The T-Shirt Speaks

This was a humorous poem I wrote back in the beginnng of the semester about the life of a poor t-shirt. The poem showed my type of humor, which is a sort of dry sarcastic sense of humor. I tried my best to be funny, it's just challenging for me to write in a funny manner. But nonetheless. Enjoy.

I'm DONE.

All day I' m abused.
Worn, sweat in,
Thrown around, made filthy.

Then one I finally get
A chance to be cleansed
You throw me into
A freezing cold metal cylinder.
Where I'm sprayed
With scalding water,
Sudsed up with
Frothy, foamy soap,
And tossed in circles endlessly.
Around
And around
And around
Until it stops,
Yet the entire world continues to spin.
Then you rip me out of
The now steamy container,
Shake me out
Until every thread of my existence
Is rattled beyond belief,
And then toss me into
The desert heat
Of the second container,
Which burns and stings all over
Until finally I'm dry.

The things I've seen
And been covered in,
Mud, grass, soda, juice, milk, sweat, dirt, and so many others
Should never have to
Be experienced by anyone.

So here it is,
I am saying goodbye.
I quit.
I'm through.
This is the end of the road for us!

Collabritive Work with my boy Casey Leonard

Casey and I wrote this one day in class. Actually... I mostly wrote it. But he helped some. It's a story from the perspective of the adopting parents based off of a story that is actually told from the daughter's perspective.

We didn't know him well, but Bill seemed like a nice enough man. From what little we managed to extract from Minna, he treated her well and tried his best to fill her mother's shoes. He worked hard for his daughter most of all, and that's what really matters.
Losing him was hard on Minna. As the time went by, her questions about him only increased. I tried my hardest to aboid these confrontations and explained all I could, but naturally as her adopted father with little knowledge on her birth father, this was hard for me. I just wanted her to be able to move on. But we all know that's impossible.
The disease took him quickly. He really had no choice after losing his wife; it all became downhill after that. Had it not been tuberculosis, it would have been something else. Stress maybe. But either way, it was easy for anyone to see that he had lost hope. He needed rest. And moving on seemed to be his only option.
I'm still not sure why he chose us. To this day, I don't know how the carpenter and his wife fared better than the other families that were interested in Minna. But I know this much: had it not been for Minna, we never could have made it through the loss of our own girl. And for that, Bill, I will always thank you.