One from the vaults... We had to read Great Gatsby, of course, in HS... it was either in Junior or Senior AP English. Obviously it isn't necessarily advanced reading, it's fairly accessible as a story, but AP just meant they could fucking rip your mind to shreds while analyzing the literature. Anyway, for whatever reason, I also ended up having to write a poem. It's not so much about the book as it is about the story. The people. I want to say Daisy & Tom, but they're all hot messes. How I felt while reading it. Whatever. I guess this doesn't even need a preamble... I never even had to say this much when I first wrote it. SO anyway... Here's a poem vaguely related in some way or another to The Great Gatsby...

Gatsby

It escapes me now,
The realization
you aren't as angry
as sad
or as in love.
That you aren't as far away
or as small.
As sick or
as tired.
As wanting or
as desired.
That you were just fine
the way everything was
is and never changes.
that there isn't a destination on
dead end dreams or aspirations
so romanticized.

The belief
you aren't as guilty
or as innocent or
as involved
or whatever.
when every now and then
you become yourself
which is more becoming
than you really are
because you believe it.
And every thing else matters
so little.
That is isn't as urgent
or as destructive
or as attractive as it looks
because it was just fine
before anyone touched it
held it or invaded it.
Because it is supposed to
feel that way.

The discovery
of things that aren't as shiny
or as temperamental.
Things that don't talk
when you hate them because
they weren't
as quiet or as communicative
as they ought to be.
And it all ought to be the way
it never was but seems
like it should be.
Just because it sounds nice
or feels right
or changes in the light and
reflects something
so much better than you'd
ever expect or want
or could ever understand
or be.

The perception
that you aren't as sane
or as crazy.

It escapes me.