For 2 hours today I was stuck in a small room with one other person. He was doing a year 12 exam and I was making sure he didn’t cheat – it’s incredibly dull, but I essentially get paid to read a book which is a pretty sweet deal. Today however I brought a book I didn’t feel like reading, so instead I wrote a poem. Here it is:

Warm sun streams in through the high windows
Yet the air retains its subtle chill
I can see the clouds wandering in the sky
But they seem so far away, so still
Time passes very slowly here
The clock ticks away in the corner
So many things I would do differently
If I could talk to my self, could warn her
That the path she is walking is dangerous
That the plans she’s laying are flawed
That while the prize seems fantastical
There is a cost she cannot afford
But then, she probably wouldn’t listen
If she’s anything like me now
She’d never give up the excitement
Even if I could show her how
She’s enamoured with the danger
She loves the thrill of the chase
And though the end is inevitable pain
She can’t give up her familiar place
So I go back to looking out these windows
At the walls that are holding me here
And try not to think about the ‘what ifs
Because only hindsight makes everything so clear.

Given that this is my first attempt at poetry since I was about 15 I feel like there is significant room for improvement, however, it’s not a bad start.

I also spent some time after writing this at my mother’s house going through some old stuff and I found a bunch of old art diaries from high school. I am planning to look through them in the next little while and use them to get in touch with my inner artiste. Hopefully it’s not all weird teen fantasies and there’s some good stuff in there, stay tuned!