They say
that the appendix
is useless.
Vestigial.
Original function
long forgotten.
It tries to help,
but just gets in the way.
And occasionally,
It whines.
Begging for attention,
it grows fat.
Becomes an irritant,
and is removed.
Leaving only a scar.
I sit.
In my warm room.
Staring at the
mirror of blank pages
in my lap
and wonder,
"Am I an appendix?"
6 comments:
I just got this idea right now. I figured that since I had the blog up, I'd write it. It is, and isn't about writing. I guess I'll stamp it "Ars Poetica". I just thought it was kind of silly. Originally it was going to be "dew claw". I guess this is my Friday post.
Fantastic! It's a simple metaphor but it's executed very well. Oddly enough, this one reminds me more of Edward's "Hogwash" poem in that it seems to question a person's existence, albeit in the world of writing.
If you wrote this one as quickly as I think you did, to answer your question, you're not a appendix. Unless someone decided to remove this post.
Thanks Bud,
Yeah it was about 5 minutes. Give or take. I spent so much time on the previous poem, and feel as if I accomplished less. Weird.
This is awesome. the second stanza is excellent and I especially like the personification. I always thought vestigial limbs and such were so interesting. I wonder if you could work the original function of the appendix into here-- collector of waste and by-product? Just a thought. Good work.
I love the shift in voice that occurs between the stanzas as it moves from the appendix to the speaker's own identity.
Anyhow...thanks...Now, I'm sitting here wondering if I'm an appendix. (Just kidding.)
Nice philosophical piece.
5 minutes!?! Awesome. I miss those moments of inspiration where all the right words spew out. I haven't experienced that in like 5 years: everything has become so forced, mechanical, inorganic. I envy you, bud. This is magical stuff.
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