poems preparing for my unseen commentary tomorrow and came across this, which I felt was the perfect and most timely advice quelling my imminent freak-out (cue Chic's Le Freak and replace it with "not chic) before my literature examination.