I think a lot of people, if not everyone, feels a little stressed sometimes. So I tried to show how my personal stress feels through this poem.
Sat on the ground
The bits and pieces
Scattered all around
Go to pick one up
Try to find its twin
Look at the scattered mess
Eyes begin to swim
No match in sight
Beginning to feel frantic
Pick up another piece
And useless feels this antic
No pieces match
This unsolvable puzzle
Throw the piece to the floor
To the wall the body will nuzzle
Never to look at the pieces
The defeat will haunt
Unable to fix the mess
Unfinished business will taunt
Leaving only stress
About the Creator
Donia Schenkels
Just a poet that knows it doesn’t rhyme with poet.
I like to focus on our modern world in my writing, because let’s face it, if schools want to teach poetry, make it useful and understandable to today’s students. Language changes with time.
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