The Art of Story Telling Part I

So I'm taking this autobiographical writing class where you write about personal experiences or the experiences of those close to you. i was having a little trouble wrapping my head around the idea so I started with a poem about this guy i used to know. i'll be sharing some of my work from the class. Give me some feed back and let me know what you think...Constructive Criticism is welcomed. thank ya! - Lauren M


Life’s a bitch, so he rather lay with a woman. He had fucked life and got nothing from it. His value was elementary; simple to sum. Life was divided. He was subtracted. And when it was all factored, it equaled none.

He seemed rather solo, made claims to be lonesome. He was a church boy, supposed to be rather wholesome. Used to be a skinny nigga, but he got a little bigger. Though he was kinda quiet, still a notable social figure. He tried to be gentlemen. He knew how to act right. Followed instructions when he took a girl out, had her home at a decent time at night. Broken parent home, his momma lived the single life. He treated her like a queen. He recognized her plight. He was familiar with the struggle. He was down to fight. Work hard at his gig even on a school night. Made good grades, and was an upstanding citizen. He asked you not to curse around him and really wasn’t kidding. The perfect stranger, you thought you knew. So transparent, but so hard to see through.

He was missing something, and tried to find. Searching for it, kind of blinded. Sex as a flashlight, but misguided. She didn’t have so it he continues to try to find it. Nameless bodies and faceless names. Still searching, his results were the same. He lost his focus as lust worked its hocus pocus. Now he became a snake seeking his prey. No sense of obligation or belonging, no motivation to stay. His hard times translated to the sea of shes and in that he lied to himself about who he was supposed to be. Now he thought life was a bitch, so he’d rather lay with a woman. Because he had fucked with life and got nothing from it. His value was elementary; simple to sum. Life was divided. He was subtracted and when it was all factored it equaled none.

A bastard child, left to run wild in the earth. No father figure to guide him, just one who knew how to hurt. Violated by kin, the man child turns mannish and the values, beliefs, and principles instilled by the mother have vanished. Life is a bitch, so he became its whore. Searching and desperately trying to find the meaning, longing for more. Legs divided, but resulting with valueless transactions and because of his whorish actions left him just as one.

This a story that many of us already knew. A curse that is stuck to our social fabric with glue. Sadly it continues to be true. Fuck it because life has already fucked over you.