Sore Limbs and Tunnel Vision

Author's Note: Despite the fact I am 26 and have not had a homework assignment or handout I needed to hold onto for years, I carry around the same accordion folder I've had since 8th grade in my backpack. It seems wrong to get rid of it after all this time.

From time to time, I'll pull it out and take a look at what's inside. Over the recent years, the amount of paper inside has steadily whittled away, until now when it's just a few different essays, stories, and mementos that have sentimental value for me. So, yesterday, I was astonished to find a long-lost poem buried in the accordion folder. Perhaps this is why I've carried it around for so long.

I should clarify that this poem was written as an early assignment for my Intro to Poetry course at JMU, so not every word in these stanzas is my own. Best way I can describe it is MadLibs for poetry.

However, I was struck by the words from a long-gone time. I've always struggled with poetry I wrote from the college years and how limited my world view was back then (a contrast I've actually explored in other poems). And yet, I think I've lost some of my appreciation for certain things that were easier to value when life was simpler. Reading a recent poem versus a college-age poem is a duel between realism and idealism. Some of what I've written feels naïve now. But, should what is stop us from considering what could be? Wouldn't it be nice to live in a world where ideals don't feel foolish?

That's a subject for a future poem.

Sore Limbs and Tunnel Vision

I wish I could say

I was the type of child

who chased after his “like-me-like-you” crushes.

Who would do the dance of asking through friends

and passing notes.

.

I never chased. I jogged. Sore limbs

that stuttered when I beat the sun to the track.

It took me years to see a second gender

from beneath sweat and books.

.

All I had was a pride,

tough as a worn sole,

a center that lay dormant for many years.