Well, I am going to be lazy and just copy and paste a poem I wrote for my Creative Writing class this last semester. It’s kind of how I am feeling right now as well. Hope you all enjoy. It’s also a very very poor attempt at iambic pentameter. Here we go.
Not A Hero
I’m not a hero, in no wars I’ve fought
The scars, a blemish wide etched in my skin
Of present, future, and past deepening
If I’m opened again will the bleeding begin?
Sometimes I don’t recall what this feels like
Anesthesia administered to me.
Six times exposed to possible demise,
Each time awakening with gratitude.
The smolder driving deep within is pain
Only comfort spreading by the morphine.
The magic drugs intoxicating me.
Now they boast my recovery, with great
Pride swelling inward for how strong I am
Where lies this immense strength they claim I have?
Why can’t they see? I’m not a hero now.