Little Beetle
Watch him go!
The silly thing
The pitiful, puny, ugly thing
Six grabbing
Appendages
Crawling up the table leg
The shadow of my finger
Chasing him
Scramble home,
little bug,
Scurry home!
With the crumb you came after
I wonder
Was it the morning brew
Did it wake him too?
Or the 5am tango
With early birds
Racing to work
Did his wife wake him
When the kids started to cry?
Or,
And I look at my finger
Did his brother die?
His son?
What there a
Funeral in the crack in the wall
Is he late?
A family's struggle
Seem small in the eye
Of a worker bee
Like me
Who finds problems
As easy
And small
As poking a bug
I can rid the hive
With the simple act
Of fingerprinting genocide
This little beetle
Must hurry home
Before my shadow
Meets the wood
Before I am
Reminded that
My life alone
Is infested with pests
That I flock towards the light
I scurry to run
From the shadow
Hovering
Weighing down
On my shoulders
Hurry, brave beetle
Before I remember
How easy it is
To block out
Something wrong with this poem?
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TheRumBook
Hi all! I'm Sophie, but my favorite person/creative writing teacher says that I MUST go by the name "Soflow" when I do spoken word... Yes, "flow," not "flo," as in South Florida, though I do abide there. Anyway, I've written some awful junk (I can tell you that!) all my life, but now that I'm a high school senior, it's pretty good, in my opinion. I'll explain myself the same way I do on Wattpad (username iMunsterCookiez because I made it eons ago): The Rum Book is a real thing in my life, and as a journal it's beautiful. It literally stands for something I can put anything and everything into, yet the beauty of it is that it is welcome to others and their sentiments. If anything I write offends you, you're more than welcome to lecture me. Argue me. Standing up is one thing that keeps us all alive, so by all means show me a piece of yourself. Unless you're telling me that you're righter than I am. In that case, go screw yourself.
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