Generic poem beginning

This is the first verse of the poem

It sounds like a bright and flowery

“How do you do?”

Yet like a solemn

“How’re you holding up?”

 

The second verse talks about

The downtrodden hopes and dreams

Of the author or reader

How society crushed them –

Broke them

 

The third verse is as cliché as the first

Hating all of man

Loving those that he or she believes

Are brutally oppressed

 

Through this poem

You’ve realized that

This is a common poem format

That I don’t want to write about my passions.

 

 

But suddenly,

 I feel the push of all the words

I ever wanted to express

Sorrows that I need to convey to another

Happiness I desire to share.

 

 

I feel them rumbling in my chest

But the words don’t come out

Because there aren’t any.

Only emotions.

 

Like all that remains after a bad car wreck.

Years later

All that remains are the scars

And the memory.

 

While the stitches are long gone

The mind is covered in scabs

All too fresh to pick.

 

Pick a memory

Pick a passion

and write about it

But how am I supposed to write

When the words die when they leave

My heart to go to my throat?

 

My fingers are like lightning

Then suddenly still

It’ll be too soon for about everything

For a while

But it won’t be too soon for happiness.

 

I don’t need to write a cliché

“Man is the enemy of themselves” speech

To help others

 

I can start off a poem

Acting as if I put in zero effort

I can do stupid things for my own amusement

In the near proximity of others

 

Act the moron

But plan to be an Ace

At the end of the day,

In the shuffle of things

I’m just a Joker

in the deck of life

Trying to find the same things as you.

 

Sure, I’m a little bent and torn

With a couple dirt stains

Here there

But that is easily fixed

with a bit of tape and maybe a drop of paint

 

I know that I’m useful

for some games of life

But not all of them.

I can make you win a hand

But lose the other.

 

I think most of us are the fool,

Some days.

Some might be an eight in clubs

But a four with a spade

But in the right lighting,

Or lack thereof,

Everyone’s a 10 of diamonds

 

But we all shine red

In the headlights of our mistakes

See the lights

Get closer

Before stepping back into safety

 

A best friend since my very birth

Powerless to help him

Every time he broke down

It brought me with him

Little by little

Until I saw the headlights whizz past

 

So that today,

I can play the fool

Writing a “generic” poem

For an English class.