And then I prepare myself for busy stops at my locker
Putting in my combination before, so then when there's a limited amount of seconds before my runs must ache and weep, I can quickly pick up my books and go.
But this time around I've got a minute to spare
My locker is only inches away
My hands, about to give in on the book I currently was holding and eyes, locked on the target
As I come closer, and brush up upon the lock
It shuts me out.
And tells to "Go home, this isn't your locker!"
I chose this poem because it was a relatively accurate description of my every day life in the 8th grade.(Besides, that was only so many months ago ) I honestly think that this poem did not show improvement- rather actually, hints how it worsened.. But not really, I'm still as creative as last time. My favorite line that presents my creativeness would probably be best at lines 8-10.
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