My White Board

This is about being used over and over again like a toy by your 'friends' who you trusted and wondering how you'll recover.

            I'm just sitting here drinking a coca cola from a glass bottle wishing for it to rain. I have my I-pod on as loud as it can go, and I want it to rain. I want there to be lightning and thunder. I want to run, I want to hide, and I want to forget and start all over. I want to clean the white board that is covered with writing, drawings, scribbles, mathematical equations, but it’s so full and dirty that it’s impossible to be whipped clean. Not even Windex can help me.

I wish for rain to hide my tears but Mother Nature has decided to be cruel once again, and I sit alone crying without the rain.

I think to myself. I wonder. I come up with conclusions and theories.... But none of them seem to make much since to EVERYTHING. I try to mix the theories and conclusions together, but I have different pieces to different puzzles and I have ultimately failed.

My I-pod is loosing its juice. Its battery is dying. I've played it so much..... I am loosing my juice, MY Battery is dying, I have been played to much.... When Will My I-pod and I be charged again and be ready to take on another days worth of being played and listened to and used? Will this day ever come? Or will it just drag on forever?

There is no eraser to this life of mine, and my white board will never be cleaned. My white board will simply be added onto, until I am fortunate enough to find something that will make it no longer matter.

Author's Note

Sorry if it gets a bit confusing. I couldn't figure out how to make it sound right near the end.

Reviews

[Samantha]

i liked it. I dont see alot of poems written in first person, so it was nice to see that. It does get a little confusing but what poem doesnt? You have alot of ideas running around. A white board, an ipod, rain. The first line confused me a little, but overall i liked how it turned out. Good job!