The theory is that what does not kill you makes you stronger. I would posit that this is not entirely true. Some days being at the bottom of the pecking order (or, in my case, one fairly large and elegant step to the side) can wear you down, a little like a constant drip of water can wear down a stoic stone. You may counter with 'water off a duck's back' and I would counter that with the fact that I neither look nor smell like a duck and if you were to throw water at me (as has happened in the past), it will not roll off me, it will make me wet and a little humiliated. Over the 11 and a bit years I have been at school, I have endured much at the hands of my poetically-challenged peers and when you're bunkered down under constant fire it's a given that you'll retain a few injuries here and there.
Today's poem is a haiku:
My school bag is full
Of emotional baggage
Nowhere to put books
On a lighter note, in English we are studying Edgar Allan Poe and I am gaining some very good tips for the future.
Yours in poetry,
Poet Laureate Telia Nevile
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