Joy in my pencil case
It whispers secrets in my ears, joy, glassy eyes
convincing me that art is much more important than math.
It lurks, long and flat, beneath your feet as you walk,
like a cliff you can never see the end of till it drops.
I carry my pencils wrapped in joy. My tools of work
disguised, cloaked in the everyday trade of happiness.
Joy is covered in graphite; dust marring innocent features,
the tops of my fingers grey as I search for the hidden prize I've earned.
Joy feels smooth and rough in my hands. Stone with one side weathered, smooth,
palms of my hands glide over its surface met with no resistance.
The second side is as sharp as diamonds. Unattainably beautiful,
full of sharp and rough edges, cutting into my hands every time I hold it.
Despite the sharpness of its tongue, the prickling from its body,
Joy is something I must always carry. Something I can't be without.
Last week I left my joy at home, my whole day was out of sorts,
All I could do was borrow someone else's for the day to be content.
Joy is a necessary weight in my bag, I place it there every morning,
knowing it's there is comforting, no matter how heavy it feels.
Joy fits within my arms like a box too bulky to hold for too long,
There are days I just need to set it down, and try again later.
Joy leads your heart to things it wants or needs, but what joy can not do,
Is teach you the difference between these two things.
YOU ARE READING
Some poems
PoetryThese are some poems I've written over the past few years in class and out of it. I don't think anyone will read these, so I'm only gonna upload them randomly when I feel like it. If anyone does read these, hope ya like em. If you feel inclined, p...
